Page 78 of Jagger's Remorse
"That was smooth," I tell her. "The recording."
"Always have three plans. Diego's rule number seven," she quotes.
"How many rules were there?" I ask.
"Forty-two. Though I broke most of them tonight," she admits.
"Which ones?" I'm curious.
"Don't get attached. Don't hesitate. Don't let emotion cloud judgment." She looks at our joined hands. "Don't save the enemy's friends."
"I'm the enemy?" I ask.
"You were," she says softly.
"And now?" I press.
"Now you're... complicated," she admits.
Doc finishes the stitches.
"Keep it clean. Try not to tear them doing anything stupid," Doc instructs.
"Define stupid," Scarlett mutters.
"Anything involving him." Doc points at me.
"Then I'm definitely tearing them," she says.
Doc finishes with Scarlett's shoulder, then turns to me.
"Your turn," he says. "Shirt off."
I peel off my blood-soaked shirt, revealing the wound between my ribs.
"Christ," Doc mutters. "She really did stab you."
"Precisely," I confirm. "Missed everything important."
"By about two millimeters," he observes, cleaning the wound. "Either she's incredibly skilled or incredibly lucky."
"Skilled," Scarlett says. "Lucky would've been missing him entirely."
Doc starts stitching, and I grip the table edge.
"Hurts?" he asks.
"I've had worse," I say through gritted teeth.
"Haven't we all," Scarlett murmurs, watching him work.
When he's done, we're both stitched and bandaged.
Matching wounds from different battles.
"Keep them clean. Try not to tear them doing anything stupid," Doc instructs.
"Define stupid," Jagger mutters.
