The Ambulance Chaser
by saintkitty
URL: http://www.bluecatsgraphics.com/pean/fanfics/69/

After crippling his assailant with two well-put shots, one to each knee, Special Agent AXL Pendergast silently darted from the warehouse where he had been working undercover. Rounding the outside corner, he was immediately blinded by FBI arc lights set up to help bust the drug ring that Pendergast had infiltrated. Dodging government cars, an ambulance, and a large group of agents beginning to enter the warehouse on the double, Pendergast stumbled blindly into the Agent in Charge, his old friend, Michael Decker. “Pendergast!” Decker exclaimed when he took a good look at his reclusive friend in the glare from the surrounding lights, “You’ve been hurt. Get yourself over to the EMT right now. We’ll handle the warehouse.”

“I am perfectly capable of adding my assistance to the raid,” shot back the more-pale-than-usual Agent. “I need only to take a short breather and then I will be at the ready to join you.”

With that, Pendergast, bleeding from a bullet graze in his shoulder, leaned against the most available vehicle and closed his eyes.

“Aloysius,” Decker said putting a hand on the Agent’s arm, “you look like hell and that has to be hurting. Go see the EMT. That’s an order.”

Giving Decker a gaze of icy blue steel, Pendergast slowly walked over to the waiting ambulance where an EMT waited ready to help him. She was of medium height, had big blue eyes, and curly brown hair. Pendergast noted that the name on her badge read “M. Holden”. As she took his arm, he groaned but gave no other sign that he was in deep pain. “Are you an FBI Agent?” asked M. Holden with concern and eyeing his attire with curiosity. “Here. Let me help you.” She put her arm around his waist and helped him step up into the ambulance.

“Special Agent A.X.L. Pendergast,” he replied. “I am basically sound except for a minor wound to my shoulder and assorted contusions. Thank you for your aid, but after a brief respite, I feel that I can rejoin the other agents,” Aloysius said sitting on the cot with a wince.

“I’m the EMT, Agent Pendergast, not you. Let me check you out and see what I can do. Perhaps you won’t need to be transported to the hospital.”

“Hospital! My good woman, I certainly do not, under any circumstances, need to be transported to the hospital. I am perfectly fine except for a few minor scratches.”

“Don’t be such a big baby, Agent,” M. Holden chuckled, “let’s get this jacket off and see what’s what.”

Carefully, mindful of the drying blood on his sleeve and ignoring the laser scowl she received in return, M. Holden helped the Agent remove his jacket. Underneath, he was wearing a wife-beater that was fairly shredded but still cavalierly tucked into his faded, tight jeans. M. Holden quickly grabbed a bottle of antiseptic and several packs of swabs in confusion as she tried to look hurriedly away from the man seated before her. Very seldom had she ever seen a man in such wonderful physical condition. The taut muscles in his arms and shoulders and the well-toned chest beneath the skimpy t-shirt were certainly not part and parcel of your average cop’s physique. When she had herself under control, she managed a glance at him. He was staring at her; one hand pushing back a stray lock of blonde hair that had come tumbling down over his forehead. “Problem?” he asked.

“No, not really,” she replied a little uncomfortably. “I was just gathering the things I need to treat you.”

As he stretched back against the ambulance wall, she knelt down in front of him and began applying the liquid to his shoulder while checking out the rest of his upper torso. “I really think we need to get that shirt off so I can see if you have any other injuries that I can take care of,” she said with a small smile.

Reaching down, he untucked then peeled off the shirt. Gazing at her with the smallest of smiles which made the almost invisible crow’s feet around his eyes crinkle mischievously, he asked, “What does the M stand for?”

“Marielle,” she answered, pressing lightly against his ribs to see if any had been damaged. He winced again when she hit a spot which, in the morning, would be quite a lovely shade of deep indigo. “What does the A stand for?”

“Easy,” he whispered, “that area is quite sore.”

“Easy doesn’t start with an A,” she replied smiling full tilt now.

Pendergast looked at her pretty, smiling face. Her focus was on cleaning his wounds and examining the bruises that abounded on his chest and left side from when he fell down the steel warehouse stairs. He relaxed even more as she ministered to his injuries. “Aloysius.”

“God bless you,” she said now outright laughing.

With a sigh, he tilted her head up so that their eyes met. “The A is for Aloysius. Find anything of an interesting nature while applying emergency medical treatment?”

Marielle smiled. “Yes and no,” she replied with an upraised eyebrow. “You have no broken ribs or bones that I can detect. The shoulder wound is clean and should be fine with a bandage that you should clean and change daily for the next week. You have several bruises that will make you stiff,” she grinned, “and sore for the next couple of days. You’re basically a mess, but you’ll live. You really should be seen by a doctor. Is there anything I can do to help with the pain?”

Their faces were inches apart and slowly they moved even closer together. Suddenly, a loud cheery voice resounded from outside the open doors of the vehicle. “Pendergast? You in there? What’s the problem?”

“Michael,” Pendergast sighed. “You always did have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Totally ignoring the remark and the blushing woman now backing away from her patient, Decker muttered, “And here I always thought it was Mike Decker to the rescue as far as you were concerned.” A little more loudly he said, “Come on, Pendergast. If you’re not in critical, you can watch us hauling your little druggie friends out by their asses.”

Aloysius sighed again, pulling his jacket back on over his chest. Turning to Marielle he said, “Perhaps, if you would seriously like to ease my pain, you would care to join me for dinner some evening this week?”

Marielle nodded, eyes sparkling, and handed him a card containing a seven digit number. “Call after five o’clock,” she said.

With a slight bow and carefully placing the card in his jeans pocket, Special Agent Pendergast slowly jumped from the back of the ambulance and smiling all the way, headed back to the scene of the crime.