Outlaw Star Fan Fiction ❯ Revenge ❯ Chapter 11

Gene looked at the collapsed businessman in front of his door. "Damn merchants," he cursed, bending down to cradle Fred in his arms. Gene carried Fred in, and sat him in a chair.

Leaving Fred momentarily unattended, he left to make a pot of coffee. With the current state of his head, he would need it.

Letting the coffee brew, Gene decided to look at Fred's wound. He stripped Fred of his jacket and shirt, thankful Fred didn't wake up, then knelt at his side to inspect the wound.

Luckily, it wasn't as bad as Gene had thought. The wound had clotted for the most part, and the bullet had stopped when it hit bone. It was nothing he couldn't take care of.

Sighing, Gene got up to get a first aid kit and a half-empty bottle of cheap wine. After setting them on the coffee table, he opened the kit and pulled out some basic surgical tools before returning to the kitchen, and put the tools and the water on to boil.

Then Gene turned to his own lifesaver: coffee. His head was pounding and he wondered if he had drunk too much the night before. It would not have been the first time, nor would it be the last.

The coffee helped ease the pain and clear his head. Gene finished one cup and poured another, bringing the cup and a bowl of warm water with a washcloth into the living room. Gene set the cup on the table next to the first aid kit, then pulled a chair up next to Fred and began cleaning his wounded shoulder. Every so often, Gene rinsed out the washcloth in the bowl. It didn't take very long for the water to turn red.

After a few minutes, Fred woke slowly, his eyes fluttering open with a pained moan.

"Hey," Gene said and put aside the bloodied washcloth.

Slightly disoriented by the unfamiliar room, Fred asked, "What happened?"

Gene picked up his coffee and recapped. "You woke me up at the ungodly hour of noon. I told you, `You've been shot.' And then you fainted."

Fred sheepishly tugged his ear. "I was never very good around blood."

Gene grunted and finished his coffee. "If you want I can take the bullet out," he offered.

"O-Okay," Fred answered hesitantly.

Gene nodded and went back to the kitchen carrying his cup and the bloody water. A minute later he returned with the freshly-sterilized tools on a clean towel.

"Here," Gene said, offering the bottle of cheap wine he'd left on the table. "It's easier if you drink this."

Fred took the bottle, and after realizing he would not be offered a glass he took a swallow of the wine.

Gene laughed lightly at his disgusted face. "I bought the wine to get drunk off of, not for the taste," he informed Fred.

"It's still disgusting," Fred said.

"Would you prefer some expensive wine to dull your senses before I take the bullet out?" Gene teased.

Fred opened his mouth to answer, and then shut it.

Gene gave a cocky grin. "Seriously, you might want to get at least tipsy before I start," he warned.

Fred stuck his nose up at the bottle. "I'll pass."

"Suit yourself," Gene replied, then began the process of removing the bullet.

"Ow, Gene!"
"I haven't even started!"

"Sit still!"
"But Gene!"
"Quit whining!"

"Is there supposed to be so much blood?"
"Damn it! Turn your head if you're going to be sick."

"Quit crying, don't be such a baby."
"But Geeene it hurts!"

"There, all done," Gene announced, presenting the bullet to Fred.

"That wasn't so bad," Fred said.

Gene growled and resisted the urge to throw the bullet at Fred's face. Instead, he cleaned the wound with rubbing alcohol.

Fred winced at the sting, but didn't complain. After all, Gene was tending to his wounds, and he had whined a little more than necessary when Gene removed the bullet for the attention. Despite the pain, Fred felt giddy that Gene was helping him.

When Gene started wrapping up his arm, Fred remarked, "I didn't know you knew first aid."

"I don't really," Gene said. "I only know how to bandage things up and some basic field surgery. It's kind of necessary with the amount of knife and bullet wounds we get, and hospitals ask too many questions."

Fred nodded in understanding, pleased to have discovered another of Gene's hidden talents.

Gene frowned. "Jim knows a lot more about this stuff. He's better at it, too." He put his head in his hands.

"Are you okay, Gene?" Fred asked, genuinely concerned.

"Yeah," Gene answered. "It's just that you never realize how important someone is until they're gone."

It was Fred's turn to frown. "You're right Gene, you don't." Fred thought of his bodyguard, more than likely lying in a dead heap on his office floor. "Gene, I know this is a bad time, but I need to ask you a favor."

"What is it, Fred?" Gene sighed.

"I really need a bodyguard right now. Someone I know I can trust," Fred said.

"Not now, Fred. Things are way too screwed up. Anyway, don't you have that weird guy?" Gene asked.

"No," Fred answered. "Even if he survived, he is no condition to work." Fred gazed at his feet, and fought the creeping depression. He hoped his guard was still alive, but the chances that he was were slim to nil. After so many years together the thought hurt.

Gene felt a pang of pity at the sight of a sad Fred. "I'll help," he said.

"Thanks." Fred only gave half a smile.

*_*_*_

"YOU WHAT!" Ron screamed.

"I'm sorry, Ron. His bodyguard was more trouble than I expected," Harry apologized.

"No excuse. You were playing around instead of doing the job," Ron yelled.

"It's not that big a deal, Ron. I'll go back and take care of it."

"No. It's obvious that I can't trust you with something as simple as assassination. I'm not even sure that I can trust you with the errand I wanted to," Ron said, controlling his boiling rage down to a simmer.

"Oh come on," Harry began as he moved within a foot of Ron. "It was a small underestimation that won't happen again."

"No, it won't," Ron agreed. "Because if I want something done right, I'll have to do it."

"You're not being fair," Harry whined.

"And if I can't trust you with a simple job then I can't trust you to leave the ship, or even pilot it."

"Ron, that's just ridiculous. Not only are assassination and piloting two different things, we both know I'm the better pilot," Harry said.

"Have you forgotten who is in charge?" Ron growled.

"What do you mean `in charge'? We're partners!" Harry answered.

"Please, don't make me laugh," Ron said with a sneer. "I designed you. I had you made. I raised you. I've even fixed you." He closed the gap between them, then laced his fingers in Harry's hair and pulled it back. "You belong to me, Harry. I make the demands, you follow them - not the other way around. If I want you to kill someone, you kill them. If I want you to stay on the ship, you stay. If I want to fuck you, you spread your legs. It's that simple."

Harry pushed away, but Ron held tight on his hair. "Let me go!" he cried.

"I told you, Harry. I'm the one that makes demands. I'll let go of you only when I feel like it," Ron sneered, and grabbed Harry's wrist harshly.

"Please Ron, let go. It hurts," Harry pleaded.

Ron ignored him. "I've treated you as a human far too long."

Trembling, Harry struggled in his grip, fear rising through him when he saw the hateful glint in Ron's eyes. "What's happened to you?"

"I let you develop the image that you're human, but you aren't. That was a foolish mistake I wish to amend. You're a living machine, and a flawed one at that. Your instability and emotional tendencies will no longer be acceptable. Do you understand?"

"Ron?" Harry whispered, both confused and scared.

"I said, do you understand?" Ron repeated.

Harry wanted to scream no but instead answered, "Yes."

"Good. Now go take care of the boy. I've got an errand to run." Ron turned and left.

Harry rubbed his bruised wrist. "What's going on?" he murmured.