* 2022-09-30

As something was up with the fanfiction site, I couldn't tell if anyone enjoyed or even saw the story. So thank you to those awesome people who commented, faved, and followed because I was really worried that the premise of the story and the intro wouldn't catch!

Also, sorry that this chapter is a little short. But since Fiona hit us, my writing time was cut short. Hope you guys are all okay after the last two hurricanes.

On another note, since I don't have a beta reader or anyone really proofreading my writing, I just wanted to ask two very simple questions:

Are my sentences too long and complicated to read?

Would you enjoy the stories more if they were written in the present tense?

Anyways, enough about grammar. Hope you enjoy this next chapter!

I'm trying hard to keep this PG16 but be warned that my stories contain mature subjects. There is graphic violence, coarse language, sexual situations, and triggers as my characters deal with emotional, physical, or mental traumas.

Occupational Hazards

Chapter 02

It was official. Someone had a death wish! Nope; make that plural! What did a girl have to do to get some peace and quiet to simply nap? Whom did she have to kill? Because hell and damnation, right now she felt like a fucking grizzly waking after months of hibernation. She hadn't eaten anything but fruits in the last seventy-two hours or slept much! And just when she finally relaxed, a crowd of idiots thought it was go-time for spats.

Forcing one eyelid, then the other to open, the dual reflection of the setting sun over a clear pristine lake blinded her momentarily. Dusk would soon follow, and with it, the full moon she had been looking forward to seeing. It was such a beautiful spot for star gazing. Well, it would be when she was done murdering the pesky, noisy, busybodies who were bickering by the Jeep's side door.

Reigning in her hangry disposition was a huge feat on a normal day, calming it after a mission was quite literally another hurdle. But her sour disposition soon turned into a chuckle. Damn, it never got old when J went, well… Ape shit. Amazon. I am Hulk, here me roar! And the spectacle she was witnessing could only be described as that.

J was holding up… Fuck, what was his name? Nath? Neil? Anyways, the civilian by his bunched-up shirt on tippy toes pressed firmly against their other vehicle. The surprise and discomfort, and evidently embarrassment according to the slight pink tint of his complexion, were beyond comical.

It was an endless source of amusement to watch J teach men the wrath and strength of a woman. Most still believed girls were nothing but damsels they could play with and discard at will. Then they met women like J, whose mere physical presence made men cup their balls. And yea, taught them the fear of Goddess when they got picked up and thrown around like the discarded rags they were when out of line.

Her giggle died with those thoughts. Damn, when had she become so jaded? For her to be amused by J using her excessive training and physical strength on a civilian, who as far as she knew, had done nothing wrong… Fuck. Her mind and morals were taking a serious plunge in a direction she didn't want them to. It was the first sign she was becoming as bad as the people who'd kidnapped her…

As happy as she was to celebrate her adopted sis B-day, it never failed to bring up memories she preferred to stay buried. Deep, deeper, deepest down the dark recesses of her mind.

Cresc opened her door grabbing her stabbed side, which was already soaking through with blood her temporary binding and camisole, before getting out and stepping beside J.

"Drop him," even with the burning pain, she didn't clench her jaw or show weakness. Never in front of an audience.

"The plan was Doc and back of pub for privacy. Not be cornered by his supposed buddies, whom I quote, just here to help!" J practically growled in the face of the irritate hanging man. "But the blond Ken doll beside the bad bleach job has a gun at his back and under his jacket. Likely a cop. And the cross-dressing chick is most likely a lawyer. There were supposed to be two peps here. Now we have a crowd of witnesses…"

Pinching the bridge of her nose, stomach rumbling angrily, she tried to reign in her hangry. She really, truly tried. Usually, it worked; that's what made her a good leader. But today was a day for exceptions it seemed, as her stomach growled loud enough for the crowd to notice.

"Drop him J, now, before I make you." After a quick perusal of the five men, she pointed to the man with a freaking bleached white man bun. "Open the back door and find us a secluded room. No more surprises."

Turning to the short blond-haired supposed cop, she continued giving orders. "Don't reach for your guns or make any fast movement. We're trained to kill, not detain. Don't test the theory."

"Lawyer, keep this all to yourself or I'll sic Luna and Associates on you. Witness make yourself useful, Tequila and three burgers now. And Doc, move your arse because Merc's fingers are twitching to stitch me up but she can't today. I'll pay you ten grand for ten minutes of your work. So, get to it."

Without waiting for anyone to follow, she walked up the back four steps of the pub and got into the small office where the bartender was already lowering the shades. Finding the comfiest seat, yup, the massive leather recliner in the corner by a huge open fireplace, she dropped in it and eased her aching feet on the glass table. How some women wore stilettoes every day was beyond her level of comprehension! Her toes and calves were killing her. Long live boots, sneakers, and flip-flops. And not getting stabbed. Because that sucked too.

"Make yourself at home," the bartender muttered mirthlessly as he eyed her boots on the glass top. He was probably going to get shit from his boss for letting them use this place. Oh well; not her problem. He'd get a couple of bucks to keep things under wraps. Money spoke louder than rules and expectations.

"No Tequila if you need stitches. Depending on how bad the wound is, no food either," the man holding a large medical bag started dictating as he made his way to her. Cresc couldn't contain her laugh because was he slow or just stupid? This wasn't her first injury. Definitely not the last. And yea, fuck his doctor's advice, it was her body and she knew what it needed. A couple of shots to numb the pain and food to calm the beast also known as her stomach and ferocious appetite. Screw meds and shots. She'd not touch a pill for the rest of her life.

"Keep your advice to yourself, Doc. Stitch and patch. And we'll be out of your hair."

The man gave her a look that clearly said stop acting childishly. Cresc ignored him as she whipped her shirt over her head and threw it at J. Giving the scolding tomboy a distraction was imperative. The blood on her shirt was the only blood she wanted to deal with tonight. J cursed and cussed but made her way to the bathroom to wash her tank. Merc perched herself on the edge of the window behind the recliner, ready to observe while Mar stayed at the door as a lookout.

"V, did you bring the non-disclosure forms?" Cresc asked as she took the bottle instead of the glass the civilian had brought in. Taking a long swing from the bottle, she ignored the heavy frown of her temporary doctor.

"Not bright, are you, blondie? You walked after being stabbed from what Neph told me, and then passed out on the way ov…"

"Insult me one more time, Asshole."

"Put it down Blondie," this time he tried to intimidate her with his height and doctor glare.

Cresc couldn't help the bubble of laughter that escaped as she took another sip of Tequila. The complication that ensued should have embarrassed her, but it made her laugh harder. Yes, she choked on her sip and spit it all over herself as laughter and coughing coincided.

Listening to the man who tried to boss her around was beyond preposterous! She couldn't remember the last time she took directives from a man, or woman for that matter, other than the three women who'd saved them.

His menacing don't fuck with me glare… Damn! Did he not realize it came off as adorable instead of intimidating?

The confounded man pulled on his black hair, his midnight blue eyes sending daggers, and his chiseled jaw clenched at her amusement. He looked to the other occupants for help to reason with her. Only, Mar was shaking her head like he was an idiot. Merc had jumped away not to get Tequila splattered and was giving him the stink eye.

"Is he for real?" asked V, tapping Cresc on the back, unimpressed.

"Yea… Not gonna happen, pretty boy," Cresc emphasized the word boy. "We're wasting time and my blood. How about you get to work?"

"I'm serious. I will not treat you if you are going to drink and not listen to my instructions."

"Let's get some things straight, doctor. I am not some blond bimbo. For one, I have taken down drug lords, terrorists, and dictators just in the past couple of months to keep your fucking peaceful world safe. Second, if I had a dick in my pants, you'd not throw your weight and chauvinism around. But since I have boobs and a uterus, what, that suddenly gives you some free pass to stuff your bullshit beliefs and superior airs in my face. Third, my medic could have stitched me up in under two minutes, in a building under fire, with bullets coming in from every direction. And she'd have handed over the bottle because she would have asked by now if I was okay with pills or shots to numb the pain. Which I'm not. So, you are going to keep your chauvinist, condescending remarks, sign the damn waver your lawyer is looking through, and stitch me up good. Then I'll pay you the ten grand promised and we'll never see each other again. Understood, doctor," Cresc drawled the last word like it was an insult in itself as V slammed a stack of papers into his chest looking ready to snap his neck.

Was it possible to want to strangle someone on principle only? It certainly would alleviate the tension forming at his temples. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had talked back to him or questioned his doctoring skills. Definitely never by a woman who looked half his size.

She looked like a fallen angel with her cute button nose, light cherry blossom-colored lips, and oval face framed by long messy ash blond hair. A sweet and innocent looking woman, except for her eyes. Calling them arresting was an understatement. Because you certainly didn't see that shade of sparkly, clear summer sky blue often. Especially when it was combined with experience, complexity, and see-through any kind of bullshit.

And here she sat with her body practically on full display, completely at ease in a sports bra and three-quarter jeans in front of a crowd. Not at all being coy. She stared him down in a way that said her clothes, body, and looks mattered little to how she could handle any situation. Great looks, total confidence combined with a sailor's mouth, and attitude to spare.

Just his luck! It didn't help that her ample cleavage, well-defined arms and abs, and extra-long legs, covered in tequila droplets tested his professional distance. How could such a beautiful woman be so confounding, even vexing, to drive him up the walls within five minutes of meeting?

But it wasn't only her words and body that frustrated him. No. What he could only describe as rage was behind his vexation. But it wasn't directed at her, as much as what had happened to her. The young woman had two bullet scars on her left shoulder, a long stab wound in her right abdomen, and slashes, cuts, and scars to spare wherever her skin was exposed. They told a story. A story, probably similar to that of his buddy Jed, of what these women survived and did.

The coldness in their eyes, the distance and mistrust, these were women who had seen their share of horrors.

As a doctor, he hated to see people in pain or suffering. And for them to continue this line of work, he just couldn't understand it. Jed had tried to explain to him his reason behind joining the navy. To no avail. To each their own lives and choices. And as much as he wished violence was not a reality, he could only hope that these women, especially his patient, would choose a safer occupation before their lives were cut short.

He could honestly say it would be a waste. There was a story to her, energy and mystery that suckered people in and made them want to know more. Even when they knew better. And he realized his anger was also stemming from that. The interest this ash blond was awakening in him was uncomfortable. Women chased him. They didn't flip him off at every chance they got.

Grabbing the paper shoved hard against his chest, he signed the waiver without reading it, knowing that Zoy wouldn't have signed it if it wasn't reasonable, and pulled on a pair of gloves.

He kneeled on the floor next to the young woman and pulled off the soaked-through bandage. Throwing it on the glass table, he got a smack behind the head as Kunzite put a trash basket next to him.

"Keep my office blood free, will you? What am I going to tell my patients tomorrow?"

"That you had a bar fight and it got messy," Jed answered without breaking his glare from the raven-haired girl that was ignoring him while scanning the hallway and windows.

"Patients?" V asked skeptically.

"This is where I receive my patients. I'm a psychologist."

"Part psycho, part bar-owner," Merc supplied after tapping on her phone.

"Please don't go diving into his private life as you did mine," interrupted Neph as he walked in with the burgers.

"That's Doctor Keith, ladies. Most people around here like calling me Kunzite or Kun. Not psycho. Definitely not bad-bleach job or busboy. And as I'm allowing you to use my private office as your temporary clinic, please leave the bad attitudes and crassness at the door. Guys, drop the glares and tone down your attitudes. As far as what Neph could say, they have fucking Sainthood status in my establishment."

Cresc's hand hovered over the food, which was unheard of, as she studied the man. His quiet calmness and diplomatic inclination made her smile genuinely. He was a no-bullshit and straight-to-the-point kind of person. The fact that with a couple of words he toned down the heavy tension permeating the room spoke not of years of good quality schooling, but life experience.

"We appreciate the hospitality and I apologize for our lack of manners. We don't exactly socialize. Especially not in our line of work," Cresc conceded, as she lowered her boots off the table.

Make that WFT number thirty-five. His patient had been all attitude to himself and everyone just a second ago, and now she was pouring good manners and a slight British posh accent while sitting up straighter. The girl was a walking talking contradiction.

"You should have gone to the hospital, the puncture is not very deep, but it is very close to the liver and the bleeding is hard to stop," he observed after cleaning the cut. How she was moving, drinking, and eating without bending in agony was ludicrous. "An X-ray would show if there was any potential internal damage."

"Sorry, can't do that. Patch me up as best you can and if anything, I'll have our surgeon look after it once we fly home," Cresc countered.

"I wouldn't recommend flying until the bleeding has stopped and the wound has closed a bit. Which it won't if you keep on drinking."

"He's right, Cresc. You're bleeding should have at least slowed. The wound's red around the edges, and your skin has a yellow tint. What the hell did you get cut with?"

"A fire iron."

"Then it's probably infected, and you need antibiotics and rest. Preferably no travel. I'll stitch it but you need to check it for the usual infection symptoms," he instructed the punk-looking girl who was kneeling beside him now, looking over the wound.

"Will an ointment be enough, or will she need something stronger?"

"The ointment should be good enough for tonight, but you'll know by morning. I'll write a prescription…"

"Don't bother, I have most of the stuff on hand."

"Umm. Okay. Do you want me to numb the area?" Five pairs of noes came his way before he could pull out his supplies.

"Here. I'm good," Cresc passed the bottle to Merc who took a swig before handing it to V who did the same and passed the bottle along.

The ash blond just closed her eyes and counted quietly as he stitched her skin back together. She didn't flinch or falter in her count. Instead, with each puncture, her breathing evened. It was like having to treat Rambo stuck in a Marylin Monroe body. As gently as he could, he rubbed antibiotic ointment around the stitches.

"Sorry. No dryer in the bathroom. Couldn't dry your tank," the fuming tomboy passed her a black loose sleeveless shirt, still giving everyone a stink eye. Before he even had a chance to bandage the wound, V handed a cell to his patient who suddenly look apprehensive.

"Ja…" the change in her accent was instantaneous. "Uppdrag slutfört. Jag fick ett litet sår men vi flyger ut imorgon… Jag sa att allt är bra. Vi kommer... Bra." Her frown deepened with every exchange, even as her tone stayed neutral. Grinding her jaw, she passed the phone to Merc who took the call in the hall.

By the time he was done putting away his tools and washing his hands, the mood in the room was back to explosive. V, Merc, and Cresc were arguing in Swedish, while J and Mar looked ready to break up the fight.

"I can't fucking believe this!" cursed Cresc before storming out of the room followed by J.

After arguing between themselves for another minute, Mar turned to them. "Is there a place, preferably secluded, that we can rent? Cash."

"I'll find us something," Merc insisted, but Mar stopped her.

"These guys pose us no threat. I've watched them. You've checked their bios. Plus, anything you find last minute now will ask for credit cards and names. And while I know you can hack this away; we need to stay put until the call. This is the easiest and first course of action and you know it. I'm sick and tired of sleeping in the Jeeps," Mar reasoned.

"You can rent my lodge up the mountain. It's nothing more than a shack, but it's got two bunk beds and a sofa, a small kitchen, and a bathroom. You can make do for a couple of days. But before I give you the keys, I need some answers," the supposed cop asked.

"Like?" V questioned suspiciously.

"I'm the head of police of this town. I need to know you aren't bringing in any danger to our doorstep."

"Aren't you a bit young for that position?" chided Mar without looking his way.

"Jack Danielson. A.k.a. Jed or Jadeite. Former marine. Five tours in Afghanistan. Relieved of duty due to paralyzed left leg after being in a vehicle thrown by an explosion. Therapy one year. Joined the local police academy, degree with honors and recommendations. Worked his way up. Slate clean. Too clean." Merc provided, looking through her cell.

"Are you done hacking all our lives," growled Neph.

"Nope. My team's security means I will look everything up until I'm sure it's safe."

"Then you must understand how we feel," countered Jed. "You appear in our town, out of the blue, take down a threat, according to Neph, that needed squashing. And now are suddenly grounded and staying. I'd like to know why. I need to know there's no heat that will be brought to our doorstep."

"We didn't squash a threat; we squished an underage porn creator and distributor. I can't give you more info than that. As for heat following us here. Not possible, we barely ever work in this country. And we've made it our mission to never leave footprints. In and out. We're called ghosts for a reason."

"Is Merc short for mercenary?"

"No, Mercury. Figure out the rest. Why do you guys have stone nicknames?" V asked, curiosity winning over.

"Long story… We did a summer charity play as teens that the whole town saw. Since then, they've always nicknamed us after the characters we played. It stuck…" answered Kunzite a little self-consciously.

"We're grounded until our… Doctor… Says Cresc is recovered. For now, our instructions are to stay put. Forced vacation… For all of us. We pose no threat to the town or the people in it. We won't be in your way more than needed as we need to keep our anonymity," V replied calmly but firmly.

"Calling each other by your code names is going to draw attention. Especially the Merc nickname," pointed out the lawyer-looking man.

"Nice try getting our real names. Don't worry. Not our first Rodeo. We already have fake names and identities for the duration of our stay here," V mocked.

"As Miss Merc didn't introduce me, I'm Zackary Danielson. Before you ask, not brothers, cousins. But you can call me Zoy, or Zoisite. I'm also the town and these guys' lawyer. If you don't mind, how did you guys get Luna and Associates to cover you? They're one of the biggest law firms, not to mention exclusive…" the awe and confusion painted across his face confused Merc. Why wouldn't they?

"Because Luna is practical…" V covered Merc's mouth before she said too much.

"Our doctor referred us to them," she replied tersely.

"How long you've been doing this line of work?" the doctor couldn't help asking.

"Since before you grew facial hairs," at V's seriousness, he felt the blood drain from his face. She couldn't be serious! Could she?

"Our past is nothing we wish to revisit, especially as it's Merc's… Our Amy's B-day! So, if we're all done, how about we go have those planned drinks? By now, the moon and stars are probably out and that should lighten Serena's mood. So, let's get drinking," V changed the subject while whooshing the girls out of the room, toward the pub's dock.

"How come I wasn't introduced?" he mumbled after Kun and Neph followed the girls out.

"Because your ego proceeds you and needs no introduction, buddy. Now pack up your shit and let's get a drink. This evening calls for something good. On you, of course!" Zoy punched playfully his shoulder.

"How do you figure that?"

"Well, three strikes. You didn't get check out. You were told off. And you were ignored. Three things that never happened. Probably the prelude of the ice age or something. Either way, I got to celebrate this, and I believe Kun has some of his home-brewed good shit hidden around here somewhere! Time to go hunting!" Rubbing his hands eagerly, Zoy followed the crowd out while the doctor watched J walk by the door followed by a sour faced Cresc.

Yea. He needed that drink. To distract his mind from the woman's fleeting scars that kept on repeat in his mind and left a sour taste in his mouth. Nothing about this Serena was typical and those scars were bound to pull him in deeper than his professional curiosity had a right to be.

* I want to take a second to apologize for my lack of medical knowledge, which probably shows in the shitty descriptions of Darien's treatment. If you're a medical student, nurse, or doc and can suggest how to make it sound better, you'd be a lifesaver. Pun intended. Hope you enjoyed it!