Chapter 5 The War Room #4
“Jesus,” Noah whispered, grabbing a stack of white kitchen towels from a console table and pressing one hard to the wound. The fabric soaked through almost instantly, pink spreading like watercolor.
He tore open Adam’s shirt, buttons scattering. The wound sat high on his shoulder, bad, but not heart or lung level. Still, the way it bled…
The towel was thin, too thin. The warmth slicked between his fingers. His hands were steady, practiced, but his chest thundered, breath coming sharp and shallow.
Adam’s eyes found him, half-lidded, pupils blown wide. Still fierce. Still Adam. “Did I get her?” he rasped, voice shredded but teasing.
Noah let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a curse. “Yeah, baby. You got her.”He pressed harder, feeling the pulse under his hand. “You also got blood all over the fuckin’ marble…again, but we’ll deal with that later. Seriously, what do you have against expensive flooring.”
Adam chuckled weakly, head tipping back against the wall, and for one raw moment, Noah could see the exhaustion in his face, the cracks in the armor he wore for everyone else.
“Don’t go to sleep,” Noah warned, voice softer now. “I swear to God, if you die I will make sure everyone knows you got ambushed by a geriatric old lady.”
That got him a ghost of a grin. “They’d never believe you.”
“Yeah, they will,” Noah said, pressing down again as the sound of approaching footsteps thundered closer. “I have video.”
“I’ll come back from the dead and tell everyone it's a deep fake,” he huffed.
“You dick,” Noah shot back, but his fingers never stopped pressing down.
He used his other hand to check Adam’s pulse, the steady rhythm beneath his fingertips unraveling something tight inside him.
There it was, that stubborn heartbeat that had refused to quit through every nightmare they’d ever survived.
“It doesn’t look serious,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.
Adam hissed as Noah tied a quick tourniquet, knuckles white from the effort. “Weird, ’cause it hurts like a bitch.”
After a beat, Adam asked, “Freckles?”
“On my way,” Atticus’s voice came through their comms, clipped and steady.
Noah could still hear Calliope giving orders in his ear, the layered chaos of voices, footsteps, and camera pings, but he tuned it out.
The world narrowed to the marble floor, the smell of blood and ozone, and the sound of Adam breathing through his teeth.
The rest of the hunt could burn for all he cared.
His husband was bleeding out on imported stone.
He started an internal clock: stabilize, hold, wait.
Atticus arrived barely a minute later, mask still on, blue and white leather streaked with blood that wasn’t his. He dropped to his knees beside his brother without preamble, eyes sweeping the wound before nodding for Noah to shift.
“Took you long enough,” Adam muttered, because of course he did.
Atticus’s voice was dry as dust. “Well, you know, you could have not gotten stabbed, so I could enjoy one child-free night with my husband. But no, as usual, you have to make everything about you.”
He said it while moving, gloves on, gauze unrolled, fingers sure and clinical.
“Oh, please,” Adam snarked, pale lips curling faintly. “You hate hunting. Admit it, I did you a favor. Now you’ve got an excuse not to spend the next two hours sweating through your overpriced superhero costume.”
Atticus didn’t even glance up. “You’re not funny when you’re bleeding.”
“He’s losing a lot of blood,” Noah whispered.
“She didn’t hit an artery,” Atticus replied calmly. “Adam’s body is just as dramatic as he is. We’ve got blood bags in the infirmary, but I don’t think it’s that dire.” He pulled a small kit from his belt. “Still, I’ll start an IV, get fluids in him, and reassess after Bev’s send-off.”
“Can he wait that long?” Noah asked, unease twisting in his gut.
Adam was already shaking his head, jaw set. “I’m not missing this bitch’s death. Aiden said he’s got something special planned for her.”
Noah shot him an incredulous look. “Who cares? You’ve seen people get tortured dozens of times.”
“But this one’s special,” Adam insisted. “Zaney’s been waiting for this for years. We can’t miss it. How often does someone get to kill their abusive parent?”
“Not often enough,” Noah muttered, but his tone was all resignation.
Atticus sighed, the sound long-suffering and fond.
“How about this,” he said, voice dipping into that calm, no-nonsense cadence that could talk killers off ledges.
“We’ll take Adam back to the comms room.
I’ll hook him up to fluids, he can watch the rest of the hunt with you.
Then we’ll reconvene at the workshop for Bev’s grand finale.
After that, I’ll take him by my office for some quick labs to make sure he doesn’t need inpatient care. Sound good?”
“I’m fine,” Adam argued immediately, pushing Atticus’s hand away and bracing against the wall. “I’m good. I’m not sitting out the rest of the hunt.”
He groaned as he forced himself upright. His skin was chalky, damp with sweat, eyes a little too bright. He swayed, caught himself, and gritted his teeth. “See? Still standing. I can help herd this bitch.”
Noah stood, expression a mix of fury and fear. “You can’t even use your dominant arm, you idiot. Let’s go.”
Adam’s mouth curled in defiance, his voice quiet but immovable. “No.”
That single word landed like a gunshot.
He wasn’t bluffing. He never was. Even bleeding, Adam looked like the kind of man who would drag himself across broken glass just to make sure his job was finished.
Noah stared at him, torn between throttling him and kissing him stupid. “You’re the most infuriating man alive.”
Adam’s lips quirked. “And you love me for it.”
“Unfortunately.”
Atticus exhaled hard through his nose. “Christ, you two are exhausting.”
“Adam Mulvaney, get your ass in the war room before I cut you off for a month,” Noah snapped.
Adam smirked. “Like you could go without an orgasm for a month.”
“I’ve got two working hands and a toy chest that would make a hooker blush. Can you say the same, gimpy?” Noah crossed his arms, giving him a look that he hoped shouted balls in your court.
“Oh my God, fine,” Adam sighed like an exasperated teenager. “I was just kidding. Let’s totally go to the war room. You don’t have to threaten to take away my sexy times.”
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Atticus deadpanned.
“Please. Nobody who gets bent over Jericho’s desk as often as you do has the right to bitch about anyone’s sex life,” a voice called over comms, one of Jericho’s boys. Nico, maybe Levi.
“You want to come say that to my face, Nico?” Jericho growled.
“I’m just stating facts,” Nico shot back. “You guys fuck like teenagers.”
“And you are definitely not teenagers,” Arsen added with a snort.
“Pipe down, peanut gallery,” Atticus said. “Or I’m canceling Murder Muppet Christmas.”
A chorus of horrified “no”s poured through the speakers.
They moved back toward the war room at a measured pace, no sprinting, no theatrics; everyone still playing their parts in the operation.
Noah leaned on Adam as much as Adam leaned on him.
The tourniquet over Adam’s shoulder had done its job for now, but the white bloom on his shirt was a reminder that flesh was still vulnerable, that injuries were real.
Noah’s chest clenched around that fact in a way that made him stupidly afraid.
If something truly bad happened to Adam, it wouldn’t just be the headline hurt—the grief, the empty chair—it would be his everyday life collapsing.
Their routines. The rough banter. The way Adam tucked his head under Noah’s chin when he was tired.
Toxic or not, their love was messy and combustible and threaded through everything, and Noah knew in his bones he didn’t want—no, couldn’t survive—a life without it.
“If you ever die on me, I’ll kill you,” he said without thinking, because jokes were sometimes the only language they had for the things that really scared them.
Adam huffed a laugh—one part incredulous, one part relieved—and kissed the top of Noah’s head. The gesture was so small it nearly broke Noah. “Right back at ya, baby.”
“Good,” Noah said, air catching in the single syllable.
Adam kissed him again, this one softer, steadier. “Yeah. Good.”
They fell into the war room like they were being chased by the devil.
Calliope glanced away from the feed, cracking a grin at Adam. “Started the party as Sherlock, ended it as a life-size voodoo doll.”
“Hardy-har-har,” Adam grumbled, falling into the seat beside Noah’s. “Show me that bitch.”
“She’s with the twins,” Lola said, pointing to a feed.
“Avi and Asa got her already?” Adam asked.
“Not those twins,” she said, pointing to where Bev stood barely visible with Archer, Mac and Shep.
“Well,” Noah said. “This just got interesting.”