A/N: okay, so I'm going to go for a multipule shot here; submitting several chapters at once, several which had already been written. Enjoy.
"Artie, what the hell did you do?" Mac demanded as he got the teenage girl over to his couch.
She gave him a weak grin and said, "You really wanna know?"
He thought about that for a moment and then said, "No, the less I know the better, but you know, I really should take you to the hospital."
"Not a chance in hell, buddy! I like sticking sharp pointy things in people; I sure as hell am not having sharp pointy things stuck in my ass!" she shot back.
"Well, you may need stitches," he pointed out.
"And you may get a rebar wrapped around your head if you try it!"
"Well, at least stop bleeding all over my couch; I just had the thing steam-cleaned!"
"What are you gripping about; you been trying to get my DNA ever since I've known you!"
"Not if I have to cut it out of my couch to get it!"
"Picky, picky, picky!"
He raised an eyebrow at her and she smiled sweetly. "Why didn't you head for the sanctuary, that cavern of yours?" he asked.
"Too damn far away and besides, Father Thomas hasn't been feeling well lately."
"You really do care about him."
She grunted. "About as much as I care about anyone. Now, you gonna stop staring or are you gonna help me get this damn shirt off so I can clean up my latest owies?"
"I may have to cut your shirt off," he cautioned her.
She gave a small shrug. "It was a cheap shirt anyway."
"Where'd you steal this one from?"
She glared at him and answered with a raspberry, causing him to chuckle. "Well, just so you've been warned. Stay put while I get a few things." As he headed for the bathroom to gather up a few medical supplies and his First Aid kit, he heard Artie mutter something.
"Hey Lady, if you'll forgive all the fast little ones I've pulled on you, I'll forgive you for the great big whoopee you just pulled on me!"
"Lady? As in Goddess of the Moon and all that?" he called back, puzzled by the comment.
"Who do you think?" she shot back indignantly. "I don't kow-tow to no boy-toy!"
"You don't kow-tow to anybody, it seems!"
"And your point is?"
"Good point," he conceded.
A moment later he was back with his supplies, which included plenty of clean warm water, paper towels, latex gloves, medical tape, gauze, scissors, and a garbage bin for it all, plus his First Aid kit. He also snagged a blanket and a pillow from the bedroom since he firmly intended to make sure Artie parked her butt on his couch for the remainder of the night. Then he put a towel on the couch behind her back to prevent the blood from staining his couch; he really didn't feel like explaining that to Peyton, who would no doubt freak. After all, she was a doctor, Medical Examiner or not, and in her world, anyone as seriously injured as he suspected Artie was, belonged in a hospital where she could get proper medical attention, not on a cop's couch with basic First Aid supplies, even if some of his supplies had been the result of a neck injury when he'd been caught in building that had been blown up by a bomb.
He carefully assisted her in getting her jacket, wincing in sympathy as she moaned quietly in pain. Her shirt was a mess. Using the scissors he carefully cut the shirt away, stopping every now and then to use damp gauze on areas where the blood had dried the shirt to her skin. It looked like her injury, which turned out to be a nasty-looking slash across her shoulder and shoulder blade, had bled quite a bit before clotting. Considering the volume of blood on her shirt and jacket, it didn't look serious enough for stitches but would require a bandage for the next several days while it healed fully. Her hand didn't look too bad but it would require cleaning and, of course, a bandage to protect it. Since the bleeding seemed to have stopped there for now, he would clean it last and attend to her shoulder first.
"Your injury either bled a hell of a lot at first or you heal fast," he commented.
"One of the perks," she muttered.
"I'm sorry?" he asked.
"Never mind."
There was something in her voice that suggested that he drop the subject. He did, for now.
"Okay, I'm going to have to clean this and I'll warn you, it's going to smart," he cautioned.
"If it smarts that means I'm still alive," she shot back.
She had a point. Still, he was going to give her something that would take the edge off.
He got up and carefully poured a finger of whiskey from his supply before handing it to her, saying, "Sip this carefully; it'll..."
But before he'd even finished his sentence, she'd knocked the drink back, causing him to raise his eyebrows. Her reaction was predictably instantaneous.
She shot forward, coughing as the alcoholic drink burned its way down her throat to her stomach.
"Whoo-hoo! That stuff burns, baby!" she yelped.
"Of course, it's whiskey; specifically Crown Royal Limited Edition, which you just knocked back like water," he said sarcastically.
"I'm a kid; what the hell do I know!" she shot back, handing him the glass, coughing.
"If you'd listened to me, you would have known."
"Since when do I ever listen to you?"
"I wish you would. Might make things a bit easier."
"Where's the fun in that?"
He glared and she just smiled sweetly.
"You done yet?" he asked.
"For now."
"Good." And he set to work.
He tried to be gentle but it wasn't easy. Every now and then she would flinch or moan softly.
As he worked, he asked her gently, "Where's your family, Artie?"
Eyes closed, head back, she whispered tiredly, "Gone. They had to go home before I wanted them to, when I still needed them."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
She shrugged her good shoulder. "Shit happens. There are plenty of others out there with worse sob stories than mine."
"But no one should be without a family, especially someone as young as you."
"I make do."
"How old are you, anyway?"
"Eighteen, I think."
"You think?"
"Not in to celebrating birthdays; not really my thing."
"Well, what is your thing?"
"Trying to stay alive."
"Doesn't sound like a lot of fun."
"Beats the alternative."
"Which is?"
"Dying."
He finished patching up her shoulder and moved on to her hand. She opened her eyes and leaned forward, studying her hand.
He picked up a clean piece of gauze, dampened with the water and carefully began to clean it. The blood had already begun to crust around the wound and when he removed the crust the cut started bleeding again.
As they watched, three drops of blood steadily dripped on to the gauze. At that precise moment, in the distance, very faintly, the sound of a bell began tolling steadily, almost in rhythm to each drop of blood.
Artie froze. She looked at the blood and then looked at him with eyes he could only describe as being terrified.
"Artie?" he asked gently, concerned.
She recited quietly.
"Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls."
"It tolls for thee," he said, finishing the line. "John Donne, For Whom the Bell Tolls. Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.
She shrugged, leaning back against the couch and closing her eyes. "'Bout as well as can be, I suppose. You done yet?"
"Just about." He finished cleaning up her cut and bandaging it. "You hungry?" he asked. "I was just about to order a pizza."
"Sounds good. You do olives?"
"I do. How about Greek?" he asked, remembering that Flack had mentioned her liking Greek pizza, as he cleaned up the minor mess he'd made and pitched her ruined shirt in the garbage bin, planning to take it out in the morning when he headed to work.
"Man after my own heart."
He chuckled.
They chowed down on their respective pizzas, the Greek pizza for her and a pepperoni pizza with extra cheese for him, as they watched the news and one or two other programs. After a bit Mac could see Artie was loosing the battle to stay awake so he gently helped her lay down on the couch and carefully covered her with a blanket, tucking a pillow behind her head.
"I really appreciate this, Stubby, and I'm sorry if I've caused you any trouble in any way," she said quietly.
"No problem; that's what friends are for," he said, gently stroking her hair out of her face. "You sleep and we'll talk some more in the morning."
She nodded tiredly and closed her eyes. Within moments she was asleep.
After Mac tidied up his apartment, he too went to bed, fully expecting Artie to be on his couch the next morning. Instead, he was woken to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and a nasty suspicion that something wasn't right.
Sure enough, the couch was empty, save a neatly folded blanket, pillow, empty coffee cup on the table, and a note. Artie was nowhere in sight.
"Hey Stubby;
Thanks for letting me crash here last night, the pizza, and the bandages; again much appreciated. Due to the fact that my shirt is now in your garbage, I swiped one of your shirts. It's a blue striped dress shirt and was loose enough to get over my shoulder without too much discomfort on my part. You got good taste in clothes :D
Please don't worry about me; I'll be okay. As I said before, I heal fast and this isn't the first time I've been nailed like this. It probably won't be the last but I promise to not make last night a habit; after all, it would be kinda fun to explain to your girlfriend why a bleeding teenager keeps showing up on your doorstep rather than going to the hospital. Thank you, no.
In the mean time, you take care of yourself, Stubby, and I'll see you around again some time.
A."
Curious, Mac went to his closet to see which shirt it was Artie had borrowed and he groaned. "It would have to be one of my favorite dress shirts you borrowed, wouldn't it?" he groused.