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“What the hell happened to you?!” The moment Hardison and Parker stepped through her door holding Eliot on their shoulders, Becks paled, the breath dying in her throat.
“Don’t worry, babe, it’s just a scratch…” her boyfriend managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. He was in pretty bad shape: it wasn’t just the torn clothes, but also the black eye, the broken lip, the various scratches and the emergency bandages, which the petty thieves had probably improvised in order to prevent Eliot from bleeding out on the road.
“Just a scratch, my ass…” Becks hissed as cleared the steel table on which she usually prepared her concoctions, throwing in a haste what she didn’t need on the floor. She pulled out of a cabinet a first aid kit, and proceeded to disinfect herself and the surfaces, like it was a proper ER and not just an improvised one, in the back of Alec’s brewpub.
As if they were a well-oiled machine, before she could say anything, Hardison cut Eliot’s shirt and jeans, revealing various scratches, bruises and a bigger cut- probably a knife wound- which the Chemist cleaned with saline solution.
“You were right,” she sweetly told him as she palmed his cheek. “It looks worse than it actually is.”
“Need help keeping him down? Want me to tie him?” Hardison asked her, as Becks was already going through her case, looking for the best needle to use to sew him back in shape.
“Please.,” Eliot rolled his eyes. “As if you were able to! Even a five years old would be able to free themselves with the kind of knots you tie.”
Giving a pack on the shoulder (the injured one, for good measure), Hardison snickered, sort of enjoying Eliot’s hiss of pain. “You were right, kids. It’s better than I thought. All right, lovebirds, if you don’t need me any longer, I’ll go and make sure there’s no trace of us anywhere. Ta-ta.”
Becks smiled, malicious, delighted by the little show that Alec and Hardison kept going on despite the years; they cared about each other, they loved each other like family- like they were brothers- and yet they kept bickering. They really were like two siblings, just like she and Maddie were.
Once cleaned the wounds, she sprayed his chest with a cooling spray to anesthetize the septum. “You want a sedative? I have something mild that I’ve been working on. No long time affects, it cleans out of your system in two days, max.”
He shook his head, squeezing her arm. “Nah, I’m fine. I told you, it just looks worse than it is.”
She gave him a peck on the forehead, but it was where he had a bluish hue and a bump- and Eliot clenched his eyes shout, hissing in pain. “Ouch. Sorry. Better if I suture you.”
She sat on a silvery stool, and she get back to work, suturing him under Eliot’s loving and sharp gaze. “For the other wounds I can use an enzymatic spray that accelerates scarring and promotes natural cell regeneration. But I’ll have to go old school for this one. Good news is, it will heal pretty nicely and women go crazy for men with war wounds.” As proof of this, she chuckled, with a gleam in her eyes, and she looked at the one scar he had on right shoulder, from the last time he had helped Colonel Vance.
“The only woman I care about is already here, and she is lovingly taking care of my wounds.” He whispered, seductive, licking his lips as promising things to come- very filthy things to come. “You know, you’ve been patching me up for years, and I’ve never bothered to ask you where you actually learned to suture a wound.”
“Oh, well, Grey’s Anatomy, mostly. And ER, the show with Noah While and George Clooney, you know. I used to love them. especially the earlier seasons. And the internet. You can really learn everything on YouTube.” She chuckled, then, she lifted her eyes, and blushed, as she saw Eliot studied her, curious and intent, as he was trying to impress each and every detail in his memory palace. “What now?”
“Nothing,” he shook his head, but he was still smiling, and he sounded a bit timid, somehow insecure. “I just wondered… why it feels so much like Deja-vu. You, me, here. This.”
“Hard guess, because you hate hospitals but are in a line of work where you tend to get hurt, so you always come bleeding and screaming here needing my help to stitch you up?”
“I don’t hate hospitals, It’s just complicated. They report wounds, and one can only lie up to a certain point.” He sighed. “Seriously, though, it does really feel like it already happened.”
Becks sat on her stool, and crossed her arms. She was blushing, a little embarrassed. “Do you actually remember our first kiss?” She asked him tentatively, picking on her fingernails.
“Sure. It happened right on those stairwells. It was the day we went to your sister’s engagement party. You were wearing that burgundy lace dress and were so nervous, and to calm you down, I kissed you.” He lifted an eyebrow, smirking malicious and bold. “I seriously thought about tying you to my bed and have my way with you, but then I decided to be a gentleman.”
“Yeah. That’s not the first time you kissed me. that was the first time you remember kissing me.” She blushed, and scratched lazily the scar on his shoulder. "The first time you kissed me, was when I stitched this injury here, after you’ve helped Vance. Hardison and parker brought you back, told me you had played the perfect soldier, saying you didn’t need anything, but that, once in the car, you had almost collapsed. You were bleeding a lot, and I was so scared, you were in so much pain that I gave you some morphine.”
He quizzically looked at her. “I don’t remember any of it.”
“Told you, morphine. Synthetized by little old me, but morphine nevertheless.” She scratched her nose, feeling a little guilty for not having told him anything, ever. “When I came back to check on you after a couple of hours, you were awake, but still pretty out of it. I was checking the dressing on your shoulders and you told me I was cute and….” She cleared her throat, embarrassed. “You grabbed my ass and you drew me to you and kissed me. A lot. And tried to grab my breast. Which is when I slapped you.”
“Violent woman. You really like slapping me.” he laughed, hissing in pain. “Was I good, at least? I mean, I don’t remember it, but, was I good? Did you like it?”
“Yeah,” she gave him a peck on the forehead. “Yeah, and now rest.”