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forget the ice pack.”
“Look, Florence Nightingale, blasting the TV on a guy with a headache is just cruel,” Ty pointed out grumpily.
Zane waved him off and walked into the front room to find the menu before returning to the bedroom. Ty sat cross-legged on the bed, but his head was lowered as he held the ice to the back of it, and his eyes were closed. His brow unconsciously furrowed in pain.
Zane sighed quietly and dropped the menu on the nightstand. He grabbed the remote and clicked off the TV, then sat on the edge of the bed slightly behind the other agent. “Here, let me,” Zane murmured, lifting his hand to touch Ty’s on the ice pack. “Sure you don’t want something to take the edge off?” he asked quietly.
“I told you,” Ty mumbled, the words barely audible, “if you’re going back there, so am I.”
Scooting back a little, Zane pulled Ty back against his chest, still holding the ice pack. “It’ll wait,” he murmured.
Ty shuddered as he leaned back, but he was too hurt and tired to protest being coddled.
“Come on, tough guy, I’m sure you’ve had worse than this.”
“My head hurts, jackass,” Ty muttered, his eyes staying closed as he rested back against Zane’s chest.
Zane smiled, knowing Ty couldn’t see him. “Does it hurt worse than your ass?”
“Shut up,” Ty whined, diving into a sulk like a pro. “Jesus, just stop f**king talking.”
Zane chortled. “You can’t win, heads or tails.” He curled one arm around Ty’s waist to hold him securely. “Buck up, Marine; you’re made of sterner stuff.”
“Bite me, Air Force,” Ty groaned as he tried to turn onto his side and curl up.
Zane grinned and turned so Ty could lean sideways against him. “Tell me something, Ty. How much of this badass bastard is really you, how much is the Marine, and how much is a show?” he asked.
Ty was silent, the only sound his soft breathing as he lay unmoving.
Finally, he breathed in deeply and asked groggily, “Are you taking advantage of a concussion to pump me for information?”
“Damn straight,” Zane said immediately.
After a long moment Ty simply gave an admiring, “Nice.”
Zane smiled a bit and lifted away the ice pack to look at the head wound. “Learned it from you.”
“Not a complete loss, then,” Ty murmured.
“Nope,” Zane said as he turned over the ice and reapplied it gently.
“Not at all. I would never have thought it, but there you go.”
“Hmm?” Ty asked drowsily as the ice started him shivering again.
“Ty,” Zane said warningly, a little louder. He set down the ice pack, took the other man by the shoulders, and pulled him up into an upright position. He sat beside him as he turned his shoulders and ducked his head to try to catch Ty’s eyes. “Don’t you go to sleep on me. I mean it. I’ll do evil and dastardly things to your body if you do.”
Ty opened his eyes wide and blinked the sleep away, giving his head one little shake as he cleared his throat. “You’ve already done that,” he reminded Zane seriously.
“I’m glad you remember,” Zane said wryly. “You did recently take a knock to the head.”
“Just let me f**king sleep, huh? They kept me awake all f**king night, you sadist,” Ty groused sleepily as he closed his eyes.
“Damn it, Ty, don’t make me shake you. Jesus. All right. Cold shower time,” Zane said, practically dragging Ty with him off the bed and toward the bathroom.
“No!” Ty cried in alarm as he dug his heels in. “Hell, no!” Zane ignored him, pulling him along into the large tiled bathroom. Ty kicked the back of his thigh and tugged at his arm, determined not to get a cold anything.
Shamelessly exploiting Ty’s slight weakness, Zane wrapped both arms around him, pulling him against his chest. “Are you awake now?” he asked, trying not to laugh.
“Yes,” Ty whimpered pitifully. Zane grasped his chin and tilted it up to look at his eyes, looking at the pupils in the brighter light. Ty just blinked at him miserably, allowing the manhandling without so much as a frown.
“You’re looking a little better,” Zane said. “So no cold shower. But you do get to sit over here and let me wash the blood off,” he said, plucking at 194
the stained shirt.
“Peroxide gets the blood out,” Ty offered, not thinking that peroxide would be slightly difficult to come by right then.
“Sure thing,” Zane said indulgently. “But warm water will be fine for your neck and back.” Zane led him over to the cushioned chair at the stainless-steel counter and got him sitting before going to the sink to soak a washcloth. “Haven’t you ever had a concussion before?” he asked.
Ty finally cracked a slightly tired, mischievous smile and answered,
“Not that I can remember.”
Zane grinned over his shoulder as he wrung out the rag. “Shirt off, please.”
Ty groaned, smile faltering as he shrugged out of his bloody shirt with difficulty. He examined it with a distant frown. It was a plain brown shirt with crossed paddles on the front in white. The words read, “Schitt Creek Paddling Co.” The white of the letters was marred with dried, dark blood stains.
“What?” Zane asked as he walked over and started wiping the crusted blood off Ty’s neck.
“I like this shirt,” Ty answered softly.
Zane looked down at Ty’s hands and just kept wiping. “I’d rather have the shirt be bloody than you.”
Ty frowned as he looked at the dried blood and felt Zane’s gentle swipes clean the back of his neck. Finally, he looked down, finding a spot of interest on the floor instead, and he asked, “Were you worried?”
Zane pressed his lips together, deciding what to say that would offend Ty the least. “Nah. You’re tough. I knew you could handle it.” But his voice was soft, no edge or joking to it. Ty’s expression was hidden from him, and the only response Zane could see was Ty’s head lowering so the cloth could slide more easily against his neck.
Rubbing gently, especially close to the wound, Zane took care of the rest of the blood he could reach. At the last moment, he sighed, leaned over, and pressed his lips to the back of Ty’s neck. “There you go,” he murmured, unable to explain the unusual gesture.
Ty lowered his head further and shivered again, finally turning his head to brush his cheek against Zane’s.
