Sitting on the bed, I watched Cage unwrap the bandages from his hand to reveal a nasty pink scar, the one caused by my Swiss army knife when he went to dispose of my car. As much as Cage deserved it, I couldn't help the small trickle of guilt. Not only because of his hand, but also because of what I did outside.

Cage hadn't said a word to me after that.

To avoid Cage, I spent the last thirty minutes walking through the cabin. There were five rooms in all. Micheal, Nick, and Heath had all been here before and it was like home to them. And by home, I meant clothes everywhere, bullets laying around, and food wrappers scattered on the carpet. Nick's room was the messiest. Unsurprisingly, Heath's room was the cleanest.

The master bedroom, which I came to believe was where Cage slept, was enormous. Two double doors led to a balcony covered in snow. The bed had black silk sheets that I kept slipping off of and a bedside table with a laptop charging and oh, of course, his gun laying on top of it casually. The walls were cherry wood and the carpet was a furry green.

He was standing beside a table with scissors and gauze upon it. Tearing a large piece off, Cage began to wrap it very incorrectly on his cut hand. Normally I wouldn't have said anything but I was desperate to break the silence that shrouded the bedroom and another part of me really just wanted to make sure that his hand healed. I don't know why I wanted that. I suppose it was because Cage fixed my ankle so I should return the favour.

"You need to put alcohol and antibacterial cream on that." I forced myself to speak to Cage. He didn't look up but he did stop wrapping the bandages. The scissors clattered to the table.

"No need." Cage mumbled. His offhand reply did sting a bit, I'll admit.

"It's not going to heal any quicker by just wrapping unmedicated gauze on your hand, Cage." I sighed, standing up. Outside, the snow came down harder. Walking across the room, I went to him and grabbed the spool of gauze before he could. It was obvious that Cage wasn't going to listen to anything I said. He was such a child at times, I felt frustrated. At everything. This was too complicated.

"November." His eyes hardened. "I don't need your fucking help-"

"Your hand is going to get infected, Cage!" A bubble of panic rose in my throat. Why did I want to help him so desperately? "This-" I pointed to the scar angrily ''-is dangerous. I don't care if you hate me or if I hate you. I'm going to help you. It's not going to get any better until you kill the bacteria. You can't just wrap bandages over your hand and say it's fine, genius."

"It's fine, look." Cage wiggled his fingers at me. The cut ran the length of his entire palm and when he bent his hand, a few drops of blood seeped out. The skin around the slice was a blistered pale white and puckered up. Cage's palm was turning a light purple and he still had the audacity to say it was fine. When Cage said he didn't know what to do with me, I didn't realize the feeling would be mutual.

"You're disgusting." Annoyed, I grabbed his fingers and pulled his hand down to a height that I could see. Since it was already getting dark outside, Cage snapped the table light on. "Get the alcohol and some Neosporin, if you have it."

Making a face, Cage obediently left the room to get them. He returned a moment later, holding a bottle.

"Not whiskey, Cage! Cleaning alcohol."

I sighed as he left again. A moment later, Cage poked his head from one side of the doorway. "I can't find that Neosporin. I checked the medicine cabinet...I don't even know what it looks like. But then I was like, November's so nice to help me, I should probably do something for her. So I got you a rock." He walked inside the room, shut the door, walked across the floor, and handed me a rock. Literally, a rock. Like the kind you'd find outside. A rock. It was small and pale grey and I had no idea what to do with it.

"Um...thank you."

"You're welcome." Cage put down the alcohol and held out his hand, waiting patiently.

And I fucked up.

I mean, I fuck up a lot. I don't mean to, but this fuckery was the most fucked up in all of my fucked up moments. And I have a lot of those moments. You see, when Cage held out his hand, I kinda forgot that it was not because he wanted a high five, but because I was supposed to fix the cut.

And I high fived him. I literally smacked down my hand on top of his hand, right exactly where the scar was. It was a moment of pure reflex. When someone holds their hand up, I always assume it was because they want a high five.

In seventh grade, I won an award for perfect attendance. It was a pretty formal thing, with parents and some people from the school board present. Everyone before me who won an award got up on stage and shook the principal's hand before accepting their award. When it was my turn, I was so nervous about being up on stage that I accidentally high fived the principal when he held out his hand for me to shake. It was one of the most awkward moments of my life and Fern never stopped making fun of me for it.

Cage cursed in pain and bent down, clutching his hand to his chest.

"I'm sorry!" I wrung my hands in panic, utterly distraught over what just happened. Why did I keep hurting Cage? "It wasn't intentional, I swear. Cage, are you okay? I'm sorry, it's an instinct." I patted the top of his head, trying to make the situation better. "I forget you cut your hand. I thought you wanted a high five. I'm sorry, are you okay? I don't mean to do stuff like this. I just kinda forget things sometimes. Are you crying? Oh my God-"

"You're so tiny..." Cage groaned softly. He straightened up, eyes watering. His hand was bleeding even more now. "How can you be so dangerous when you're that small? I'm supposed to be the abusive one here, not you November. People twice your size have tried to kill me and they never succeeded. You're not undercover, are you?"

"It was an accident." I cringed.

"You've used that excuse twice now." Cage clenched his bleeding fist. "Next time, are you going to stab me and say that you didn't mean to do it?"

"No." Flustered, I began to busy myself with trying to get the alcohol bottle open. After one full minute of struggling, Cage ended up opening it himself. I was beyond embarrassed. Carefully putting some on a tissue (and by carefully I mean spilling half of it on the table and some on the carpet because I was so nervous) I began to rub the sides gently.

"Hey, this isn't so bad- November!" Cage yelled in pain when the alcohol began to sting as I pressed it over the cut.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I tripped over my words, trying to calm us both down. I could only imagine the pain he was going through. Well, actually...no, I couldn't. His tolerance for pain and mine were probably very different. I could get a paper cut and act like the world was ending in contrast to Cage getting his arm ripped off and saying, 'This is fine.' An exaggeration, but probably also close to the truth. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Since Cage seemed to be getting angrier by the minute, I pulled the tissue off and quickly soothed it down with balm. I had no idea what the protocol was for healing cuts, but I was pretty sure this was correct. Unless I wasn't correct, in which Cage's hand would probably get infected and need an amputation. No big deal.

"Hey, you wanna hear a joke?" I offered while cutting out a bandage. I cut it out in the shape of a cat, just because I thought it was cute and I needed something to wash away the guilt building up in my chest. Cage put me through a lot but I also put him through a lot as well.

He rolled his eyes. "No."

"What do you call a pile of kittens?"

"I don't know, November." Cage sighed. "What?"

"A meowntain."

Cage smiled but he tried to fix his expression so it didn't show amusement. Struggling to suppress my pounding heart, I tried to fixate on applying the cream instead of his eyes and how they watched me carefully, as if memorizing every inch of my face. When I looked back at Cage, I only saw curiosity in his eyes.

"Don't clench your fist."

"November, I'm not."

"Look, it's shaped like a kitten."

"You're the most ridiculous person I've ever met."

I wrapped gauze lightly around the bandages and taped the end down to one of his fingers. Cage kept on trying to clench his fist, but I don't think it was intentional. When I was done, he flicked my nose with his thumb and smirked when I glared at him.

A light knocking on the door surprised us both. Cage and I moved back as the door opened to reveal Heath holding a bunch of folders and a laptop. He also had a pen clutched between his teeth.

"Romeo." Heath said, dropping the pen from his mouth and onto the laptop. "We have an update on his location. This isn't a bad time, is it?"

"No." Cage answered. He switched on the chandelier lights and moved to stand beside the bed. "What do you have?"

Heath dropped everything onto the bed. I sat on the table, my feet swinging, and watched as they did their criminal-y stuff. It was kinda fascinating. Cage opened up the laptop and bent down to watch the screen. I caught a glimpse under his arm. There was a map with a bunch of little red dots all over it. It took me a moment to figure out that they were from the tracking microchips in our arms. The cluster of red dots were probably us and the other cluster was probably Romeo and his crew.

"I thought Romeo was your friend." I pointed out.

"That's what I thought too." Cage answered, opening up another file on the laptop. This one was all the information on Romeo that was synced with the Chicago Police Department database. "But after what happened in Sector 13, I'm beginning to think it's an act. There was no way we should have been found that night. Romeo must have tipped someone off. I think he assumed we would be captured that night. But we escaped and now he's got to regroup. Romeo double-crossed us, he's been working with the FBI all along."

"And he knows that November is with us now." Heath said coldly, sending me a glare behind Cage's back. "They'll know where she is. I told you it was a bad idea, Cage."

"He's not going to tell anyone about November." Cage shot back. "He's in just as much shit as we are and we still do have leverage against Romeo. If we can prove he's double-crossed the FBI then we can get a clean shot at this again."

"But he didn't."

Cage stared at him. "They don't know that."

"So we're the good guys now? Exposing the rats in their system instead of ours?" Heath asked with frustration.

"We are not anything." Cage spat back. "We're saving our own asses, that's what we're doing. Fake his loyalty to them like they tried to do to us. That's why we are here, in Canada. I hope Micheal explained all of this to you, Heath."

"And what if it's a decoy?" Heath growled. "Romeo's smarter than that. He's not going to lead us right to them, Cage. With all due respect, these tracking chips are stupid as shit. Romeo could just have taken his out and given it to someone. We're probably following-"

"You injected it into his neck." I interrupted, quickly catching the mistake in Heath's words. Cage looked like he was about to kill him, anyways. Jumping down, I explained, "Right under the jugular vein. And the needle was pretty long, so I would say the chip is lodged somewhere in the sternothyriod muscle. To get the chip out, someone would have to use tweezers that's the size of a hair and avoid even coming close to one of the jugular veins, which is ridiculously hard. If Romeo is as smart as you think he is, he won't try to take it out. It's too much of a risk. One little miscalculated movement would kill him."

Cage stared at me, his expression hard as if trying to decide if I was telling the truth or not. Heath looked surprised.

"My sophomore year elective was human anatomy." My hands felt clammy. Again, I was helping them, which was a very bad thing because it was going to make me an even bigger accomplice. Like in Jonah's computer room, I began to very strongly regret opening my mouth in the first place.

Let them get caught. It shouldn't bother me.

"November-"

"Cage, I'm not lying." I said with exasperation. "We spent half the year learning about veins. If you don't believe me, Google it. Or better yet, don't trust me and get yourself arrested. Have fun in Alcatraz, you asshole."

He glared at me. "I believe you."

"Well, your face doesn't exactly match what you say half the time." I snapped.

"I said I believed you, what more do you need? Thank you for your help, November." Cage rolled his eyes. "I really appreciate it."

"Shut up, Cage."

"Fuck off, November."

"Suck a dick."

"You are the most annoying bi-"

Furious, I grabbed the first thing I saw (which happened to be a box of tissues) and threw it at his face. Heath was trying to smother his laughter. All the yelling had attracted the attention of Nick and Micheal, who appeared in the doorway watching with horrified expressions. Tears itched the corner of my eyes and suddenly I hated him and myself and everything for going so wrong. Cage was too complicated for words. His smirking and cruelty and sweet words didn't make sense.

One minute, I was ready to kiss him and the next, I wanted to kill him. He was the toothpaste to my orange juice, the oil to my water, the pocketful of tots to my foot- you get the point. We were incompatible.