First Aid
Mike's had a bad morning already. And things aren't looking up when Jakes follows him into the house grinning like an idiot. It wasn't that funny.
A heavy hand thumps his back, and he holds his wrist tighter to his chest. "I'm telling you, Levi," Jakes repeats. "You can't baby it. Start using it again and it will good as new."
"That's terrible advice," Charlie says from behind the newspaper. "Whatever you do, don't listen to it."
He nods and holds up his injured wrist, using the other hand to support it. Charlie breathes sharply. "What happened?"
Jakes snorts. "Mikey got beat up by a bird."
Technically, the seagull never touched him. But it swooped low enough beside him to make him jerk to left, go tumbling off his board, and land awkwardly on his wrist. Of course, Jakes was on the beach to witness the whole thing, making it the most embarrassing thing to happen to him that week.
To her credit, Charlie doesn't ask questions. She calls him over to the bench and takes his wrist in her hands, twisting and stretching it until she makes a conclusion.
"You'll live, I think," she says winking. "DJ, are you gonna get us an ACE bandage or have you taken a vow to be completely unhelpful this morning?"
"I'm always helpful," he disagrees, handing it nicely to her instead of tossing it (because it's Charlie). "Who do you think fished him out of the Pacific?"
Yeah. Jakes grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and hauling him to his feet while he splutters and coughs up salt water. The second most embarrassing thing to happen to him this week.
Charlie wraps his wrist neatly, before patting him on the back and getting to her feet. "Rest that," she says sternly. "And I don't trust you, so I'm going to get your squeezy thing."
"It's actually a hand strength-"
"Doesn't matter," Jakes says, munching on a pack of crackers. "It's Charlie's now."
"Paige."
She slides away from him and nearly falls off the back of the counter. There's a dishtowel pressed tightly to her forehead, and when he tries to move it, she squirms and holds tighter. Paul sighs, starting to feel frustrated with the whole situation. "I can't help if you won't let me see it."
"It's fine!" Paige snaps. Blood trickles down the side of her face.
Just as he begins to entertain the notion of either pinning her down or leaving her to bleed out while he catches a few relaxing waves, Charlie enters looking suspicious. "What's going on in here? Jakes says there's blood in the kitchen."
"Perp knocked her feet out from under her and she hit her head," he explains, making one final grab for the towel that Paige dodges with ease. "She won't hold still and let me look at it."
"Course not," Charlie says sharply. "Let's bang you on the forehead, see how cooperative you are."
She shoos Briggs out of the way, gently pulling the towel away and examining the injury for herself. Charlie hisses in sympathy. "Ow."
Paul takes that as his cue to run and grab the first aid kit. When he returns, Paige is leaning back over the sink, letting Charlie flush some of the blood off the gash with a mug and her cupped hands. Once, it's clean, they can see the dark, swelling bump under the cut.
"We might have to go-" He takes the hint and shuts up when Charlie steps on his foot, glaring. Paige is notoriously skittish about hospitals. Someone lost a tooth during the great appendicitis incident of 2011.
Finally, when the butterfly bandage is applied and covered with gauze, it looks like the bleeding has been stopped. Paige goes on her merry way, with instructions to wash the red stain out of her hair as carefully as she can.
"I had it handled," Paul complains when Charlie looks at him, suppressing a laugh.
"Yeah, what were you gonna do? Tape the towel to her head and hope for the best?"
He sort of wishes he'd thought of that
A shadow blocks her sunlight, leaving a spot on her stomach uncomfortably cool. One eye opens wide enough to make sure no one is about to kill her before lolling closed.
"Agent Warren."
A sigh and some shuffling in the sand. "You remember when you said if we kept playing football in the house someone was going to get hurt?"
Both eyes open. "Yes…"
Mike rubs a hand across the back of his neck. "Someone got hurt."
Charlie takes a deep breath and flips her sunglasses to the top of her head. She marches back towards the house, waving a hand behind her to prod Mike into picking up her chair and beach bag.
In the living room, Paige is straddling Johnny's lap, holding a bag of mixed vegetables to his injured eye with both hands. She's looking around the room with a panicked grimace on her face, which relaxes in relief when she sees that Mike brought back up.
"I don't know first aid," she admits, lifting the edge of the bag to peer at the injury underneath. "Is it okay that these are thawed?"
She gets a glimpse of the damage done to his eye and slams the bag back down a little too roughly. Johnny howls.
"Okay, okay." Gently, Charlie tugs her off Johnny's lap and nudges her to the side. "Thank you, nurse Paige. I think that's about all the first aid we can stand for the day."
Prodding fingers along the line of his cheekbone confirm that there's no break. Just a nasty black eye with a cheek to match.
"What did they do to you, huh?" she asks.
When she said someone was going to get hurt, she kind of assumed she'd be the one doing it.
—
She's stepped on a broken beer bottle on her way home, which is a shitty way to end a shittier night. The cut, on top of the blisters left by the shoes that are dangling from her hand, has her limping into the kitchen with a scowl on her face.
"Nice night, Chuck?" Paul asks from the table, where he's sitting with the rest of the house. Charlie suppresses a growl and hops up on a barstool to inspect her foot. The cut is wide and deep, contaminated with sand and dirt. She grabs the bottle of antiseptic to clean it out.
The others are watching from the table, but no one has jumped up to help. She doesn't blame them, knowing that she'd send them straight back anyway.
"Needs stitches," she mumbles when Paige asks how bad it is.
Paul nods and hops up, climbing over housemates to get to his car keys. "I'll drive you."
"Drive me where?" she asks, cutting off a length of surgical thread.
"Wait, are you-"
"Charlie!"
"Ugh!"
Just as she touches the needle to her skin, Paige, Mike and Johnny flee from the room in varying states of distress.
"You traumatized them," Jakes says, sounding oddly protective. He follows them into the living room, looking back at her like she's offended him on a personal level.
Paul is staring at her, looking kind of sick. "You need any help?"
"No," she says, snatching the beer out of his hand and taking a swig before getting to work.
"There's something really wrong with you, Charlie." Paul kisses the top of her head and turns to leave too. "I like it, but there's something really wrong."
Funny, she was starting to think the same thing about everyone else.