AN: I would say happy Monday, but no such thing exists. To makeup for the fact that it is a Monday, here's an extra long chapter. Also, I'd like to thank my reviewers, and I'm taking heed of a suggestion; whenever Miles and the Walrider are doing a thought conversation Miles will be in bold, things will be easier to follow that way.

***Miles***

I'm back.

Well, I should count my lucky stars.

This time I was still awake, somehow. I couldn't hear much, my vision was blurred too. Waylon was in a heap on the ground, saying I don't know what to…. Liz, Lisa? Ya, Lisa, that's the name.

There on the floor I could feel a strange sort of numb spread over my limbs and into my torso.

What the hell do you think you're doing?

making sure you don't rip yourself to shreds trying to move

How considerate.

Whether I could feel my wounds or not I knew they had to be bleeding terribly. Looking to my right I found that my fear of bleeding out wasn't actually that big of a problem. My missing ring finger wasn't dripping or pooling blood onto the abused carpet. Instead the fluids sort of just, stopped. It seemed like a cheesy cut away medical diagram happening in real time, with the muscle exposed and little veins and capillaries visible but still functioning as if nothing were amiss.

I realized that I was in no danger of bleeding out. Despite the little bit of relief that thought brought with it it dawned on me that it was freaky as hell to have literal holes in your body and not spill a drop of blood. After taking a moment to really let that sink in I glanced up- I couldn't move my head at this point- and saw that Waylon and Lisa had moved into the kitchen.

Well, never mind me I'm just a dying or possibly dead man on the living room carpet.

Over the kitchen counter I could see Waylon desperately trying to explain something only to pull out a camcorder. When did he get my camera? I could have sworn I tucked it back into my coat pocket before leaving the- oh wait never mind. That one wasn't nearly as beaten and abused as mine.
Waylon held what must have been his own camcorder in his hands. I could see light flickering off their faces that must have been from the screen. I still couldn't hear anything, but the look of horror on Lisa's face and the sort of green look people get when they're seasick on Waylon's told me everything I needed to know about what was on that camera.

With a little sigh of resignation I thought to the Walrider; "I can't stay on the ground forever"
Just as I did I stood without telling myself to move. I walked over to the counter, only to realize it was a bar complete with stools. Sitting on the nearest stool I found myself directly in front of Waylon and company.

"I hate to interrupt-" I stopped talking after hearing that my voice most definitely didn't sound like it should. It took me a second to realize that the Walrider being responsible for my moving around also meant that it was doing things like making my vocal cords vibrate to talk, making my diaphragm moving up and down to breath, making my heart beat…

"I hate to interrupt, but I've been shot no less than a dozen times, don't suppose there's any medicine around here"

While Waylon shook enough to set off a seismograph in Tokyo, Lisa was a little too calm for me to be comfortable with. Only an instant later I saw that someone had shoved me a small hospitals worth of gauze, disinfectant spray, medical tape, anti-bacterial creams, splints, painkillers, antibiotics, Band-Aids, and I don't even know what else. Both Waylon and Lisa were out of sight and the shadows had shifted a few inches from where they had been.

It took a second for me to realise that that meant a few hours had passed at the least. Great, it seems like my sense of time gets a bit distorted when I ride copilot.

***Waylon***

We had retreated to the bedroom. Lisa was practically glued to the door so she could see down the hallway and into the living room where Miles was sitting at the bar.

"Why's he just sitting there?"

"I don't know"

She creaked the door shut and walked closer to me. "As much as I'd like to pick your brain for details we need to get you cleaned up first."

"But first we-"

"In the shower you go."

"But Lisa, I think that-"

"I said in the shower, I don't need you to get an infection in any cuts you might have."

I huffed, there was no arguing with her when she had her mind set on something. Walking to the bathroom I just told myself that she was being the usual Lisa, and that she'd probably re-watch the video a few times, then go on a warpath against Murkoff.

Which wasn't a terrible idea, they deserved all the terrible things in the world.

I began peeling off the old gym clothes and makeshift bandages of mine.

I had a video camera full of evidence against those monsters. Heck, there was a literal monster sitting in my living room proving the depravity of Murkoff. They deserved to drown in their own filth.

I stepped into the stall, turning on the water and standing to the side of it until it started steaming. The Murkoff Corporation was pure evil. I knew that, they had sent dumb muscle to my house for nothing more than my wife threatening them when she didn't have any evidence. I can only imagine what they would do if I came forward with real, tangible proof. God, they would go after the boys in a second… and Lisa.

I stepped under the hot water. Layers of dried filth greedily took in the water and turned into a horrifying sludge.

Under the water I found myself haunted by what Murkoff could do. They could send a hit man, that wouldn't be hard for them. Or kidnap the boys, or Lisa, or me, or heck all of us. Maybe they lock us all up in some other hell hole. They had to have some of the police on their payroll, what if all I have to look forward to is a lifetime of narrow escapes from the law, or some other bullshit.

The bulk of the grime was washed away. Enough for me to feel comfortable using my scrubby at least. I lathered a generous amount of shampoo into my hair while I was at it.

Never mind what Murkoff could do, I had to figure out what I was going to do now.

There was puréed person in the living room courtesy of the Walrider, who was also in the living room. There was no way I could clean that up. Someone would probably be expecting that guy to be somewhere. It was only a matter of time until someone showed up to do something.

The boys were at school, but that didn't mean they were safe. There had to be somewhere we could go, families out of the question, I couldn't drag mom and dad into this, and Lisa's brother Bill wouldn't take us in for a million dollars. Any hotel would be temporary, it wasn't like we could just run for it, there are obligations I have.

Being in the shower it was hard to notice that I had begun to cry, if it weren't for the stinging in my eyes I probably wouldn't have.

Damn, why are things so hopeless? I was out, that should have been the end of it.

Cleaned from the ordeal I turned off the water. Wiping my swollen face with the towel I took a breath. I couldn't break. I was out of the asylum but not free of the mad men. There were things I still had to do.

"You done in there?" I was Lisa form the bedroom.

"Mostly"

"What?" she walked into the room as she spoke.

Only to stop.

She took one good look at me and immediately sprang into action.

"Sit down on the bed, I'll be there in a second."

"Wait what?"

"Waylon, you have a rip across your stomach, sit down."

I had almost forgotten about it. Without protest I sat on the edge of the bed dimly thinking that it wasn't a good thing that I had lost most of the feeling in my torso.

"Don't move" Lisa said to me overly slowly before leaving the room.

I did lie down, but I didn't even think about going anywhere. Lisa scampered back in carrying bandages and tubes of creams and the like. She set about tending to my wounds.

"Good thing I have Dr. Park on my case" I gave a weak chuckle.

"I'm a pediatrician, not a combat medic. Now stay still, you can't be losing any more blood, you'll go into shock."

I lied there, dimly aware of the sounds of ripping gauze and mild cursing from Lisa.

"Shit, this is going to need stitches… a lot of stitches."

At this point the blood loss was catching up to me, I only gave a weak moan in protest to the idea of stitches. She left for I don't know how long, only to come back with my sewing kit.

She leaned down with threaded needle in hand.

"I'm so sorry about this."

***Miles***

Sometime after I registered that there were medical supplies in front of me I got feeling back to my body, much to my regret.

Everything hit me like a freight truck. I instantly doubled over and landed face first on the counter. Holding in grunts of pain. My whole body shook with barely contained gasps.

"Son of a bitch…" I muttered into the table.

"Excuse me?" it was a woman's voice. It took me enough time to choke down a few more grunts of pain to figure out that that had to be Lisa.

"Hello?"

"What" I still hadn't looked up from my wonderful view of the countertop.

"Well, never mind then."

"No, wait." I took my sweet time sitting up "I'm up, im alive, what do you want?"

I saw a clear view of her for the first time. She was standing with an I'm-in-charge-here attitude, despite being no taller than me sitting on the bar stool. She had a bit of a bruise settled around her left eye, which was gray. Her hair was a strawberry blond, to match Waylon's dirty blond. There wasn't much that was remarkable about her face, she had a tiny forehead, but that was all that seemed to stand out.

"I wanted to know if you were still alive. So it looks like I have my answer."

I don't like her

"Oh, shut up."

"Excuse me?"

I'd said that out loud, hadn't I. "I was talking to, I mean- I'm not… Never mind"

Lisa stared daggers at me. Even after all the shit I had seen she had a glare that made me think twice about mouthing off.

She seemed to swallow a toxic comment that was all too ready to spring forward, and instead said "You said you were shot. Where, any wound like that needs to be cleaned."

I thought about it and ultimately decided not to cut out the snark- I'd been a long day, I needed to relax.

"Everywhere, I literally have bullets lodged in every organ I can name"

She was not amused "Take off your shirt."

"Whoa, I don't know what kind of relationship you and Waylon have, but I make it a point to stay away from anyone who's-"

She sprayed god knows what onto my hand and it stung like hell

"Gahhhaa, what was that for!"

I could feel the Walrider getting ready to spring, like a snake in a corner.

No, down boy.

"Rubbing alcohol in a spray bottle, now take off the shirt so I patch up any bullet holes. I don't need you dying on my kitchen floor."

"You're just little miss sunshine, aren't you." I began shrugging off my no doubt ruined coat.

I regretted it instantly. Muscles creaked from moving my shoulders, one of which I just realized was dislocated. Every time the leather grazed a cut or scrape a little lightning bolt of pain shot up my arm.

After the jacket fell to the floor, I had time to appreciate my newly dyed red shirt.

"Could have sworn this was white when I put it on."

One by one I unbuttoned the stained shirt. It was more of a feat then I realized, turns out I needed those missing fingers for the small things. I managed to shrug the shirt off the same way I did the jacket, only with a little more effort because it was tighter.

"There, happy now?"

She did not look pleased. I stole a glance down, counting no less than nine bullet holes and seeing that my whole left side was painfully purple.

I looked back at the spray bottle of rubbing alcohol, then over to the counter of medical toys, noting that a sewing kit had been added.

"This is going to hurt like hell, isn't it?"

It took a second for her to take it all in before she replied only "I think we'll have to set your leg too."

"Oh goody"

She glared again, she seemed awfully fond of that glare.

With spray bottle in hand Lisa took a step closer.

"Hold up a second," I had an idea "Hey ghost"

What

"Don't suppose you could knock me out for this next bit, I really don't want to be awake for kitchen surgery"

"Are you talking to-"

"Do you mind, I'm in the middle of a conversation here."

For a second she was taken aback, then she grew en expression that made me expect to see cartoon smoke go flying from her ears.

"Anyways, ya, looks like I'm about to get turned into a pincushion"

And why would I 'knock you out'

"Because I could always die from the pain, I mean, it's not like I've been pushed way past my limit a good four times in the last two hours"

There was a little hiss of annoyance I am not your play toy

"Ya, well you're the one who's insisting on being my second head, so you're going to have to give a little."

There wasn't a verbal reply, but there was a newly familiar feeling of numbness spread over my limbs.

"See, that wasn't so hard"

I glanced back at Lisa, who seemed to be considering spraying the rubbing alcohol into my eyes.

To the woman's credit, it did seem like she knew what she was doing. Not squeamish at all really. Not when she started boiling water and disinfecting needles, or when she dipped rags in said boiling water and used them to wipe away blood and extra bits of organs. She didn't give so much as an 'eww' when she wiped over a rib that gave a very distinctive 'pop' when she touched it.

I have to admit, I was cringing a little just watching. I couldn't feel it, of course, but watching someone popping and partially boiling my chest tends to make me a bit squeamish. I almost looked away when she pulled out the needle and thread from the still boiling water. I saw nine holes, there were probably more, plus any exits wounds in my back. It didn't help that as she got closer I could see that it wasn't any fancy medical suture either, it was tan thread. Thread for mending a pair of shorts or a shirt.

Lisa went about patching the holes. I counted as she went. One, two, three, four… thirteen, fourteen, around to the back, fifteen…. Nineteen, twenty, twenty one. Twenty one bullet holes, fourteen went in, that meant there were still a whole seven left inside.

After that it was a final wipe down of rubbing alcohol, then a few dozen creams. Finally came squares of gauze then a wraparound of ace bandages.

After my torso was wrapped up in pretty tan pressure bandages she took one look at my leg, stood up for a second, bit her lip like she was thinking, then walked off to I don't know where, only to return with two pieces of plywood. She leaned the wood on the counter and took hold of my boot.
In anticipating something I knew I wouldn't like the sound of it took me a second to realize that her first tug took my shoe off. She stood there for a second, blinked a couple of times, and started coughing.

Oh come on, it didn't smell that bad.

She took off my other boot and took them both somewhere outside my field of view. A few minutes later she came back with a pair or basketball shorts and scissors.

She set up another pot to boil before taking the scissors to my pants. The poor things were already shredding, there was no reason to cut them off.

Either way, she wiped down my battered legs with alcohol and hot water. Apparently she was satisfied with her work because she moved back to pulling my foot, trying to set my leg. I could see a crick in my shin, the bone was most definitely broken in half. Lisa pulled at my leg, and ever so slowly I could see the bottom portion of my shin drifting downward. Eventually the bone was down far enough for her to push it back into place from the side. There was a wonderful grinding sound as ragged bone scraped against raged bone. Again she wrapped the leg with a tight ace bandage, then she put the two pieces of plywood on the side of my leg and wrapped them in place, making a sort of heavy duty splint. The basketball shorts were only just loose enough to make it up over the splint.

She seemed like she was done. Only for her to stop and give me a once over. She stepped up to my shoulder, tapped it, realized it was dislocated, and freaking body slammed it back into place.

She stood back, took a second to admire her work, then left.

She left the shards of glass stuck in our head.

My head. And hey, bullet holes and broken bones get priority.