Crazy Mary (Sabra; James)

[Zephyr]

If it were possible for anyone to be more stubborn then himself, Silas hadn’t met them until he pulled Sabra out of her truck. Sure, dislocated shoulders aren’t a huge issue, but they can lead to infection, can heal all wrong and limit use and mobility of the limb, and they hurt like a fucking bitch. Sure, it wouldn’t kill the werewolf not to have her arm set there and then, but Silas was fucking determined to get it done there. The sight of Silas trying to convince Sabra to let him pop her arm back into place and Sabra refusing to let him could be compared to a couple of territorial wolverines butting heads.

In the end, science and a decent amount of immunity to scowls and muttered curses wins out, and Silas settles back against a support beam on the ground, pulling her against him and between his legs so that he could hold her steady and simultaneously comfort and distract her with whispered words against her ear while he shoved her shoulder back into place. It wasn’t his usual way of getting things done; way too nice, but it seemed appropriate for Sabra having to put up with him.

Afterwards, he’d carried her out to his car. He selectively ignores her bitching about being carried and leaving her truck on the way to the destination she’d given him. There was no way he was going to let her walk on her own, let alone drive herself home. That and he was not going to be sitting in her blood. He makes a mental note of going out to get the damn truck first thing in the morning and pay to get the seats cleaned. The truck and the werewolf are not his responsibility, but he feels responsible enough anyway.

When they pull up at the wolf’s boyfriend’s apartment, Silas kills the engine in the parking lot and just sits there. He stares at the building for a while before turning over to look at Sabra, trying to decide how she’s holding up just by looking at her. She lost a fucking lot of blood back at the warehouse before Silas had shown up. Anyone else would fucking be on their ass right about now.

It take a lot to earn even a little bit of respect in the doctor’s eyes, but this woman has earned a great deal, even if she doesn’t realize it. Instead of actually saying as much to her, he snorts lightly, rolling his eyes. “Don’t even think of opening your fucking door. I’m carrying you to his goddamn door.” The fact that walking could rip the stitches he’d so carefully placed isn’t something that’s at the forefront of his mind, mostly he’s worried about Sabra’s health, but there are the stitches.

He rounds to the passenger’s side door, opens it for her, and gets her back into his arms. He pauses before they go into the building, brows knitting into an expression of intense bewilderment as he glances down at Sabra’s face. “Your boyfriend. He isn’t going to try and kill me, is he? Because I gotta say. I have no problems dropping your ass to save myself.” Using someone as a human shield is beyond even Silas’ morals, but dropping an injured woman to escape from her psychopath boyfriend is apparently not. “This is your incentive for not letting him try and kill me.” He says gravely before he makes his way to James’ door and knocks.

[Sabra]

Besides dragging herself out of the warehouse the first time, having to leave the Plymouth behind is the hardest thing she's had to do all day. Her baby, vulnerable to thieves and vandals, abandoned to the overgrown parking lot with blood soaking her vintage leather seats.

Silas gets an earful for it, but no amount of of griping and groaning, or vividly detailed threats are enough to shake the man, who seems to have adopted her care as some sort of civic duty. There had to be easier people to save in this world, people who contributed something to society, like his patients for example. "Is this what ya do in your free time? Kidnap innocent women?" The car ride is hardly a quiet affair, talking keeps her mind off the pain some, but mostly it keeps her awake.

Falling asleep in Silas' car like some tuckered out kid isn't becoming of a ferocious wolf. Not even one missing a pint and a half of blood with a gash in her thigh and a newly relocated shoulder, both of which ache like three types of hell. It was only due to the grace of the doctor's speedy reaction time that she hadn't slipped into unconsciousness--or worse, waiting out in the freezing cab of the Plymouth.

Not that she would admit it. Silas hardly needed his ego stroked, maybe his dick. Something like a hand job would probably go a long way in turning that frown upside down.

Sadly, she was a taken woman and as of right now, her hands were shaking like leaves in the autumn wind, a symptom of shock, she diagnoses quietly. Boston is a blur outside her window, the skyscrapers piercing the sky with their bright lights, outshining even the stars themselves. It had been a long time since she had seen the stars, the Milky Way stretched out over the Appalachianss like a glimmering quilt, blanketing them from the chill of winter. "Light pollution's awful." She drawls, leaned against the door, eyes trained upwards.

Sabra wakes blearily to Silas killing the engine and before she can even reach for the handle, the wolf suddenly at the forefront of her mind, demanding escape, freedom, he opens his big mouth. As if it isn't bad enough that her entire body feels like a mass of bruises, Silas has to go along and injure her pride too with his damned helping. "Go to hell, ya quack." She snarls, trying to straighten in her seat and evade his seeking hands, but he scoops her up as easily as any reluctant dog shying from their owner. Sabra decides to save her energy for later battles, and the impending doom that awaited her in the apartment.

Thankfully, it's pitch black out and there is no one in James' neighborhood to see the strange scene, her carried bridal style, a pants leg missing, and clothes covered generously in blood, both her own and others'. Her cheek lulls against Silas' chest, the rhythm of his pace almost enough to lull her back to sleep.

"I bet I can survive the drop." She says steely, managing the most intimidating look she can while still cradled in the man's arms, pale and her teeth chattering. The concrete steps weren't soft, but she had a better chance of surviving the fall than Silas did of surviving James. Tigers were bigger than wolves and they had longer teeth; it was just a fact. It didn't hurt that her lover towered over most men and was wider across than most oaks. "You'll be fine, James is a big ol' sweetheart. Regular teddy bear..." A yawn escapes her and Sabra's eyes flutter shut for a moment. Silas was warm and he smelled like wolf and aftershave, the pack she had never really had.

Adjusting his hold on her, Silas rings the door bell, the sound piercing through the chirping of the crickets and the distant roar of cars.

[James Morgan]

James hadn’t expected the night to be any more exciting than the one before it—without Sabra to accompany him, the man spends his time taking care of his daughter, being the mother that she had never really had. Only a few hours before, James Morgan had been sitting down on the floor of the livingroom with his legs crossed indian style. In front of him, his year-old child stands on unsteady feet, holding James’s fingers for support and balance with both hands. They had been watching Dora The Explorer, and when the time had called for it, James would lean forward over her shoulder with a bright smile and a happy but tired voice, reciting “Swiper no swiping!” as many times as the annoying little Spanish parasite demanded him to.

Exhausted and sore from work, James was happy when Izzy had started to become drowsy. With no one home and no plans for the night, he could think of no better way than to spend it than to lay down on the couch with his baby in his arms, humming old country songs until she would finally find her rest.

So, hours later, with one arm hanging off of the couch and the other across the baby’s back, it isn’t the sounds of a visitor at his door that stirs the man from his slumber. Isabelle shifts her weight over with a sharp, unhappy intake of air, curling up on her daddy’s chest , and finally beginning to whine once the noise doesn’t stop. “S’wrong, Izz?” he mutters sleepily, not wanting to have to open his eyes just yet. Sleep pulls at him with all of its power, and the temptation to let himself drift back away, and for Izzy to settle once more, is much more appealing than standing and rocking her again. But there are voices outside, voices that are much too close that reach out for him through the fog of his exhaustion.

And if he had been awake, he might have shot up in alarm and caution, but instead he leans forward, carefully placing Izzy back down on the couch and stumbling over to the door like the attractive man he is—messy bedhead, his necklace twisted, no shirt and Toy Story pajama pants; a true male model in the making. He swings the door open with an aggravated, tired look, about to bitch at whoever is at his door, but in nearly a second flat, all of the color drains from the native american’s face.

There’s blood—a lot of blood, and he doesn’t waste his time in attempting to register the man who carries her. Instead, he reacts.

“Holy fuck, Sabs—” And while his movements are quick and panicked, James is gentle when he slips his arms under Sabra, carefully taking her from the arms of the strange, nameless man. His pulse is quick and his anxiety is high, but he manages to keep the quiver from his voice when he says, “Sabs, darlin’, stay awake for me, okay?” Silas is forgotten and James moves back into his own apartment, immediately to the couch where he rests her there, running nervous fingers through her hair and pressing his lips to her forehead. “You’re gonna be alright—” He hopes. Next to her, Izzy lifts her head, awake, quiet, and confused.

With his two girls here, one in damn sore condition, James rises to turn and face Silas, hovering protectively in front of Sabra and Izzy, raising the man a suspicious, hardened look. “And who the hell are you?” He’s a wolf, and James can smell it on him—and while James doubts that he would have been the one to cause Sabra any harm (because Sabra would hardly let any asshole carry her home like a child) he is still potentially a threat, and the daddy tiger doesn’t like feeling threatened in his own den.
“What the fuck is going on?”

[Zephyr]

The doctor blinks warily down at the woman in his arms for a moment, tempted to drop her right here any now. Teddy bear? Fucking teddy bear? He’s heard about the man before. Nathan had told him a story where some mountain of a man broke his goddamn nose because he thought that he’d fucked his girlfriend. The girlfriend that Silas is currently cradling in his arms. If James will punch someone in the face because he thought they’d slept with Sabra, Silas can only imagine what the fucker will try to do to someone he thought seriously injured her?

Not that Silas can’t defend himself. He’s a pretty big guy himself, but he’s heard that James is fucking massive. Teddy bear and massive don’t usually go hand in hand. He keeps his disbelief mostly to a minimum and merely snorts at Sabra as he moves to rings the doorbell.

Cue the inevitable scrambling of a loved one in distress. Silas doesn’t hold back when James takes Sabra from his arms, and even though the man didn’t look at him, he doesn’t think for a second that he’s escaped being scrutinized. So Silas doesn’t leave, but he doesn’t move further into the apartment. He stops in the threshold, leaning casually on the doorframe as James worries over the wolf like a worried hen. Silas has to keep himself from rolling his eyes. She clearly isn’t in any danger of bleeding out, and his stitches are lovely, thanks.

But he has to remind himself that the kitty doesn’t know what happened, and he supposes there is a lot of blood on their clothing, so he stays silent and lets him fuss over her for a moment, waiting until the shifter inevitably turns his attention to the doctor himself.

He doesn’t even move as the man looks at him. Only lifts an eyebrow at his protectiveness over his girl and…is that a baby he saw in the rush of limbs and skin? While Silas has never particularly liked children – they’re far too noisymessydemanding for his liking – he doesn’t make a point of actually causing any harm…unless you counted unwittingly scaring them in the hospital or out on the street ‘harm’. And if he’d wanted to hurt Sabra, he would have done it when she was bleeding out in her truck.

As it is, he stays silent; lets the tiger have a go out him without speaking. “If you’re done yelling at me.” Silas starts calmly after the shifter had fallen silent. “She called me and told me she was hurt. I’m a doctor.” He explains after a moment, as if that wasn’t clear enough by the look of him…even though it probably wasn’t to other people. Silas liked to conveniently ignore this fact though and assume that all people everywhere should know he’s a fucking doctor, thanks. “I found her, patched her up, and brought her here. I don’t fucking know how she got hurt. That’s something you’ll have to ask her.” Somehow he isn’t sure James will be pleased to know that his girlfriend got hurt killing some rogue werewolves.

If Sabra wants him to know, she’ll tell him. That’s business best left between the two of them.

What shouldn’t be are the after care instructions, which Silas hangs around to inform James of after he’d finished fussing over the wolf. “She’s lost a lot of blood. You need to make sure to keep the area clean, and I wouldn’t let her do anything herself for a couple days.” He pins Sabra with a look that says I’ll fucking know if you do…before he looks back at James. “She needs to sleep though, it’ll help her body heal. Hovering over her isn’t going to help though…you do need to watch her though and call me if anything goes wrong or the gash on her thigh gets infected. She’s also going to have a pretty wicked bruise on her shoulder, but that’s normal.”

He’s oddly pretty calm now. Talking medicine does that to him. And he won’t admit it, but treating Sabra and having to give instructions to her boyfriend beats the hell out of doing it with a random stranger.

[Sabra]

Even half asleep, and half dead as she is, Sabra can hear James rattling around inside, his heavy footsteps, the whine of the hinges as he opens the door. Light floods the front steps and before either of them can say a word, to explain, she's lifted up and taken into the warmth of the apartment. His heart sounds like the roar of thunder against her ear and the distinct smell of panic strips away the comfort of familiarity.

Fear had a scent all it's own, the sharp, acrid smell of sweat, of something gone sour and wrong.

"I am awake." She grumbles, blearily opening her eyes. The first thing she sees is James' face and it does something to her. That wolf's teeth are in her leg all over again and her chest tightens up--strangles the breath out of her lungs as efficiently as any murderous beast. He is terrified and there is no one to blame but herself for that. "James, I'm alright." The cushions sink beneath her weight and she tries to catch his hand, to let him know the truth her shaky words can't support. He is a man given to laughter and grinning--it shouldn't be like this.

James blocks her view of Silas, a solemn figure in the doorway. Sabra forces herself to sit up, to further torture her shoulder. She had promised that the doctor would be safe, and hell if she would go back on her word. In the dim light the dark haired woman can see the vague imprint of her body against his shirt, marked out in drying blood. There may as well be a steel rod replacing James' spine, and she can pick out the muscles in his back, the tension that runs so deeply.

In this moment, Sabra begins to understand why so few shared her sentiments of teddy bears and sweethearts.

The inevitable question comes. What happened? As if she couldn't speak for herself. More calmly than she expected, Silas answers and she reminds herself to keep him in her non-existent prayers for that admission of truth. At least James won't have to hear it from someone else and that is a generous mercy in a day that feels like one clusterfuck after another. She eases herself back down and groans when a joint pops audibly. Twenty eight and already things were threatening to come apart at the seams. Admittedly, she kept the Plymouth in better shape than her own body, but it all seemed damned unfair. Izzy sits next to her, rubbing her little eyes and pouting without her father.

Being as small as she is, the little girl won't remember anything and Sabra counts that as another blessing.

From her spot on the couch she raises a hand, which might as well be a white flag, far as things are concerned. She wiggles her fingers in demonstration of her still quite conscious presence in the room. "I ain't dead yet." The enforcer pretends not to have caught Silas' very serious 'I am a doctor and I know what's best,' look. A few love bites weren't anything compared to the damage she'd been dealt in the past and it's all a hair dramatic for Sabra's taste. She would prefer to crawl somewhere dark and lick her wounds in peace, but no one was willing to let her go. "It takes a little more than that to kill an ol' stray like me. Sorry, hun, but you're stuck with me for the time bein'." A wary smile pulls on tired muscles and Sabra makes to reach for him again, cold fingers catching his wrist and her thumb working in small circles over the back of his hand.

"Thanks, Silas. Call me, if ya need anything taken care of." The flicker of her eyes from human green to the wolf's ice blue puts weight in her words. She owed him for more than just the stitches.

[James Morgan]

SHORT POST SORRY

---

James doesn’t turn around.

Sabra speaks, insists that she is alright, and while James wants to turn around and tell her that that is bullshit, he instead clenches his teeth hard, lips pressed into a thin line and brow furrowed in aggravation and fear. “I wasn’t yellin’.” he growls, with every indication in his tone that if Silas wants him to yell, he will be more than happy to do so. But the man is apparently a doctor—one of those annoying, haughty men that assume that their two bachelor’s degrees made them important enough to be assholes, as if it were supposed to mean jack shit to him. But still, James visibly settles, if only a small amount. He exhales a heavy breath, making him practically deflate, but he refuses to move and allow Sabra into the man’s line of view.

Because any man that helps rather than hinders, at least in Sabra’s case, is good enough for him, for the time being.

“Well, Doc,” he begins, threading his fingers through his own long hair in stress. “I appreciate your medical advice and all,” It’s the irritation that begins to build up once more. Doctor or not, whether he helped Sabra or not, the man doesn’t have a right to chip in his snarky damn opinion. “But you’re not gonna come carryin’ Sabra in here all covered in her blood, and tell me not to hover.” James has always considered himself to be a man of considerable patience—he’s gone through raising a baby by himself (a true feat in and of itself) and has experienced gnarly injuries, has even been homeless at one point, but the meter on his stress bar is beginning to run high.

He wants to snap again, but Sabra interrupts (probably a good thing) and James falls silent, slowly moving back to kneel on the floor in front of Sabra and inspect her himself. He tries to offer a smile to her through the receding panic that is obvious on his face, resting a gentle hand on her knee—as if he might break her all over again. “You’re a tough gal, Sabs. I know.” And she is, because James knows that he would never be able to put himself through the amount of shit that she has. From the edge of the abyss and back, and yet Sabra still manages to keep her head up.

More than he could ever do.

“I don’t think I’ll be needin’ to take care of her,” he says to Silas without looking at him. “She’ll be up and movin’ soon whether ya want her to or not.” And not a damn force on earth could stop her, either. The slow circles she makes calms him, enough not to send himself back into the “WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED” panic that he had experienced just moments before.

Sabra takes the reigns from there, sending Silas away, and James is quick to jump on the bandwagon and offer a much more blunt goodbye. “Thanks for the help, Doc. Now get the hell out.”