Page 9 of Gunpowder

It wasn’t fair for such an awful person to have such a nice voice.

“I see your people skills didn’t get any better,” Blair muttered. “There’s a hole in my leg, which is pretty weird, but other than that it’s okay. I’m glad it hurts some. Reminds me to be grateful I lived, y’know? It could have been a lot worse.”

“Maybe it should remind your friend to be more careful cleaning his firearm next time.”

Blair narrowed his eyes. “My friend has beat himself up enough, I’m sure.”

He checked the time on his phone. His protective instincts won out and he grabbed his crutches. High fevers were dangerous, so Tristan would just have to forgive him for the coddling. He shifted forward on to his good foot and pushed up.

“Here.”

He almost stumbled back when he found Sunshine suddenly in front of him, holding his crutches steady. Blair’s less than average height became glaringly obvious as he was forced to tilt his head back to look up at the doctor. Sunshine stared back with a raised eyebrow and Blair realized he probably looked like a deer in the headlights. He dropped his gaze back down and cleared his throat. It had to be the stress making him overreact to everything. As long as he didn’t see them as a threat, he usually didn’t care about people being in his space.

He studied the badge in front of him. “Wren.”

The doctor let go of his crutches and stepped back. “Yes. Should I trust I’ll no longer be Sunshine, now?”

“No promises.”

Blair didn’t make it all the way out of the room, as Tristan came back covered in more sweat than when he left. “I just got sick again,” Tristan said miserably.

“I’m going to get the doctor,” Wren said, and strode out of the room.

Wren’s urgency worried Blair but he focused on laying his brother on the bed and trying to make him comfortable. True to his word, Wren came back with a blond woman minutes later. Her stern expression sat on pretty, soft features like a blade on butterfly wings.

“Vomiting isn’t uncommon when a child has a fever,” she said to Wren.

“It’s how high the fever is that I find concerning.”

The questions she asked Tristan seemed standard—how many fingers am I holding up, have you left the country recently, does your throat hurt—and decided on taking a blood sample. Blair only went as far from the bed as he had to for her to work.

“We’re going to get someone from the lab to draw a little blood. They’ll be gentle so don’t worry,” she told Tristan.

He shrunk closer to Blair. “Can Mr. Maxters do it?”

The blond doctor’s smile softened into something more genuine at the name. She looked over at Wren. “You have your phlebotomy license.”

The statement, paired with the expectant raise of her eyebrows, sent Wren out of the room with a sigh.

Blair rubbed the top of Tristan’s head. Most of his hair was tacky from sweat and even through his thick locks Blair could feel the heat radiating off him. His mom had only just noticed something was wrong when she called Blair, probably because she had been downstairs working, but he wondered how long this had been going on. Tristan could only say a little while, he wasn’t sure. He had been alone in the apartment upstairs until their mom went to check on him and found him burning up.

“Wren is a fourth year medical student but he is licensed to draw blood and skilled at it, so rest assured your brother is in good hands,” the woman said.

Blair smoothed Tristan’s hair. “Whatever makes him comfortable. He hates needles, so if he’s okay with it this way then go for it.”

A few more locks of hair had fallen out of Wren’s ponytail by the time he got back and placed his equipment on a tray next to the bed. Tristan tensed under Blair’s hand watching Wren work, eyes bleary but focused on the sealed plastic pack that held the needle. Wren washed and dried his hands, and pulled gloves on before he continued his preparations. Blair took a little reassurance from the way Wren’s latex clad fingers sped through the process as though he had done it a hundred times.

Wren talked Tristan through the process with more patience than Blair would have expected, explaining everything he was doing, keeping Tristan distracted enough that when the needle went in, Blair was relieved to see that Tristan barely seemed to notice.

Blair had wanted to stay close to Tristan while he got his blood taken but his leg was protesting from how long he had been upright. He moved back to the hard plastic chair and leaned his crutches against the wall next to him.

“I’ll take these to the lab, Dr. Evans,” Wren said.

“Do that and call it a night. I’ll handle things from here, I believe it’s the end of your call.”

Wren disposed of his gloves and washed his hands again. Tristan reached out as though to say goodbye, but a panicked look crossed his face as soon as he moved. He jumped off the bed with his hands over his mouth and ran past Wren out of the room, calling out between his fingers that he would be right back. A crease appeared between Wren’s eyebrows as he watched him go.

Blair watched Wren gather the collection vials. “Aren’t you gonna at least wait and let him say goodbye?”

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