Disclaimer: Hasn't changed. I have bad luck when it comes to owning
things. *Sighs*
"What's your name?"
"Sheldon Sands."
"What do you do?"
"Ouch! Uh...I work with the CIA."
"Very Nice."
This had been going on for a half hour, Trillian was asking basic, pointless questions, and Sands would answer them. Apparently it took his mind off the pain she was inflicting with the tweezers.
"Last one..." She said, concentrating on it closely.
"You said that bout the last one." Sands groaned, flinching.
"Yeah, well, you can't see it, so I figured I can tell you whatever I want you to believe." Trillian said, wiping the wound with the peroxided cotton.
"Just because I can't see, doesn't mean you can treat me like some goddamn–ow!" Sands exclaimed, unable to finish his sentence before the stinging in his arm...alias the bullet being pried out.
"All done." She chirped, wrapping his upper arm in gauze. She stepped back to look at him, and couldn't help but giggle.
"What?" Sands asked, confused.
"You look like a mummy." She explained, a smile on her face.
Sands didn't move, but looked overall grumpier than usual.
Trillian sighed, but backed down.
"I have to clean up your face a little." She said, a little uncertainly.
"No." Sands said flatly.
"You can't just run around, looking like that. I'll do it while you sleep if I have to. So I suggest, for the benefit of both of us, that you shut up, and don't move." Trillian said, aggravated.
There was really no way out of it. If Sands made a break for it, there was only so long until he ran into something and she caught him. And then, she would do it anyway. So, Sands agreed, hesitantly, and Trillian grimaced as she set to work.
Due to Sands' constant backing away, complaining about it being 'too damn cold', and Trillian's own nerves, it took longer than she hoped.
"Done." Trillian said finally, flinging the bloody towel into the crash can. She stood up and went to the sink to wash her hands.
"Good. Now go away." Sands said, standing up and hobbling out of the bathroom, using his hands for guidance.
"Why are you limping?" Trillian called after him, sticking her head out of the bathroom.
"I don't know, Maybe it's cuz I got three rounds of ammo in my fucking kneecap!" He snarled, his voice fading deeper into the house.
Trillian bit her lip, a little hurt that he was being so bitter.
"I can fix that!" She shouted, dashing after him with the tweezers.
She found him on the deck, sprawled out in the same lawn chair as before,
"I know you aren't sleeping, Sands." Trillian said, kicking his foot.
He didn't respond, or move, for that matter.
She sat down next to him, wondering if he was really asleep.
The phone rang from the kitchen, and Trillian left Sands on the porch.
"Hello?" Trillian said, glancing out the open sliding glass door.
'It's Mona. Sorry I missed you last night, I stayed at Syd's house with the kids.'
"No problem. Do you know when you'll get back?" Trillian asked.
'No, sometime tonight. I can leave the kids here, if you think they'll bother you.'
"Yeah, do that. Thanks again, Mona." She said.
'No problem. Oh, and is this "friend" of yours of the male variety?' Her sister asked, giggling.
"Shut up. I have to go." Trillian said, hanging up.
She headed back out to the patio, sitting next to Sands.
"Wake up." She ordered, narrowing her eyes.
"What do you want?" Sands demanded, moving his hands behind his head.
"To take care of your leg." She said blankly.
"Can you do it here? I–I don't want to walk anymore." Sands said, his voice containing a hint of...pleading? Was he pleading with her?
"Yeah. Hang on, I'm going to get scissors."
"Scissors? For what?" Sands asked, a little nervous.
"Your pants. I can't work through them, you know." She snapped, standing up and heading to the kitchen. Sands sighed. He was in extreme pain, and had nothing to dull it.
"Bring me a tequila!" He shouted into the kitchen.
Trillian raised an eyebrow and looked in the cabinets under the counters. There was a lone bottle of tequila sitting there, and Trillian couldn't help but think that it was set there for a reason.
"Yeah, okay." She called back, pulling it out. She brought the scissors and tequila back out to his little chair and handed him the bottle. He uncorked it with his teeth, spat the cork to the side, and swigged the booze.
"Easy there, tiger." She said, cutting the cloth away from his knee.
"Don't tell me what to do." Sands ordered, his speech slurred from the alcohol.
"Alright, sorry." Trillian said, a smile on her face.
It went well. In two minutes, the bullets were out, and so was Sands. He snored softly form his position on the chair. Trillian took the tequila from his tightly-clenched hand and poured a little on the wound to disinfect. It sizzled and she flinched, trying not to listen.
She dragged his chair under the shaded area of the deck to protect him from the sun, and went inside to make lunch.
"What's your name?"
"Sheldon Sands."
"What do you do?"
"Ouch! Uh...I work with the CIA."
"Very Nice."
This had been going on for a half hour, Trillian was asking basic, pointless questions, and Sands would answer them. Apparently it took his mind off the pain she was inflicting with the tweezers.
"Last one..." She said, concentrating on it closely.
"You said that bout the last one." Sands groaned, flinching.
"Yeah, well, you can't see it, so I figured I can tell you whatever I want you to believe." Trillian said, wiping the wound with the peroxided cotton.
"Just because I can't see, doesn't mean you can treat me like some goddamn–ow!" Sands exclaimed, unable to finish his sentence before the stinging in his arm...alias the bullet being pried out.
"All done." She chirped, wrapping his upper arm in gauze. She stepped back to look at him, and couldn't help but giggle.
"What?" Sands asked, confused.
"You look like a mummy." She explained, a smile on her face.
Sands didn't move, but looked overall grumpier than usual.
Trillian sighed, but backed down.
"I have to clean up your face a little." She said, a little uncertainly.
"No." Sands said flatly.
"You can't just run around, looking like that. I'll do it while you sleep if I have to. So I suggest, for the benefit of both of us, that you shut up, and don't move." Trillian said, aggravated.
There was really no way out of it. If Sands made a break for it, there was only so long until he ran into something and she caught him. And then, she would do it anyway. So, Sands agreed, hesitantly, and Trillian grimaced as she set to work.
Due to Sands' constant backing away, complaining about it being 'too damn cold', and Trillian's own nerves, it took longer than she hoped.
"Done." Trillian said finally, flinging the bloody towel into the crash can. She stood up and went to the sink to wash her hands.
"Good. Now go away." Sands said, standing up and hobbling out of the bathroom, using his hands for guidance.
"Why are you limping?" Trillian called after him, sticking her head out of the bathroom.
"I don't know, Maybe it's cuz I got three rounds of ammo in my fucking kneecap!" He snarled, his voice fading deeper into the house.
Trillian bit her lip, a little hurt that he was being so bitter.
"I can fix that!" She shouted, dashing after him with the tweezers.
She found him on the deck, sprawled out in the same lawn chair as before,
"I know you aren't sleeping, Sands." Trillian said, kicking his foot.
He didn't respond, or move, for that matter.
She sat down next to him, wondering if he was really asleep.
The phone rang from the kitchen, and Trillian left Sands on the porch.
"Hello?" Trillian said, glancing out the open sliding glass door.
'It's Mona. Sorry I missed you last night, I stayed at Syd's house with the kids.'
"No problem. Do you know when you'll get back?" Trillian asked.
'No, sometime tonight. I can leave the kids here, if you think they'll bother you.'
"Yeah, do that. Thanks again, Mona." She said.
'No problem. Oh, and is this "friend" of yours of the male variety?' Her sister asked, giggling.
"Shut up. I have to go." Trillian said, hanging up.
She headed back out to the patio, sitting next to Sands.
"Wake up." She ordered, narrowing her eyes.
"What do you want?" Sands demanded, moving his hands behind his head.
"To take care of your leg." She said blankly.
"Can you do it here? I–I don't want to walk anymore." Sands said, his voice containing a hint of...pleading? Was he pleading with her?
"Yeah. Hang on, I'm going to get scissors."
"Scissors? For what?" Sands asked, a little nervous.
"Your pants. I can't work through them, you know." She snapped, standing up and heading to the kitchen. Sands sighed. He was in extreme pain, and had nothing to dull it.
"Bring me a tequila!" He shouted into the kitchen.
Trillian raised an eyebrow and looked in the cabinets under the counters. There was a lone bottle of tequila sitting there, and Trillian couldn't help but think that it was set there for a reason.
"Yeah, okay." She called back, pulling it out. She brought the scissors and tequila back out to his little chair and handed him the bottle. He uncorked it with his teeth, spat the cork to the side, and swigged the booze.
"Easy there, tiger." She said, cutting the cloth away from his knee.
"Don't tell me what to do." Sands ordered, his speech slurred from the alcohol.
"Alright, sorry." Trillian said, a smile on her face.
It went well. In two minutes, the bullets were out, and so was Sands. He snored softly form his position on the chair. Trillian took the tequila from his tightly-clenched hand and poured a little on the wound to disinfect. It sizzled and she flinched, trying not to listen.
She dragged his chair under the shaded area of the deck to protect him from the sun, and went inside to make lunch.