With deepest appreciation for Mr. Culp's excellent script.
Multum In Parvo – Much in Little
"Okay…now?"
"No – wait…Wait, I said! I need to – I just…"
"Just put your foot – like that! Hold still… Still, I said!"
"Easy for you to say," Kelly muttered, grabbing Scotty's shoulder to balance on his better leg (because it couldn't exactly be called good) and rest the ruined ankle on Scotty's knee. "Okay, now…" He hopped a little, then carefully eased the points of his rear end back against the grimy bathroom wall. They'd ducked into the washroom of the town's only filling station for the ministrations, where they key word was at best a cruel irony. "I wouldn't wash anything in here," Kelly declared aloud, squinting in the greenish gloom made by gut-clenching wall color and enfeebled lighting. "I wouldn't even piss in here."
"Then I don't have to tell you to hold your water," Scotty said from his crouched position on the sticky floor and in very near proximity of Kelly's piss organ. He worked quickly to strip off the old bandage encircling the ankle, but Kelly was shaky before he could even finish wadding it up and throwing it into the rusty, overflowing receptacle squatting in the shadows under the sink. Kelly was breathing fast, too, and that wheeze kept slipping out into the space between them. "Still not good, man," Scotty observed with worried softness, carefully applying greasy ointment over the reddened, swollen, and weeping mess. "You need to get off it and stay off it." And those lungs aren't getting any better, either…
"Yeah, maybe soon," Kelly ground out around a clenched jaw. "Just wrap it up – it'll be fine. And hurry – I'm not sure how much longer I can balance here like a sleeping flamingo…dammit!" He wobbled, re-clutched Scotty's shoulder, then grunted deeply.
It's not going to be fine – not for a while yet. But Scotty made his hands go quicker, because he knew the cramped, dim space, aside from being a bare respite from the heat, was also a grim reminder of the dark void that had created this wrecked ankle – and the filling lungs. The Miller barn, by comparison, had been downright airy.
Under his urging, his fingers deftly wrapped, snipped and taped from the supplies he'd stowed in his pockets. Once Henry Miller had sawed off that shackle they'd quickly applied what treatment they could. But the ankle, already bad, had worsened since their trek from the farmhouse – by the time they'd made it into town Kelly was limping good, and had re-stuffed his fist against his side and the leaking wound there. He'd also lost his breakfast along the way. He'd managed a few mouthfuls of water from the tap in the washroom, using his hand as a cup, but the look he'd given Scotty after the first taste said that it wasn't overly fresh.
Time – they just needed a little more time to get out of here and back to the more familiar playground of espionage – something that didn't involve shackles and chains and running for your life. Oh, there'd plenty of those times before, but none as prolonged as this. Even now it came back over Scotty in jagged snatches: the blackest darkness, the too-bright daylight, the weight of swallowed fear and the burn of stubborn defiance…the despair and the hope, the resolve and the determination. And Kelly…
Kelly…and what this had cost him. Scotty glanced up at the figure trembling beside him. Nearly a foot for one thing. Blood and sweat in the most literal sense. Confidence – and hope. I've dodged and scratched in a lot of places…had been the worst thing Scotty'd ever heard from his lips. And yet Kelly hadn't complained. He'd just kept going, trying to keep personal and physical defeat from spilling over and taking him all the way down. And he'd made it – they'd made it – by faith and luck and a few murmured prayers to the god of all good spies. But the losses that had mounted along the way…
In the end, Kelly had gained a lot – a re-established link to his childhood, a recovery of family, his own confidence (mostly) restored. But he had more immediate needs, starting with a hospital with antibiotics and intravenous application. Kelly needed…so much. It was keen in Scotty's chest, had been for days – make that weeks…
I need to help him, really help, I should've… He paused to wipe at some sweat smarting the scabbed gash affixed to his own temple – a righteous bullet graze that was all but presenting itself as a concussion he refused to acknowledge. Walter Reed would be good about now. Only two thousand miles to go. Or maybe we should head toward San Francisco…I don't even know anymore…
"Okay," he said instead, smoothing the final edge of tape into place. Kelly muttered a frustrated something, grabbed the .22 he'd leaned against the wall, and roughly shoved his foot back into his worn shoe. "Hey, easy there, Jack," Scotty complained, rising stiffly as Kelly reached for the washroom door. "Don't undo all my hard work. Hey…" he jumped to catch up. "Slow down…"
Kelly stiff-armed him; Scotty tumbled back, scrabbled for footing. His head began to pound hard. "Take it easy – let me help you!" he growled, straightening again. He grabbed for Kelly's arm but caught the doorframe instead. "Kel!" He lurched over the threshold.
The afternoon heat and slanting brightness slammed into him. He staggered back, eyes screwed shut against the pain, felt himself slide sideways. Concussion, he dismally admitted to himself, as the ground came up to meet him. Dimly he heard Kelly retching nearby. Kelly, still sick, still injured …and he was powerless to help…
In time – maybe minutes, maybe more – he could make out dust motes and heat waves dancing merrily before him. There was the taste of the warm air that'd enveloped him, and the feel the slickness of sweat where it'd formed under his arms and inside his elbows, even behind his ears. The alley view – peeling walls, faded bricks and rutted pavement – swam before him. His gut clenched hard at the sight but he fought against it. His mind bounced back – have to help-
A set of too-warm fingers wrapped around his bicep. "You okay?" Kelly rasped. His face wavered before Scotty, pale and sweaty, probably similar to his own, except he'd never be as colorless as that…
Scotty blinked furiously and things cleared enough for him to see that he was sitting – rather haphazardly – in the washroom doorway. Kelly was swaying over him. And wheezing; the hand on his arm was as much for Scotty's support as his own. "Concussion, I'm betting," Kelly continued, peering intently at Scotty's eyes, his own over-bright with fever.
"That's as good a diagnosis as any," Scotty groaned. He planted his heels and unsteadily rose, bringing Kelly with him. "Guess I'd better be more careful…" He scrubbed his cheek with his sleeve, left a layer of gray grime and sweat on the fabric. How many baths had he once enjoyed in a single day in Japan? And air conditioning – when was the last time he'd taken that for granted?
"Why didn't you say anything?" Kelly demanded.
He didn't even have the energy to shrug, and wished he could think of something clever – even funny – to say in reply. "Didn't seem important at the time," was all he could manage aloud. Because you needed so much, his mind said. And the Millers did, too – their house…those bodies…
"Scotty, you should've…"
"Don't go there, all right?" Scotty warned softly, rubbing warily at his screaming temple. "Just don't – it's okay…"
"All I'm saying—if I had…" Kelly began.
"Don't – just don't, all right?" Scotty closed his eyes again, sunk back against the doorframe, hating himself for his new weakness. Why had it come on now? Kelly needed help. Kelly needed so much. And he had so little to offer…so little…and he couldn't even stand up, couldn't even think, or even move or do anything anymore…
The hot sweep of feeling swamped him, clogged up his chest, made the space behind his eyes burn. Kelly and all his pain and heat and infection as he lay limply in Scotty's arms – wheezing – while the Millers wiped and washed and bandaged the ankle finally freed of the agonizing shackle, tended to the jagged rip in his side, wrapped the ruined wrists … The images spilled over on a gush of wetness against his cheeks – the weeks of trouble, the days of running, the endless hours and the pain and the darkness, Kelly suffering – Kelly, Kelly, I couldn't – I didn't do enough….
"Hey, hey…Duke."
Long fingers, palms pressed close, cupped his face, stroking. "Hey, it's all right," Kelly's voice declared to him. "Jesus, you're…dammit, Herman…" Something – a shirtsleeve – patted at his sodden eyes, his damp cheek. "You need to take care of yourself, that's all I'm saying…okay?"
No…you…you need – I don't…I'm okay…
"Look at me Scotty."
He didn't want to look, didn't want to face Kelly in this embarrassing condition. He was the strong one, always strong, always had something that he could do. Kelly needed him to be strong. He never buckled, never gave in. And now, just when Kel needed him more than ever, he'd failed, right here in this lousy spot. He'd failed Kelly – and he'd failed himself. And now he was just – useless…
"Scotty…look at me – right now."
No, Jack, just let me wallow…can't you just…?
"Scotty…"
But he couldn't refuse that voice and Kelly perfectly well knew it. So he reluctantly opened his eyes, found that dark gaze there to catch him as he knew it would, soothing his shame when he didn't deserve it. And his traitorous heart allowed the useless feeling in his chest to be sopped up and away under that calming stare. It was no use trying to get it back so he just stood there feeling rather numb but somehow recovering because it was Kelly before him and not anyone else...
"You can't be Captain Marvel all the time," Kelly told him, working up a smile that almost covered his worry. "You gotta share the cape, you know?"
"But I look better in it than you do," Scotty mumbled. He found some self-reproach and applied it. Stupid concussion…he'd almost made it around the corner of the house. If he hadn't been taxed from the smoky storm cellar, and that blinding light hadn't all but paralyzed him…
He clumsily patted Kelly's hand, the one rubbing his cheek raw. "I'm okay – you can let go…"
"Yes, certainly…" Kelly didn't let go. Instead he fisted the fingers of his other hand, wiped at his own dripping forehead and pushed back some damp strands of dark hair. "Didn't mean to shove you back there," he said apologetically. Then he pushed out a breath that ended with a little wheeze. "Had my own crazy moment, I guess."
And you're forgiving me mine…
"Just…kinda cramped in there," Kelly continued as if he didn't know what Scotty was thinking. " Of course, the smell alone …" He sighed a little. "Just set my little demons to dancing, you know?"
"I know." They're mine, too. A full half of everything is mine. Half that ankle, at least one wrist, a couple of those ribs. One of those filling lungs. A few of those hours you'll lose in sleep for the next few nights. Mine, Jack. Give me my share – let me help – I need to do something…
Then Scotty slowly straightened. He couldn't go all to pieces just because his brains had been rattled a little. Kelly did still need him. He might not have a lot to work with, but he could work with what he had. Silently he took the hand Kelly had on him and pulled back the cuff of Henry Miller's borrowed shirt to check the bandage there. Clean. He checked the other one, feeling better; Kelly needed him and there was at least some things he could do… Scotty's mind began to hum with coordination. No need to test for fever because he could feel it bleeding through skin and fabric. The ankle was as good as he could make it for the moment. The rib wound, though…
"Um, hey, what're you…?" Kelly asked, watching his shirt being unbuttoned. "Getting a little personal, aren't you, m'man? We don't usually do this in public..."
The final fragmented pieces of his mind fitted back together. He knew what to do – call Carmody, find a car and get to a hospital – that was the plan. Just as soon as he checked this wound. As it was, Kelly's every other breath was a wheeze. Watch for pneumonia – there's already infection…his hands went to work under inner direction, feeling and sensing, relaying information back to his brain…
Kelly flinched. "Does it help to know that it hurts?" he complained.
"It isn't bleeding," Scotty reported, buttoning him back up.
"Then why does it hurt?"
Scotty looked up at him, let a smile eke through. "You really want to know?"
Kelly let off a snort, took a shaky breath, and looked about. "We can't hang around, Jack," he commented.
Scotty nodded and glanced slowly about, his mind flipping through his store of options. "Phone booth," he suggested after a moment.
"Don't tell me…" Wry amusement flitted across Kelly's tired face. "Then what, Superman – we fly outta here?"
"Then we drive outta here," Scotty corrected. He carefully squinted upward. "As soon as it gets dark." Yes, he knew what to do. Not much, but it was enough. They always had just enough…He headed toward the back wall of the filling station.
"Tsk, tsk, Alexander, I must protest," Kelly said to him, picking up the .22 and limping unsteadily alongside. "This is stealing."
"It's not stealing," he told Kelly. "In Philly we call it a 'street donation.'"
"Oh, well…" Kelly flashed a weak grin. "That at least makes it sound better."
Carmody broke the connection and the operator had to tell Scotty to hang up. He did so clumsily – his fingers had gone numb from clutching the receiver so tightly. He stood there on accompanying swaying knees, wondering if he had enough strength to push through the folding door of the telephone booth. But he didn't have to – Kelly reached in and pulled him out.
"And what did the man say?" Kelly asked him in that quiet slow voice of his, steering him toward the latest "street donation," a Ford sedan now idling at the curb, lights off and waiting. Kelly's head turned this way and that as he scanned the area again – and again. Scotty didn't see or hear anything, but the inside of his own head wasn't exactly functioning at top form at the moment. The coded conversation had pretty well taxed his mind, and the concussion was letting him know it.
"There'll be something in Boise," Scotty got out. How much farther to the car? He really needed to sit down…
"Sounds about right." Kelly stopped him beside the driver's door. Scotty quietly opened it and gratefully slid into the seat; Kelly eased it shut behind him. For a moment it was blessedly silent and he let himself go the comfort of it: no code speak, no concussion, no bandaged ankle, no wrapped wrists-
"Okay…" Kelly wheezed, folding himself into the passenger seat. "Okay, go." He glanced out the rear window, slapped the seatback. "Go, Scotty," he said impatiently.
Yes, go…hands, feet, get to work. But he remained motionless, stuck fast to the seat. Gotta go now, time to leave… Why couldn't he move?
"Hey, Jeeves…d'you want me to drive?" Kelly said, and at that he managed to turn his head, stare at the haggard face barely visible in the darkness. Okay, we're going, he tried to say, but nothing came out. Kelly frowned that now-I'm-really-worried-frown. "Here, Scotty, get out…"
The tug on his arm brought his muscles back to life, though they were aching; he shifted sluggishly in the seat. "Ready," he replied haltingly, pressing the clutch and the brake, things that required a working ankle, which Kelly did not have at the moment. It was drive or walk, and sitting down was very good right now. Over, he reminded himself, this part is over. Carmody – check. Car – check…Kelly – check. Hands – feet – check. "Ready," he said again, finding some strength and hanging onto it. "Yessir, I'm ready…"
"Then let's go," Kelly prodded, still giving him an uncertain look. "Go, as in put it in gear and drive…?"
Yes, go…Kelly still needed him and he had to get them to Boise and safety. One hospital, coming up... "I'm good, man," Scotty told him.
Kelly let out a harsh chuckle that said he thought otherwise. "And I'm absolutely perfect – we make a lovely pair, you an' me…"
Scotty allowed a smile. "I think so."
"Just go, Scotty…"
His temple throbbed as he shifted gears, but the enervation seemed to be lifting. At least the darkness didn't work his eyesight too badly, although he did have to stay on the road – no minor detail there. Leaving town is good, he reminded himself. Nighttime is good. Two items checked off his list – now the hospital...
The Ford pulled forward without much complaint. Scotty drove down the street with the light off, turned a corner past a darkened building and settled into the seat, sped up. Blackness washed over them for a few moments more, then he switched on the headlamps. The dashboard came to life, glowing comfortingly. They had opened all the windows; the wind rushing by was mild for now and it felt good slipping over his forehead.
"Was he surprised?" Kelly asked after another few minutes of silence. "Carmody, I mean…?"
"Oh, he was surprised," Scotty nodded carefully and shifted gears more smoothly this time. South, that's all he knew. The highway was out here somewhere.
"Well, that's good." Kelly leaned his head back against the seat. "Who says we're not the best damned agents this side of the Mississippi, hm?" He took a breath that hitched and made him cough that lungs-are-filling cough. "We're probably the only agents this side of the Mississippi, come to think of it."
"Vegas," Scotty reminded him, his mind starting to hum with operation again. But he didn't glance over – the white stripe edging the roadway had appeared and he didn't want it to dance away out of sight. "There's always agents in Vegas – remember our assignment in Vegas? And Palm Springs…"
"Palm Springs…Vegas…Hong, Kong, Tokyo, Acapulco, Venice, Marrakech, Greece…" Kelly blew out a sigh. "I guess we don't spend too much time on either side of the Mississippi now, do we?"
"Speak for yourself," Scotty answered, thinking of Philly. But he heard the unspoken words caught down in Kelly's throat – maybe that's why we didn't do such a bang-up job on this assignment. His head pounded hard for a moment; a hotspot tried to flare, but he tamped it back down. He glanced at the .22 at Kelly's side. They'd done the job, messy as it might've been. They'd done it. There wasn't anything else left except maybe find some time to let it go.
"We need a vacation, man," Scotty told him.
Kelly barked a laugh. "Yeah, that'd be good." Then he sighed hard. Scotty heard a soft, "damn" under it.
"Hey…" This time he did take his eyes off the road. And moved his hand from where it'd been fastened onto the steering wheel to touch Kelly's arm. "You okay?"
"No," Kelly said unexpectedly, hunching forward. "It hurts…it all just…" He pressed his lips together. Then he spoke again in that slow manner of his. "But it's – okay, you know? Because it…fixed…some things." He nodded to himself. "It fixed – me. You fixed me." He caught Scotty's glance, patted the hand holding him. "You didn't give up – and I…"
"You didn't either," Scotty told him.
"I sounded like I did."
"That's the mouth, man," Scotty told him – he just couldn't help adding some levity; it covered up what he really wanted to do, which was just hold Kelly and let his partner just rest without worrying something in his mind. "Sometimes it's not connected to the brain," he continued, "and then the tongue just gets flapping on its own and the jaws can't help but go along and in the meantime the spit's trying to call up to the brain and tell it to start paying attention…" He cut off before he became a working example of his own little monologue. "You didn't give up." Even when it was all but killing you. You didn't let them win. And I won't, either. I promise, I won't…
"You wouldn't let me give up," Kelly said, bringing Scotty's hand back onto the steering wheel.
"Nope."
"Just kept pushing and pushing…"
"Yep."
"Kept finding something in all that – that pile of…shit – to work with…"
Scotty grinned at him. "That's the best stuff to work with."
"Even when there was almost nothing left…"
"Multum in parvo." At Kelly's questioning look he translated obligingly. "Much in little."
"Yes, certainly," Kelly nodded. "What is that, Latin? Giving me a little Latin lesson, are you? A little language lesson while we're on the road, here, sailing our way to ol' Boise? I could just sleep here instead, you know." His voice took on a thin stream of energy as he relaxed. "This seat is pretty comfortable. I could just lean my head my head back here and close my eyes and just doze off…"
"You do that – I'll get us to Boise."
"Yes, Faversham, be so kind as to do that, would you? Much in little…" Kelly grunted, settled himself. "Keep your eyes on the road, now. Wake me when we get there. Much in little…"
"Go to sleep already," Scotty complained lightly. The headlights picked up lettering on a sign, a list of towns and the miles to each. Boise was the last one. Better than not being there at all.
"I'm gonna put me in a requisition for all the things I lost," Kelly said drowsily. "You should, too."
"I will."
"Much in little," Kelly said again, mumbling now. "We surely had that – little, I mean…"
"Yes," Scotty said softly, and nodded. The road had quickly widened and smoothened. He accelerated and shifted gears. The wind got cooler. He felt better.
"Had a lot in those names," Kelly murmured. "A helluva lot in those names. Had a lot at the farm, really. Lots to work with…family…" the word came out with fresh affection. "Born lucky, remember…?"
"I remember."
He'd analyze all the way to Boise, Scotty knew, doze off and then rouse up to utter something else that wouldn't quite rest in his brain. By the time they got there he'd have it all picked apart and built back together. He himself might not be all put back together, but there'd be time to work on that. And a few nights of soothing Kelly Robinson's hurts would be like applying a balm to his own ills. Lots of luck, Jack, he thought. Keeps us one step ahead at all times, even when it doesn't feel like we have much of it. Just have to believe it…
"Make some tracks, would ya?" Kelly sighed. "I'm ready for my private room, 'n my personal nurse, 'n weeks of R and R…"
Scotty drove.
END