Hell's Angel (BK 1)

Alison

Alison's POV
(bellamysgirl)

"Is this going to be a thing with you?" I asked, pulling thread through the Mask's shoulder. My finger slipped on the needle, jerking a bit on the thread and it twinged, causing him to hiss, audibly wincing. I exhaled a little, trying to hold the needle steady. "...sorry."

"It's okay," he said, adjusting a bit on my dining room chair. My fingers tightened on the needle as I clipped off another suture. Then I positioned more thread on the needle and started again. The gash on his shoulder, a little ways down from his collar bone, was only a couple inches long, but it was quite deep in the center.

"Quite the shiner you got. What was it this time?" I asked, flicking up my gaze to glance at him for a split second. I sat back a little. "Wait- let me guess. A kitten got stuck in a tree, and a branch broke your fall on the way down."

He huffed an airy chuckle, the slightest hints of a smile on his lips, just below his signature black head covering. I bent back down to finished stitching while he spoke. "Yeah, yuck it up. You should see the other guys," he bantered, sarcastic.

"I've seen one. You know, the guy you threw off my roof with Angel?" I finished off another suture, and I felt him sigh. "I heard he's in a coma at Met Gen. Haven't heard much else. I guess no one knows yet it was you two that put him there."

"I know...I heard," he said, quietly. "I'm sorry you were involved. That you're still involved."

"Don't worry about it. I needed something else to do when I'm not working," I shrugged it off, though I pondered it a second. He seemed genuine in his apology. It would seem that this 'Angel' was the instigator, but I don't know that for sure. One thing I know is helping this guy is temporary. "You seem experienced. Medically, I mean," he pointed out.

"Yeah, well...my mom made a habit of patching up bad men," I clipped off the last suture and sat back dropping the remaining contaminated thread in the trash bin beside my chair. "She patched up some good ones, too. Just mostly bad."

"I'm one of the good ones, Alison," he spoke up.

"I'm not too sure about that," I admitted, zipping up the medical kit. I sat upright, looking at him. His face remained pointed slight to my left while he remained quiet a moment. I sighed lightly. "Look...I get what you're doing, okay? I do. It doesn't mean that the ends justify the very bloody and bruised means."

"You worried about me?" He smiled a little.

"You've come to my house twice now covered in blood. You could say that I'm a little worried," I nodded slowly, like it was obvious.

"I'm a big boy. I've come to you alive both times, right?" I shook my head, chuckling once as I leaned forward. I pressed a gauze pad over the wound and ran a strip of medical tape over it to hold it in place. It wasn't much but it would do long enough for this guy to get to wherever it is he sleeps.

"Okay, I'll give you that," I chuckled, sitting back. I stood and walked over to the couch, grabbing his black, long-sleeved shirt and tossed it to him.

He caught it with ease—almost one handed—and started pulling it on. "You know, one of these times, I'm gonna need to see your face," I thought aloud.

"How's that?"

"Let's say you get a really brutal head injury. Am I supposed to piece you back together with your mask on, or...?"

He chuckled, standing. "I take it we'll figure that scenario out when it happens. Hey, have you heard the name Wilson Fisk?" I paused, trying to think. Wilson Fisk. It didn't immediately ring a bell. I can't remember ever hearing it before he said it. I shook my head. "No. Why?" I crossed my arms loosely.