Allison's eyes grew wide as this man named Rade stood and ubuttoned his jeans. She wondered if he was damning his own injury in favor of doing something untoward.<br/><br/>Her chest heaved and the breath came fast and furious through her nostrils as the man stripped down to t-shirt and boxers. Seemingly betraying herself, Allison thought that he was a well-built man first, before she looked at his injury. But he was quite the physical specimen.<br/><br/>Snapping out of it, Allison's gaze went to where it should: his injured shin. Gunshot wound, it looked like.<br/><br/>Allison's medical bag was in her bedroom, which was down the hall. She looked at him and pointed to the tape over her mouth. Then she mimed pulling it off. She nodded with her eyebrows waggling, as if to say, "OK if I take the tape off my mouth?"<br/><br/>Next, she pressed both her hands together in prayer-like form. She tried to look as sweet and innocent as possible.<br/><br/>Allison then motioned with her head toward the hallway and eventual bedroom. "Hmmm! Hmmm!"<br/><br/>She looked at his leg, jabbed at it with her bound hands, then again motioned with her head toward the hall. "Hmmm!"<br/><br/>She batted her eyelashes at him. "Plmmm?"<br/><br/>This would go so much quicker if the man would let her freaking talk. His leg wasn't critically hurt, but it would need cleaning and possibly stitches, which would require local anesthetic, even for a tough guy like he.<br/><br/>Allison looked directly into Rade's eyes, waiting for his permission. It would likely be something she would be asking for often for as long as the man was in her home.