Page 13 of Gunpowder

The man there gave him a skeptical look. “I thought you were doing your rotation with pediatrics.”

“I need a blood test ordered and I don’t have time for Dr. Evans to question me. Get me Dr. Garrett,” Wren said, narrowing his eyes. Blair gaped at the exchange. Wren was brazen, to be a student and making such demands. Tristan, at least, seemed to have livened up a bit at the taste of water. He had finished half the cup already.

The nurse stood up, appearing ready for an argument but his eyes lighted on something over Wren’s shoulder that made him sink back down into his chair. “Doctor,” the nurse greeted, albeit petulantly.

“James,” responded a cordial voice.

Blair turned on his crutches at the familiar timbre. As he thought, Dr. Garrett was standing behind them. He waved awkwardly. “Hey, Doc. I wish I could say long time no see.”

“How is your injury, Mr. Kennedy?”

“I’m making it. I’m not here for me, though.”

Dr. Garrett looked at Wren. “Did you follow someone through the doors?” The way Wren looked away must have indicated a negative, as Dr. Garrett sighed and said, “I told you not to manually change your access code. What brings you here with such a handsome but quite ghastly young man?”

Wren explained to the doctor what he had told Blair in the car, and Dr. Garrett listened with a smile that looked almost fond despite his obvious exasperation with Wren’s rule-breaking.

“I can take the blood sample,” Wren persisted when the doctor didn’t say anything.

“Very well, I’ll order it, but if it comes back negative and Sarah finds out you brought her patient back in for no reason, don’t come to me for protection.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Dr. Garrett chuckled. “Off you go, then. Take him to the drawing lab.”

“Thanks for this, Doc,” Blair said when he realized Wren was just going to leave without another word.

“Wren can be… abrasive, but he has keen instincts and I trust him. Don’t fear for your younger brother. If he does in fact have typhoid, it’s early enough that antibiotics will fix him right up. Speaking of which, I hope you have been taking yours as prescribed?”

Blair was sure he laughed too loudly to be believable. “Oh, yeah, all the time. They’re great. I better go be with Tristan.”

He caught up with Wren and they got on the elevator. Tristan was asleep in the wheelchair, panicking Blair for a minute since he had been awake just a couple minutes ago, but Tristan’s chest rose and fell evenly.

Wren checked in with the lab and they went back. There were chairs designated for drawing blood, and Tristan stirred as he was moved to one of them. He became more alert at the sight of the package holding the needle. Blair put a hand on one of his small, tense shoulders.

“This is just like last time, you won’t feel anything,” Wren said.

He went through the same preparations as last time and Blair kept a reassuring hand in place as Wren readied the needle. In his weakened state Tristan seemed to have a renewed hatred for them. “Don’t wanna,” he said.

“Remember. Deep breath, exhale on three.”

Tristan breathed in, though it was shaky, and blew it out as the needle pierced his skin. He stared at the ceiling to avoid the sight of it. Blair squeezed his shoulder. “You did awesome, Tristan.”

“Can I go to sleep now?”

Blair looked over to see if Wren was going to need anything else, and smiled at his brother once Wren nodded his assent. “Go for it.”

Tristan went right back to his wheelchair and dropped his head back. He at least seemed more lucid after periods of rest, and the doctor had said he would be fine if they put him on antibiotics. “How long ’til we get the results back?” Blair asked.

“Within forty-eight hours. Sit.” Wren finished washing his hands and dried them off.

“What, why?”

“Your turn. Anyone else who has been in contact with him should get tested as well.”

Blair sat in the chair and put his arm out. Needles didn’t bother him, as the insignia tattooed under his collarbone proved. Wren donned a new pair of gloves and prepped a bigger needle that didn’t have the blue wings on the side. The piece of rubber he tied around Blair’s arm felt like it would snap if he moved the wrong way. Wren was close again, the smell of coffee mingling with the sterile scent of the lab.

“Where are your veins?” he murmured to himself, running a thumb down Blair’s arm.

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