Searching for After

Sutures and Slippery Slopes

Courtney took the brown bag from Shayne and tossed it onto her bed with a clatter. She slung his arm around her shoulders to take some of the weight off his clearly hurting self. Shayne didn't complain. He simply let out a quiet grunt as Courtney hobbled them out of the bedroom.

"You scared the shit out of me," Courtney glared at Shayne out of the corner of her eye, "Didn't think of using the front door?"

"Thought maybe the lobby wouldn't let me in looking like this." Shayne's words came out far more weakly than she expected.

Max let out a concerned whine as he trailed closely behind them. Courtney flung the bathroom door open, banging it against the tile wall in her urgency.

"Sit," Courtney's firm command left no room for argument.

Shayne let out a pained hiss as he sat down on the lidded toilet. "Yes, ma'am."

Courtney couldn't help the anger from popping off now that he was finally here. After spending hours worrying both about him and how she'd fucked up their relationship, here he was, bleeding like hell.

"No, don't you fucking yes ma'am me," She snapped and didn't bother looking his way before she stomped over to the kitchen to retrieve her first aid kit. It was a hefty red bag that rivaled that of any Army medic or Navy Corpsman. Courtney returned in moments and dropped it onto the ground, earning a wince from both Max and Shayne. The overgrown pup sat by the doorway, watching them with his ears tucked back in concern.

"Shirt off," Courtney ordered.

Shayne looked at her with his lips slightly parted in surprise. He looked as though he had something to say but couldn't put it into words.

"Either you take that off, or I'm cutting it off." To prove her point, she drew a pair of surgical scissors from the kit and set it down in her sink.

Shayne got the message. With a grimace, he gripped the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head. It hit the floor with a sickeningly wet squish. The sight that greeted her wasn't a pretty one.

Whenever Courtney imagined a scenario in which she got Shayne's shirt off, she always knew she'd be breathless at the sight of him. That was of course for a different reason entirely.

His muscular and well-defined torso was a map of scars, detailing every battle he'd been through, every fight he'd endured, every instance he'd decided he was coming home, and the other guy wasn't.

Now wasn't the time to ogle, though. There were more pressing matters at hand. Now that he was under the bright lights of her bathroom, she could assess his injuries. His long sleeves had been torn as well, concealing his wounded arm. The shirt hid his bastardized excuse for a field dressing around his torso.

"Shayne – duct tape? What the fuck?"

The man had the audacity to laugh at her bewilderment, and she just had to stop herself from smacking him for it. When he let out a pained grunt from his own laughter, Courtney bit back her smile that said, serves you right.

"It was all I had in the car, okay? I don't exactly pack a trauma kit for emergencies anymore."

Even with the anger and the schadenfreude, Courtney's heart began to hurt for him. Frustration aside, she still loved the idiot. Courtney toned her bitterness back by a notch. It was time to get serious.

There were numerous strips of duct tape spread over two cuts – one along his forearm and another along his abdomen, just below the lower ribs. As gruesome as the duct tape was as an improvised bandage, Courtney had to admire the art behind his application. The adhesive strips were twisted to form MacGyvered butterfly bandages. They kept the incisions from opening up any further to stop him from bleeding out. Shayne very well could've passed out from blood loss on his way here if he hadn't done this.