***
Dave tossed the bloody needle and remaining thread into a biohazard bag and sealed it. The stiches in Eric’s shoulder stretched five across. It’d been a while since he’d sewn anything, or anyone, up, but he didn’t think Eric would mind the scar when he woke, as long as he was alive.
“What the hell did you get yourself into?” Dave asked.
It may have been the first time in his life that Eric didn’t have a smart-ass comment, which Dave discovered that he missed. That was also a first. Dave checked the IV bag, which was halfway through its drip, then took a seat at the foot of the bed. He knew the family that had brought Eric here was in the living room. He had heard the familiar sounds of cartoons from the television as he stitched Eric up. He just wasn’t sure how to approach them.
Dave grabbed the medical bag and stopped in the hallway bathroom before entering the living room. He figured it best to wash the blood off his hands since the little girl was with them. He figured she’d seen enough blood for one day.
When Dave walked out into the living room, Emily was on her stomach right in front of the television, and John was fast asleep on the couch.
“Where’s your mom?” Dave asked.
Emily didn’t say anything. She simply pointed to her left. Dave could see Brooke outside through his front window. She was walking around her car like she was looking for something. Dave turned back to Emily, unfamiliar with the needs of a child.
“Um, are you hungry or anything?” Dave asked.
Emily shook her head.
“All right then. I’m gonna go talk to your mom.”
Brooke stopped her inspection when Dave walked out. She rushed over to him.
“He’s all right for now. Just resting. We’ll have to keep an eye on him, but he should be fine in a day or two,” Dave said.
“Thank you,” Brooke said.
“So I don’t really know how to say this without sounding like an ass, but… Who are you?”
“Brooke. Those are my kids inside. Eric was a friend of my husband in the military.”
“What branch?”
“Marines.”
“Well, then. Oo-rah. I’m Dave.”
The two shook hands, and Dave walked over to the cruiser, examining the bullet holes that decorated the sides and back windshield. “Looks like you guys have been through it.”
“It’s been a long week,” Brooke said.
“Well, since it’s going to be a while before Captain America wakes up, why don’t we have some dinner. Judging by the condition of your vehicle, I’d say you could use a hot meal.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll open the garage, and you can pull your car in. I have some nosy neighbors.”
Dave pushed a barbeque grill from the middle of the garage to the side to make room. Brooke inched the cruiser forward, barely clearing the garage’s roof. Once it was fully inside, Dave shut the garage door and turned off the light.
“I hope you don’t mind chicken,” Dave said.
“That’s perfectly fine. Thank you,” Brooke said.