The doors to the clubhouse swung open with a bang, shouting men with varying amounts of dried blood pouring in. Hang-arounds quickly gave the men room, scattering to corners and pouring out drinks; the croweaters immediately starting to coo over the returning Sons. Supported between two of his brothers, Tig cradled his left arm, trying to keep the shoulder as steady as possible as he was led into the clubhouse. Opie, on his left, was keeping pressure on the wound with his shirt, while Kozik supported Tig's weight on his right.
"Tara's on her way, man, hang on," Jax promised from the other end of the bar, flipping his cell phone shut and throwing open the chapel doors for them.
"Tell her to hurry the fuck up," Tig complained as he was led in, unleashing a stream of curses as he was eased into a chair. "Shit hurts like a motherfucker."
"It's not like you're dying," Kozik grumbled, then grunted when Tig gave him a weak kick on the leg.
"Hey, man, I got shot for you, so a little sympathy would be great," he snarled as Kozik flipped him off and left the chapel, closing the doors behind him.
"Rough luck, brother," Opie said, standing behind him, lifting the shirt up slightly to check the wound then returning the pressure.
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, taking a shot from Kozik's outstretched hand as he entered the room again. "Just leave the bottle," he ordered, and managed to pour himself another shot one-handed.
When Kozik left, Tig could hear the clubhouse behind him settling down, and focused on his breathing. It felt like someone was sitting on his chest, keeping him from breathing too deep, but the pain wasn't excruciating. His shoulder felt like it was three sizes too small, but everywhere else was alright; the adrenaline sweats were fucking with him, though. He felt too cold and too hot at the same time, real shaky. He had no idea how long passed before he heard Tara come in the clubhouse, and grunted when Opie clapped him on the good shoulder.
"Do I even want to know what happened?" Tara asked as she came in, taking over from Opie. Tig opened his eyes, watching Tara frown as she started working.
"I got shot," he supplied, then turned his head when he heard a giggle. He hadn't noticed another woman come in after Tara, but she was quickly clearing the ashtrays and bottles from the table, ripping open a blue sterile surgical sheet and laying it flat.
"You don't say," Tara mumbled as she dexterously cut away Tig's shirt. He watched as the other woman swabbed his elbow, quickly giving him a shot of something. Pain killers, he hoped. "Normally I get a girl's name before I let her stick anything in me," he supplied, watching with detached curiosity as she depressed the plunger on the vial.
"I'm Scarlett," she supplied, giving him an amused smile. "Tara's intern at St Thomas."
"Lay down on the table," Tara ordered, obviously focused on the task at hand. Scarlett moved to the other side, quickly pulling on gloves and handing a pair to Tara. As Tig lay flat, staring vacantly at the ceiling, the overhead light shone directly in his eyes. He couldn't tell which woman was which as they leaned over him, silhouetted. He let their muttering to each other fade into the background, feeling the meds start to kick in. He hung somewhere in-between waking and sleeping, the pressure in his shoulder fading to background noise. The only profound thought that crossed his mind was that he wanted a baconater from Wendy's.
"The bullet's out, and there don't seem to be any bone chips. It was just sitting in the muscle," Tara told him, bringing him back to reality.
"Cool. Can someone get me some Wendy's?" Tig said, while Tara and Scarlett traded looks.
"Go bring that to Jax and see if it's complete. We need to make sure it didn't fracture before we close him. He's the blonde one right outside," Tara ordered, ignoring Tig's request. As Scarlett stood, holding the bullet in her gloved hand, Tig shouted "WENDY'S!" after her as loud as he could muster.
Pushing out into the clubhouse, Scarlett saw several men in leather cuts stand and move towards her.
"Is he gonna be alright?" The closest one said, a tall, brawny blonde, looming over her and staring intensely.
"You're Jax?" She asked, instead of answering his question. At his nod, she thrust the bullet towards him, and said "Can you tell me if that's whole?" He picked it up and turned it briefly, then nodded.
She breathed a short sigh of relief, turning to go back in. "Then yeah, he'll be fine," she supplied, already pushing through the doors. When the man whose shoulder she had just been carving into squawked at her as she came in, she turned to poke her head back through the door. At the men's sudden worried looks, she nervously supplied, "Um. He wants a Baconater? From Wendy's?"
There was a collective sigh of relief, followed by a lean guy with scruffy blonde hair scrambling up to go.
Several minutes later, while Tara was stitching the entry wound closed, Scarlett brought the tools out to be cleaned. None of the men made any motion to say anything to her, which suited her just fine. She dumped the tools in the sink behind the bar, stripping off her gloves and tossing them in the trash can. She took time scrubbing her forearms, taking care to wash all of the blood off, before trying to disinfect the forceps and scalpels as best she could in the grotty sink. She didn't look up as Tig came back into the room to cheers and taunts, graciously accepting his fast food and sitting down to devour it.
When Tara called her over softly, she looked up to see her standing with the man named Jax at the end of the bar. That's her husband, she realized, amused at the odd pairing. She shook her hands off in the sink, then, not seeing paper towels or a dishcloth she trusted to be clean, she wiped her hands off on her jeans as she walked over. Tara's brow was furrowed, but she was more or less permanently stressed so Scarlett wasn't concerned. What worried her was Jax's expression, which was dark and flat. She didn't know these men personally, but she knew who they were and their reputation. If Tara wasn't there as a buffer, she just might have peed her pants.
Then again, she did just pull a bullet out of one of them. She ambled over, giving Jax a small smile as Tara introduced her.
"This is Scarlett Boothe, an intern at the hospital," Tara said. Jax didn't offer a hand, but looked her over. "I needed a second set of hands, and she works doing triage. I trust her," she added, and that seemed to win Jax over.
"We all appreciate that you helped Tig," Jax said, and Tara put a soft hand on her shoulder. Scarlett gave her a small smile, thankful for the reassurance.
"It's no problem," she said, saying what she thought she was supposed to say. She wasn't one of them, and she knew it made them uncomfortable. She was getting a lot of glances, none of them hostile, but the environment was enough to put her on edge—and she lived in downtown Oakland. "I'd do the same for anyone."
"We need to get back to the hospital," Tara said softly, checking her watch. Scarlett nodded, going to pick up the tools and dispose of the surgical sheet still in the chapel. On her way out, carrying the emergency kit she had brought, she passed Tig, who was now sitting with a slutty-looking blonde on his knee.
"Thanks, doll," he drawled, giving her a wink.
"Anytime, doll," she answered, mimicking his drawl and wink. That made the guys around him laugh, but she was out the doors with Tara, heading back to the real world.
"That was weird as shit," she confessed to Tara, once they were in the car. Tara laughed, glancing over at her. "They are," she agreed. "But hopefully you won't have to get involved with them again."
Scarlett offered up a shrug. "We helped them, didn't we?" she asked.
"We did," Tara confirmed, her customary frown coming back. "But sometimes that's all it takes."
