Skirted Spies: Season 1

Episode 15-1: Scrubs

"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing," I said, carefully digging into the bullet wound that formed itself on Clyde's right thigh.

"Ow!" he flinches in pain and squirms away, "You know what, it's not that bad.  I think I can wait until I get back to H.Q."

I grab his ankle and pin it back in place on the floor, "Nonsense, you act like I've never been trained in first aid before."

He looks at me quizzically, "Have you?"

"Oh don't be silly, it was the first course they made me take when I got hired." I plunge the forceps back into the hole, feeling around for that pesky piece of copper.

"Crap, Troy! Take it easy in there!" he whines. So much for being the tough guy. He snatches my wrist, "You can stop now, I'm just gonna leave it in until I can get a real medic."

"What? You don't trust me anymore? Gee thanks; stuck by your side for years and this is how you treat me?"

"Quit being such a baby."

"You're one to talk! Can't even handle a simple bullet removal."

He points at the wound, "This used to be a size 9mm hole, now it looks like I got hit by a damn canister shell!"

Well he wasn't wrong, the hole definitely looks bigger than when I started. Maybe I'm a bit rusty when it comes to first aid. "Okay fine," I said, "if it makes you feel better we'll wait until we get back to H.Q. But don't expect me to carry you out of here, ya big pile of muscle."

"I'd rather run a marathon with both legs shot than to continue with your torture." I let him go and he struggles to get on his feet. Using the wall that he was leaning on for support, he managed to prop himself up enough to stand weakly. "Okay, let's go."

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McAllen, Texas: Ispio Head Quarters

Amelia sat on the stool, expertly patching up Clyde as if it was routine. Well with Clyde, it basically is routine. She pulled the bullet out without trouble, and Clyde barely felt any pain at all. She applied the right type of chemicals and knew how to wrap it up correctly too. I'll admit, I felt my ego take a hit.

"Thanks, Amelia," Clyde said.

She sighs as she slumps into a lazy style, "No need to thank me, it comes with the job. I had to look at your medical records to learn your blood type, and your file is jam-packed with reports. Something tells me you're gonna make me earn my money."

Clyde rubs the back of his head sheepishly, "Yeah, it comes with the job."

She spins around to face me, "What happened anyway?"

My eyes look upward as I tried to articulate correctly, "There was a hostile situation in the area we happened to be investigating. A small gang scene that went sideways is all, not too much damage to the neighborhood."

"Didja kill 'em?" she asks with a serious face.

Clyde speaks up again, "It was either them or us."

"Don't tell her that!" I said. "We incapacitated most of them with a shot to the leg, but a few did get an early grave unfortunately. One of them just managed to get a lucky shot on Clyde."

"Why is it always me that gets shot?" he asks.

"Hush, pup. Now is not the time to question the universe."

"You mean the script..."

"Whatcha' say?"

"Nothing."