Page 22 of Honor Code

"I'm okay." It wasn't the cold.

"Ellie…" His voice was deep and husky.

"Yes," she whispered, moving forward. Then she noticed a cut on his arm, his blood mixing with the sea water or rain covering his body. "You're injured," she stammered, distracted.

Phoenix glanced down. "That's nothing."

Now it was her turn to say, "That's not nothing. Here, let me…" She reached for some gauze in a nearby petri dish and tore open the pack. It was sterile, ready for whoever needed it next. The wound was a narrow but deep. He probably needed a stitch or two, not that he'd get that here.

"It's pretty deep. How'd it happen?"

"I'm not sure." His eyes didn't leave her face.

Hell, he was making it hard for her to concentrate, but she needed to do this, needed to help him—for once. With surprisingly steady hands, she wiped the wound clean of blood and looked around for a disinfectant. Finding it on the little trolley, alongside the petri dish, she dabbed it on the laceration.

He didn’t even flinch. "I think it needs stitches."

"Nah, just tape it up," Phoenix told her. Ellie wasn't sure if he'd even looked at it yet.

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

Gently, she brought the edges of the wound together, holding them in place. She then applied butterfly strips across the laceration to keep the skin closed, providing a temporary hold that would encourage healing. To secure the wound further, she covered it with a sterile gauze pad and wrapped a cohesive bandage around the area, ensuring it was snug but not tight enough to impede circulation.

While she worked, she noticed several other scars on his hands and forearms, proof of the dangerous job he'd had. One was particularly bad. Round, jagged, and gleaming silver in the bright light of the med center.

Unable to help herself, she traced around it with her fingers.

"Bullet wound," Phoenix said, his voice deep and husky. "7.62 NATO round. Sniper got a piece of me in Iraq."

She glanced up. "Was it bad?"

"It was at the time." He turned his arm over before snaking it around her waist. "How'd you learn to treat wounds?"

"My mother was a nurse," she replied with a smile, remembering her mother teaching her and her sisters how to dress cuts and grazes when they were young. "We got into a lot of scrapes."

"Thanks," Phoenix murmured, when she was done. "For this."

She smiled as some of the tension eased. Doing something positive felt good. "You're welcome."

They gazed at each other for a long moment, then the door opened, and the medic emerged from the treatment room.

Phoenix released her.

"How is he?" Ellie turned away from him, her heart still pounding.

"He's got a mild concussion and is in a bit of shock, but he'll be fine."

"That's great." She'd never have been able to forgive herself if Billy had been badly injured, or worse, died. He'd been helping her, after all, when he'd gone over.

The tension drained out of her body.

What a night.

"I'd better get back up on deck," Phoenix said, his voice strangely tight.

She realized his night was just beginning.

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