In the Shadows of Kroy

Kazimir looked up around the room, taking it in. It was simple. Clean. Didn't look that lived in, though the things inside it looked used. He wondered what this place was to Bobby. A safe-house? Bobby didn't seem to treat it like his home, but then again, he wasn't sure he understood much about this world and what it was like for Bobby on the streets.

Had he any choice in the matter, he never would've popped up behind that dumpster. He was glad he did, though. Bobby was in a tight spot with those thugs, and Kazimir wasn't sure how Bobby would've gotten out of that one.

Okay, so Kazimir changed his mind. He was glad to be here, if only to help Bobby. He still felt bad though, for getting shot. Now he was more a burden than anything else to the child.

He leaned his head back into the couch.

Hopefully this bullet wound wouldn't kill him.

Queenie was having a shitty morning.

The bad part probably started the night before. A few drinks with a few insufferably boring people, a bit of light flirting, a dash of manipulation to get the conversation going in the right directions, and push some lonely loser with too much money and a collection of values that didn't quite fit into the puzzle her family was trying to piece together here off of a balcony. Add a suicide note, and all that's left is for the guests at the party to recount how he was talking about some really dark things that night, and how it was almost like he was saying goodbye, blah blah blah. Same story different cast.

It all went fine, too, except for one pesky little witness.

A night-long hunt had led her to a third-floor office with a very sharp hairpin and no real plan. Just a bit of charm and...the bitch had to put up a fight. She was better than Queenie bargained for. Good enough to make a ruckus before Queenie could finish her off.

And so, security on the way, the window already broken, and only one set of stairs, Queenie picked the option that would leave the least paper trail to pick up later.

Of course, that option also hurt like a bitch.

Queenie dragged herself up the rickety-looking fire-escape, her breaths shallow and one arm cradled to her chest. She could have landed better. Kept her arm undamaged, at least. But no. No. she was too fucking stupid.

She unlocked the window and looked inside.

....Someone was on the couch.

She could only see the top of their head, but she knew it wasn't Bobby. The hair was the wrong shade, and Bobby was way shorter than that anyhow. Someone had broken in? Not likely, but possible, in this part of town especially.

Silently, she slid open the window and slinked inside.

She crept up behind the couch and took out her gun. She pressed the barrel against the guy's head. "Who the fuck are you?" she asked, quiet, controlled, furious.

One he felt the gun against his head, he suddenly felt like, in hindsight, he should've been expecting this. Not that Bobby would set him up for something, but just. That something would go wrong. That someone would be around to be angry and cause more trouble. He sighed through his nose and slowly craned his neck around to look at the gal behind him.

Oh, she looked like shit. She was probably here for medical supplies too. He wondered if this was some kind of med station. If that was a thing in this place.

Kazimir narrowed his eyes as he looked at the girl, who couldn't have been older than maybe 17. She looked ridiculously sleep deprived, was covered in cuts and bruises, and it looked like she had a few broken fingers. Maybe a broken arm, from the way it hung.

"Shit, you need more help than I do," he said, letting his gaze drift back to her eyes. "The name's Kazimir, if it means anything to you. Who the fuck are you?"

"I am about to pull the trigger if you don't get to explaining how the hell you got in here, Kazimir."

She was close enough now that she could see his injury. Bullet to the leg. Looked pretty nasty, and fresh. It wasn't an accident that he ended up here, of all places. No one would go through the trouble of breaking in to a place like this while bleeding out if they didn't know what was behind the door.

He had to have gotten here recently, too. There was no medical supplies around him, and his wound was still free-bleeing like nothing else, yet there wasn't really that much blood on the ground.

"A kid brought me here," he said, still looking the girl in the eyes, unfazed. "Lot smaller than you are. I'm a bit of what you'd call - uh - an alien to these parts. They were just helping me out. I don't suppose you'd know them, would you?"

His mouth spread into a wry smile. "Maybe we have a common friend."

Queenie's eye's narrowed. Only one kid could possibly fit that description. Only one kid knew what this place was. But that kid wouldn't bring someone here. Certainly not willingly.

"I swear to the fucking gods, if you hurt Bobby, they'll be scrubbing your remains off sidewalks all over the city," she growled.

Kazimir’s eyebrows drew together and he gave the girl a look of genuine offense.

“I wouldn’t fucking dream of it,” he growled. “I’d guard Bobby with my life. Shut the hell up if you’re going to keep assuming things that are dead wrong.”

It took a minute for her brain to catch up with his words. Gods, her fucking ribs hurt.

When it finally processed, her eyebrows drew together. "Where is Bobby?" she asked, still suspicious.

“Somewhere in the other room looking for blood ‘cause I lost a shit ton.” He considered throwing a threat in there, were the girl to hurt Bobby he’d never forgive himself, but the visceral reaction she’d had at the mention of Bobby reminded him of one of his own. He felt like she wasn’t lying. About caring for Bobby, at least.

“And it’d be nice, you know, if you didn’t try to kill me after Bobby went through all the trouble of bringing me here.” His eyes flicked to the gun, still at his head.

“Kinda defeats the purpose, don’t you think?”

She didn't trust him. Didn't trust his word, certainly didn't trust that Bobby was actually here. She couldn't leave him alone, though. He could see the kind of shape she was in. Even wounded, it wouldn't be a competition.

If she called out for Bobby it might alert the sensor's outside. The last thing she needed right now was for her dad to get another call. She'd be going through whatever surgery might be convenient to avoid any changes in her physical appearance awake, at this rate, and she wouldn't put it past her dad to order it done with a paralyzing agent and nothing for the pain.

"Queenie?" came a voice from behind her. Bobby, thank the gods.

Queenie glanced back, confirming that it was him. "You know this guy?"

Bobby nodded.

"Do you trust him?"

Bobby hesitated. Another nod.

If there was anyone in the world who could judge a person's character with any accuracy, it was Bobby. So, though his hesitation wasn't the least bit comforting, she lowered her gun.

Bobby was carrying a pile of medical supplies. All stuff for a bullet wound, and some bags of blood marked AB positive. He scurried past and laid out the supplies on the table before turning back to Queenie, "I can-"

"I'll take care of my own injuries," Queenie interrupted, "Your friend it bleeding out." With that, she went to the bathroom to get herself something to deal with...well, her own stupid decisions.

Kazimir watched in silence as they talked, and his eyes followed Queenie - apparently that was her name - disappeared somewhere else in the apartment to take care of herself.

When Queenie was gone, Bobby came around to the front of the couch with all the things he'd said he'd get. Blood. A med kit, and all the things that entailed inside. Things between them went quiet as Bobby started to clean away some of the blood and carefully started the process of removing the bullet. Kazimir watched with mild fascination, and a mix of worry and curiosity.

Bobby knew what he was doing. That much was clear. Bobby seemed a bit nervous, but there wasn't a time that Bobby ever seemed to not be nervous, and he didn't seem any more so just because he was patching up a bullet wound.

Kazimir had an arm propped up on the back of the couch, and he subtly slid his hand between the back and the cushion. He balled his hand into a fist, squeezing tightly in an attempt to divert his attention somewhere besides the pain in his leg.

Bobby was working on it slowly, but he was being thorough. Kazimir appreciated that, but he needed a distraction.

"So, did you go to med school?"

He was joking, except he wasn't. He didn't know how a kid like Bobby was experienced with caring for bullet wounds.

Then again, Bo was in a similar boat. Maybe not as... hardened - or shaken - as Bobby. Kazimir shoved that thought to the back of his mind and forgot it.

Bobby hesitated. “I...No. No, I didn’t.” He didn’t know if the question was serious or not. Probably not. He wasn’t that good at this, and he knew he didn’t look nearly old enough.

He focused back on the task at hand. He really could just leave the bullet in. It had lodged itself pretty harmlessly out of the way of anything important, and there wasn’t really much risk of it wiggling loose and causing more damage. If the tissue healed around it, it would be fine. But Kazimir probably wouldn’t like being stopped at every metal detector he went through. It wasn’t like he’d have a good explanation.

Bobby picked a pair of teasers from the med kit and quickly sterilized it with one of the alcohol wipes. “This is going to hurt,” he said apologetically before getting to work.

Bobby could tell Kazimir was in pain. It looked like he was hiding it a little, but it wasn’t really possible to hide all of the basic pain reactions. Not unless your reflexes were greatly damaged.

Finally, though, Bobby managed to dig it out. He dropped the mangled bullet on the coffee table without really looking away from where he was still working on the wound. Taking out the bullet had done a little more damage, despite Bobby’s best efforts, so now he had to fix it and stitch Kazimir back up.

While Bobby was working, Queenie came out from the bathroom. She’d patched herself up, at least to the point where she wasn’t actively dying, and had a different gun from the one she’d had before holstered at her hip. She came out to the living room and carefully sat down in the recliner beside the couch so she and Kazimir were right next to each other with an end table between them. She twisted the end of her hair with one hand and glanced between Bobby and Kazimir.

“So,” she said.

Bobby suspected she hadn’t stopped because she didn’t know what to ask. She probably just wanted to get a read on Kazimir. Let him guess what she was asking.

Bobby kept focused on his work.

Kazimir took in a tense breath through his grit teeth as Bobby fished the bullet out, and continued to keep his mouth snapped shut while Bobby started sewing him up. He focused on taking measured breaths and stared at the ceiling. For whatever reason, looking at Bobby dig around the wound wasn't helping him.

When Queenie walked back in he took note of her in the corner of his eyes. She looked a little less worse for wear.

Still staring at the ceiling, he let her "so" hang in the air, waiting for her to finish her sentence. When she didn't, he blinked slowly and let his gaze drift over to her.

He couldn't think of anything to say to her that she probably wouldn't answer with a bitter retort. He was in pain, she was in pain, and he didn't feel like having a conversation with an angry teenager who he could tell didn't trust him at all. At the moment, all he could think about was getting home. Bo sat in the back of his mind as a reminder that he couldn't just stay here forever. He had to get back to his life. His son.

"What's this city called, anyway?" he finally asked. Maybe, he'd get lucky, and it would be on a map. On his world. And he could just hitchhike home.

Queenie watched at Bobby finished the final stitch and reached for the bandages. His patient - the stranger he'd brought to her safehouse, and probably yet another reason she was so, so very dead when she got home - was looking pretty pale. '

She got up and picked up one of the bags of blood, arching an eyebrow at his question. As she clipped the bag to the lamp - which was not easy to do one-handed - she answered. "You're in Kroy." She gestured for him to give her his arm so she could start the flow of blood.

Well fuck.

He didn’t know where Kroy was, but it sure as hell wasn’t close to home.

He looked at Queenie and obeyed. He leaned forward ever so slightly and slipped his arm out of its jacket sleeve, revealing the tattooed snake winding up his arm. Of course, the t-shirt cut off the view of the head and everything, but you could tell it was a snake with scales and all.

He offered up his arm, vein-side up.

“You sure you don’t want help yourself?”