Act Two, Scene Two
There was a light knock on the door and they turned to find Lula standing there with damp eyes and wet hands.
"The bath's ready" she said, unusually subdued, "And Jack brought up the first aid kit, too".
"Thanks, Lula" Dylan replied quietly, before turning back to Merritt, "Can you help me pick him up?"
The mentalist studied him briefly before giving a single nod, clearly having seen enough in his expression to not question why he shouldn't carry Danny himself.
Between the two of them, they managed to move the unresponsive boy just enough so Dylan could get his arms beneath his knees and shoulders. His bad shoulder was on the inside, blood immediately seeping through Rhodes' own shirt, but he found that he couldn't care less as he carried Danny in a bridal hold to the bathroom. He was lighter than he'd thought he'd be, lighter than he should be, and Dylan carefully stored that information away for later.
A steaming bathtub awaited them, along with a stony-faced Lula and a nervously fidgeting Jack. He immediately looked up as Dylan awkwardly shuffled through the doorway, careful not to jostle his patient too much.
"You need any help?"
"No, I've got him" he replied, "You found the first aid kit?"
He gestured at the counter opposite where the large red bag sat opened but otherwise untouched.
"Thanks, Jack".
Now that he was here, he faced a dilemma. He had to admit that an extra set of hands would be a major help when it came to stitching him up, but Dylan also knew full well that Danny would be mortified that even one of them had seen him at his most vulnerable.
Merritt darkened the doorway, his own hands and jacket just as red as the drops on the old wooden floor.
But since it was only one extra set of hands that he needed…
"Lula?"
"On it".
She brusquely shoved Jack towards the door, "You two. Out".
"What? No! We-"
"You heard the lady" Dylan said, turning to face the bathtub and calculating the best way to do this.
"But why does she get to stay?" he protested, even as Lula pushed him out of the room.
"Because she already has a boyfriend, sweetie".
She blew him a kiss, winked, and then promptly slammed the door in his face.
Turning back to face him, Dylan suddenly realised that this was the most no-nonsense that he had ever seen her.
"Okay. What can I do?"
"We need to get him out of these clothes" Dylan explained, "But I don't want to put him down yet 'cause currently the bleeding's minimised. Think you can help?"
"'Course" she replied, reaching for the scissors in the first aid kit, "His shirt will have to be cut, right?"
Nodding, he leant back against the wall to help steady himself with Danny's added weight.
"Let's hope he wasn't too fond of it".
After a few minutes with only the sound of tearing fabric to break the silence, Lula carefully peeled the last of the shirt from his shoulder. And then, with a surprising lack of embarrassment, her hands went to Danny's belt.
Unbuckling it with a flourish, she pulled it through the belt loops and then undid the button on his jeans. With a smirk, she pulled down the zipper and then glanced up at Dylan.
"You know, I gotta say, boss, I never thought I'd be undressing another man with you".
He gave a startled laugh.
"The sentiment's mutual, I assure you".
"Not into men?"
"Not into women" he corrected, "No offence".
"None taken" she smiled, tugging at the jeans, "I know that Jack's straight, and I'm not even sure if I want to know what Merritt's into, but you and Atlas… I don't know. You're closed books. I was just curious, I guess".
"Well, now you know. For one of us, at least".
Glancing down at Danny, he briefly wondered what he was 'into' himself. The boy's head was leaning against his shoulder, warm breath brushing across his neck every few seconds. Despite only being an inch shorter, he was far skinnier than Dylan, and more gangly too, all long limbs and awkward posture. He would be great at cuddling.
He wondered if Henley had thought so, too.
Despite the fact that he'd never actually seen them together, there was always something there, or at least, there had been, before she'd left. And, as ridiculous as it was, Dylan had almost been… grateful that she decided to get out when she had. Danny was a different person around Henley, and not one that the rest of the team particularly liked. He deserved someone better, someone who would accept his faults and not try to change him, someone like…
He felt eyes on him and belatedly realised that he'd been staring at Danny for just a touch longer than what was strictly appropriate.
Clearing his throat, Dylan turned back only to find Lula giving him a considering look.
"What?" he asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing" she replied innocently, before giving one final tug and looking down, "Huh… You know, I always pictured him as more of a tighty-whitey type guy".
"Lula!"
"What?" she protested, "Merritt may be 'David' from the neck down, but Danny's got the whole package. Don't tell me that you haven't thought about it!"
He very pointedly did not blush at the accusation.
"You have a boyfriend".
"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate fine art" she winked, "Especially when it's put right in front of me".
Dylan took a deep breath and willed himself not to glance down.
"Any chance you could finish this today? My arms are getting tired".
She gave a salacious smirk.
"Gladly".
With another tug and some confusing manoeuvring, Danny was officially naked in his arms and Dylan tried very hard not to think about that little fact as he awkwardly lowered him into the bathtub.
Straightening up, he rolled stiff shoulders and took out what he needed from the first aid kit before turning back. Lula was still where he'd left her, blatantly staring at Danny, his boxer briefs still in her hands, but all traces of good humour and teasing were long gone from her expression.
It didn't take a mentalist to figure out why.
Danny was lying in water that was already clouded red. The bruises from the thug's beating had fully blossomed by now, even though Macau felt like a lifetime ago, and his chest and abdomen were painted black and blue, some bruises already turning purple and green, while a few were still an angry red. Dylan really didn't like how he could see ribs shift underneath damaged skin with every single breath, like broken keys on a well-loved piano. There were more bruises around his arms from where Tressler and Walter's men had grabbed him, and his wrists were a mass of rope burn and paper thin cuts. He'd tied a bandage around his injured ankle at one point, but by now it was grey and torn and mud-splashed and the cuts beneath it were an angry red. Beneath the blood, the bruises, and the burns, Dylan could make out other scars too, most of which had the silvery sheen of years old wounds, but a few that were still a newer shade of pink. Between all of that, the split lip and bruises on his face, not to mind the actual bullet wound in his shoulder, Danny looked…
Well.
Almost like a corpse.
"Why didn't he tell us?" Lula asked suddenly.
Dylan merely shook his head.
"I've been asking myself the same thing since we found him".
Taking a deep breath, he made sure that his sleeves were securely rolled up, grabbed a pair of surgical gloves, a suture kit, alcohol prep wipes, and a pack of gauze, and then sat down on the edge of the bathtub.
"Right" he said, "Let's get to work".
Twenty minutes later, he pulled off the latex gloves and ran the back of his hand over his forehead. The thick black stitches looked like spider legs, spindling out from the boy's shoulder, even as Lula dutifully washed away the last of the blood and applied the gauze pad as instructed. Reaching over for the medical tape, she held the wrapping in place for him as he secured the edges of the dressing.
"Well, at least that's one thing done," Dylan said, leaning back.
Lula nodded, straightening up. She had long since removed the fluffy socks she'd pulled out from who knows where, and was now sitting on the other side of the old bathtub, jeans rolled up and knee deep in the lukewarm red water.
Danny still hadn't moved, but his breathing had evened out and his pulse was no longer erratic, so Dylan felt like it was safe to say that they were out of the danger zone.
While he'd been stitching, Lula had kept herself busy by washing the last remnants of the South China Sea from his hair, and he'd spent longer than what would be considered appropriate wondering what it'd be like to run his own fingers through those shorn locks, and if maybe Danny would grow out his boyish curls again, now that the show was over.
"What's left?" Lula asked, drawing him from poorly timed thoughts.
Dylan sighed, "Well, the gunshot wound was obviously the most critical, but I still need to check if he's got any broken ribs or internal bleeding from Walter's men. I don't like the look of that bruising on his chest".
She nodded once more and stood up, gracefully stepping over Danny's legs and out of the bath without slipping.
"Will I pull the plug then?"
"Please".
Tossing the gloves in the trash, he carefully packed away the curved needle and nylon thread before gathering some antibiotic cream and bandages from the first aid bag, and zipping it up.
When he turned back, Lula had drained the red water from the bath, although it still needed a serious wash down, and had thankfully wrapped a towel around Danny's waist, preserving at least some of his modesty even if she had blatantly ogled him earlier on.
Or maybe it was just for the sake of Dylan's blood pressure.
The boy's skin was thankfully blood free, the white square of gauze on his shoulder deceptively small for such an alarming wound. Dylan grimaced as he remembered that a lot of that blood was now on his own shirt, and it was starting to dry uncomfortably, forming red flakes that cracked off with every movement.
Oh, what the hell.
Glancing over at Lula, he gestured somewhat awkwardly at his button-down.
"Do you mind?"
"Not even the slightest littlest bit at all".
He raised a solitary eyebrow at her but she stared back, completely unashamed.
"I can still appreciate".
Rolling his eyes, he unbuttoned it with nimble fingers before shrugging it off, leaving him in the simple vest underneath. Lula gave a disappointed grumble when she realised that he wouldn't be completely shirtless, but he ignored her subsequent wolf whistles with a dawning realisation that it'd likely be a common occurrence from now on. His white undershirt was also stained red, though not half as bad as his shirt, and he decided that it was good enough to last until he could have a proper shower later on.
Returning to the bathtub, he managed to get an arm underneath Danny's knees and around his shoulders, and then, with a little help from Lula, he was carrying him once more.
"I'll get the door".
Nodding in thanks, and careful not to jostle the boy too much, he managed to leave the bathroom with relatively few bumps and bruises. He headed for Danny's room, the memory of blood-stained sheets only kicking in once he was at the doorway. Thankfully, however, one of the other two had the foresight to change the covers, and under closer inspection, he realised that the blood on the old wooden floors had been cleaned up too. Someone had even left a glass of water on the bedside table.
At least they'd kept themselves busy.
Slowly lowering Danny to the bed, he turned to call out for Lula to bring in the medical supplies he'd forgotten, but she was already two steps ahead.
He gave a sheepish smile as she tossed the roll of bandages at him.
"Thanks".
"No problemo. bosso" she sat down next to Danny's legs, "So, what are we doing?"
He cast a critical eye over the unconscious form next to them, from the bruises on his arms and chest to the shallower cuts further down.
"… Think you can disinfect his wrists while I deal with those cuts on his ankle?"
They worked in silence once more, these wounds a lot less life-threatening than the gunshot, no matter how much they bled, and at the end of it all, they even managed to wrestle him into a pair of sweatpants that Lula said she'd found in the wardrobe of her's and Jack's room. Then finally, finally, after half a reel of medical tape and a shot of morphine later, they were done.
Staring down at Danny's sleeping form, Dylan couldn't fight back the small smile that rose to his face at the sight. They'd pulled the blankets over him, and tucked the quilt up to his shoulders, and without all the scrapes and bruises and startling white bandages visible, he looked almost… peaceful.
If they ignored the superficial damage to his face, that was.
"Shouldn't he have woken up by now?"
Glancing over, he found Lula gnawing on her bottom lip in worry.
"If it were any other day, then sure" he replied easily, "Based on the exhaustion he was showing earlier however… I think his body just collapsed. He'll be okay, eventually. He just needs to sleep".
"As do you".
He shook his head.
"I'm not leaving him".
"I'm not asking you to".
Frowning, Dylan turned just in time to get a pillow to the face.
Startled, he automatically caught it before it fell, but then stared down at it unsurely.
"It's a big bed" she shrugged, "Go wild and sleep next to him or whatever".
"I can't-"
"Sure you can".
Lula patted him on the shoulder like that was that.
"Well, it's been fun stitching up naked guys with you, boss, but let's never do it again".
He blinked.
"… Agreed".
She gave him one last smile before heading for the door.
"Shout if you need anything. I'll inform the guys, tell them what's happening, so we better not see hide nor tail or you until tomorrow afternoon. Capiche?"
Lula shut the door before he could answer.
He really had chosen well.
Sighing, he glanced back at the pillow in his hands, before dropping it on the floor next to the bed and sitting down. Leaning back against the bedside table, he rolled his head to the side to look at Danny.
He continued to be unnaturally still, or at least, unnaturally still for him, and his skin was just a touch paler than it should be, too. But his wounds were stitched and bandaged, asides from bruised ribs he hadn't any internal injuries that Dylan could find, and the small cuts and burns were already starting to heal. Aside from all that, however…
Do you trust me?
Why would you ask me that?
That's all I can give you right now.
It won't affect the show.
We have to do this.
One more show and… and then we're safe.
Dylan ran a tired hand over exhausted eyes.
"Where the hell did I go wrong with you, kid?"
He wasn't expecting an answer and therefore wasn't surprised when none came. Instead, he continued to stare at a split lip, a bruised cheekbone, and unfairly long eyelashes as Danny's chest slowly rose and fell with every breath until Dylan's own breathing started to slow as well, and he fell into a troubled sleep.