"I'm fine, I think. But I'm thirsty. And hungry."
"I still want him to check you out. Stay put."
Poking his head into the garage, Cade called to Taylor, then disappeared from view. Tristan listened to him moving around behind him, opening and closing cabinets and the refrigerator, in what must be the kitchen.
When Taylor came into the house, he asked Cade, "What's up?"
Cade returned to the sofa and handed Tristan a bottle of water and two granola bars.
"He got hit on the head, maybe with a gun. Can you check him for a concussion? I'm going to find some painkillers."
As Taylor sat on the sofa next to him, Tristan greedily gulped down the water, pretty sure he could drain a lake and still not feel full at this point.
When he set the bottle aside, Taylor leaned closer and studied his eyes, told him to follow his finger, then asked questions about headache, dizziness, nausea and vomiting, confusion and memory loss. Since Tristan only had a headache and some nausea, he felt pretty sure he wasn't seriously injured.
Cade returned from elsewhere in the house and handed Tristan ibuprofen. "Is he okay?"
Tristan popped the pills in his mouth and washed them down with the rest of the water, then started chowing down the granola bars, happy to finally have something to relieve his hunger.
"Yeah," Taylor answered. "Possibly a mild concussion, but no signs of anything serious. Probably a good idea to get him checked out anyway."
"Thanks, man."
Taylor headed back to the garage, and Cade took his place on the sofa and pulled out a tube of ointment. As Tristan watched Cade apply the salve to his injured skin, memories of the similar scene at the cabin came flooding back, and his eyes misted once again. He really didn't mind being taken care of sotenderly, not now, not when he felt so drained and shaky. He decided he could really get used to this treatment.
Hopefully, he would have that chance.
As Tristan's eyes watered again, Cade finished with first aid and carefully pulled Tristan's sleeves down over his injured wrists and looked up.
"Hey, you okay?" he asked softly.
"Yeah," Tristan choked out. "Thank you for taking care of me."
A faint blush stained Cades' cheeks as he nodded and pulled his hands away. "Why don't you lay down and rest?"
As he stretched out on the sofa, Tristan was thankful for the comfort but felt the weight of both physical and emotional exhaustion pulling on him. Kneeling beside him, Cade gently pushed auburn bangs off his forehead with one hand, while the other rested possessively on his thigh.
Sighing, Tristan let his eyes fall closed and just breathed for a moment while he enjoyed the warmth of Cade's touch.
"How did you find me, anyway?" he murmured.
"Annabeth found the coordinates where they were going to transfer you, and we originally planned to get you there. But then the Handler called the driver we detained. You remember, the guy Tag and Young followed to the house? So, the Handler wanted the driver to take you to the exchange, and he gave him this address as the pickup location."
"That's good, really good."
"Yeah," Cade agreed with a hitch in his voice that had Tristan wondering just how much the situation had affected the other man. Too weary to have that conversation at that point, he promised he'd get the whole story from him later.
"So that guy in there is the Handler? I wondered."
"One of themis, yeah."
"I think it's the pearfaced guy. The skinny one called him 'boss'."
"Good to know."
It occurred to Tristan that he'd been smart not to tell Pearface that they'd followed a van to the house where they held Natalie. If he had told him, the Handler might not have called that driver.
And Tristan might be dead.
