Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 04

Moran offered out a hand letting Miranda take it of her own volition and they shook.

"Pleasure, ma'am," he gestured at Grey, "Hey, if you're a doctor—"

"Not that kind of doctor, Moran," Grey whispered, "She's a physicist; brilliant but not in the way we need right now.

Miranda blushed and Moran gave her an amazed look.

"Listens to you and respects you? You sure you're not a God?"

Miranda laughed, "Pretty sure." Grey began to cough then, blood dribbling out of his mouth and Miranda turned a worried look to him, gently touching his face.

"What happened here?" Moran asked, "Car accident?"

"He got jumped."

"By what? A hand grenade?"

"It's a long story," she answered.

"Guys wanted to rape her and her friend at a party. I stopped them. They dragged me into an alley and beat me seven shades of shit," Grey said simply.

"Okay, maybe not that long a story," Miranda corrected.

"Yeah, that sounds like him," Moran replied, "Hospital?"

Miranda shook her head, "Won't go."

"Yeah, that sounds like him too."

"If I'm dying tonight, I don't want it to be in the care of some lack-wit sawbones," Grey growled.

"Stubborn," Miranda muttered.

"Amen, sister," Moran added.

"Moran," Grey interjected and the other man turned his attention to him, "Miranda is going to need medical supplies. Take her to the pharmacy down the street. Assist her in whatever way she requires."

"No," Miranda retorted, "I'm not leaving you here."

Grey gave her a look between affection and exasperation, "There's nothing you can do right now, Poppet, not without a proper kit. Don't worry," he smirked and gestured to his tattered, gore-soaked clothes, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Well, I could go by myself."

"Out of the question!" Grey replied, "Go with Moran, he's a competent man and a moral one."

"Might be the nicest thing he's ever said to me," Moran commented.

"It's the truth and we both know it."

Moran nodded, "Okay Grey, if you're sure," the big man got to his feet and helped Miranda to hers, "We might want to get you some laundry soap or something, you're a mess."

Miranda looked down at her clothing, now stained with grime and Grey's blood, "Yeah, I see what you're talking about," she cast another anxious look at Grey, "Are you sure?"

"I am. Go."

Miranda nodded. Moran was turning to go when Grey's hand shot out and grabbed his ankle, pinning him to the spot.

"Wha--?" Both Moran and Miranda turned look back at Grey

"She comes back safe and sound."

Miranda had thought to someone who was badly wounded and being towered over by the larger brother of Michael Clarke Duncan, would somehow appear less intimidating.

She was wrong and she shivered, either fearful of the foreboding gleam in Grey's green eyes or excited because she knew it was in regards to her.

Moran nodded, "Yes sir."

Grey held his gaze a moment longer then nodded and released him, slumping against the wall.

Moran exhaled, "God damn," he muttered. He turned to Miranda, "I wouldn't worry about him, Miss, I think the first person that thinks he's easy prey is going to be real unhappy."

"Briefly, yeah," Miranda added, casting a worried look back at Grey as they walked away.

"Try not to worry, doc," Moran assured her, "he can take care of himself."

"Even if he's hurt?"

"Ma'am, I wouldn't fuck with that man if he was dead and in the ground," he chortled to himself and removed a cigar, stopping to look at her, "Any objections?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, sure," Miranda waved it away, "After Grey's chain-smoking, I think one cigar might actually be a nice respite."

Moran laughed as he tore the tip off with a yellow fingernail and produced a Zippo, "Yeah, he likes quantity," he lit up the cigar and took a long, satisfying pull, "Me? I like quality."

Miranda found herself warming to the man: she'd forgotten that there were people who were forthright and open, "Still not sure how you two fell in together."

"I help run the V.A. down the street," he answered.

Miranda stopped, "You're in the army?"

"Hell no," Moran replied, taking the cigar out of his mouth and snapping out a crisp salute, "Sergeant Sebastian Moran of the 2^nd platoon and proud member of the 212^th , United States Marine Corp, retired."

"Oh, well, hello sir," she returned the salute awkwardly, "nice to meet you."

Moran dismissed it, "You don't salute me ma'am, I'm an enlisted man, I worked for a living," he grinned, his white teeth contrasting sharply against his dark skin, "So, eighty-six that 'sir' crap."

"I'll make you a deal then, Moran, you agree to call me 'Miranda' and I won't call you 'sir', deal?"

Moran laughed, "Yeah okay, deal," he took a contented puff from his cigar, "Willing to bet though that Grey already told you all of that."

Miranda frowned at him, "All of what?"

"Well, his time in the service and all."

Miranda's eyes nearly bugged out of her head, "He was a solider? Are we talking about the same man here?"

"Yeah, well, I'm assuming," Moran's face took on a thoughtful expression, "He walks and talks like someone who's been under fire before and he's got the thousand-yard stare."

"The what?"

"Happens to a lot of guys who've spent a great deal of time under fire. The brain just sort of goes away for moments at a time; you can look at somebody's eyes and tell that they've checked out."

"It's tough to tell when he's wearing those shades all the time."

Moran nodded, "Yeah I asked him about that once. He said the reason why he wore them was because he believed that the 'eyes are the windows to the soul' and that he kept his soul firmly under lock and key."

Miranda blinked in surprise, "I wouldn't have imagined him a poet."

"Guy's full of surprises."

"Tell me about it," she growled in remembered frustration. They had reached the pharmacy and Moran held the door open for her, "Thank you. So did you two serve together then?"

Moran shook his head, "Nope, I'm a jarhead," he tossed his cigar into the parking lot before following her into the store; "Chances are he's Royal army," Miranda sent him a confused look, "British army essentially."

"So, not like you then."

"Different country, different branch and by default, different culture," Moran cracked a grin, "we used to drink, smoke, and insult one another's respective military heritage. He'd call me 'idiot splib and 'seagoing bellhop' and I'd come back with 'limey puke' and 'tea-swilling grunt'. Then, very drunk, we'd proceed to beat the living hell out of each other," Moran's grin widened, "Good times."

Miranda gave Moran an appraising look, "You're a lot bigger than he is."

"Yeah, but he fights dirty, so we're even."

Miranda made a sympathetic noise in her throat, "Yeah, I've seen him with that stick. Pretty gruesome."

"Sounds about right," he agreed, "Okay, let's get what we need and get back," Moran commented. They quickly filled a small plastic basket with antiseptic, bandages, painkillers, hot and cold packs, and two of the largest first aid kits they could find.

They were in the checkout line when Miranda's phone went off. She knew who it was before she answered.

"Where the hell are you?!"

Miranda jerked her head away from the earpiece as Moran whipped his head around to face her.

"What the hell was that?"

"Not a 'what'," Miranda explained, "A 'who'. My girlfriend, Sam," she started to raise the microphone to her lips before stopping and giving Moran a measuring look, "Any objections?"

The man pursed his lips for a moment then shrugged, "It takes all kinds."

Satisfied, Miranda turned her attention back to the phone, "Hi Sweetie, no everything's fine, I'm near Grey's place, I found him, but things have gotten kind of complicated," there was a long moment as Miranda waited for Sam to finish her interrogation, "Look, here's what I need you to do: pack us an overnight bag; clothes, shampoo and soap, the whole nine yards. Then get over here, try the courtesy shuttle. I'll text you the address."

"I could go pick her up," Moran chimed in as he reached for his wallet to pay. Miranda intercepted him and, with a dirty look, gave her card to the cashier instead.

"Sam's not big on strangers, nothing personal," she told him before turning her attention back to the phone, "Who is that? That's Moran; he's a friend of Grey's. Yes I was shocked to find out Grey had friends too, tonight's been full of surprises."

Moran laughed as he took the bags from the cashier and opened the door for Miranda to exit.

"Listen, it's not too far away, grab the stuff, get a ride and I'll meet you out front of the building. It's kind of a sketchy part of town so make sure you do not get out of the car until I am standing in front of you opening the door to let you out, got it? Okay. Love you too sweetie."

Miranda hung up the phone as Moran cleared his throat, "Not sure 'friend' is the right word," he mused.

"Closest equivalent we have right now," Miranda replied, "Come on, let's go."

They walked quickly back to the apartment building, Miranda's anxiety growing as they did; she shouldn't have left him alone like that.

She breathed a sigh of relief when the building came into view, she could see Grey resting against the wall.

The sigh became a gasp as she saw him slump over onto his side and lay still.

"Grey!" she yelled, closing the last few yards in a blind dash. She dropped to her knees and took Grey's head in her hands looking intently into his face.

"Grey! Come on, wake up!"

"Why on earth...," Grey began as he slowly opened his eyes, "...are you yelling?"

Miranda exhaled hard as the tension drained from her body, "You scared me."

"Evidently," he cracked a thin smile. Miranda slugged him in the shoulder and Grey's body went tense and his eyes widened.

"Shit, sorry!" Miranda apologized, "Is your shoulder hurt badly?"

"Dislocated," he replied and she winced, she'd once dislocated her finger and it had hurt like hell. This was probably worse.

"Everything all right?" Moran asked approaching the pair as Miranda helped Grey up into a sitting position.

"Fine," Grey replied before spitting out a mouthful of blood. It splashed darkly against the wall, "Why?"

The others simply shook their heads in disbelief before Moran handed over the bags to Grey.

"Here, these should help."

Grey was struggling with his hands; they were swollen and throbbed in intense pain. Miranda saw this and took the bags from him quietly. There was a moment where he resisted until she looked him in the eye, her violet to his green, and whatever he saw in there convinced him to relinquish the supplies.

"Who paid?" Grey coughed out.

Moran gestured to Miranda, Grey turned to her as he reached into his back pocket.

"What do I owe you there, flower?"

"An apology, if you so much as touch that billfold from your pants," she glared at him.

Grey nodded, wearily, the fight rapidly draining out of him. He began to stand, bracing himself against the wall, but his legs would not support him and he slide painfully downwards, scrapping up his already tortured back.

Moran stepped in and caught him before he hit the ground and hoisted him up.

"There you go."

"Thank you," Grey whispered.

Moran was pleasantly surprised, "That's almost civil of you Grey."

"Not for that."

Moran frowned and then looked up at Miranda; she looked back at him perplexed.

"What?" she frowned in confusion. Instead, Moran turned his attention back to Grey as the injured man was working to steady himself against the building wall again.

"Really?" the other man asked.

The injured man nodded, "Aye, really."

Moran grinned broadly, "Well, it's about fucking time."

Grey laughed briefly, then began to cough.

"You want me to stick around?" Moran offered.

Grey shook his head, "The clinic doesn't run itself, mate, you have responsibilities," he coughed again and spat out more blood, "I'll be by in a few to check on things and help."

"Not with those wounds you won't: I'm not a medic but even I can tell that you have some serious ribcage issues in addition to your smashed up face," Moran told him firmly.

"I've had worse."

The dark-skinned man didn't bother arguing, instead turning his look to Miranda.

"Take care of him for me, would you, even if it involves beating his masochistic ass into submission?"

Miranda nodded solemnly, "Done and done."

"Bloody leatherneck," Grey muttered just loud enough to be heard.

"Worthless grabastic piece of ground-pounding shit," Moran replied without missing a beat. Then, both men started to laugh; a quiet laugh, but rich and full of amusement. When they were done, Grey did his best to stand up straight. Miranda touched his uninjured arm gently and helped stabilize him.

The Englishman then extended his hand out towards Moran. The other man looked at it for a bit; then slowly took the man's hand in a firm grip. Then men nodded to each other, words were not necessary at this point, and without any further preamble, Moran turned and walked away into the night, digging around in his pocket for another cigar.

"What was all that about?" Miranda asked quietly.

"Ask me again later in life," Grey replied, "provided I make it through the night alive."

"You're not dying on me Grey," Miranda said firmly, "Count on it."

"Got it," Grey attempted a few steps unassisted but a sudden bout of vertigo made his legs go limp. Miranda reached out to catch him and in the process Grey's hand got caught in her shirt collar, pulling it down. Before Miranda could react she felt an electrical charge race through her as Grey's fingers gently touched her collarbone.

"Sorry," Grey mumbled. He'd have yanked his hand away instantly, but fast, precise, movements were beyond him at this point and he clumsily untangled his hand from Miranda's shirt.

"It's okay," Miranda murmured, her hand absently touching the spot on her chest where his fingers had been: it felt warm to the touch and caused another tremor to course through her.

Miranda shook her head to clear it and helped Grey to his feet, "We should get you inside," she insisted.

Grey nodded and began to chuckle, Miranda sent him a perplexed look.

"What is it now?" she demanded.

Grey cracked a weak smile; the bruises on his face and his split lips making it look more like a grimace, "It's seems to be your lot in life to carry around idiots."

For the first time, Miranda answered his sardonic smile with one of her own, "Yeah, well, just people I care about," she assured him

"You know what's funny?" Grey asked.

"What?"

"I'd have never pegged you as the type that would go home with a strange man so quickly."

"Shut up, Grey."

"Yes ma'am."

Miranda pulled open the door for the apartment building and helped Grey cross the threshold.

"Welcome to my flat, poppet," he rasped, coughing hard, "Let me give you the grand tour."