Bayside Queens

10.

10.

CJ

I pulled the door to the apartment closed and sighed. It had been a long day. After Quinn left, Boggs was giving me these disapproving looks whenever I saw him, making my mood worsen. So I left early, figuring Quinn and I would order take out and watch Game of Thrones. To be honest that's the only thing in the world I wanted to do right now.

Quinn was lying on the couch, the dull hum of the TV in the background. He was wrapped up in the fuzzy throw blanket and looked half-asleep. I smiled, and then walked closer to him.

"You're home early," he said, his voice unusually hoarse and forced. My eyebrows furrowed. He seemed like he was in pain.

I squatted down next to him so my face was even with his. That's when I noticed how sickly he looked. He was sweating; beads of perspiration dripping down the side of his face. He looked paler than normal and could barely keep his eyes open.

"Yeah, I thought we could get dinner..." I said, distracted. "Hey are you okay? You look nauseas," I told him, standing up to get a better look at him.

"No, I'm fine... really..." he managed the words, but just barely. He groaned afterwards, grabbing at his side.

"Yeah, sure," I said sarcastically, then began to pull the blanket off him. Something was up.

Just as I was about to pull his-my-sweatshirt off him to see what was hurting so much, my hand made contact with Q's stitches.

"Oh fuck me," he swore, my hand unintentionally brushing the stitched up knife wound. He squirmed underneath me, writhing in pain, swearing. I wanted to stick my hand in his mouth to keep him from cursing again. For some reason Quinn's profanity turned me on to fucking hell, and this was so not the time for that.

"Stop fucking squirming," I demanded, putting one hand on his hips to keep his body down while I ripped the sweatshirt off with the other. As soon as it landed on the floor, I knew we had a serious problem.

I stared down at his side, Quinn's heavy breathing filling my ears. Some of his stitches had popped and were oozing pus and blood all over his body, my hands, and with another look, the sweatshirt on the ground.

"Jesus Christ Quinn! You popped your damn stitches, I told you that you should be resting, not walking to my fucking station and putting your life in danger! God we have to get you to the hospital," I bent over, scooping a groaning Quinn upright and into my arms as carefully as I could, but before he even stood up he was practically screaming out in pain.

I looked down. He popped another one. This kid was going to be the death of me.

With one arm I held Quinn upright, pulling him into my chest. With the other arm, I pulled out my phone and dialed Queen's Regional. I had a guy over there who would know what to do.

"Queen's Regional Hospital Southern Ward, this is Mary," the voice on the on the other line answered.

"Hi this is CJ Thomas, is Doctor Hamilton there? Tell him it's an emergency," I responded, gripping Quinn a little tighter. He was breathing heavily, obviously in pain.

The woman told me to hold, but it wasn't for long. Not a minute later was James on the phone.

"CJ? What's up? Is everything okay?"

"I have a kid staying with me and a couple of his stitches popped and now I'm worried about getting him over there, I don't want him to hurt himself any more. I don't know what to do and he's in a lot of pain and I just need help, please, James."

I didn't realize how concerned I actually was until I heard myself beg for help. I glanced down at Quinn who was now moaning into my chest, his hands gripping the fabric of my shirt tightly, his body shaking. I swore under my breath and pulled his head in closer to my chest.