Chapter Text
You had tried telling Whiskey that his plan had far too many holes in it to be successful. He had waved off your concerns and hit you with a, “Don’t you worry, sugar, Jack’s got this all under control.”
Right then and there you had prepared yourself for shit to hit the fan.
Well… shit meet fan.
You and Whiskey were currently running for your lives through the snow down the side of a mountain.
“I fucking warned you this was going to happen, Whiskey!” you cursed as you tore through the forest trying to put as much distance between you and the compound Statesmen had sent you to for infiltration and extraction of information.
“You can tell me I told you so all you want to later, sweetheart!” Jack yelled from behind you, “but save your breath for right now!”
“I wouldn’t have to save my breath if you had listened to me in the first place you pompous asshole,” you shot over your shoulder.
“SHIT!” Whiskey swore as he saw a helicopter fly overhead and turn to its side in front of you revealing the gunmen ready to fire, “Get down!”
Whiskey being the one to spot it while you were looking back at him had a second longer to react than you did. You quickly redirected yourself into the denser part of the trees in search of cover and ended up slamming into your partner when something knocked you off balance. You landed with an OOF as you both hit the ground.
When you started to move Whiskey held you tight to him, “Wait,” he hissed, “Let them think they got us.”
“That’s not going to work,” you rolled your eyes, “They’re going to find a clearing to land in and circle back to confirm the kills.”
“It will take them a bit to find a clearing with the snow picking up like it is,” Whiskey pointed out, “We’ll make a run for it while they’re doing that.”
“Fine,” you agreed and remained still while you listened to see which way the helicopter was traveling.
“They’re headed west,” Whiskey said.
“Which means we need to go east,” you replied, still pressed against his chest, trying not to think about how good he felt under your body, “If this snow gets much worse, they may cancel the search until it lets up. That would buy us time to find a place to lay low until an extraction team can make it to us.”
“Then let’s get up and get moving,” Whiskey said and started to shift, prompting you to pull yourself away.
“Gimme a second to get-,” you cut yourself off with a pained shout before collapsing back onto his chest.
“What’s wrong?” Whiskey asked, panic clear in his voice.
“My back,” you groaned.
“Okay, okay,” Whiskey calmed himself, trying to instill the same emotion in you, “You just hold still. I’m going to roll us over as gentle as I can to take a look at you. Okay?”
You nodded through the pain rather than speaking.
Whiskey did exactly as he said he would. He wrapped one arm around you and used the other to help roll you off of him and position himself in a kneeling position.
“Whiskey, you’re bleeding,” your eyes widened, “I swear if you got blood on me-”
“Sweetheart, this ain’t my blood,” Whiskey said as he felt his stomach and found no injury, “It’s yours.”
Oh.
“Shit,” you murmured, “I must’ve been hit.”
“That’s probably what knocked you off your feet in the first place,” Whiskey said as he carefully pulled up your shirt to get a look at your abdomen, “Yeah, there’s one and,” he rolled you slightly to feel your back, “and there’s another. You’ve got an exit wound and an entrance wound.”
“Great,” you said through gritted teeth, trying not to scream while Whiskey did his examination.
“I’m sorry sweetheart but we’ve gotta get moving,” he said as he ripped his scarf off of his neck and began tying it around your abdomen to stanch the bleeding, “We can’t stay here. We haven’t got any medical supplies and those bastards will be on us soon.”
“Just leave me,” you winced at the pressure the scarf placed on the wounds, “I’ll slow you down. Get you killed.”
“Not happening,” Whiskey said as he grabbed your shoulder and pulled you into a sitting position.
“FUCK,” you cried out, “Warn someone before you yank them around like that.”
“Sorry, doll face,” Whiskey apologized as he wrapped your arm around him, “but we can’t waste any time. We gotta get moving.”
You groaned as Whiskey pulled you to your feet, his arm holding you to him securely for support, “I’m just going to slow you down and we need to get this information back to-,”
“I swear to God above if you don’t quit your bitchin’ and get those feet moving a little quicker, I’m going to kill you myself if we make it out of this alive,” Whiskey barked.
“Jesus you’re a prick sometimes,” you grumbled but did your best to pick up the pace in spite of your injury sending barbs of pain through you with every step.
The two of you kept up like that for about an hour, the sharp wind stinging your faces as you pressed forward against the heavy flurries of snow.
“We’ve got to find shelter,” Whiskey yelled above the howling wind.
“No shit,” you tried your best to yell but your energy had been waning rapidly, “We shouldn’t be too far from some of the hunting cabins I saw on the maps when we were doing recon.”
“Hopefully the hunters left behind some medical supplies,” Whiskey replied.
Within a blessedly short time, the outline of your soon to be sanctuary was visible. Not wanting to waste any more time, Whiskey scooped you into his arms and started to hustle towards the cabin. You yelped as the action caused a fresh wave of pain to jolt through you. Honestly you were a bit thankful when you arrived at the cabin sooner than you would have if he hadn’t carried you.
Whiskey sat you down on the porch while he picked the lock. Once the door was open, he helped you inside and quickly escorted you to the kitchen chairs near the door. They would be easiest place to fix you up.
You let out a sigh of relief once you were settled onto one of the chairs.
“I’m going to poke around and see if there’s any medical supplies in here,” Whiskey said from his place knelt beside you.
Compared to the cold air in the cabin, Whiskey’s warm hand on your shoulder felt like heaven.
“Can’t you light a fire first,” your teeth chattered as your body shivered, “Odds of them seeing the smoke are pretty low right now and I’m freezing.”
“I think I can manage that,” Whiskey nodded, thankful to see dry firewood sitting in the fireplace. Once the fire was roaring, Whiskey peaked back at you, “I’m going to see if I can find some bandages.”
You hummed lightly to acknowledge him, too tired to use words.
Whiskey said a quick prayer when he found an extremely well stocked med kit in the bathroom. He quickly grabbed it out of the cabinet and returned to your side.
“Whoever stocked this cabin was a saint,” Whiskey said as he hefted the kit onto the table, “There’s pretty much everything you’d need to keep someone alive after they’ve been shot until they can get to a hospital,”
You watched through droopy eyelids while Whiskey lined up the supplies, he was gonna need to patch you up. You winced when you saw him pull out a suture kit and he looked up just in time to see it.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, you aren’t getting stitches tonight” he promised, “Just had to move them to get to the gauze.” He lifted up the bandages and gave them a little shake, “See. Though if I do say so myself, I am pretty handy with stitches. Stitched myself up in the field a few years ago. I think they turned out alright.”
To drive home his point, he lifted up his shirt and showed off the scar trailing across his stomach.
“You’re always full of surprises aren’t ya, Jack?” you murmured.
Whiskey was taken aback to hear you use his given name for the first time. He’d been trying to get you to say it for years. Though your partner wished he’d been able to hear it in better circumstances and under ones he wasn’t directly responsible for.
“Gotta keep you on your toes,” he joked lightly, “Now let’s get this damn scarf off of ya.”
Gingerly, Whiskey rolled up your shirt but when it kept sliding down and getting in the way he huffed, “I’m sorry, darlin, but I’m gonna need to get you out of this shirt.”
“Getting the coats off was one thing,” you whined, “but I can’t lift my arms high enough to get the shirt off.”
“Then I’m going to have to cut it off,” Whiskey held up a pair of scissors that had been in the med kit.
“Fine,” you sighed, you didn’t have enough energy to even think about the fact that your partner was about to see you semi naked for the first time.
If you had, you probably would have blushed. You’d never admit it, but you’d been harboring feelings for the older agent ever since you’d joined Statesmen.
“Alright, here we go,” Whiskey made short work of cutting off your blood-soaked shirt and discarding it onto the floor with a plop.
Once the shirt was gone, he moved onto the scarf. He considered unwrapping it but figured it would be quicker to just cut it off too. After the scarf was cut, he carefully started to peel it away from the wounds.
“Fuck,” you hissed as it pulled on the dried blood.
“It’s alright, almost got it,” Whiskey soothed, “There!” he offered a comforting smile once it was gone but then the panic set in, “Shit, that’s a lot of blood.”
With the clothing removed from your torso, Whiskey got his first good look at the injury. It shocked him how much blood had seeped through the scarf while the two of you were running for your lives.
“That’s just what someone wants to hear from the man patching them up,” you said sarcastically.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Whiskey apologized, “Just took me by surprise is all.”
He reached around his back before he brought his hand back around to offer you something.
“What do you want me to do with that?” You raised any eyebrow as held up the handle for his whip.
“You’re gonna want something to bite down on,” He elaborated, “This is gonna hurt like hell.”
He held it up to your mouth and reluctantly took it between your teeth.
He gave your leg a reassuring squeeze before he got to work cleaning the wound. You were loath to admit it, but he was right. You were pretty sure that you’d have bit your tongue off if the hard leather handle hadn’t been in the way.
Whiskey offered soft reassurances and words of encouragement as he worked but very few of them actually reached you. You were too busy trying not to scream too much.
Once he was finished his dark eyes looked up to meet yours, “Alright the worst of it is over. I’m gonna put the bandages on now. Looks like this has even got some of that stuff that will help with clotting. Hopefully it will buy us some time so-”
“So, I don’t die?” you raised an eyebrow slightly.
“You said it, not me,” Whiskey chuckled, “but yes. I’d hate to see you go. Training a new partner is a pain in the ass.”
You tried to laugh but the action elicited a pained groan instead.
“Easy, sweetheart,” Whiskey placed a hand on your shoulder to steady you as you had leaned forward as the pain shot through your body, “You’ve been through a lot today.”
“No shit,” you muttered, “Can I lie down now? I’m exhausted.”
“Why don’t you try to eat something first? It looks like there’s some dry goods on the shelves,” Whiskey said, “You need to keep your strength.”
“I’m not sure I-,”
“You need to eat,” Whiskey cut you off with a firm tone.
“Fine,” you sighed, and Whiskey quickly crossed the room and started to dig around.
A few minutes later he came back with a bottle of water and some crackers, “Best I could do. Most everything needed some kind of prep, and you don’t have enough time for that.”
“You’re probably right,” you said, “I’m already -”
Your head rapidly dropped, and you started to fall forward but Whiskey’s hands caught you and pushed you back into the chair, “Hey, come on now. Don’t close your eyes. Stay awake for me.”
He patted your cheeks a few times to stir you, "C'mon, please stay awake just a bit longer, okay? Once you eat a few of these crackers and drink some water, I’ll take you straight to bed.”
“You been trying to get me into bed for years, cowboy,” you managed a halfhearted joke as you pulled yourself away from the edge of unconsciousness, “What makes you think it’s gonna work now.”
“Very funny,” Whiskey smirked, as he held up a cracker for you, “Eat.”
“Fine,” you managed to eat a few of the semi-stale crackers before you couldn’t stomach anymore. When you denied the next one, he offered he put it down and held up the water.
“Drink and then you can go to bed,” he held it out for you.
“Whiskey I don’t think I can hold the bottle,” you whispered.
“I’ll help then,” he held the bottle up to your lips and let you drink as much as you wanted before you pulled away.
“Happy?” you said.
“Yes, now let’s get you to bed,” Whiskey quickly but gently scooped you up and carried you toward the bed on the wall near the fire. He shifted you so that you were standing, but you still leaned heavily on him. The position allowed him to toss the covers back and help you into bed.
“Whiskey, wait,” you hesitated before letting him help you in, “Can you see if there’s any clothes hidden in here? My underwear is blood soaked and I’m pretty much naked otherwise.”
“Of course,” Whiskey kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. He sat you on the end of the bed, “I’ll go look.”
A few minutes later he came back with an oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts, “This is all I could find.”
“Good enough,” you mumbled, “they’re not covered in blood. C-can you help me?”
“Are you sure?” Whiskey asked.
You nodded weakly, “I can’t do it myself.”
“Alright,” Whiskey swallowed hard.
He would never admit it to anyone, but he had thought about undressing you for a very long time but much like hearing you say his name, he wished it were under better circumstances.
Whiskey helped you shimmy out of your underwear and then dressed you in the new clothes. His breath hitched a bit as his hands brushed your skin, but he forced himself not to dwell on it. This was not the time. This wasn’t exactly a situation you had a choice in the matter of, so he wasn’t going to take advantage.
Once you were dressed, he helped you under the blankets and got you into a comfortable position. He wasn’t sure about it, but you insisted being on your side with your injuries elevated was the most comfortable.
“I’m gonna clean up the med kit mess a bit,” Whiskey said, “then I’m gonna hop into bed with you. Is that alright?”
You nodded, “It’s not like there’s really any other option for you and I’m not gonna make you sleep on the floor.”
“My back thanks you,” Whiskey gave you a smile before wandering away to start cleaning up. When he was packing up the kit, he discovered a small vial of morphine tucked into the back with an unopened syringe. He grabbed the items up and returned to your side.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Whiskey whispered as he placed a hand on your hair and brushed it gently with his thumb to stir you.
“Hmmm?” you hummed without opening your eyes.
“I found some morphine, is it alright if I give you a bit to take the edge off?” he asked.
“Woulda been nice earlier when you were poking me,” you grumbled.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled as he started to draw up the dose, “This is probably gonna sting a bit.”
“Can’t be worse than a bullet,” you muttered.
“You’re right,” Whiskey shook his head in amusement as he inserted the needle and injected the dose. Once he withdrew the needle he said, “There. You should start to feel better soon.”
“Good,” you murmured before dozing off again.
Whiskey watched your breathing for a few minutes to make sure you were still okay before he went back to straightening up. Once he had the med kit put back together, minus a change of bandages for you in the morning, he stowed it away where he’d found it. Then he changed into the other spare set of clothes in the cabin. His clothes, while nowhere near as soiled as yours, were soaked from all the snow and ice so he set them out by the fire to dry overnight.
Once everything was cleared up to his satisfaction Whiskey slid into bed beside you. He rolled to his side so that he could watch your breathing. As long as he could see the steady rise and fall of your chest, he knew you were alive and that’s what mattered.
As he lay awake, with nothing but his own thoughts he couldn’t help but kick himself for everything that had happened today. The botched mission and you getting shot was all his fault. If he had just listened to you none of this would have happened. Eventually his mind exhausted itself and it was his turn to drift off.
The next morning you were both brought up out of sleep by the sound of engines crossing the mountainside.
“Jack?” your scared voice rang clear through his ears as he scrambled out of bed and rushed toward the windows, his gun in hand.
He kicked himself for not putting out the fire before he fell asleep last night. The smoke still curling out of the chimney very well could have led their enemies to them now that the snowstorm was gone. He was so focused on the sound of approaching vehicles that he didn’t even register that you had been tucked against his chest before he bolted out of bed.
He peered out the windows praying that it wasn’t enemy vehicles approaching but much to his relief he saw two familiar figures in the cab of the first vehicle, “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Whiskey grinned, “It’s our rescue party. Ginger and Tequila found us. We’re going home.”