Note: First published fanfic. Recently rewatched the series and wished it did not end. After reading loads of stories on this site, thought I would share one of my own.
I, of course, don't own anything here and just get to write about what may have been if there was no ARC. Story is just about Becker and Jess...so far.
Becker didn't remember much. His body was sore, resting in a hard bed. Hospital most likely by the smell of ammonia and gentle beeping of monitors around him. He heard a female voice order, "Get Dr. Shenanigan, Captain Becker is returning to the land of the living."
Becker slowly opened his eyelids. "Wouldn't do that," the voice said, and he felt two small hands covering his eyes. "Bright lights, heavy painkillers. Think of your worst hangover, then stepping onto the sunniest beach." Captain Becker flinched.
"Right, keep them closed and I will dim the lights." Becker let his eyelids close again. He felt one hand lift slightly to check. "Good sign. Listens to sound advice," the voice muttered to herself, followed by both hands lifting and the sound of light footsteps heading away. "Okay, good to go."
Becker slowly opened his eyes, trying to take in his surroundings and assessing his physical state. As if reading Becker's mind, the voice continued, "Two legs, two arms and a working brain. You're in rather good shape, I'd say." Becker couldn't help but smirk at the assessment. While he felt like he had been rammed by a mac truck, repeatedly, he knew and had seen injuries that left his squad without limbs and traumatic brain injuries. "Seems you have a skill in being impaled by bullets, but Dr. Shenanigan takes care of that rather well." The voice said never losing its cheery tone. Becker was starting to wonder if the narcotics had him hallucinating.
"Right, he's here. Prepare for bright lights."
The room brightened and Becker saw a figure come into his vision introducing himself, "I'm Dr. Shenanigan and you are at Walter Reed Medical Hospital. You sustained four gunshot wounds and underwent major surgery." Becker listened to the doctor, struggling to follow his words.
"My team?" Becker asked concern and worry prompting his to push himself to raise up, "Lt. Jenkins, Sargent Adams?"
"Sir, you need to stay down and rest," came the harsh reply. "That's an order," snapped the Doctor, familiar with tactics to get returning soldiers waking from heavy anesthesia to comply. Seeing the Captain lower himself back down, the Doctor continued. "I do not have much information. But, your team members have returned to active duty. Two were injured and released days ago having not sustained major injuries." Dr. Shenanigan made it a point to learn about his patients' comrades, knowing that was the first question asked upon waking.
"Your assignment is to rest and recover. You will likely be stationed here for several weeks." The Doctor told Becker, and he felt exhaustion begin to overtake him again and slid back into unconsciousness.
Becker awoke again several hours, or days later feeling stronger but still incredibly sore. It was dark outside the windows and the lights were dimmed. He heard the door open and light flashed into the room preventing Becker from fully seeing the figure in the doorway. He could make out a darken silhouette of a small person, female maybe. Becker wondered if it was a child or teenager, quickly categorizing it as not a major threat. The visions of battle were still fresh in his mind, triggering his need to survey the room and assess all threats.
"Monday, May 10th. 4:41 am," said a vaguely familiar voice from the doorway that was now leaning against the door jam. Becker frowned at the figure trying to discern the image, scanning from what appeared to be heels to the long hair he could barely make out.
"You've been out for about 12 hours since you last woke," the voice said, giving him the information he had been searching for. Becker turned his head back to the ceiling, processing the information.
"Still in la-la land," she added a bit to cheerily. "You're coming off the anesthesia and have a morphine drip. So, you'll be flying high for the next ten hours or so. Things will come into better focus once they switch you off the morphine," she said in a professional voice, then lapsed back to the easy teasing tone that seemed familiar. "Hell of hangover, though. Sorry, can't be helped but we'll get you through it."
"Right," the figure said straightening up. "Just popped by to check on you. You'll be on my rotation once your pain meds are switched. Lucky you." Adding slightly disgruntled, "Won't let me take on new peeps while you are all off in la-la land. Worried about battled scarred blokes striking out. As if." Becker nodded his head at this, seemed like a sound protection plan even in his addled state given the size of the figure in the doorway.
"Anyway, breakfast will be by in about an hour. Waffles seem to be the most popular, they don't slack on the syrup. Warm too." Becker's stomach rumbled in response. Hearing this, the voice added, "I'll move you up the roster. Food will be coming soon. See you later Captain." Dim lights came on in the room and the door closed before Becker could see the figure that he was starting to wonder if only existed in his imagination.
About twenty minutes later, a crate was rolled into the room followed by a large man in scrubs. "Heard you were hungry. Jess had me stop by early, you interested in breakfast?" the man asked.
"Waffles?" Becker asked still feeling a bit delirious.
"Good choice my man. Good choice." A tray was placed over his bed and the large man pushed a button on the panel slowly raising Becker up. "Name's Mick. Let's get some food in you."
Becker fell back to sleep again.
