He's lucky to be alive, he supposes; the suspects he was tailing could have killed him. Still, leaving him beaten and battered, in a dark alley at night, seems especially cruel. Whatever they've done to his leg makes it impossible to put pressure on, and he desperately hopes it isn't broken. Blood is everywhere, and he's distantly aware that it's his.
Honestly, it's embarrassing.
But they took his gun, so he's unarmed, incapacitated, and in the worst part of town. It won't be long before-
"Ah, what do we have here?"
There's a pipe just out of his reach, and he tries to drag himself toward it, just to give himself a fighting chance. One mobster, who looks to be the leader, laughs and kicks it away.
"I'm not a fed," he answers automatically, even as his mind races. Surely there's a convincing cover, maybe even something that could persuade them to help him, but the pain is making it hard to focus. "Just... Wrong place, wrong time."
The leader nods. "That you are, my friend." He raises his gun, and Flynn's heart drops.
"Hold on, hold on, let me just-"
Three clean shots, and the mobsters are on the ground.
The woman who steps out of the shadows is nothing short of stunning, even with her eyes currently rolled back in her head. "You NSA boys talk too much," she mutters, scanning the area.
She's definitely an agent of some kind; professional clothes, standard issue weapon, training in her every step.
"CIA." She holds out a hand. "Can you stand?"
He shakes his head. "My leg. It..." He trails off, hoping she'll have a different diagnoses, but her grimace confirms his worst fears.
"Broken." She crouches down, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, and his mind goes blank. Is now really the time for a cuddle? Although... He certainly isn't going to complain. Slowly, he starts to lean in.
He is very focused, thank you.
And also-he glances at the ground-suffering from severe blood loss.
That's probably not good.
She sighs. "This leg is broken. That one isn't. Stand on that side, and I'll support you here. Okay?"
Walking. Right. They need to get out of the dark alley.
It takes a fair amount of effort, but he manages to obey, sagging heavily against her.
Hm, she's warm. Maybe he could rest here, just for a minute. Surely she won't mind. Besides, she smells good. Safe. He likes that. It's been a long time since he's felt safe...
"Hey!" She snaps her fingers in front of his face. "I'm going to get you somewhere safe. Just stay with me."
"No problem," he mutters. That is, in fact, his ideal location.
The next sound she makes might be a laugh. He definitely likes it. "Okay, Romeo, here's my car." She opens the door, gently lowering him into the seat. "I know someone who can help."
A panicked thought crosses his mind. "My mission-"
"Can wait until you're not bleeding out." Her tone leaves no room for argument. "Trust me. I know a guy."
The house is dark, but his new friend assures him the homeowner won't mind. That should probably raise some red flags, but he can't quite remember why.
Meanwhile, she scrambles around, gathering peroxide, towels, ointment, and water.
"I thought you said you knew a guy?" He checks,
She levels him with an unimpressed stare. "You got a problem with a woman working on you?"
"Ah, no, but I'd prefer someone with a medical degree."
"You don't know that I don't have one."
It takes far to much effort to raise his eyebrows at her. "Do you?"
"... No." She pulls a chair up by the couch where he's lying, and dips a towel into the water. "But you don't know that. Here."
Her touch is surprisingly gentle, a contrast with her hard tone, as she washes the blood from his face. He closes her eyes, leaning into her. When's the last time he's had someone to take care of him? He honestly can't remember.
"My friend will be here soon," she murmurs, "and I'd rather not mess with your leg if I can help it. Not without a medical degree." She grins at him, and he cannot help but return it, even as his cracked lips protest. "But I can at least do something about your handsome face."
Well then. "You think I'm handsome?" He teases, not even trying to hide his delight, and she scoffs.
"At the moment? Not especially."
... Well then. "Ouch. And here I was going to tell you that you look-ow!" He flinches away as the first drops of peroxide hit his skin.
"Sorry." It's hard to say whether she's sincere or not. "Don't want you getting an infection."
Before he can respond to that, the door opens, and she stands. "I'm so glad you could make it."
The voice that responds is male, and unnervingly young. "Well, if he's as bad off as you say..."
"He is." She brings her friend into the room, and Flynn stares.
Is this kid still in medical school? "I've changed my mind. You may not have a medical degree, but at least you don't have to get Mommy's permission before crossing the street."
The man rolls his eyes. "Great to meet you, too. Can I look at your leg?" Without giving him a chance to respond, he sets to work.
For her part, the woman seems utterly bemused. "Garcia, play nice. This is Noah. Like I said, I Noah guy."
Noah side-eyes her. "That joke stopped being funny a long time ago."
She shrugs, unrepentant. "Not to me. Now, I have to go. You two behave."
"Wait!" She's leaving? What if he never sees her again? He doesn't even know- "What's your name?"
At first, he thinks she isn't going to respond. She's almost to the door when she calls out, "Lorena."
Lorena. CIA. It isn't much to go on, but it's enough.
