TITLE: A Shot in the Dark
AUTHOR: TheDreamyOne
EMAIL: sdjollybellsouth.net
ARCHIVE: Fanfiction.net
SUMMARY: Donovan finds support from an unexpected friend after being left for dead.
RATING: R – some sexual content
TYPE: Romance
SPOILERS: none that I know of...
DISCLAIMER: UC:Undercover is the property of NBC (Bastards!) and Shane Salerno, etc. No Infringements intended.
Chapter 1
Caitlin woke from a sound sleep with a start. She glanced at the digital clock beside her bed...1:00 a.m. She wondered what the noise was that woke her. "There it is again," she whispered when she heard a light tapping from the screened porch at the back of her house.
"Probably just the wind," she told herself as she tightened the sash on her light blue terrycloth robe. She padded barefoot down the stairs, through the living room and stopped when she reached the kitchen.
She approached the French doors that led to the screened porch. Nothing appeared to be there, but it was so dark. She could hear the waves as they lapped onto the beach. She loved her house with its secluded, private beach, but there were times she hated living alone, and this was one of them. The noise from outside had stopped. Perhaps it had just been her imagination. At least, that was what she hoped.
Holding her breath, she switched on the outside lights. Nothing was visible, and she released her breath nosily. "Thank God. It was just my imagination."
Caitlin shrugged, "I'm up, might as well enjoy the moonlight." She opened the French doors and proceeded to the screen door that opened to a small path that led onto the beach. She slipped on a pair of sandals that were always by the back door for just this purpose. Never can tell what you might step on in the sand at night.
Caitlin opened the screen door and stepped through the doorway while looking up at the moon and stars above. "What a beautiful night," she sighed, "too bad I'm alone." Then she let out a small cry as she tripped over something and tumbled the short way down the porch stairs.
She thanked God she hadn't been hurt, only a couple of scrapes, but what on earth did she trip over? She pulled herself up onto her knees and could see something lying on the cement, directly in front of the door.
The "something" groaned, and Caitlin's eyes widened in fear. Should she run to the beach and try to get help? It would be difficult; rock jetties on either side of her house cut off her little beach. That's why she loved it so much; she had all the privacy in the world. Which brought her to a question, how did this person get to her back door? There was an eight-foot wooden privacy fence, and the gate was still securely locked. This person must have climbed the slippery and very dangerous rocks of the jetties to get here.
Another moan. What should she do? She quietly regained her feet, and ascended the stairs slowly, keeping a watchful eye on the stranger. She was halfway to the figure, when it moved. She sucked her breath in; "it" was a man. He had rolled onto his back, giving Caitlin a chance to study the features of his face.
His eyes were closed, showing the long, dark lashes that lay on his cheeks. His chiseled cheekbones were high and his nose was straight and long. His hair, black with a touch of gray at the temple, was cropped short. His neatly trimmed moustache and short goatee that covered his chin, framed a pleasantly shaped mouth, with a full lower lip.
She wondered if she had taken leave of her senses, standing there staring at this stranger. Why was he here? Her eyes traveled lower to his upper torso. That was when she noticed the blood on his shoulder. His dark shirt had masked the blood at first glance, but now she could see the slick, wet stain that spread over his chest. What happened to him?
Her eyes resumed their travels and found another wound on his upper thigh.
"Good Lord!" She exclaimed as she kneeled down beside him. She placed a hand to his forehead. He didn't appear to have a fever, but that was the least of his worries.
His eyes fluttered open at the touch of her cool hand on his forehead. He groaned loudly and tried to move, but his body wouldn't respond. Instead, he gazed into her eyes, the plea for help clearly recognizable.
He heard her murmur something about calling an ambulance and getting him to the hospital. He mustered his strength and grasped her wrist, "No doctors..."
"Mister, you will die if I don't call 911," Caitlin argued. "You are losing so much blood."
"No..." He started to drift into unconsciousness, but struggled to open his eyes again. "Promise me, please." His grip had loosened, but moved to her upper arm and his hand rested there gently. His dark eyes mutely pleaded for her silence.
"I must be insane," she said, shaking her head. Something in his eyes made her want to do whatever he asked. But how could she? "I'm no doctor and those are bullet wounds, are they not?" She felt his back behind the shoulder wound, no blood. No exit wound. She found the same with the leg wound. "That means that I will have to remove those bullets, and I'm not sure I can."
But the stranger wasn't listening anymore, he had passed out. Caitlin shook her head again, then stood and propped open the screen door with a nearby chair. She took hold of the man under the arms and began to drag him onto the porch and into the kitchen. He was a tall man and nicely built, she observed, but he was also dead weight. That made him extremely heavy and hard for her slight frame to carry.
She took a deep breath and made their way to the stairs. She paused a short time to catch her breath and tuck her long, blonde hair behind her ears. It was driving her mad, falling in her face while she struggled with her task. She managed to get the stranger upstairs, dragging him the entire way, the heels of his feet banging heavily against the steps. She took him into the guestroom at the top of the stairs and clumsily pulled him up onto the bed.
Caitlin turned him on his back, straightened his legs, and then made sure his head lay comfortable on the pillow. She had to get the bleeding stopped. She left him for a moment to retrieve a length of rope from the utility closet, and on the way back, she stopped to get a pile of clean towels from the linen closet. When she returned, she fashioned a tourniquet with the rope above the wound on his thigh and then applied pressure to the shoulder wound with a thick towel.
She sighed. "I need to get those bullets out and I can't put it off any longer." She looked down at the unconscious man in the guest bed. He was extremely handsome, she had to admit. Dangerous, she reminded herself. What kind of trouble was he in? If he lived through this, would he just turn and kill her to ensure her silence? Well, Caitlin couldn't abandon him, so it was just a chance she would have to take.
She quickly gathered a small, sharp knife, antiseptic, scissors, thread and a needle. She placed the spool of thread, knife and needle into a pot of boiling water to sterilize them as best as she could. When that was done, she returned to the dark stranger.
"I hope you stay unconscious while I do this," she whispered. Taking the scissors, she gently cut along the seams on both sides of his shirt, which was a black turtleneck. Cutting it from his body was the easiest way to remove it without causing him more pain. When the cutting was done, she gently removed the shirt from his chest, taking note of the firm, taut muscles of his chest and arms. "Get on with it," she admonished herself, but still couldn't stop herself from running a hand over his smooth chest. She gently pulled him up to remove the other half of the shirt from underneath him.
His skin color was dark in contrast with her milky white skin. It was a distinction she rather liked and she wondered about his ethnic background. He had an accent when he spoke, but she wasn't sure of its origin.
Caitlin cleaned the shoulder wound and surrounding area. The bullet left the wound blackened around the edges. She prayed it wasn't too deep, and eased the tip of the knife into the opening and probed gently.
"Thank God!" She cried when she hit metal after delving less than an inch. Caitlin glanced quickly at the stranger's face, his eye's still closed. She slid the tip of the knife around and under the bullet and gave a quick flick of her wrist. She was thrilled when the bullet landed with a thud on the floor. She applied more pressure to the wound, which was now bleeding again. After dousing it with antiseptic, she decided not to stitch the wound. Instead, she pulled the wound together, and fastened butterfly Band-Aids to secure it. She taped the edges of the Band-Aids secure, then covered it with gauze, which she also taped down.
"Now for the other," Caitlin told herself. She removed the tourniquet, thankful that the bleeding had stopped. She bit her bottom lip, she had quite a dilemma. The bullet had penetrated the inside of his upper thigh. She would have to remove his jeans to get to it. Maybe she should just cut the pant leg away. No, that wouldn't work. She would just have to take the jeans off.
Caitlin frowned, noting the button fly of his jeans. She steeled herself and began unbuttoning his jeans. Her eyes flew to his face when she heard him moan, but he was still unconscious. She felt flushed, her knuckles grazing over his maleness, exceedingly uncomfortable with her task. Finally, the jeans were unbuttoned. As gently as she could, she slid the jeans from his hips and down his legs until she could free his legs from them completely.
She knelt beside the bed near his thighs. The bullet was lodged in his left leg. She repeated the process of cleaning and probing the wound, just as she did with the shoulder wound. But due to the proximity of the wound to the juncture of his thighs, it was impossible for her to work on the wound, without bumping or nudging that oh-so-male part of him. At least he wore cotton briefs, but the material hardly kept her imagination in check. Trying to focus herself on the task, she laid a towel over her distraction, then continued to probe for the bullet.
It was lodged a little deeper than the first bullet, and it took more effort to remove it, but she finally worked it to the surface where she could remove it with her fingers. She cleaned the wound with antiseptic, but this one would require stitches. She shuddered at the thought of sewing skin together.
"For heaven's sake, Caitlin, you just dug two bullets out of him. Could stitching a wound be that much worse?" Yet, even as she talked to herself, the bile rose in her throat. Holding it back, she threaded the thick needle, and made quick work of stitching the wound closed. When finished, she cleaned the wound again, and covered it with a bandage.