Kiera felt herself drift into the familiar fugue state where her focus narrowed and all she could see was the canvas in front of her. It was an itch that she could only scratch by putting pen to paper, ink to skin. For years, she had suppressed that urge and though it never fully went away, she had become quite adept at ignoring it.
Until now.
Every barrier that she'd carefully built had been broken down in a single night and the impulse was suddenly too great for her to disregard any longer.
It had taken five years for Kiera to pick up her tattoo pen again and it took less than five minutes for it to feel like no time at all. Just like with Pete's stitches, her fingers took over. She wasn't creating any masterpieces but the skill that she had once possessed was still evident. More importantly, the pure joy that she felt, even though the skin was synesthetic, had not changed at all.
She had tried to lie to herself and pretend that she didn't miss it but she couldn't deny that it felt like coming home.
The dawn had already started to break when Kiera finally dragged herself to bed. She quickly fell into a soundless sleep, only stirring around midday when she was woken by her stomach. As she made her way to the kitchen, she was stopped dead in her tracks by the scene that greeted her.
At some point in the night, she had exhausted her entire stock of practice skin and had resorted to sketching the designs that flooded her head. Quickly filling her sketchbooks, she had started to get creative. Old menus, receipts and even the back of an electricity bill had all fallen victim. The result was an eclectic tapestry of mismatched skin and paper that covered almost every available surface of her flat.
She was lucky that fatigue had taken over when it did; a little while longer and she would've been drawing on the walls.
Despite the variety of mediums that she had burned through, there was one common denominator. Though every design was unique, they all depicted the same core image.
With the daylight beaming directly in past the curtains that she had forgotten to draw, the overall effect was fairly startling.
Ironically, a sea of skulls hadn't seemed so unsettling in the middle of the night.
Fucking hell. I need to get my head checked. Dexter's kill room is less worrying than this.
There was no point in lying to herself about where her inspiration had come from; she knew for a fact that skulls had never really been her thing before. Yet here she was, standing face to face with hundreds of sketches that ranged from abstract to disturbingly realistic.
An irrational panic seized Kiera, causing her to frantically gather up all the pages as if they revealed some dark secret that she needed to hide from everyone, herself included. If Pete could see her now, he would probably think of her as some crazed obsessive. Unfortunately, if she was completely honest with herself, that wasn't too far off.
The events of the previous evening were playing on a loop in her head. The whole thing was so surreal that if it wasn't for the cut on her palm she could easily believe that she had dreamt it all.
She could still hear the sound of his rough laughter and feel the intensity of his gaze. She had never met someone that had demanded her unwavering attention in the way that he had. For a variety of reasons, some good and some bad, she was captivated by him.
It was driving her crazy that she would probably never see him again.
She shook her head and tried to push all thoughts of Pete from her mind. It wouldn't be healthy to continue to obsess over a stranger. Especially one that, for all she knew, could be a mass murderer.
Setting her collection of sketches down onto the table, Kiera began to look over skulls that she had inked into her practice skin. She could clearly see the quality improve as she had regained her confidence with the machine.
After a moment, reality sank in: she had tattooed. After all those years, she had finally tattooed again.
She didn't realise that she was crying until a choked sob broke past her lips.
There was a reason that she had locked away this part of her life for so long. It had been impossible for her to separate her art from the pain of her past. She had been unable to pick up the tattoo pen without being overtaken by memories of the man who had taught her how to use it. Yet, she had spent hours inking without once thinking about anything other than Pete.
It almost felt like a betrayal.
Frank was pissed.
He had spent days tracking this particular pusher but now that he had him in his sights, he just couldn't focus his thoughts.
If there was one thing that he could usually take pride in, it was his ability to clear his head and concentrate on whatever war he was fighting that day. Without that skill, he would've been killed ten times over. Yet here he was, with a clear target in front of him and a head full of distractions.
No matter how many times he banished her from his mind, Kiera Thompson kept working her way to the forefront of his brain.
Ever since his family had been massacred, Frank had been alone. Sure, he'd had the occasional ally but more often than not, those relationships had been transactional. He had thought that selfless acts of kindness belonged in fairy tales.
Yet, here was this complete stranger who went out of her way to get him out of trouble when she had nothing to gain and no good reason to help him.
And he couldn't stop thinking about it.
About her.
Everything about her was contradictory. Her actions were carefully calculated and measured but she had a sharp, impulsive tongue. She sang like a care-free child but her words were laced with a bitter cynicism. She said she wasn't a fighter but she didn't once flinch away from him.
She knew to be afraid of him yet she had helped him anyway.
He couldn't stop thinking about her.
His target coughed obnoxiously and snapped him back to reality. He re-focused the scope of his rifle just in time to see the dealer walk around the corner and out of range.
"Fuck" he muttered under his breath, packing up his gear as he kicked himself for wasting a perfect shot.
He knew that he should try and tail the man or failing that, return to his safe house and plan his next move. Instead, he found himself walking on autopilot, retracing his steps back to Kiera's flat. Or more precisely, the pavement across from her flat..
I need to get a goddamn grip. A goddamn fucking grip.
Kiera barely noticed the week pass by. Work was busier than usual and she seemed to spend every day chasing her tail. Despite the increased workload, she still managed to stay up late with her tattoo machine every night, making up for five years of lost time. All of her spare income was being spent on synthetic skin and ink but it was worth it.
For the first time in a long time, Kiera felt like herself.
Every now and again, a particular design or pattern would cause a long buried memory to resurface. She would suddenly be nineteen again, her hands shaking as she tried to ink a flash tattoo into an orange. All those years later and she could still hear Dan's soft words of encouragement as clearly as if he was standing right beside her.
Thinking about him hurt more than she had anticipated; it was like losing him all over again. Surprisingly, however, it was better than being numb. After five years of repressed feelings, she was finally allowing herself to feel. She hadn't realised the extent to which she had been existing and not really living.
The reason for her change of heart was never too far from her thoughts no matter how hard tried to banish him. Determined to not fall down a dangerous rabbit hole, she had sworn herself off inking skulls.
Unfortunately, her dreams had made no such promise. Every night she woke up in a cold sweat, not knowing if it was fear or something else that made her heart race. All she knew was that every dream featured the same person again and again.
So much for her famed self control.
Between her disturbed sleep and emotional turmoil, Kiera was functioning at a severely reduced capacity. She knew that it was bound to affect her performance at work but she couldn't help herself.
Hers was not a good job to be distracted at and while she generally managed to pull herself together and focus, there were times that she found herself drifting. Almost a whole week later and she was still falling victim to her obsession. To outside observers, she was keeping herself busy, scrubbing instruments in the decontamination room. In reality, she was fantasising about calloused hands and dark eyes.
She hadn't realised just how engrossed she was in her thoughts until a stern voice broke her reverie causing her to nearly jump out of her skin.
"Kiera Adanna Thompson, I am disappointed in you."
After taking a moment to catch her breath and compose herself, Kiera spun around to glare at her accuser.
At five foot tall, Laura Chapple was one of the most intimidating people Kiera had ever met. On a good day, she was the life of the party and on a bad day, she was terrifying. She was also Kiera's closest and dearest friend.
"Jesus Christ, Laur, sneak up on me why don't you?"
Laura responded by crossing her arms and commanding, "Don't try and change the subject. Plus if anyone is sneaky, it's you, you sneak."
"Okay now you've really lost me," Kiera stated incredulously.
Her exuberance finally getting the better of her, Laura exclaimed, "You're seeing someone and you didn't tell me!"
For a moment, all Kiera could do was stare at her friend in disbelief. Then the moment passed and a burst of startled laughter exploded from her.
Oh for crying out loud-
"Ah, I see. You've been having those vivid dreams again, haven't you? Just cause it happened in your sleep Laur, does not mean that it happened in real life. I am as single as I've ever been, I promise."
"Oh very funny," Laura rolled her eyes sarcastically, "I'll have you know that I switched my meds and now I'm sleeping like a baby. Can't say the same for you though, sweetheart. You look like you've been up all night. Who's keeping you up, Kiera?"
Not many people knew Keira as well as Laura did. They'd grown up together in Bristol and had been inseparable until Laura moved cities for university. Despite falling out of touch for a while, it was Laura that she had called when she found herself with no home and nowhere to go. It was a four hour round trip from Southampton to Bristol but Laura had left that night. She'd secured Kiera a job as a trainee at the practice she worked at and let her sleep in her spare room for six months.
Kiera owed her more than she could ever repay.
That didn't mean that she appreciated her current curiosity.
In her most unenthused voice, Kiera replied, "Just been dealing with a bit of insomnia. It's nothing that exciting."
"Bullshit. You've been distracted all week and not bad distracted either. Just now you were scrubbing that excavator with the dopiest smile on your face. No one is that happy to be cleaning instruments."
Unable to think up a good enough excuse, she retorted, "Well maybe I am."
"Cut the crap, Kiera. You've got ink stains all over you. You're tattooing again, right?"
Fuck. There goes that secret.
"And?" she deadpanned, trying hard to keep her expression neutral.
"And? And?! That's all you have?" Laura all but shrieked, "We both know that something major must've changed for you to pick up the gun-"
"Don't call it that, it's not a gun," interrupted Kiera, unable to fight her knee jerk reaction.
"Alright, touchy. Something big must've happened for you to pick up the tattoo thingy. You're obviously staying up late, you're daydreaming when you're here and you're tattooing. I'm just putting two and two together, hun."
For a wild moment, Kiera considered telling her friend everything. She didn't enjoy lying and the thought of having someone to talk to was definitely tempting. However, she knew that Laura would have questions that she didn't want to answer so instead she deflected.
"I'm impressed by your detective work but you're way off base. Yes, I've started to tattoo again and that's why I'm tired and distracted. But there is no guy involved. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you before but you know why-" she paused, knowing that she was about to employ a dirty but necessary tactic, "why, I, uh, stopped and how, uh, difficult it… shit… how pain… oh bloody hell. It's just hard to talk about, Laur."
Compassion flared across Laura's face before being replaced by annoyance almost immediately.
Placing an authoritative hand on her hip, she snapped, "Don't you try to guilt me, Thompson. I was there, I know just how hard it all was. I know exactly why you turned away from that part of your life. And that's why I know that tattooing is a big ass deal! Even if there is no guy, it still means that something has happened. You're my best mate, Kiera, I'm only asking because I care."
If she hadn't felt bad before, Kiera definitely did now. However, there was nothing that she could do other than double down.
She shrugged before stating, "I don't know what to tell you, Laur, you're wrong."
A wide grin broke across Laura's face as she asked mockingly, "Am I?"
She reached into the pocket of her scrubs and produced a small package which she waved in front of Kiera.
"What is that?"
Laura answered smugly, "A delivery. Addressed to you. In a man's handwriting."
Quickly stripping off her gloves, Kiera reached for the padded envelope only for Laura to snatch it back.
"Give that here."
Irritation fuelling her movements, Kiera launched forward and finally managed to grab hold of the envelope. If she'd taken a moment to assess the situation, she would've probably waited until Laura's prying eyes were elsewhere. Her curiosity, however, got the better of her and she wasted no time in ripping the packaging open.
When she saw what was inside, she was torn between wanting to laugh her head off and needing to run and hide. The end result was complete immobilisation as she stared at the contents of the parcel.
"A CD? Jesus, I haven't seen one of those for years. Who's sending you a bloody CD Kiera? Do you even have anything to play that on?"
Kiera couldn't think of any good way to explain why she had been sent the album. Not when she didn't really know herself.
What the hell Pete?
When she didn't get an immediate reply, Laura started to bounce on the balls of her feet in anticipation, "Well, c'mon then, out with it! Who's it from? Is there a note?!"
"Um, no note. I have no idea who it's from," Kiera lied.
Laura scoffed, "Oh yeah, likely story."
"You know what?" Kiera racked her brains for a plausible explanation that would satisfy her friend but fend off further questions. A sudden flash of inspiration struck her as started to backtrack, "It's probably a thank you from that emergency patient that I saw with Sarah last week. Actually, thinking about it now, I think I did mention liking Springsteen. Yeah, that must be it. That's really sweet of him."
Disappointment took over Laura's expression as she listened to Kiera. Her reasoning was believable enough but it was nowhere near as exciting as Laura had wanted it to be.
"Are you sure? Is there anything insi-"
Unwilling to let her finish that thought, Kiera interjected, "I think you need a hobby, Laur. This is nowhere near as fascinating as you think it is. Do I need to call up your wife and tell her that you need to get out more?"
The words left her mouth before she realised how cruel they sounded. By the time she registered what she had said, the damage was already done.
"Ouch, Kiera, ouch," Laura winced, real hurt showing on her face, "Fine, have it your way. I'll leave you with your secrets and your old ass music. You know where to find me when you wanna actually talk."
With that, Laura flicked her blonde ponytail over her shoulder and stormed away, leaving Kiera to feel like shit.
Well done, Kiera, well fucking done.
When she was certain that she was completely alone, Kiera hastily opened up the CD. She had immediately noticed that the case was barely shut and that there was no plastic wrap surrounding it. Like Laura, she suspected that there was something inside
She was not disappointed.
A stack of fifty pound notes fell out alongside a scrawled note. A brief count told Kiera that she was currently holding five hundred pounds.
Kiera could hear her heartbeat in her ears as she nearly tore the note in two in her rush to read it. What she found did nothing to calm the cascade of emotions that were crashing down on her.
"For singing lessons - P"
For a moment, she stood perfectly still as her mind frantically processed the scruffy handwriting. Then, without warning, she doubled over in hysterical laughter.
That bloody bastard.
Struggling to breathe, Kiera wiped away the tears from her eyes and tried to compose herself before anyone noticed.
If I ever see him again, I'm gonna kick him.
You're an embarrassment, Frank.
Anger pumped hot and heavy through Frank's veins as he kicked over a crate in frustration. A bag of off white powder split open, its contents spilling out onto the floor to mingle with the already coagulating blood that pooled there.
Frank stared at the unsettling combination as he struggled to control his flaring temper.
Standing in the middle of a busted warehouse, surrounded by bodies, he would usually feel the satisfaction of a completed operation.
Instead, he was one step away from putting his fist through the nearest wall.
It should've been a textbook attack. The men here were sloppy and lazy; they were no match for him even on a bad day. He should've been able to clear the building in under five minutes without breaking a sweat.
He shouldn't have a bullet in his arm and the knowledge that one of the bastards got away.
I ain't no got no fucking excuse, no fucking excuse.
"Any exciting Friday night plans?"
Kiera stared blankly at the young nurse who was talking to her as they changed out of their scrubs. It took a moment too long for her to come back to reality and actually register that she was being spoken to. After Laura's ambush earlier in the day, she had been completely unable to focus. She was desperate to get home and process the 'gift' that was currently burning a hole in her work bag.
Knowing that she had taken too long to reply, she smiled apologetically, "Sorry, I was on a different planet, what did you say?"
Charlotte chuckled and repeated her question, adding, "Must be something good waiting for you. I've never seen you change so fast, your top is inside out and backwards!"
A quick scan confirmed that she was in fact wearing her t-shirt completely incorrectly. Shaking her head at herself, Kiera righted her top and bluffed, "Just been a long week, Char. Pizza and shit TV are calling me."
"Fair enough, I'd leave here naked if it got me closer to pizza."
Kiera snorted and replied that she'd love to see her manager's reaction to such an act. After wishing Charlotte a good weekend, she collected her belongings and made a beeline for the exit.
As she stepped out into the downpour, Kiera thanked her foresight for checking the forecast and driving in, despite the morning's sunshine.
Across the car park, Laura caught her eye as she opened her car door, calling out, "Have fun shagging to Springsteen, Kier!"
Kiera responded with a middle finger and a roll of her eyes before carrying on to her car. Despite the insinuation, she was grateful that Laura had apparently forgiven her enough to tease her.
"I haveta admit, that was not my intention."
The all too familiar voice caused her head to snap up and her keys to slip out of her hands, landing directly in a puddle at her feet.
For a moment, Kiera thought that her lack of sleep had finally caught up with her, causing her to have a full blown hallucination. However, after blinking frantically at the figure standing under the shelter of a large tree, nothing changed. The very person that she had been obsessing about for a week was currently staring right back at her and smirking unrepentantly.
"Fuck Pete, what is it with you and scaring the crap out of me?!" Kiera yelled, the shock preventing her from moderating her volume.
"Seems like I arrived just in time, darlin'. Gonna haveta take back that CD if it's gonna be 'shagged' to." Pete stepped towards her slightly, running his hand through his wet hair as he chastised, "That's just disrespectful."
When Kiera had promised to herself that she would kick him the next time she saw him, she had forgotten just how broad and intimidating he was.
Somebody shoot me, please.
"You-! I'm not-! Oh God," Kiera stammered, flustered beyond belief. She breathed deeply and tried to regain her composure before snapping, "No one's shagging anyone. That girl over there is a lunatic who's convinced that I'm having a secret affair."
Pete's grin widened further at her obvious discomfort.
"Oh yeah? And why's that?"
Momentarily distracted by the way the raindrops clung to his eyelashes, Kiera almost answered on autopilot before catching herself. Explaining Laura's theories would be opening a can of worms that she would rather remain closed.
Instead she ignored his question entirely, "Bugger that, why are you here Pete? And how did you know which car was mine? Actually, what the fuck is up with the arsey note and bloody money?!"
"That's easy," drawled Pete, taking another step towards her, "just doin' a public service, tryin' to sort out your banshee wail. An' I didn't know it was your car. Figured you wouldn't be walkin' in this,'' he gestured at the rain, "and waited for ya to show up. Just lucky tha' I was on the right side of the parkin' lot."
Kiera was completely unconvinced by both answers but before she could call him out on it, she realised that he had dodged the most pressing issue.
"Unless you're just here to further insult my singing skills, you didn't answer my first question."
"What skills?"
Unwilling to let him derail the conversation any further, Kiera simply crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow at him.
The smile faded from his face as he dropped his gaze, buckling under her scrutiny. He shuffled his feet and muttered almost inaudibly, "I, uh, might've been shot."
Pete indicated to his left arm; the exact same arm that she had sewn up the previous week.
"You. Might've. Been. Shot." Kiera repeated, slowly sounding out each syllable as if that would help her to understand.
Registering the disbelief on her face, he started to reassure her, "It's nothing. I just need to get the bullet out-"
"The bullet is still in there?!" Kiera cut him off mid-sentence, "What the fuck are you doing here, you need a hosp-"
Pete held up a hand to try and placate her.
"Hey, hey, it's not in deep and it ain't hit anythin' important. Believe me, I've been shot before and this is nothin'. I wouldn't be botherin' ya but I don't have the right tools and it felt wrong to break in after, ya know..." he trailed off, not needing to explain any further.
He shook his head and took a deep breath as he took yet another step closer to her. Kiera could barely process what he was saying with how close to her he now was. Pete's gaze pierced straight through her as he continued, sincerity etched into every word.
"I just need somethin' to yank it out and stitch it back up. I hate askin' but I promise I'll clear up, no-one will know that I was here and I-."
"No."
The word left Kiera's mouth before she even made a conscious decision to speak. She definitely hadn't intended to be so blunt but she had suddenly become very aware of how long they had been standing outside in the rain whilst Pete had a bullet in his arm.
Pete flinched as if he had been physically struck, "Oh, of course, sorry, I, uh-" he muttered, taking a tentative step backwards.
Releasing how her refusal must've sounded, Kiera quickly elaborated, "You can't go in there; reception won't be gone for another hour and there's no way I can sneak you in without someone noticing."
Running her eyes across the man in front of her, Kiera evaluated her options. Once again, she found herself at a crossroads; except this time, she knew almost instantly what she was going to do. From the moment that she'd seen him standing under the trees, she hadn't really had any other choice.
She was already too far gone.
She knelt down to pick up her keys before tossing them to Pete. Despite his obvious surprise, he caught them easily.
"Get in the car, I'll be back in a sec," she commanded, the tone of her voice leaving no room for argument.
That didn't stop Pete from immediately trying to convince her otherwise.
"Shit, Kiera," regret shot across his face as if he was just realising the position that he had put her in, "I didn't mean for you, I don't wanna-"
"Just get in the car, Pete. I'm not in the mood to argue in the rain."
Kiera turned around and started marching back to the practice before he had the chance to say anything else.
Having released herself from the magnetic trap of his eyes, she started to doubt the existence of her common sense.
Don't talk to strangers, they say. No-one ever mentioned handing over your car keys. Is he even a stranger? Is someone a stranger if they're all you've thought about for-
She caught herself before she could continue that thought and instead tried to work out a plan of action in case anyone noticed her returning to work. She made sure that her phone was hidden in her jacket pocket so she could claim that she'd left it behind if anyone questioned her.
With a singular focus, Kiera raided her surgery for anything that she could potentially need, filling her bag as quickly as possible. She was about to leave when a sudden idea made her turn back and grab a pair of extraction forceps.
Forcing herself to not run and attract any unwanted attention, Kiera closed the practice door behind for the second time in the last ten minutes.
A small amount of relief washed over her as she walked back towards her car. She had been almost certain that Pete wouldn't drive off but giving her keys to him had been a risky move.
She settled down in the driver's seat and made a concerted effort to not look over at the passenger side as she fastened her seatbelt. It wasn't until she was already pulling out of the car park that Pete spoke up.
"You sure about this?"
Kiera took her eyes off the road for long enough to look over at Pete and take in how out of place he looked in her tiny car. She wondered absently if he'd struggled to fit his broad-ass shoulders through the door.
Reluctantly, she tore her eyes from his jawline before she veered straight off the road.
"As long as you don't bleed on my car then I'm sure," she quipped.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his mouth curl into a slight smile.
"I'll try my best."
The remainder of the journey passed in silence. Before Kiera had the chance to really doubt the sanity of her actions, she was already pulling up outside her flat.
Wordlessly, Pete followed her up the stairs and waited patiently as she fumbled with the lock on her door.
The moment that she stepped into her flat, she realised that she had in no way prepared the place for visitors. There were ink bottles, needles and sheets of practice skin haphazardly strewn across every surface. Her machine still sat proudly on the dining table, her latest sketches spilling off the edges to sit on the surrounding chairs and floor space.
Kiera thanked small mercies that her stack of skulls were hidden away in the cupboard.
Embarrassment creeping up her neck to flood her cheeks, she turned to Pete to gauge his reaction to her catastrophe of a living space.
He offered no comment apart from a raised eyebrow and an expectant expression.
Brilliant, he wants an explanation. Of course he does. What other dental nurse lives like this?
"Probably best that we set up in the bathroom, it's not, uh, too sanitary out here."
Kiera knew that she had completely avoided the obvious elephant in the room and braced herself for the questions that she would ask if the roles were reversed.
Those questions never came. Instead, Pete simply stepped across the threshold and inclined his head towards her, "After you, Ma'am."
Taken aback but grateful, she quickly led him across her flat and into her small but functional bathroom. She gestured for him to settle himself on the edge of the bath as she placed a clean towel on the floor and set out everything that she had scavenged from work.
Once she was satisfied with her makeshift workspace, Kiera stood up and quickly appraised the man in front of her. As ridiculous as he had looked in her car, he looked even more out of place perched precariously on the lip of her bathtub.
The look that he flashed her when he noticed that she was staring, was uncharacteristically open and vulnerable. It was then that she realised that he probably felt extremely uncomfortable. A man like him was bound to be used to a certain amount of control and being in a stranger's bathroom, injured and at her mercy, was not going to be his ideal situation.
Determined to make him feel more at ease, Kiera playfully flicked the collar of his utility jacket and teased, "Whilst I appreciate you listening to my advice and covering up your arsenal with a coat, it's kinda at cross purposes with what I need to do here."
He glared at her ruefully as he carefully shrugged off the offending item, "I already had this lying around. I didn't go out 't buy a new coat just 'cause ya said so," he muttered, the amusement in his eyes undercutting his feigned outrage.
"Sure you didn't," she drawled, making sure to convey her incredulity with every elongated vowel.
Unfortunately, they couldn't escape reality for too long. Kiera felt all of the humour drain from her face as she finally laid her eyes on the bloodied bullet hole in his shirt.
What am I doing? That's a fucking gun shot wound! There's no way that I don't make things worse.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She had never felt so out of her depth.
Making a conscious effort to compose herself, she took a deep breath and silently talked herself through her next steps. She needed to get the area clean, remove the bullet then stitch it up. If only it was as simple as it sounded. She would have to deal with each step as she came to it or she was going to quickly panic herself into a frenzy.
"Right, first things first," she announced, hoping that she sounded more confident than she felt, "I need better access."
Gesturing at the mess of fabric that currently surrounded the wound, she moved forward slightly, intending the rip off his shirt sleeve at the shoulder. She was brought up short, however, as Pete started to unclip his tactical vest.
Once she realised that he meant to remove his top entirely, Kiera turned around and busied herself with thoroughly washing her hands, pointedly ignoring the heat that spread across her cheeks.
It's just a topless guy, Kiera, you've seen plenty of those before. Nothing to get yourself worked up over.
When she finally worked up the nerve to turn back around, Kiera registered just how inaccurate she had been.
She'd never seen a topless guy quite like Pete.
Swallowing her instinctive gasp at the sight before her, she struggled to school her features into a collected mask. She couldn't lie to herself and pretend that she wasn't affected by his broad chest and well-defined stomach muscles but she could at least keep it to herself.
Focusing on his left arm was just what Kiera needed to send her crashing back to earth. Thankfully, the wound appeared to be relatively clean cut but it was still a considerably sobering sight.
Before she could stop herself, she let out a low whistle and breathed, "Jesus Pete…"
She drew closer before continuing, "Does it hurt?" At his look of disbelief, she quickly backtracked, "I mean it obviously hurts but is it… bad?"
"Could be better, could be worse." Pete shrugged noncommittally. Kiera suspected that he would've given a similar answer even if he was on his deathbed.
Aware that she couldn't afford to stall any further, Kiera soaked a wad of gauze in saline and began to clean up the wound to the best of her ability. She was momentarily distracted by the contrast of her darker skin against his. She quickly stopped herself from imagining what they would look like pressed closer together.
You're wiping up dried blood and that's what you're thinking of? Get. A. Grip.
As she worked, she stole a glance at her patient only to find him studying her intently. She sighed deeply, reluctant to continue on to the next, and unequivocally worst, step.
"I really wish I could numb this up for you. I don't want to hurt you, Pete."
"I can take it, Kiera, s'okay."
"Still…"
A sudden stroke of inspiration hit Kiera, causing her to bolt out of the bathroom and run straight for her kitchen cabinets.
She returned to a baffled looking Pete, brandishing a bottle of Captain Morgan like a prized trophy.
"It's not a perfect solution but it should take the edge off at least."
He took the bottle off her and gingerly rotated it in his hands before raising a questioning eyebrow at her, "Rum?"
"Yep. It's not a particularly fancy brand but it should do the job for this. I normally have some nicer stuff but I'm all out at the moment. This will have to do," she stated apologetically.
He responded by unscrewing the bottle and taking a generous swig. At Kiera's encouragement, he took several more gulps before setting it down at his feet.
Grimacing as the alcohol made its way down, Pete wiped his mouth and grumbled, "Thought only pirates drank this shit straight."
Kiera snorted gracelessly.
"I never drink that neat, it's a cheap ass rum that's meant to be a mixer. You should try something decent; you'll never go back to whiskey or whatever it is you drink."
Despite her vehement speech, he looked wholly unconvinced.
"I'll have'ta take your word for that."
They sat in silence as Kiera waited for the alcohol to take effect. She wondered, not for the first time, what was going through Pete's mind. If he had felt out of control before, she couldn't imagine how he felt shirtless and down a good amount of rum.
Yet again, there was no doubt that even in his weakened state, he could still take her.
Easily.
Once she felt that enough time had passed, Kiera knelt down in front of him and picked up the extraction forceps that she had chosen at the last minute. Registering Pete's instant panic, she reassured him that she had no intention of going anywhere near his teeth.
She cautiously inserted the forceps into the wound and tried to grab onto the bullet. It took a few attempts to get a good enough hold but eventually, she managed to pull it out without causing any further tissue damage.
Instructing Pete to hold a piece of gauze to the now freshly open wound, she dropped the slug into the sink with a resounding clatter. As she watched it ricochet from one side of the basin to the other, the reality of what she had just done caught up with her.
A sudden wave of nausea crashed over her, causing her to grip onto the sides of the sink to steady herself.
Fuck, it's been five years. I should be fine. I should be fine.
"You alright, Ma'am?" Pete asked from behind her, concern evident in his voice.
Kiera shook her head at her reflection.
"I- I- I should be. I'm not squeamish or anything. I'd be pretty shit at my job if I was. I don't know what's wrong with me, this is ridiculous."
"You ever seen a gunshot before?"
An unwelcome barrage of images flashed through Kiera's mind: Blood everywhere, raised voices, broken promises.
A hand that used to be a hand reduced to a gaping hole with fingers attached.
"Just once," she all but whispered.
Still staring at her reflection, she continued, "It wasn't like this. It was through and through but not... not cleanly. It was… awful. Everything about that night was awful."
Pete hesitated before warily reaching out to rest his free hand on her arm before asking, "Wanna talk 'bout it?"
The unexpected sincerity and compassion that Kiera felt coming from him was enough to shake her out of her trance like state.
"Thanks but I really don't think that's a good idea. I'm feeling steadier now anyways." She knelt back down and started to prepare the sutures. "I should get that stitched up before you lose any more blood."
"Kiera…"
She cut him off before he could press the issue any further, embarrassed by the desperation in her voice, "Please, Pete. Anything else. I'll talk about literally anything else."
Before he could reply, she started to thread the needle through the broken skin on his arm. She felt guilty for not warning him but it was the best way she could think of to distract him from her episode of obvious distress.
Kiera was grateful for the amount of concentration needed to create even and neat stitches. There was no room for painful recollections when she had to focus on the task at hand.
After a moment of heavy silence, Pete broke the tension by enquiring, "You tattoo?"
She should have known that she'd gotten off too lightly when he didn't ask any questions about the state of her flat.
"Used to. Before I moved to Southampton, before I started nursing."
"Why'd ya stop?"
"Just did, I guess."
"What happened to 'literally anything else'?"
Kiera exhaled dramatically in frustration, "Fine, fine. I'll answer your questions. But for every one you ask, I get to ask one as well. If you don't answer then I won't."
She looked up from her work to see Pete staring at her in contemplation. Slowly and deliberately, he nodded in acquiescence.
"Who shot you?"
The question flew from her before she could consciously decide what she wanted to know.
He looked at her so intently that she could almost see him deciding whether to lie or not before stating bluntly, "Piece o' shit thug for hire. Why'd ya stop tattooing?"
It wasn't a detailed answer but from what she could tell it was an honest one. That alone pushed her to give an honest answer of her own.
"It was part of my life that I wanted to leave behind. Needed to leave behind. The work itself wasn't the problem, it was all the memories that came with it. I suppose I felt that I had to become someone else entirely in order to move on."
"So what's changed now?"
She paused before starting the next stitch to glare at him disapprovingly, "Not so fast, it's my turn. Why are you in Southampton?"
"Chasin' up loose ends. Answer the question," he demanded.
Her brow furrowed further at his obvious avoidance tactics, "That's a shit answer! That tells me absolutely nothing!"
Pete sighed in exasperation before reluctantly elaborating, "There's a drug that's hit the states. It's fuckin' destructive 'n addictive. Plus they're usin' kids as mules."
Kiera couldn't stop the sharp intake of breath before it escaped from between her clenched teeth. She hoped that he would interpret it as a natural reaction to his last statement and not infer any deeper meaning.
Drugs. It always comes back to drugs.
"And it's here?" she breathed.
"From what I can tell, this is its home."
Knowing that this new information would be keeping her up for the next few nights, Kiera decided to drop the subject for now. She had enough self awareness to know that enquiring any further would be too slippery a slope for her.
"Nothing has changed in particular," she circled back to his last question. "I just missed it. Don't get me wrong, I love my job but it's never been my passion. Not like inking was. I don't have a licence currently so I have to stick to fake skin but that's enough for now. It just feels… It feels so good to be designing again."
Slightly embarrassed by how impassioned she unintentionally sounded, Kiera re-focussed on her sutures.
Pete, however, was apparently not done with his line of enquiry.
"You stopped sketching as well?"
"Yep. Completely cold turkey."
He let out a low incredulous whistle, "For how long?"
"Five years." She chuckled in self-deprecation, "I'm surprised that I'm any good still, to be honest."
"From what I saw, ya are. Really good."
She knew that she shouldn't have been so affected by that simple compliment but she was. She really was.
"Thanks," she muttered, her mouth forming into a shy smile.
There was something about this stoic, war-torn man that played havoc with her emotions. She had no idea how she could go from thinking about one of the worst nights of her life to blushing like a schoolgirl at the smallest amount of flattery.
If Pete sensed her sudden bashfulness, he made no indication. Instead, he pressed on, "I thought tattoo artists were meant to be covered in tats, how come you ain't got any?"
"None that you can see," retorted Kiera, regaining enough of her confidence to smirk cheekily.
She knew that it was way past his turn to answer a question but she decided to let it go. After so many years of pretending that her life started at twenty three, she was surprised at how nice it was to actually talk about her past a little.
"Whilst I was training," she continued, "I worked at a local café for some steady income. The owners were good people but very traditional. They didn't want me to have any work done that couldn't be covered up by my uniform. So no tattoos on my arms, neck or face.
"When I stopped working there, I was ready to start a full sleeve on this arm," she indicated to her left arm, "But my nana begged me not to. Said that I couldn't afford to be a young, mixed race girl and have visible tattoos. With my skin being the colour that it is, people would already be looking for reasons to pigeonhole me. I hated that she was probably right and that I wasn't strong enough to not give a shit."
Despite her curiosity, she wasn't brave enough to look up at Pete and gauge his reaction to the deeply personal confession that she had just made. Instead, she concentrated on tying up her final stitch.
Once she was satisfied that the job was done, she stood up and finally met Pete's dark, calculating stare. She wasn't quite sure what exactly possessed her to say what she said next. Maybe it was an attempt to lighten the mood, maybe it was those black eyes getting the better of her.
She gestured to herself with a slow brush of her hand and quirked a suggestive eyebrow, "But under these clothes? I am covered, Pete, head to toe."
Whatever response she had been expecting, it wasn't for his jaw to tighten as he slowly pushed himself up from the edge of the bath. With a predatory grace, he moved towards her, invading her space until her back was pushed firmly up against the sink.
"Covered?" he growled, his already deep voice impossibly lower.
Refusing to show any weakness Kiera, held his intense gaze and repeated, "Covered."
A low noise resounded from his chest, sending shivers up and down Kiera's spine, "Ya shouldn't go 'bout tellin' guys that, darlin'."
"And why's that?"
"'Cause they might start imaginin' what ya look like. Under those clothes."
Any resolve that Kiera might've had all but disappeared at that gruff declaration. It was all she could do to stop her knees giving out. A small sound that was embarrassingly close to a whimper escaped her.
Before she could decide whether to turn away or lean in further, Pete's intensity gave way to a satisfied smirk.
Damn him, he thinks he's won. Fuck it, he has won.
He rocked back on his heels and continued as if nothing had just happened, "These stitches are jus' as good as the last ones, darlin'. Thank you."
All Kiera could do was stare at him dumbfounded as redressed himself and collected his coat. She still couldn't form a coherent thought when he made to leave the bathroom. She only just had enough mental faculties to follow him silently to the entryway.
It was only when he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a stack of twenty pound notes that she snapped out of her dreamlike state.
"Wait, wait! No more money Pete! I appreciate the gesture but I really can't accept that. In fact, I was meaning to say earlier: I can't accept what you've already given me."
He looked up from counting the notes, confusion playing across his brow, "Why not?"
"Why not? I mean for starters, even if stealing from work and performing unlicensed medical procedures wasn't illegal already, the exchange of money definitely makes it so! Not to mention the fact that I didn't help you expecting to be paid for it," Kiera snapped.
Pete looked instantly contrite and conceded, "I know but I don't know who else t' repay ya."
"I'll take the CD. 'Tunnel of Love' is a great album anyways. It's actually one of the few that my dad's old collection is missing."
After deliberating for a heavy moment, he finally offered, "At least keep what I already gave ya'."
"Pete, I ca-"
"Please, Kiera. I won't try n' give ya more after that," he implored.
"Still…"
"It's purely selfish, darlin'. Makes me feel better 'bout takin' up your time like this."
Unable to refuse him any further, especially when he was looking at her like that, she threw her hands up into the air in defeat, "Fine. Fine! But just know that even thinking about all that money makes me hugely uncomfortable."
"Noted."
With that, he reached out to grab the door handle. Kiera's hand snapped forward to grab his before he could complete the movement.
"Pete, there's something that I need to say before you go." She struggled with how to articulate something that had been playing on her mind for the last few minutes, "If what you say is true, if you really are chasing down a drug operation, then I want to help."
Pete's thunderous glare pulled her up short and she quickly clarified, "Wait, hear me out. I'm not offering to do whatever it is you're doing, I'd be useless out there anyways. I mean, if you get hurt again, I want you to come here. Unless it's really serious. I'm not a doctor by any means but I think I've done a decent enough job so far."
"What happened to worryin' 'bout this bein' illegal?"
"Oh it definitely is. But this goes beyond that. What I was saying earlier, about the other time that I'd seen a gunshot wound? That was drugs. I'm not one hundred percent sure who exactly pulled the trigger but I know it was because he was late on payments. He was an addict, he was sick but that didn't matter. If I can help, even in a small way, to take down people responsible for that kind of horror, I have to."
As she finished her tirade, her own words caught up with her. What she had just revealed to him was something that not even Laura knew a lot about. It was something that she didn't even really acknowledge to herself.
She was terrified that he would press for more information. That he would ask who 'he' was or what had happened to him. But he didn't.
Instead, understanding coloured his features and simply agreed, "Okay."
"Okay?"
He nodded sharply.
Hardly believing what was happening, Kiera stammered, "Oh, um, okay, well let me give you my number then, in case I'm not home next time."
They exchanged numbers then he stepped out into the corridor before turning to her to say goodbye.
"I don't suppose you'll give me your name after all of that?" She quipped, unable to resist asking at least once before he left.
He shook his head, chuckling darkly, "Goodnight Kiera."
"Night, whoever you are."
He gave her one last crooked grin before heading down the hall, leaving her to watch him leave yet again.
Once she had closed her flat door, Kiera slid down against it to sit on the floor, her head in her hands. So much had just happened that she didn't know what to process first.
Unfortunately, her worked up body made the decision for her before she could. The memory of his defined, muscular torso superseded any rational thought that she might've had. She could still hear his gruff voice as he called her 'darlin'', she could still feel his warm breath as he had crowded her personal space.
She was left with the same nervous energy as last week except this time she had no inclination to tattoo. Instead she pulled herself off the floor and headed straight for her bedroom.
She knew that she would feel ashamed afterwards but at that moment, urgency won out. Images of the man who'd just left her flat flooded her brain as her hand found its way under the waistband of her trousers
Fuck.
Frank had intended to carry on walking. He had promised himself that he wouldn't dishonour Kiera by staring up at her well-lit flat like a teenage boy.
He had only meant to glance up.
He hadn't expected to see Kiera fly across her flat and storm into her bedroom. Her bedroom with a large window. A window that clearly displayed her bed.
The very same bed that she was currently laid across, still in the same clothes that he'd left her in.
Her head thrown back.
Why hadn't she drawn the curtains?
Did she want him to see?
No, he quickly dismissed that thought. She could have no idea that he was currently staring up at her, his jaw slack and his heart racing.
God, he was in so much trouble.
