Tony tried to give Nikita what amounted to an innocent shrug. He grimaced afterward, having stretched the slash of a wound across his bicep, still sluggishly oozing blood onto his thankfully black tee.

It needed stitches, and he knew he needed medical attention to get them. He knew where he could buy antibiotics without a prescription, but not the skill to stitch his own arm.

He cradled one arm in the other. He sucked in a breath.

"Yeah, hi. Don't mean to show up to bother you at work, but I could really use you for you know? Please?"