13. Thirteen
Why the hell is he acting like that?
He’s been fine taking care of all the other scratches and scrapes on me. Hell, he barely batted an eye at my limp wrist, and now he’s sitting there looking like he’s about to pass out over the wound on my leg.
I’m honestly not sure why Dane wants him to bother with cleaning the cuts, I’ll be fresh as a baby in no time. Shallow cuts like these only last a day at the most before they’re closed over with fresh skin, and even those faint pink marks will be completely gone in the next couple days. Even if all the evidence didn’t disappear, it isn’t like an infection is going to kill me, so what’s the point?
I would assume it’s out of habit, that it’s such a necessity for them to make sure that everything is cleaned and taken care of. It’s like triage is some sort of a regular routine for these men. Yet even with these small cuts, Tucker is on his knees, completely frozen in front of me.
I’m not sure how long he’s been sitting there, alternating between averting his eyes and glancing at the cut. It might only have been a couple seconds, but his attention is making me feel those same flurries in my stomach, and I don’t know if I like it. I shift uncomfortably, my wrist starting to ache and I know it”s starting to try to piece itself back together.
Tucker jumps at my movement, seeming to shake himself off and pull out of the hesitant pattern of glancing. Clearing his throat, he reaches forward and grabs my ankle, pulling it towards him and angling my foot so he can see the tears in my skin better.
“I’m going to start with this one on your heel,” he mumbles, his focus now locked on some gash I can’t see.
I tense, but when he swipes the gauze pad over the sensitive flesh, I yank my foot back. The sting of the alcohol does nothing to dampen the tickle of his too gentle touch.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” Tucker’s eyes are wide with alarm. “Did I press too hard?”
I stifle a little laugh, of course he’s worried he’s hurt me. “No, it just tickled, don’t be so gentle.”
The alarm on his face shifts harshly to an expression I can’t decipher, before it’s smothered entirely.
Does he think I’m being bossy?
A slight flush crosses over his cheeks before he gathers himself enough to speak. “Alright, I won’t be gentle.”
He continues, cleaning the grime from my cuts with enough pressure that I don’t have to worry about kicking him. When he moves up to my ankle I start to relax into the consistent low stinging. These cuts would never have been treated in the facility, and despite how strange this is, I think I’m starting to like it.
He’s been at it for a while, but his care doesn’t falter even once. Tucker warns me before starting on a new spot, and gives me whatever moments I need to adjust and cringe away if I need to. He’s even gentle when he moves his hands across me, as if conscious of his calluses, careful not to rub them against my skin too firmly.
“Are you really a doctor?” I ask after he finishes cleaning a particularly stingy spot on my left calf.
He raises an eyebrow at me causing a thick blond curl to brush over his eyelid. “No. Sorry, Mads,” he says, shaking the hair out of his face. “That was also a part of the lie. But I am trained in first aid, so I can handle this just fine.” There’s a playfulness to his answer that sends a little shockwave through me.
“Then why play doctor with me?” I ask the question while trying to sort through what my body is feeling, that same strange flutter in my stomach and a tightness wrapping around it.
His movements catch, causing him to nearly drop the fresh pad, but he recovers quickly, clearing his throat again before speaking. “I was the best suited to go into Omni. I can pose as a doctor or evaluator easily enough, but my real mission was to break into their systems. Find their weaknesses. Learn as much as I could.”
“About me.”
“About you.”
I have the distinct urge to cover myself, not physically, but mentally. I’m so exposed with these men. They all know so much about me and I’ve just barely learned their names. If the names they’ve given me are even real.
“Did you figure out everything you wanted to know?”
“Not even close.” The skin around his eyes crinkled a little with the beginnings of a smile and there’s an earnestness to his expression I have to look away from.
“What did you learn about me?”
His hands continue their gentle and precise movements, now cleaning the scrapes on my knees.
“I got a lot of the basics. Your name, age, height, easy stuff like that. I learned about what they were putting you through, and what you were truly capable of.” He flicks his eyes up towards mine, but the moment we make eye contact, he looks away. “I also learned you are strong as hell. The fact that you were able to go through those Tanks and maintain even a semblance of sanity is incredible. No one else would’ve survived the way you did.”
I don’t want his compliments. I don’t want to think about how hard it was to maintain myself while in there. Every part of my mind screams to push the conversation in a different direction, “How long were you in the facility?”
“Three weeks. Brecker was fairly thorough about making sure I understood the rules before letting me get anywhere near you. Seemed like standard protocol for him when bringing in new staff, which I gathered was fairly frequent.”
Three weeks.
I’m acutely aware of my breath leaving me, a long steady exhale. He wasn’t there for any of the other Tanks. I knew he wasn’t among the other technicians or doctors I came into contact with, but knowing he wasn’t a part of other Tanks flooded me with a relief so strong it would have knocked me on my ass if I wasn’t already sitting down.
I study his face closely, determined to find any hint of a lie, any uncertainty to his words before I let this revelation sink in fully. His eyes find mine in the silence, and his direct, open stare solidifies it for me.
He wasn’t one of them. Not really.
He wasn’t watching me die over and over and over again. He wasn’t a part of the organization that was continually shredding me to the bone physically and mentally.
I could feel a part of myself melting, relaxing in his presence. Since the moment I had been freed of that place, Tucker was the face of my torture. He’d been there. He’d helped them feed me to the wolves, but I can feel that bit of anger start to ease with every piece of himself, every truth, he reveals.
I’m still furious, but he’s not the person I should be directing it at. He’s the one that called his men in and got me out.
Tucker is the reason I’m so close to being free.
The full wave of emotions washes past me and Tucker’s still sitting in front of me, letting me sit in my quiet understanding. Another pang of gratitude hits me square in the chest.
“Would you mind...” he trails off, gesturing to the edge of the dirty shirt I’m still wearing. It’s draped over my upper thighs, a few dirt crusted scrapes peeking out from beneath it.
“Oh, sure, yeah.” I shift it higher, allowing him better access, and his breath catches slightly before he slowly moves his hands to the now cleared space.
The warmth of his hands heats me in an entirely different way, and those damn flutters are back. His previously gentle touch becomes more firm, yet his movements feel restrained. His fingers dig slightly into my thigh while he holds me still, and my mind starts to wander.
My body is alert in the same way it was when Ray had me pinned, and his body was pressing into mine. Here, without the distraction of adrenaline, I find myself imagining those fingers trailing higher to the source of that strange, foreign tightness building in my center.
He moves to the last cut, this one on my other thigh, and he lets his fingers trail from one leg to the other. It’s a small change, he hadn’t done it before, but now I’m wishing he had. He moves the shirt himself this time, only an inch, only enough to have better, more direct access to where he’s going to be working.
The sting is more welcome this time. It grounds me a little, pulling me out of the haze I was beginning to fall into, and I can’t help the squeak of pain that follows the cool wipe of the antiseptic pad.
My wince breaks the spell for Tucker too, apparently. He pulls his hands away from me as if my skin burns him and he’s the one who is hurt. Sitting back on his heels, he looks up at me slightly dazed, his pupils blown wide.
Odd.
“All clean.” His voice is noticeably deeper, rougher, than it was before.
“All clean,” I repeat back, unsure of what else I could possibly add to this now riveting conversation.
Tucker clears his throat. “You can take a shower if you’d like, and I’ll splint you up afterward, as long as you’re comfortable with that.” He’s still looking up at me from below, the angle magnifying the hooded look in his eyes, and something about this position stirs the pool of tension still sitting deep in my abdomen.
His lips tick upward slightly, and I’m momentarily mesmerized by the shape of his mouth. I’ve never really paid close attention to something like that, especially not about a man. Especially not one who’s currently kneeling at my feet. Something about the spark in his eyes, the care and intention he had while tending to wounds he didn’t need to address, makes me hyper aware of every touch, every glance he’s given me over the last hour.
Then I remember what he said. Shower.
I’m filthy and exhausted. Drained to the dregs after the frankly terrifying day I’ve gone through and all the new information that’s been thrown at me. All of the decisions I’ve made, and all the choices I have yet to make about my new situation weigh heavily on me. I want nothing more than to curl up in bed and let sleep take me, but I stink and I don’t want to be in this shirt a moment longer than I need to be.
“Shower, yes.” The only thing I think to say as he scoots back slightly and raises to his feet, still maintaining that look I can only describe as hunger on his face.
I take his proffered hand and stand, feeling all the small bruises and gashes covering my body. Now I’m only thinking about how nice a shower would feel on my freshly battered skin, the water rinsing away any remaining grit and grime from the past few days.
Tucker guides me to the bathroom connected to this bedroom and shows me how to turn on the shower and where to find the towels. It’s not an overly complicated system, just turning a dial and pulling on it, but it’s so different from the large open stall and single button I’m used to. I’m grateful for the instruction knowing I would have struggled to figure it out myself, and probably would have needed to ask for help anyway.
When I thank him, he shrugs it off and starts to leave, a small smile visible before he starts to turn away.
“You’re not staying?” I blurt out, surprised when he starts to close the door.
His eyebrows pull together, forming a small line on his forehead, which I have a shocking and sudden desire to smooth away with my fingers.
He glances away, looking unsure of himself. “Uh, no. I figured you were ready to be alone for a bit. Did you need me to stay?”
Alone. He’s going to leave me alone? I have to take a second to sort through this, making sure that I’m hearing correctly. I can’t remember the last time that I showered without supervision, the last time I was truly left alone, without even the presence of cameras recording my every move. It feels like the world is unsteady beneath me now that this constant has been removed. I really am out, free of that place. Sure, I’m not technically welcome to leave now, but God, does it feel amazing to be given even a semblance of privacy for the first time I can remember.
“No, I just…” I look down at my arms, at the patchwork of clean spaces around fresh cuts. My chest swells when I meet his eyes again. “Thank you.”
His face contorts slightly, his eyes flashing once he realized why I assumed he would need to stay.
Pity. It’s pity that twists his features like that.
One of the few emotions I’d regularly seen from the staff at the facility, outmatched in frequency only by disgust. My heart sinks seeing it on Tucker. It doesn’t last for long, though, his face softening back into a smile as he moves to close the door behind him.
“I’ll just be out here in the bedroom,” he pauses, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Would you like me to leave the door open or shut it?”
“Close it, please.” I offer a small smile in return, hoping to show him I’m not some broken thing they’ve plucked out of a terrible situation, but a grown woman. One capable of reclaiming her life.