Don't Open That Door - GoM 1

9

Alex woke up when the sun reached her through the canopy, barely above the hill's side. She felt restored and in the best of moods. After checking Tom Sutton was still sleeping and his wounds hadn't bled again, she fed the fire to fix herself a much-needed bite. Later she dragged his backpack out of the tent and sat on the stump by the fire to search it for the herbs.

"Why the hell did I keep them at the bottom, where I found them?" she grumbled, annoyed. "I knew I'd be needing more!"

She heard a soft shuffle behind her but she didn't pay attention, assuming it was a curious fox sneaking around, attracted by the smell of her breakfast. She just kept fishing through the backpack.

Until something cold and sharp pressed her throat from behind. And an even colder, sharper voice said, "Stand up. Slowly."

Alex was so taken aback that she obeyed right away. A firm hand yanked the Magnum from her waist and tossed it away.

"Who are you. Why are you messing with my stuff."

What!? What the flying heck was he doing out there, on his feet, in shape enough to catch her off guard and threaten her? And how did he get hold of his ugly knife? She would've wanted to smack her own head: she'd left the knife out of the backpack pocket, by the camping led! He rounded her chest from behind, restraining both her arms, his huge knife still to her throat.

"Speak."

Her pragmatic side overcame her surprise. She needed to do something about that nasty thing pressing her neck. Maybe trying some familiarity?

"Tom...?"

She heard him gasp, as if controlling a pain prick—which was rather expectable. However, she didn't resist. For starters, the guy was half a head taller and at least forty pounds heavier than her. But mostly because she hadn't spent the whole frigging night struggling to keep him alive only to knock him down in the morning.

"Easy, Tom. It's okay."

His response was pressing the knife to her throat harder.

"Who. Are. You."

Even hardly on his feet, his voice was so cold and controlled it was scary. But she couldn't let it show. So she decided to bet on the annoyed gambit.

"I'm nobody, okay? I'm just the fool who saved your ass!" she grunted.

Like talking to a wall. "Why are you searching my bag."

Funny, how his tone never denoted questions—only the word order did.

"I need your stash of herbs to grind more ointment. Y'know, for your wounds."

Tom pushed her softly, a couple of steps away. Alex spun around and saw him press his side. He stood with all his weight on his good leg, and he was still awfully pale. She tried to approach him and he lifted his knife with a warning look. Really. He played tough like that, standing on one foot and with his pant lacking the leg she'd cut out to tend to his thigh. She rolled her eyes.

"You shouldn't be up."

"I'm fine."

"Good. Then, if you don't mind, I'm gonna keep messing with your stuff."

Tom kept staring at her, as if wondering whether she was kidding. Alex grabbed his backpack and went to sit at the other side of the fire, annoyed and amused at the same time. She left Tom to sit down on the stump all by himself.

"You really need to lay down," she said when he held back a mix of growl and groan.

"I'm fine."

"Suit yourself."

Alex was able to retrieve the herbs and focused on shredding and grinding them in her steel dish. When she glanced up, she saw Tom was carefully removing the metal tape keeping the dressing to his thigh. And she saw the grimace he tried to hide. She brought the ointment to him and dropped a couple of leaves into her mug, which she kept full of water on a stone by the fire. A moment later, she handed it to Tom.

"Here, drink it," she said. "So we can take care of your wounds."

Tom sniffed the water, where the leaves floated. He didn't sound any friendlier, but his voice had softened. "Speedwell and fairy. You wanna keep me down."

Alex's reply was softer, too. "One's gotta try."

He just raised his eyebrows and sipped the tea.