It was the Thursday after he'd left and past nine when someone banged insistently on my door.

I was instantly panicked as I picked up my gun, because I was off the grid for a reason and people didn't just "drop by" my obscure little hidden Hansel and Gretel cabin. "Fuck," I whispered to myself, not sure what to do.

Friends was on TV behind me, Chandler berating someone, and I wished I'd at least muted it. I got up the courage to look at the little screen hooked up to the porch camera. All I could see was what looked like two figures, both in black, kind of in a pile. It made no sense until the one leaning over the first moved and I saw Reed's face on the prone figure.

I had the alarm off and was opening the door before I realized how foolish that was, because it was one of the many things he'd asked me not to do. "Could be me as bait, so don't lose your mind if that happens. I'll be fine. You keep the door shut."

Being cautious had kept us alive thus far. We knew some strange and dangerous people from our teen years. Being an orphan put you on a lot of lists, and those weren't always in good hands.

Luck was with me this time and the gorgeous Black guy trying to lift Reed said in an English accent, "I fink if you get 'is feet, love, we'll get 'im inside then." I could see Reed's black Jeep under the tree.

I was already doing so. He kicked the door shut behind us and we put Reed on the couch. There was blood on the guy's shirt, on Reed, on my hands too. 

"What happened?" I asked, my voice and hands steady though my insides quaked. I was always calm in an emergency, thank God, as it served me well.

"E's got a bit of a nick to 'is leg there, don't he," Blimey Joe said, pulling up the right leg of the black pants we'd gotten at our favorite thrift store. "Maybe a bit o' pressure?" He took off his own shirt and pressed it to the long wound, which was not exactly pumping blood out but neither was it seeping. He was really tall, and sculpted. "'E said you'd be about stitchin' 'im up?"

I shook my head once, to clear it. "Yes. I can sew it." I got up and faltered as I glanced at Reed's still face, somehow pale beneath the color. I focused and went about the business of collecting my extensive first aid kit from the kitchen. 

I deftly threaded the hooked needle and began disinfecting the wound, keeping myself distant from the whole thing, knowing I had to do this thing now in order to help him or things could get bad quickly. We were forty five minutes from a hospital. For some reason he had chosen to come to me, and I would respect that and honor it.

It didn't take long and before I was done he was waking up. I tied the last knot and allowed my hands to tremble finally. In fact my whole body had the shakes suddenly, but I knew it would pass. I wiped at some of the blood with a damp towel.

"You fink 'e'll be okay, then?" the guy asked anxiously, and I really looked at him for the first time, realizing that though he was tall and filled out he was maybe only sixteen.

"He'll be fine," I said, hopefully more than wishful thinking.

"I'm Dane," he said, holding out a hand. He realized it was still bloody and gave me a tiny wave instead.

"I'm Addy," I said, because that's who I was to Reed. I returned the wave and continued to clean the torn up leg in front of me.

Dane's face broke into an amused smile. "Guess we all know your name then, love."

I didn't have time to process that because Reed opened his eyes and took in the scene for a few moments. Then his eyes rested on me and the corners of his mouth lifted. "No roses, chérie. Just me." His voice was weak.

I was flooded with relief that he was joking. I hugged him, not caring about his friend watching. He returned it, though not with much strength. "You're back really early," I said, almost giddy with the adrenaline let-down, the joy of seeing him, the relief of him being okay despite bleeding all over everything

"Sorry," he said, wincing as he let go and I straightened back up.

"Sorry! Don't be sorry." I tried to reign in the enthusiasm. "Quite the entrance this time."

Dane stood and peered down at him. "Fink ya alrigh', then?" He shook his head.

"I'm fine, I told you Addy would fix me up," Reed said confidentially, waving away Dane's concerns. "Ick, is that my blood on your hands? Wash up, man."

Dane went to the kitchen and we heard the water running.

Reed tried to sit up and when that didn't work out well, he eased back down. 

"Stay down," I commanded.

"Maybe just for a few minutes." He closed his eyes. He was sweating.

"Here, wait, where did I--" I looked around and located the morphine tablets. "Here, these'll help." I took the top off a bottle of water and put an arm behind his shoulders to help him sit up enough to sip. "What happened? Let me guess; you can't tell me."

He grinned a little and tried to shift his postion, which made him groan. "Jesus," he said. "Hurts." He saw the expression on my face and tried to play it off. "I'll probably live."

Dane came back in, clean this time. "If you're set then, I'll be off." He shook hands with Reed and nodded to me. "Pleasure to meet you, love. She's well fit." He said this last to Reed with a wink.

"Don't I know it," Reed said, looking at me as fondly as I could ever wish, giving me a thrill down to my toes that left me a little breathless. He smiled.  "Someday I'll show her Mount Fuji from an airplane, with the clouds rolling around it all like smoke . . ."

Dane looked at his loopy friend and shook his head a little. "I'm sure ya will, mate." He saluted me and let himself out the front door. "Ya never saw me," he added as he shut the door behind him.

"Someday I will, Addy," Reed told me. His eyes were closed again. "Like smoke."

"I can't wait," I told him, wrapping a bandage around the now clean leg. His whole body twitched, which he often did when falling asleep, and I carefully eased his pants of him, glad for the boxers underneath. One time there had been no boxers, and hadn't that been awkward.

I finished with a blanket over him as he was now cooling off. My hands were still shaky and I poured myself a shot of brandy. I didn't drink much but now and then it was handy. Then I went to bed and looked up "well fit" on Urban Dictionary. British slang for someone who is incredibly attractive, hot, sexy. 

The definition warmed my cheeks and I went to sleep hoping he would still be there in the morning.

He was. He'd also been in the morphine already when I got up at nine, and was sitting on a stool at the stove, trying to scramble eggs while singing "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. Well shiver me timbers and something me something ya da da diddly deeeee." He saw me and his face lit up. "Oh look, my savior! You saved me, I make you eggs. It's a fair deal, I'm fairly certain. Get it, fairly?"

I took the spatula from him and stirred the eggs, amused. "I don't know if you should be up, my dear," I told him.

He shrugged languidly. "Really, I feel good. Your best sewing job, by the way."

I shuddered. "Yeah, third time's the charm."

He laughed and hugged me from behind, and I melted for a minute. "I love you, Addy. I'm sorry you had to sew me up again."

I just let myself exist in the moment with his arms around me and those words in my ears. Then he let go and I continued stirring the eggs, pulling my hair forward so it fell where it belonged over the side of my face. "Just be more careful."

He found the stool again without falling and made a tsking sound. "Um, also, you weren't supposed to open the door, poppet."

I winced, scooping eggs onto plates. "I know," I said.

"I mean, I understand, but there are just . . . bad people out there, chérie," he said apologetically, not wanting to scold me or anything.

I gave him a look. "I know," I said again.