So I'm a nervous wreck right now, considering I need to get on a plane in a few hours. Thought I might as well finish this while I'm waiting. Filler scene, set after Daniels receives his wound in the camp raid and before the Black Book is discovered. I've been curious for a while on how this particular scene might play out. Plus I wanted to write a little interaction between the three fellas. :P

Daniels, Henderson, Burns/The Mummy: (c) Stephen Sommers

Blood From A Stone

It flowed down his arm in a warm rivulet, slithering like a crimson snake until it coagulated into an ugly brown when it hit the sand.

"Goddamnit..."

He was not one to cringe at the sight of blood, but nevertheless he was disturbed by its presence. The bullet went clean through, a good solid shot that exploded in his left arm and left his entire body afire when it exited. Gritting his teeth against the onslaught of pain had left his jaw numb, and he felt the sickening throb of the wound as it pulsated in time with his thundering heartbeat.

"Son of a bitch..."

For a good sixty seconds, a generous strain of curses was the only way Daniels could express his mix of fury and anguish. He regretted not being able to get back on his feet quickly, get off a few more rounds at the bloodthirsty warriors astride horses that had just stormed the American camp. It was one of these gun and scimitar wielding assassins that unceremoniously provided Daniels with his bloody new badge. After ending a grudge-filled standoff, the intruders finally cleared the camp, galloping off into the thick darkness. They would remain unmolested for the rest of the night.

But Daniels knew that even with the dark-cloaked raiders gone, it still would be no easier to sleep with the angry, seeping wound in his arm. His eyes were closed tightly, his breath hissing through his teeth as he pressed down carefully on his arm, trying to staunch the bleeding. He could feel his anger rising, his shoulders and back so full of tension that he started to shake.

"You all right there?"

Daniels looked up, saw his blonde friend Henderson standing over him, concern evident in his face. "What do you think?" he grumbled, returning his attention to the scarlet patch on his left arm. "One of them bastards shot me."

Henderson nodded dumbly. Yes, I can see that. Instead of irritating Daniels with another question of the obvious, he stepped closer to him, tried to get a good look at the wound. "Move your hand, will ya?"

Daniels huffed. "You want me to bleed out?"

"It will if you don't get it taken care of," Henderson replied calmly, hands on his hips. "Now, your hand, move it."

With a grunt of agitation, Daniels slowly removed his hand from the wound, blood smeared on his palm.

Henderson narrowed his eyes, saw that the sleeve of Daniels's shirt was obstructing most of the wound. He went to peel it back, but jumped when Daniels snapped, "Don't touch it! It hurts like hell!" He pulled the wounded appendage close to him, stalked off as he muttered another series of curses to himself.

Well, no shit? Henderson sighed, crossed his arms, knew it would be no easy task getting Daniels to calm down so the wound could be patched up. Daniels wouldn't take help from anybody, always had to do things his way. Henderson smirked, imagined Daniels trying to bandage up the wound himself, losing his temper, blood flying everywhere. What a mess that would be. With that image in mind, Henderson turned on his heel, decided to retrieve a first aid kit. With his luck (and a lot of patience), he might get Daniels to sit still and suck it up. Thinking ahead, he also looked around for a certain silver flask Daniels always brought along with him, hoping that there would be some hard water left in it. If anything could placate Daniels quickly, it was liquor.

Henderson hadn't noticed that Burns had watched the brief encounter with their wounded friend (from a safe distance of course), so it surprised him when Burns was suddenly up next to him as he rifled through a dilapidated tent for the kit. "You gonna need some help with him?" he asked, cleaning his glasses with the hem of his shirt.

Henderson snorted. "You may have to hold him down."

Burns winced, knew that Daniels was about three times stronger than he was. He lurched forward when Henderson slapped him good-naturedly on the back. "Don't look so spooked. He's not gonna have the strength to fight you off. Come on."

The two men located Daniels, who was sitting several yards away by the ashy remains of a camp fire. He was tearing wildly at his sleeve with his teeth, trying to turn it into a temporary tourniquet. He only managed to soak it in a coat of saliva, failing to break even one seam. The animal fury that he felt intensified, a deep growl rising up inside his chest. "Shoulda shot that Goddamn bastard-"

"Hey! Daniels."

Daniels turned his head around so sharply that his neck cracked with the jerking motion. "What!"

Kneeling carefully beside Daniels, Henderson set the first aid kit down and pointed to it. "Come on. Burns and I are gonna fix you up."

"You ain't no damn doctor."

"I know that. I'm just giving you a little help."

Daniels grunted. "If you ain't five-foot-six in a tight white skirt with a face like Clara Bow, you ain't gettin' anywhere near this arm."

Henderson sighed exasperatedly. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Either way, that wound needs tendin'."

"Yeah, and you need to mind your own damn business." Daniels flexed his arm carefully, bit down hard when a bolt of pain shot through it. "I don't need no help." He momentarily moved his eyes up to Henderson. "You wanna help me out? Get me somethin' to drink."

Wearing half a smirk, Henderson stood up, cocked his head to the left. Daniels followed his movement, turned to see Burns standing about a foot away. In his hand was the silver flask.

Daniels jumped to his feet lightning-fast, startling the bespectacled American. "Gimme that thing!"

Burns held it out of reach, looked at Henderson as he said, "Let us help you with your wound, and it's all yours."

Daniels narrowed his eyes into a defiant glare, jaw tightening as he fought to keep himself from lunging for the silver container. He needed a drink something fierce, and this little game Henderson was playing was just adding to his agitation. Suffice to say, getting angrier only seemed to worsen the pain in his arm, and he began to feel increasingly lightheaded. The more time he spent on his feet, the dizzier he became. Unsteadily, he lowered himself back onto the ground, latching onto Burns's arm when he helped him sit down.

Happy with Daniels's begrudging compliance, Henderson motioned for Burns to hand their disoriented friend his precious flask. Daniels swiped it from him like an owl snatching up a field mouse, uncorking it and throwing his head back. The warm liquid ran down his throat smoothly, yet settled in his gut with some difficulty. Subtle waves of nausea were slowly starting to surface. He barely noticed his two partners bending down beside him, Burns placing his palm on his back to keep him steady. He blinked hard, felt everything around him spinning. "Oh God..."

He could see his tow-headed friend pointing firmly to the vacant ground beside him. "Hold on now, if you're gonna be sick, be sick over there." Henderson's voice rattled around inside his pounding head, each word a blunt nail being hammered mercilessly into his skull. Despite his stomach's protests, Daniels managed to swallow back most of his nausea, regained some of his wavering balance. He drained the flask, threw it aside and watched Henderson proceed.

Henderson knew to be careful with his motions, knew that every probe and touch could be a hair trigger for more pain (or the potential to view the contents of Daniels's gut). He flipped open the lid of the first aid kit, produced a fat roll of gauze and a small bottle of antiseptic. He unfurled the gauze and ripped off a decent length, padded it up. "Hope you got a good bullet to chew on," he said to Daniels, applying the antiseptic liberally to the gauze. "This may sting a little."

"Just get it over with," Daniels growled, shutting his eyes tightly and gripping Burns's forearm until his knuckles were white. Burns had to chew through his own pain from the vice-like hold Daniels had on him.

The raw burn of the antiseptic crept slowly into the wound, lighting up the pain center in his brain like an exploding mortar shell. "Arrrgh..Son of a bitch!" Daniels bit his lip, held back the scream that was rising in his throat. He could feel Henderson's hands working quickly but carefully to secure the dressing on the wound, battled more waves of nausea as a sea of misery churned in his stomach.

Satisfied that he had dressed the wound properly, Henderson stood up, took a step back. "There. All done, Daniels." He gave Burns a sympathetic smirk, could see that Daniels hadn't slackened his talon-like grip on the poor man's arm.

It took Daniels a few moments to register Henderson's words, still blinded by intense pain. Realizing he was still digging his nails into Burns's arm, he released it slowly, lowering his wounded appendage onto his lap. Burns heaved a massive sigh of relief, grateful to have his sore arm back.

Daniels felt himself coming back down to Earth, the swirling madness around him settling and taking on solid shapes once more. He placed his palm on the dressing carefully, felt the smooth material of the gauze. The pain was still unbearable, but at least there was no more blood. His weary eyes rolled up, saw them standing there with calm expressions. He felt the start of a smart-ass remark climbing in the back of his throat, but he was too drained of energy to say it.

Henderson could tell Daniels was biting his tongue, had trouble swallowing his clearly wounded pride. He knew not to expect much from Daniels in the way of gratitude, customary of the man who thought of himself as an impenetrable steel fortress. He gave his dark-haired friend a guarded smirk. "Well, I guess that does it for now." He touched Burns's arm, said to him, "Come on. We gotta get this place straightened up. Then maybe we get some damn sleep."

"Agreed," Burns nodded, the idea of sleep never sounding more wonderful. He gave a short wave to Daniels. "Goodnight, Dave."

The fixation on his pain was broken by Burns's voice, and he brought his head up slowly, saw them walking away. He felt a rare twist of poignancy in his chest, suddenly felt like a miserable, ungrateful sod. It was pretty obvious to Daniels that he could no longer deny that, if not for his two friends' discretion, he'd probably still be a cursing, bleeding mess. That, or maybe the alcohol was going to his head. He settled for the former.

With a grunt of determination, Daniels hoisted himself up, albeit very shakily, to his feet. He'd forgotten that Burns's arm was no longer supporting him, and he staggered momentarily as he fought to regain his balance. He clamped his jaw shut against a fresh spear of pain, profanities blaring in his brain but never making it out of his mouth. He wavered for a few moments, planted his boots as firmly in the sand as he could. Then, his legs operating in not so much as a triumphant strut but a grudging limp, he made his way towards Burns and Henderson.

The two men were repairing a damaged tent when Burns stopped and looked up, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He nudged Henderson's shoulder. "We got company."

Henderson followed Burns's stare, couldn't help but chuckle amusedly. Daniels was standing there, none of his usual condescending swagger emanating from him. He looked worn, pain-stricken, even depressed. He knew Daniels would hate the word, but he look down-right pitiful.

Henderson gave him a casual nod. "Hey there, pal. How're you doing?" When Daniels didn't answer right away, he added, "S'matter? Got another wound that needs fixin'?"

Daniels seemed to bristle at the question, but he quickly deflated. He couldn't afford to waste his limited energy on an unneeded, pride-filled monologue. Instead, he took a deep breath, felt the pounding rhythm of his heart in his chest. "No, I'm fine. Just...I'm just checkin' to see if you need any help."

Henderson waved him off. "Forget that. You got a busted arm. Don't want you irritating it. Burns and I can handle it." And he went back to his business, thrusting a stake into the soft sand.

Daniels felt a cold bead of sweat trickle down his temple. Now or never, ya dumb bastard. He turned his eyes up to the sky, focused on the clusters of dimly twinkling stars. "Thank you."

Henderson and Burns looked up sharply, Henderson smirking and cupping his hand to his ear. "What's that, Dave?"

Daniels huffed aggregately, now holding his gaze on the two men. But the humility levels began rising again. "I said...I said 'Thank you', alright?" He felt the weariness in him thickening, his shoulders starting to sag.

He heard Henderson chuckle, thought, What's so damn funny? Daniels watched the two men get up, Henderson leaning over to Burns and whispering something to him. Burns seemed to nod, went back to mending the tent. In a calm stride, Henderson came up to Daniels, clapped his hand on his good shoulder with a wide smirk. Daniels groaned inwardly, but nonetheless still felt the heavy weight of gratitude. "Really, thank you. I appreciate it."

Henderson chuckled again. "Aww hell, Daniels. Ain't that big of a deal. You'd do the same for us, right?"

Daniels grunted, the sarcasm building in the back of his throat again. He knew Henderson was right though; he gave as much a damn about them as they did about him. "Don't give me that sentimental bullshit. You know the Goddamn answer."

Henderson snickered, playfully thumped a fist on his friend's chest. "Always knew you had a heart hidden in there somewhere." He then turned on his heel, marched back over to help Burns finish the clean-up.

Daniels winced in mild revulsion, wanted to choke on the sheer volume of saccharine that hovered in the air around him. Yet the sense of camaraderie was real, and there was no escaping it. He fully realized now how indebted he felt towards them, felt like he owed them big time. He looked over at them, saw they were not quite done yet. It seemed like they could use the extra hand, even if it was a wounded one. A small smirk crept across his face, and he moved towards them, much of the pain in his body now numbed down to a dull ache.

Yeah, maybe I do.