I glare at Tristan, even though he’s my only ally here, because I know he won’t take it personally. He remains as unperturbed as ever, of course.
“This is field medicine. We’re throwing stuff at the wall to see what sticks. He’s young, he’s strong. He already seems to beimproving. Hopefully, he’ll wake up soon. In the meantime, we’ll keep trying shit.”
Tristan claps a hand on my shoulder before moving away to clean up some of the bloody debris surrounding us. I take one more second to mourn the loss of my security deposit and curse myself for renting a place with a cream-colored carpet, before I turn my thoughts back to the matter at hand.
At least Patrick has given us a little space once he decided we weren’t going to slit Tadhg’s throat. He’s in the kitchen with the others, helping themselves to my food. My apartment isn’t large, but it’s enough distance that I feel like I can finally breathe without being overheard.
Tristan is silent for a long time, like he’s working himself up to saying something.
“You’re normally the most calm person in a group of people who make their living by being calm in an emergency. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flustered. He means a lot to you, even after all these years?”
I don’t say anything for a while.
“He saved me. Again and again and again. Patrick wasn’t easy for anyone to live with, and I had all this”—I gesture to myself—“going on. I can’t count how many times he took the brunt of Pat’s temper to protect me, and he didn’t owe me shit. We hadn’t grown up together. We only lived together for a few years. He still did it every time. And I paid him back by sneaking out in the middle of the night with Mom and running away. I abandoned him like everybody else does. The least I can do is not let him go into organ failure on my couch.”
I’m interrupted by a faint moan.
Finally.
He’s waking up again. I drop to my knees, turning Tadhg’s face toward me and looking at his eyes to get a read on how alerthe is. As I peel back one eyelid with my thumb, he brings up a hand to weakly swat me away, which is an excellent sign.
There’s a long moment where Tadhg blinks and tries to orient himself, but I don’t say anything. Eventually, when I’m about to burst from impatience, hazel eyes gaze into mine with a surprising amount of lucidity.
“Tadhg?” I prompt, hoping he’s not about to slip back into unconsciousness.
His brow furrows, and his eyes flick from side to side like he’s taking in my face. I’m hovering close enough to probably fill his field of vision. He recognized me last time he woke up, but he was so disoriented it’s possible he doesn’t remember.
“Bambi?” he whispers, still staring at me with that confused expression.
Fuck. Tristan definitely heard that. I can practically feel him smirking behind me.
I can’t help but huff a laugh, anyway. It’s been so freaking long since I’ve heard that name. Tadhg always used to tease me when we were little. I had big eyes and long, skinny limbs that I hadn’t grown into yet, and I was a frightened little kid who probably always looked like I was lost in a forest.
Tadhg pretended it was a mocking nickname. The kind of mean shit that older brothers are supposed to do to their little brothers. But it always felt secretly sweet to me. Especially because he insisted on really treating me like a fragile woodland creature that needed to be fiercely protected, to the detriment of his own safety.
Hearing it now makes my heart swell, even if it is a little embarrassing.
“Yeah,” I whisper, reaching out again to place my palm against his face so I can feel if he’s as clammy as before. “It’s me. Do you remember what happened, or where you are?”
He blinks again, looking around and wincing.
“The courthouse. Those Aryan fucks shot me. Am I dead?” He whips his head to look at me with an alarmed face. “Are you?—?”
“No one’s dead.” I shake my head, using my hand on his face to keep his focus on me so he doesn’t spiral into a panic. “You were badly hurt. Patrick brought you to me to hide out, and I patched you up. Don’t worry. We can figure out the rest later. Right now, you need to rest and heal. I’ll take care of you.”
He watches me with hooded eyes, and every muscle in his face relaxes like I just hit him with a shot of valium. He blinks once in slow motion and nods fractionally.
“Okay, Bambi. Whatever you say.”
His words are starting to slur, but more like he’s exhausted than dysphasic. He turns his face so it’s even more cradled in my hand, with my hand trapped between him and the couch, and I don’t have the heart to move it. I sit quietly for a minute while he closes his eyes again, and eventually his breathing evens out into a deep, healthy rhythm.
He’s still fucked up, but it’s a hell of a lot better than the unconscious, panting, and gray-skinned person they dragged in here a couple of hours ago.
Once I’m sure he’s out, I gently slide my hand out and stand back up. I turn around to face Tristan, expecting him to rib the shit out of me for the stupid nickname.
Instead, he’s watching me with his head cocked and an enigmatic expression on his face.
“What?”
