Love is Always Write Anthology Bonus Volume

you."
    "Type O." Daren said just a little louder.
    Shit, Sebastian thought. Universal donor, but Type O could only handle receiving Type O. Sebastian was AB himself. At least that's what it said on his dog tags.
    "Okay, Type O. Good to know." He knew he needed to give Daren a complete head-to-toe evaluation, front and back, but if that bit of blood-covered pipe was any indication, the back might prove difficult, if not dangerously traumatic.
    "I need you to rest for a bit." Sebastian was still managing to keep his voice calm and sure. "Try to relax. But I need you to know that once we get the shock under control I'm going to need to find and treat all your injuries, everywhere." Daren flinched away. "I'm really sorry. But if I miss so much as a scratch and it gets infected, you could die." He carefully laid a hand on an uninjured patch of Daren's head. "Just try to rest for now. You're safe here. I promise." Daren looked at him with one blue eye, the other one swollen shut. Sebastian didn't smile or try to fake anything. He needed Daren to trust him. Finally, Daren's eyes slid shut in surrender.
    Once he was sure Daren was out, Sebastian sprinted for the bathroom, stripping off his own bloody clothes and scrubbing his hands down in nearly scalding water and rough soap. He made a list in his head of things he would need. A doctor, a cop, and a lawyer were at the top of his list. Further down, he knew he'd need more gloves, antibiotic cream, possibly some sort of internal rinse, although he didn't want to think about that. More gauze, bandages, and bleach to properly scrub the bathroom. Just that morning, he'd tossed out an empty bottle of azithromycin that had belonged to his ex-roommate. He'd noticed there was an unclaimed refill on it. He'd try to get that filled. Basically, he'd need more of everything. Then he did a mental check on his bank balance and sighed.
    I'd better be ratcheting up the good karma for this.
    ****
    Sebastian watched Daren sleep for a time from the old leather executive chair a roommate had found by the side of the road. It had somehow ended up in his room. Daren moved a little in his sleep but didn't wake up. Sebastian got up and grabbed a blank notebook from his little milk-crate bookshelf. He opened it to the first page and wrote neatly across the top:
    NAME: Daren SEX: M AGE: 19 BLOOD TYPE: O ALLERGIES: Shrimp
    INITIAL ASSESSMENT AND TREATMENTS:
    Sebastian wrote out everything he had observed and done as clinically as possible, being sure to note several times Daren's refusal to have proper medical attention or police involvement. After filling two pages with tidy notations, he grabbed his sphygmomanometer and stethoscope again.
    Daren groaned a bit as the blood pressure cuff inflated, but he stayed mostly asleep. Sebastian was relieved to see the results were up a few points, but it was still dangerously low. He made a note of it in the notebook.
    His eyes fell on the ruined jacked he'd tossed aside. He was pretty sure you couldn't wash blood out of suede. He grabbed it off the floor and started rummaging through the pockets. In an inner pocket, he found a wad of hundreds: maybe seven or eight grand. In an outer pocket, he found an EpiPen and five keys on a small wire ring, but they didn't look like house or car keys; they were too small. He also found a wallet. It was of thick expensive leather and had the logo of Dolce&Gabbana on it. Inside was more cash, some of the notes new and some old and crumpled. It lent a bit of weight to his high-end rent boy theory. Sebastian figured there was at least three grand in the wallet. There was also an ID for Mr. Jeff Smith who was twenty-two and, except for being blond, looked nothing like Daren.
    Sebastian peeked into the little pockets of the wallet looking for anything else. Smushed into an empty credit card holder was a business card with the seal of the FBI on it. Sebastian held it up to the light, looking for embossing or water marks. It seemed real and was for an Agent Joseph Kim. An official number was on the front, and a second number was handwritten neatly on the back.
    Maybe someone was trying to kill Jeff 'Daren' Smith. But they'd certainly had the opportunity to do it that night. They got eighty percent there; why not finish the job?
    Sebastian entered both numbers into his phone before shoving the card back in the wallet. He stuck the wallet, keys and EpiPen on his nightstand and hung the coat on the closet door even as the little