Help Unwanted

Admittance

They traveled out of Banditoad Trail before El Toro suddenly had to excuse himself. He claimed that he had justice to serve elsewhere, but implored them to continue on without him. With the crack of a whip, he was out of their sight. Deacon’s crew walked a mile more before they reached the village of Santo Pollo. One of their soldiers made a separate trip to bring their prisoner back to the ship and secure him in a cell. The rest of the crew climbed the hill to the large estate overlooking the town and waited at the doorstep with antsy feet before they were answered to. 

Don Rodrigo was a wealthy landowner who had his hair parted in the middle and wore a white tuxedo with a yellow bow tied around his neck. A beautiful red rose remained nestled in his welt pocket. He held a glass of wine when he answered the door, wearing a bright grin as he greeted them. His expression changed when he noticed the unconscious woman in their arms and motioned the group in right away.

 "Come in!” 

He pointed to a door at the end of a long hallway. “The first aid is in the restroom. You may put her on the bed in the meantime.” 

Deacon followed his medical officer into the bedroom while a couple other crew members went to gather the supplies. Dea was placed on the mattress with the trench coat discarded. Cinzia checked her vitals again. She gave her captain a nod - a sign that she was still alive and breathing. 

He took on the role as a temporary assistant, helping with removing the gauze and cleaning the wound. He reasoned with himself that this situation was dire, and he had more pressing matters to worry about than seeing his partner's bare skin. As soon as they were done, the two of them took a moment to simply breathe. Dea was in a more stable condition, despite not waking yet. 

Don Rodrigo appeared in the doorway. “I have called for the local doctor. He will be here to help you shortly.” 

That was good news. They needed some proper equipment to locate the bullet. They dipped their heads to him with gratitude. Deacon offered more of his help, but chose to leave when Cinzia insisted on removing Dea’s mask to check for further injuries. He understood this was a pressing matter, sure,  but he still respected her privacy. It didn’t feel…right…to see her face without her consent, while she was unconscious like this. He would leave that matter in someone else's hands for now.

How telling, that he would have so many opportunities to reveal her identity lately, but had to refuse each one. He mentally kicked himself for having such strong principles. 

When he left the bedroom, he found the rest of his crew sitting around Don Rodrigo’s leisure space, passing the time by talking and drinking. The owner of the house was politely pouring them small drinks. His eyes met with Deacon’s from across the room. He outstretched his hand to offer him a clean glass - but the spymaster shook his head and left for the hallway.

He kept walking until he stumbled into an outdoor garden. This part of the manor was quiet and still. He appreciated the solitude and took a seat on the bench next to a beautiful fountain. He didn’t indulge in the sights or stop to smell the flowers. Instead, he reached for his pack of cigarettes and lit the end of one. He sat there for several minutes looking around the space and thinking to himself. 

How could things have gone so wrong, so quickly? 

He made sure no one else was around before succumbing to his frustration and burying his head in his hands. He had endured a few gunshot wounds of his own before - but none so dangerously lodged in his stomach like Dea had right now. The rest of his crew were waiting closely by the room at this moment, waiting to hear further word on their Captain's condition, while he'd retreated as far away as possible.