I'm Here | ✓

31 - Mitigation

"Who can we call?" I ask out loud. I dab at Steve's head where the skin split above his temple. I almost feel bad for staining the clean washcloth, but I have nothing else to use, and at this point, it's almost more red than white.

"Sam first, but I don't know if he's compromised or not." Steve uses another washcloth similarly, wiping away a cut I hadn't noticed on my elbow. Our arms are intertwined, twisting in and out, healing each other. It's almost funny, how graceful we are. It's like we're one person, a shared mind. He sighs. "How did they even know where to look?"

"We stopped at that gas station a few days ago. They probably figured we'd be back. Let's not make that mistake again."

"I never did get you that Snickers."

"Steve, we were attacked. I don't care about the Snickers."

"Yeah, but they're so delicious now..."

"You better not be serious." He breaks into laughter, and I can't help but smile. "Punk. Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah. The dizziness resolved pretty much as soon as we got here." He got up from his spot on the couch to go wring out the washcloth. I could see him from here; he touched the wound on his head gingerly with one finger. "Just like the old days, yeah?"

"No!" I flung the washcloth at him, and I have incredible aim, because it slapped him right on the back of his neck. He peeled it off and dropped it in the sink, gasping comically. "I mean, kinda, just way more dangerous."

"That's the fun part."

"I was electrocuted and paralyzed and worried about you." I twist my left thumb and hear a small click as it fits back together. "That's not fun."

"Yeah, but you're fine now, right?" He walked back in here, grinning, and I pulled him back onto the couch.

"Physically, yes. Mentally, probably not." I picked through a box of assorted bandages, trying to find one that looked to be a good size. I unwrapped one and pressed it against his cut, 'accidentally' brushing my thumb against his lips. He giggled, and I tapped him delicately on the nose. "I thought you'd be capable of buying a fucking candy bar by yourself, but apparently, I constantly have to intervene."

"Leave me alone," he joked, falling backward on the couch. "I wanted a Snickers as much as you did."

I sigh. I'm so madly in love, it's a problem. Honestly, though, I've got other big things to worry about. "No, Steve, seriously. What the hell are we going to do?"

After a moment, he clicks his tongue and points at me. "I got it."

I raise an eyebrow. "Do you?"

He smirks and stands, pacing over the nightstand where his journal lies. He flips open to a random blank page and starts scribbling in it. "Bandages. Canned foods. A blanket. Two travel pillows."

"That's not a plan." I stretch absentmindedly, considering. "I was thinking more... guns. Knives. Disguises. Bombs. Creme soda."

"Creme soda?" Steve glances at me incredulously.

I return the look. "That's the part you have a problem with?" He smiles his lips like he's suppressing a laugh and scratches those into his notepad.

"Creme soda it is." He taps the pen against his chin. "Okay, so. I'll probably call Sam sometime soon."

"You mean bird-man? What's he gonna do, peck them into submission?"

"Go easy on him. He's a good guy."

I roll my eyes. "I'd like two Glock 17's, if we can, and at least one M249 SAW. Rifles are my specialty."