She had returned to the apartment many hours ago, feet propped on the arm of the couch, head resting on the cushions. The only sound in the small room was the faint shouts of soldiers downstairs, repeating the same damn curfew chant over and over, barely audible through the window she had cracked open. Just the faintest fragment of moonlight shone into the room, casting a white glow on the floor.

The problem was that Joel had not returned.

Although he had offered her the shelter of his house, and patched her up when she needed it, even fucking defending her from getting her face bashed in, they were still operating like two ships in the night, fading in and out of each other's day on separate missions of their own creation. It had been a week since he had brought her home, and each night they had gone separate ways, although when one returned first, they wordlessly stayed up until the other came home. Most scrapes and bruises were self-treated, then they tumbled into bed together to sleep off the rest of the very short night. Trust was hard to come by in this fucked up world, and they weren't sharing it freely with each other just yet.

But tonight, there was no Joel. He should have been back already.

He usually was like clockwork.

Except this time he wasn't.

The moon faded into the light of dawn and she paced the floor biting at her lip, hands shoved deep into her pockets. With no idea where to begin looking for him, as he could be anywhere on earth right now, she resigned herself to waiting until the first moment that the curfew was lifted, and skipping work at the pit to start looking for him. They wouldn't get any cards today, but that was the least of their worries if Joel was laying somewhere injured.

What if they had caught him sneaking around? He would be hanged! She wasn't about to let that fucking happen, but getting him out of a FEDRA prison would be a dangerous task, punishable by death, but an idea that she found herself entertaining as she eyed the sliver of light outside. It was almost sunrise. The curfew would lift any moment.

Stomping footsteps outside Joel's apartment jerked her violently from her nervous worry, and an unexpected pounding at the door sent chills down her spine.

What the fuck?

She moved quietly, skillfully, to the door, pressing her ear to the crack between the edge of the door and the facing, and listened.

Heavy, raspy, painful breathing reached her ear, but low and distant, as if the person was on the floor. They sounded injured, from her experience. There was another presence there too, a different breathing of someone who was winded from exertion, and the second person pounded on the door again, the loud sound inches from her ear.

"Open up, Tess," the voice called, the tone surprisingly bored and non-threatening. "I know you're in there. The damn fool said you'd be, so let's hurry this up. I got other shit to do."

The voice was immediately familiar to Tess and her heart began to race. It was Ryan. He had found her.

The damn fool said she would be here? He had to be talking about Joel. No one else knew she had taken up residence at this hard to find apartment, and indignation welled up inside her at the flippant abuse of Joel's intelligence. Not for a moment did she question Joel's loyalty. Angrily, she flung the door open. "Why, how dare you-"

She did not get to finish the sentence as a fist immediately connected with her face, and an angry grunt sounded from the floor. Ryan laughed harshly as Tess stumbled backward, clutching her now-bleeding nose and grabbing at the doorframe to keep herself from tumbling to the floor in a haze of pounding blood pressure in her ears and stabs of pain in her face. She took a ragged breath and mentally pushed past the pain and immediate fury to recognize that Joel lay motionless at Ryan's feet, unfocused eyes now glaring in the direction of Ryan, a hand opening and closing softly as if wishing it could choke the daylights out of him, one of the harsh man's boots resting easily on his stomach. Something was terribly wrong.

"What the actual fuck, Ryan," Tess snarled at him, spitting blood. The man held up his hand and waved her off like a fly. "if you've hurt him..."

"That was for leaving me like that, you piece of shit," Ryan chuckled. "Should have known you'd run to this fucker. Walks around like he owns the place, the bastard, being all macho and mob boss. Whatever, I don't give a flying fuck. He's hurt, and he paid good cards for me to haul his ass home, so he's your problem now." Ryan knelt down and smirked at Joel, eyeing the trickle of blood that ran down the older man's chin. "Take real good care of her, Miller. She looks a little worse for wear right now. Hope she's showing you a real good time, she refused to be a sweetheart for us. Pity, a real genuine pity. She'd have had a fucking special time. But you watch your back, old man. Soon as you're down, she's mine again. Got it?"

He did not wait for Joel to respond, ignoring the murderous glare that the injured man was throwing at him and he strode off down the hall, giving Joel's ribs a parting kick.

"Joel!" Tess fell to her knees beside him, grasping at his jacket to pull him inside the apartment. "Fuck, Joel, what happened!"

She kicked the door shut with one leg, and reached to cradle his head in her hands. His beard prickled her palms, his cheek rough and damp with sweat. "Joel, come on, look at me, You - you're not bit - are you?"

"He'd have shot me - if I was," Joel managed to grunt, breathing heavily and wincing, his eyes slowly falling shut as he squeezed them together tightly. "Not bit, just got - stabbed. Guy didn't - want to pay - for the oxys." His hands waved in the general direction of his left side, and then his hand fell still against the floor.

"Shit." Tess immediately grabbed for his flannel, yanking at the material to get a better look at the situation. Joel's hand fell onto hers. His face was drawn and grey with pain, and his eyes unfocused. She laid a hand carefully on his forehead. He was feverish, and flinched at the contact. "Joel, come on, stay with me. I got to see how bad it is."

Joel's head rolled back and forth as he tried to shake his head no. "Tess, just let it go. Can't treat it - here. Too - deep. Just - go back to - Ryan. You'll be better - off there - than on the street."

"I would rather be ripped apart by a clicker," Tess commented dryly, pulling back the shirt to reveal the ugly, gaping wound that the flannel had hidden. Joel grunted in annoyance at her dramatic response, then must have seen her expression, because the skin around his eyes relaxed and he said softly. "Tess, please. Promise you'll - go back - to Ryan. He's a - fucking bastard - but he will protect you."

"You. Shut the fuck up." Tess grunted at him, shoving herself to her feet. She shrugged off her blouse, the cool air brushing across her bare shoulders, and she brushed her hands off on her sleeveless grey tank top. Carefully, she stuffed the shirt into the wound, applying pressure, trying not to vomit at the way his hands curled into themselves, a low guttural groan forcing itself from behind his clenched teeth. "Sorry, sorry," she chanted faintly, her tough bravado fading. "Here, focus on your hands." She carefully laid his shaking hands atop the wadded up garment, and pushed down carefully, ignoring the continued agonized groans, and his heaving chest as he fought nausea and blinding pain. "Hold that on there for me for a minute, alright, real tight. Keep holding. Now I am going to go look for something to stitch this up, alright, and you stay the fuck right there."

Joel's chest jerked in what might have been either a chuckle at the idea that he was going to consider moving even an inch, or a grunt of dismay as he realized she wasn't going to leave. If they didn't show up for work, soldiers might come investigate.

And what kind of fucked up story would explain the gaping hole in his side?

Tess shoved the sight of the man laying on their living room floor out of her mind, and she moved to the kitchen, pulling open cabinets and taking down their first aid items. It took a few minutes of rummaging and then digging in her own backpack before she felt like she had what she needed. Then she put some water on to boil on the stove and returned to Joel's side and fell to her knees beside Joel again. He jerked at the sudden motion and slowly turned fevered eyes to look at her.

"Miss me?" she asked softly, a half smile turning up the corner of her lips. Joel's face twitched, and Tess reached to take his hands off the makeshift pack. Her breath hissed between her teeth as blood continued to trickle from the wound. She wiped at the injury, Joel's hands waving awkwardly in the air as he fought the urge to punch her to get her to stop messing with the injury.

"Joel." She carefully pressed the blouse to the wound again, turning a furrowed face to look into his eyes. "Joel, I am going to have to take some precautions, alright? You are much stronger than me and I have to stitch this, okay. I am sorry, I really am, but you are not going to fucking die on me."

There was something tender in Joel's eyes as he looked up at her. Something familiar, something kind. Sympathetic, gentle. All non-Joel expressions. She blamed the fever.

He was grateful, that was also clear.

He had been resigned to the fact that he would run her off and then he would die, fittingly, in a pool of blood.

Just like Sarah.

And that would be it. They would be together again.

But this rough-natured woman kneeling beside him, hovering over him, face lined with such worry and concern, just wasn't going to give him that gift.

And for some reason, he wasn't too fucking mad about it.

He finally nodded at the implications of her plea for understanding, and she sighed a breath of relief, her face slipping into her all-business mask that she usually wore on missions. "Alright. Give me a second. Hold that wound tight."

She stood and moved away again, up past his head, where he could hear her moving things around, furniture moving, a heavy book dropped onto the table. Then she was at his head, reaching for his hands.

"Joel, I'm going to tape your hands to the rung of this chair, alright? You can hang onto the rung as tightly as you need to, that way you won't punch me or some shit. Alright? Is that okay? I will free you the fucking second I am done, I promise, Joel."

Joel studied her face for a moment, as if determining to trust her, then nodded, his breath coming in short gasps, both due to the blood loss that made his head feel fuzzy, and the anticipation of the hell he was about to go through. Tess seemed to recognize this, because she laid a hand on his cheek, a gentle caress that crossed a boundary that had always been unspoken and avoided. "Try to breathe, Joel, I will make it quick, I promise."

Carefully, she duct taped his wrists to the wooden rung of the chair, positioning them so he was grasping the rung like a lifeline. He flexed his fingers experimentally and she nodded once. "Too tight, or okay?"

"Okay," he grunted, his lips parched with dehydration. Would have to deal with that when he wasn't actively bleeding to death. What the hell hadn't Ryan tried to slow the blood somewhat? Fucker probably didn't even care if Joel had lived or died. She would deal with him later.

"Alright, let's get this the fuck over with."

She ate her can of beans slowly, her eyes focused on Joel, where he lay unmoving in the bed. She was sure, for as long as time would last, she would never forget the process of getting him pieced back together. The way his hands tugged weakly at the restraints, and the feral, deep groans of agony as she stabbed the thin needle into raw flesh, the whimpers of pleading to stop that escaped his lips before shock mercifully gave her the silence and stillness she needed from him to finish the job, the blood - his blood - that she had scrubbed viciously off her hands when she was done.

Once he was sutured together and the bleeding somewhat controlled, she released him as she had promised and dragged him to bed.

She had sat there for hours, as the sun followed its path through the sky. It was late afternoon now, and only a growling stomach drew her out of her vigil and she tiredly made her way to the kitchen, favoring her sore muscles, sore from tension and adrenaline today, rather than work.

She vaguely wondered why no one had come looking for them.

She pulled open a cabinet and glanced through the meager supplies they had combined from their different stockpiles and chose a can of beans. She opened the top with her knife and took a spoon from the drawer, meandering back to the bedside to eat her cold dinner. She didn't know much about this Joel character, but she was completely sure that their relationship would never be the same. The sun set slowly, bathing the room in grey shadows. She finally turned on a lamp when she could no longer see Joel's chest rising and falling. She had to make sure he was still alive.

She felt that familiar itch to be on the move. It was the life of a smuggler. Always be sneaking, moving, hiding, doing some such dangerous shit and trying not to get caught.

But tonight she pushed it away. She didn't even have a fucking mission planned for tonight, having been off the radar all day. But there was one thing she needed to do, and that was get Joel some kind of medical leave so he didn't have to be investigated and the soldiers would leave them alone. She knew a guy, one of Ryan's buddies, that worked in the medical clinic, and she would have to leave Joel's side to go make that happen.

But the man was a dick and highly unlikely to want to help since she had broken his nose once for making advances.

Still, she had to try.

She quickly scribbled a note and left it in Joel's hand, before pulling on her jacket and backpack, giving him one last gentle glance before silently making her way out of the apartment and down into the dusky evening.

She had to make it back before curfew. That was all that she had to worry about.

It was a long trek to the clinic, and she avoided the entrance, choosing instead to enter from the back alley. A tall, lean man in a FEDRA medic uniform sat hunched over at a desk, sorting through a stack of paperwork.

"Matt," she said flatly, eyeing the lean figure with the wary glance of a cat.

The man jumped up from his chair, and turned quickly, pistol in hand, all in one smooth motion. His face relaxed as soon as he saw Tess, her hands raised, and he laughed outright, tucking his gun back in its holster.

"Tess, what the hell? What brings you here to the clinic? I'm surprised you would even show your face around here, bitch, especially after our history. Fuck, your face, what does the other guy look like?"

"He's fucked up. And perhaps I decided to come bury the hatchet," she replied softly, hands on her hips, as she took a few steps toward him. "Times are uncertain in this fucked up city. Can't hold grudges forever."

Matt sat down again and leaned back in his chair, propping one foot on his desk, crossing his arms. "And you think it's so easy to just waltz right in here, and be what, all cool and shit?"

"Didn't waltz," Tess replied dryly. "I walked. And no. I am here on business. Came to ask you to give me a medical leave for Joel Miller."

"That bastard?" Matt replied, genuinely surprised. "The pit guy? Oh, don't tell me. Of all the guys here, he's the one you decided to hook up with? Come on, Tess, I thought you had some more class than that."

"We didn't hook up," Tess replied, one eyebrow raised warningly. "I owe him a favor, and he sprained his ankle so he couldn't walk down here and get the damn shit for himself, so I came on his behalf. Just for a week, and he will be back in the pit. Promise."

Matt chuckled, an evil sound, and tapped his chin. "Gonna cost you."

"I brought three hundred cards," Tess replied. "Take it or fucking leave it."

"Oh, leaving it isn't an option," Matt replied shrewdly, taking his foot off the desk and leaning forward, elbows on the desk surface, hands steepled together. "You already know that. He needs the leave, no doubt about that. You were always an open book, weren't you. So you, dear Tess, are in a desperate situation."

"Look," Tess rumbled, face set like stone. "Either you take out that sheet of paper and sign the leave for him, or I fucking break your arm and sign it for you. Got it?"

Matt outright laughed. "Tess, Tess, always the one who jumps straight to the violence part of the barter. Sure, sure, I'll sign the note." He turned away and withdrew a file from a shelf, flipped it open, and took out a sheet of paper with writing on it. He picked up a pen and began to write.

"Joel Miller, sprained ankle, on leave for ten days. Good enough?"

Tess's face relaxed and she looked slightly confused. "Yes. Thank you. I - he will appreciate that."

Matt folded the paper in half, and stood, holding it out to her. "Here. I only ask for a small fee."

She reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew a wad of cards, holding them out. "Here, Matt, just take all of it."

Matt laid a hand lightly on top of hers, and shook his head. "Not what I'm asking for, Tess."

Her face turned grim and a muscle in her jaw flexed. "Matt, back the fuck off. I said no before, and the answer still fucking stands."

Matt held up his hands, in a placating gesture. "Just want a kiss, Tess. See, hey, before you punch me, it's like this. Ryan and I had a bet going. If I kissed you first, I get 500 cards. See, I'd make 500 and you'd get to keep yours, and get your fucker his medical leave. It's a win-win."

"Like hell," Tess snarled at him, stuffing the cards back into her jacket. Matt held up a hand again.

"Tess, Tess, don't go all batshit crazy here." He nodded at her hands. "He's hurt pretty bad, isn't he?"

A guarded expression crossed Tess's face as she realized there was blood still smudged on her hands and around her fingernails. She made no motion to acknowledge it, but Matt smiled smoothly at the fear that hovered in her eyes. "Look, Tess. Here's what I am offering. I give your man three weeks off."

A glimmer of interest flickered in Tess's eyes. For a stab wound like that, three weeks could mean the difference between life and death for Joel. Come on, Tess. It's just a kiss, she mentally scolded herself. She would do anything for Joel, she realized, as she eyed the beady eyed man in front of her, the precious slip of paper that she needed held precariously between two of his lean fingers.

"Counteroffer," she said tersely, standing up straight and looking the FEDRA medic in the eye. "Make it four weeks, and some meds, and you can kiss me twice and I will write you a note to give to Ryan." Her stomach rolled a little with the idea of kissing this bastard, bartering with her own honor, but it was a fucked up world, and she had done worse fucked up shit than this.

Now was not the time to be squeamish, not when Joel's life depended on it.

Matt smiled, a genuine smile. "Four weeks, penicillin, bottle of gabapentin, and a note. All I get are two kisses? I want two minutes of a make out session. You're lucky I'm not demanding you to service me too, unless you'd like to-"

"Deal," Tess said quickly, before he could add that to the terms. "Two minutes, Matt. Clothes on. And I'll write the note. Give me a fucking pen."

She carefully pushed open the door, wearily leaning on the doorframe for a moment, then closing the door as a familiar click came from the bedroom. "You can put the gun down, Joel," she called out, locking the bolts on the door. "It's just me."

She made her way into the bedroom, where Joel sat up on the side of the bed, his pistol in one hand, her note in the other, hair haphazardly tousled, a feverish sheen of sweat covering his damp skin. He was bare from the waist up, and she could see the bruising starting to take effect from the beating and stab wound as his body had begun to attempt to heal the damages. "Joel, lay down, you shouldn't be up!"

"And you shouldn't be out there," Joel growled back. "Curfew is on."

She chuckled dryly. "I know. Just barely made it in. Playing the stick to the shadows game tonight." She laid her hands on his warm shoulders. "Come on, lay down. It's all okay now. We are tucked in for the night."

He shrugged off her hands that were pushing on his shoulders and he shoved the note in her face. "What's this shit?"

Joel. Going to get meds. Don't move. Be back soon.

Ps. I fucking mean it. Don't move.

Tess

"You needed medication," Tess said wearily, frowning down at him. "Now stop fussing, and get back in bed."

"Soon as you tell me who did that to your face," Joel grunted, his dark eyes glinting angrily in the lamplight, breath hitching as if he was just noticing the damage she too had sustained sometime since they had seen each other yesterday morning. Tess's hand wandered to her bruised jaw.

Suddenly, her eyes could not meet Joel's and she pushed his shoulders again. "Joel, just - lay down before you mess up those stitches. I'm not doing that shit all over again."

Joel's hand landed on hers, squeezing the fingers harshly, although he had not intended to cause her pain. "Talk to me, Tess."

She waffled back and forth a moment before throwing her hands in the air. "Look, it was just a bit of a make out session, alright." Her hand swiped across her lips, still healing from getting her face beaten into bloody bruises mere days ago, puffy and bruised from Matt's punishing lips, with no regard to the state of her face. She could still feel his teeth biting at the bruised skin, her blood smearing on his chin. Hands having no care for her bruised body, touching anywhere and everywhere that he could get away with, eager to make good on his two minutes.

"Who," Joel asked, one hand slipping around the back of her neck, the touch both protective and menacing, but not toward her.

"Some guy at the clinic," she said softly, kneeling to be somewhat on his eye level. It was an intimate position, her hovering between his knees, her elbows resting on his legs. She looked up at him, one hand patting his uninjured side. "Don't worry about him, Joel. I got you four weeks off on medical leave, no questions asked, some good pain medications, and penicillin even."

"What did you let him do to you?" Joel whispered, his tone ferocious, and dangerously close to a growl. His thumb brushed her temple softly, as his hands wandered upward to cradle her face. His eyes, although still slightly muddled with fever, roamed over her bruised and battered face, and something akin to grief crumpled his brow.

"Nothing major, Joel. It's alright."

"Like hell it is," he muttered. "Tess, I'm not gonna ask again. What. Happened."

The warning was very clear and she knew that if she didn't get him back to bed, he was going to hinder his chances of recovery by getting the fuck up and going out to get his own answers. He was still very much injured, and she only dared to hope the medications would be enough to pull him through the days ahead. It was not time for his fucking theatrics. She sighed heavily.

"Look, Joel, the medic just got a little kissing and heavy petting for his trouble. He and Ryan," at the mention of that name, Joel stiffened, but said nothing, "Ryan and he had a bet going over who was going to get to kiss me first."

"How much."

Tess's face twitched. What was the value of your kiss, Joel was asking. Fuck, she felt like a piece of meat being fought over by two hounds.

"Five hundred cards," she replied, looking anywhere but at his face.

"The fuckers," Joel breathed harshly, his tone filled with growing anger. Tess frowned at him.

"It bought what I needed," she said defensively, her tone indicating the discussion was closed. "Can't go back and change nothing, so just got to move on." She subconsciously bit at her lip, and Joel moved a hand to touch her chin.

"Stop."

"I can still feel his lips - on mine," she said faintly, softly, as a means of explanation, vulnerability flickering in her face. "Can't get it to go away. He - he was rough."

Joel leaned silently forward, eyes focused steadily on hers. "Want me to fix it?"

Her heart beat a little faster as she realized what he meant, and her heart fluttered. Mildly, she nodded once, trying to mentally understand why she craved this from someone she had never even been remotely close to, especially on the heels of Matt's violating charade at self satisfaction only a mere hour ago.

It was tender, and gentle, the way Joel cupped his hand behind her head, carefully leaning crookedly to lower his face to hers. It was only one kiss, so soft, so light on her bruised lips that she could have almost imagined that it didn't happen if she hadn't felt his breath drift across her bruises, a caress of gentleness that she had never experienced in a partner before. Then he pulled her close, protectively, to his body, chin resting on her head. Friends with benefits didn't seem like such a bad idea with this guy.

"You shouldn't have had to fucking do that," he rumbled above her, pulling her back to reality, his voice a roar in her ear that was pressed against his chest.

"You didn't have to let me tag along either, and keep my face from getting pounded in, but you did," she replied quietly. She pulled away, although reluctantly, and nodded at him. "Now to bed with you, old man."

He regarded her with a grim frown that was filled with so many emotions, a rarity for him. "I resent that assumption of my age." But he did as he was told, allowing her to tuck him in, then bring him a cup of water and two pills from the bottles that Matt had given her.

"That one is penicillin, yellow one is gabapentin," she announced as he surveyed the tablets somewhat skeptically. Gabapentin? Not even some of the soldiers were able to get that when they were injured. Faded memories of soldiers crying in agony when he too lay in a army hospital tent trickled distastefully into his memory and he gulped down the tablets, then glanced sorrowfully at Tess. Her kiss had been pretty valuable to Matt but at least it did get him the good stuff. He would recover properly, and quickly.

He hadn't known this woman for more than a week, and already, she had wormed her way into a crack in the great concrete wall that soared to great heights around his heart.

And he would take down any fucker that tried to hurt her.

When he was well, he vowed to himself, there would be hell to pay for a certain Matt and Ryan.

Five hundred cards, the fuckers. That's what they owed her.

And a pair of broken noses.

And a kick somewhere sensitive.

The last thing he heard before medicine induced sleep pulled him under was Tess, softly sobbing in the kitchen.

Fuck Matt.

Fuck Ryan.

That was a promise.