#uc!au

“You should have told me,” Dominick accuses, stumbling on his clumsy feet and slipping in the blood on the alley. It’s not sticky like all the crime novels describe it, but rather smooth. Too smooth. He thinks he might be in shock because he doesn’t feel anything.

Mike steadies him with an arm around his waist. “I couldn’t. It would have compromised the operation.”

“You let him hurt me.”

What happened isn’t Mike’s fault. If it’s either of theirs, it’s Dominick’s for storming out of the precinct and later having the one person protecting him removed from the club. But accusing someone is easier right now, especially when he’s already upset at Mike for hiding his entire personality from him. They’ve only known each other for a few weeks, but it feels like longer. Dominick confessed things that’ve happened to him, including what his ex did. He had sex with Mike. Had called him Andy because that’s what he thought Mike’s name was. Now he feels sick to his stomach. Mike betrayed him, lied to him, used him. 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

EMTs swarm past them for the other attacker bleeding from a deep wound on his leg, right as Detective Tutuola drags the leering man past the both of them. He throws a comment over his shoulder at Dominick about how he’s a bitch and he knows that he wanted it.

“Don’t talk to him,” Mike barks, pulling Dominick closer and cradling his head.

It seems like it was an instinct because when he lets go, he’s blushing. Dominick doesn’t complain, but he doesn’t like it either. He keeps walking unsteadily forward with Mike at his side until they reach an ambulance with waiting paramedics and Lt. Benson. She reaches towards Dominick and shoos Mike away before asking him if he’s okay.

“I’m okay.”

Dominick can’t stop playing with the edge of his thin hospital blanket. According to the ER doctor, he’s physically alright except for some scrapes. Nothing is said about if the pain will go away in his chest, a tight knot of fear and sadness and revulsion. He wants to go home and curl up in bed for the next fifty years, but that’s hardly an option.

“Dominick.”

He looks up at Mike, who’s just walked into his room. “Sergeant Dodds.” The words are foreign on his tongue.

“You can just call me Mike,” Mike says. Nodding, Dominick lifts the hand with the little clip on his finger keeping a neat measure of his heart rate. It spikes predictably when Mike takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.”

“No, ‘s not your fault. It’s mine.” He laughs and lets his head fall back onto the pillow. “I think I’m fucked in the head.”

“We can get you help.”

Suddenly he jerks his hand back. “We? What we, Mike?”