Page 47 of Border Control

“Sit,” I tell Dom, pointing to the center of the room.

He kneels slowly on the vintage wooden boards worn smooth by their previous life so they're silky soft. He keeps one hand pressing the towel to his shoulder; I can't see any blood soaking through, which is good.

Keeping my voice quiet and calm, I explain, “I'm going to clean you up and check for deep wounds and bruising, okay?”

“Yes.” He lifts the cloth and I brace myself for a fountain of crimson.

None appears. His shoulder is covered in old smears, sure, but it seems the bleeding stopped.

I rip open a packet of wipes and dab him gently. “Sorry if this stings.”

“It doesn't.” He watches my hands work, gaze sliding up to my face, jaw working.

I wipe his muscled shoulder all clean, and wince at the line of cracked scales, some snapped down the middle and others crushed in a spiderweb. They're a light pink with lilac along the broken edges, and I'm extra gentle touching those.

“Does that hurt?”

“No, Law-rah.” He rolls his shoulder underneath my hands, and I hiss at him.

“Be careful! I still haven't found the wound.”

“My nanites healed the injury on the car ride.”

I slowly straighten up. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.” They all have little nanites running through their blood, knitting them upfrom bumps and scrapes and helping them translate what we're saying. “I didn't know they could do big things like that,” I explain, flushing. Now I feel silly for fussing. “Um. Can I help with the scales? They look painful.”

He glances down at them. “They don't hurt. They'll take a human week or so to regrow. Until then, this will be a weak spot in my armor.”

Okay. Phew. He's alright.

All of a sudden the adrenaline leaves me and I slump to the floor beside him.

His arms snake out to catch me around my waist, and I lean into his strength. “That… that was scary.”

“I wouldn't have let them hurt you,” he says quietly.

“Not that.” I shudder. “You took a big smack with a crowbar, it… it gouged your shoulder.” I shudder from the memory of the prongs sinking into him.

He meets my eyes. “Yes. Your orders were not to harm them. I let them hit what they thought would be a critical strike to lure them closer so I could scare them off.”

I frown. “Wait. You let them strike you?”

“Yes. It worked, too, but then you came out of the car and I had to end it quickly after that.”

I remembered the roar he made, how he flung that guy like a frisbee. “Ah. I didn't realize.”

And now I feel doubly silly. Of course he knows what he's doing when it comes to fighting, he's an alien enforcer.

Surrounding us are the splayed first aid pieces, the open bag gaping the way a passed out freshman would, and my shoes tossed aside. It's a mess. I'm a mess, and I can't seem to get it together.

My life is falling apart.

“I was so scared,” I admit.

He cups my hands in his big warm ones. “In future, you'll know you won't be in any danger when I'm near.”

“Not scared for me, I was scared for you.”

He freezes, muscles bunching, and then his eyes soften. “I'm sorry to be a source of worry.”