Chapter 13

~Sometimes, the truth hurts. Spend time as a covert operative, and you learn to recognize vulnerability in people and situations and how to tactically exploit them. You are taught from the beginning truth is not necessarily an asset. You are trained to be expert at on the spot fabrication… no matter who you're dealing with. Above all you're trained to never let personal feelings get in the way.

A spy's life is about planning and execution to achieve a goal for the greater good, not about love and loyalty to family and friends, assuming you even have any. But sometimes… sometimes… if you're lucky, you find the real truth. And the truth will set you free.~

Madeline Weston helped her son sit up and then handed him a cup of water. "Here," she said, "drink this."

He raised it to his lips, and took a small sip, his hands trembling. "I'm sorry about all this, Mom," he said weakly.

"Michael," she said, taking the cup back and sitting it down. "Saying you're sorry over and over again for the same thing, without changing… Well it sort of loses its meaning," she said, helping him to ease back down into his bed. "Do you understand?"

"Yeah, Mom. I do," he said solemnly.

"Good," she said, readjusting his blanket.

"Ma?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"I love you."

"I know you do, Sweatheart," she said, putting her hand gently to his cheek. "But it's nice to hear you say it," she smiled. "I love you, too."

The voices of Barnsdale and Sam could be heard coming down the hallway. Madeline smiled at Michael again and winked, just as the door swung open. Sam was holding a cup of coffee in his hand. "Morning, Maddie," he said, a cheery smile on his face. "Coffee in the kitchen if you want some!" and he waved the cup at her, spreading the aroma. "Made it myself."

"Thanks, Sam," Madeline said. "How can I resist? I'll check on Fiona while I'm over there. You boys play nice," she said.

"Will do, Maddie," Sam grinned.

"Michael," she said, looking past Sam. "We'll talk more later," she said, smiling, and headed out the door, closing it behind her.

"How you feeling this morning?" Barnsdale asked, walking over to the bed and flicking his pocket light across Michael's pupils. "Much pain?"

"No," Michael said.

"Uh huh," Barnsdale said doubtfully, listening to Michael's chest with his stethoscope.

"Sounds good," he said, reassuringly and then walked over to his small desk in the corner, motioning for Sam to join him.

"I'm getting ready to do this debridement," he said, his voice lowered. "I could use your help."

"Sure… okay, Doc," Sam said, but was obviously uncomfortable with the idea. Finally he spoke up. "Barnsdale, you sure you want to do this," he asked quietly, his back to Michael. "I mean. Hasn't he been through enough? This debridement thing… I had it done on a leg wound once in the field and… I gotta tell you, it was about the worst thing I've ever had done to me. Plus I was way better off at the time than he is now," Sam said, continuing to make his case. "The wound was smaller, too," he added.

"Sam, I'm not crazy about it either," Barnsdale sighed, "but I'm not sure what else to do. He oughta be in a hospital. Instead I got him here. I'm doin' a mechanical because I don't want to knock him out and risk respiratory arrest. I don't want to have to bag him and I for sure don't want to put him on this ventilator of mine that hasn't been used or checked in years. His wound needs to be debrided and this is the best way I can think to do it, given what I got to work with. If you've got a better idea, I'd love to hear it," Barnsdale said, not at all sarcastically.

"Okay. I got it, Doc. Just checking," Sam said. "I'm with you."

Barnsdale put his hand on Sam's shoulder, then walked over toward Michael. "Okay, Mike. Let's take a look at this," he said. Clicking down the bed rails, he pulled back the covers to reveal Michael's wound. The saline dressing had dried nicely and was ready to be removed. "We're going to lay you down flat, here," he explained, as he lowered the head of the bed and then began surreptitiously buckling restraints over Michael's wrists, arms, and legs.

"Is this really necessary?" Michael asked, a hint of both worry and surprise in his voice.

"Just a precaution," Barnsdale reassured.

Sam looked across at Barnsdale and frowned.

Barnsdale glanced up at Sam but kept working, buckling yet another strap.

Sam shifted his weight uncomfortably and looked at Michael. "Okay, no. It's not just a precaution," Sam blurted out, unable to continue the ruse. "This is gonna hurt. Real bad, Mikey. He's strapping you down for a reason. He's doing a debridement. That dressing he put on last night has now dried. He's gonna pull it off and with it any dead tissue or leftover debris. That's the idea anyway. The problem is it's also gonna pull away living tissue along with the bad stuff. He's strapping you down so you don't come off that table."

Michael sighed and slowly blinked his eyes, wrapping his head around what was to come.

"I'm sorry, Buddy," Sam frowned. "Thought you should know what you're in for."

"Yeah. Thanks, Sam," he said plainly and then, "Let's get this over with."

"Beginning now," Barnsdale said, suddenly sounding like a physician. "You'll feel a tugging sensation..."

"Just do it!" Michael ground out.

And Barnsdale began to slowly peel away the dressing.

Michael's head shot back, and he grunted through the hurt. He panted through his mouth trying to ride out the waves of pain. And then, blissfully, it stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, Michael let his head fall back into his pillow. It had been bad, but he'd had worse. "That wasn't too bad," he grimaced, still feeling the effects.

Barnsdale frowned. "That was just the edges of the wound, Mike. The hard part's next," he said, and began to pull the rest of the dressing from inside the wound.

Michael choked back a scream and arched on the bed, the restraints drawing tight, his face a mask of agony. "Sam!" he gasped.

"I'm here, brother," Sam said, grabbing his hand. "I got ya."

"Ahhhh…." Michael moaned, writhing against the restraints.

"Almost done," Barnsdale said. "Almost," he said again as he ever so slowly and carefully continued to pull away the dressing.

It was too much, the pain more than he could bear. "Stop," Michael gasped. "Stop!" And he choked back a sob, slamming his head back again. "Aaaaiiiigghhh….. Sam!" he cried out to his friend, desperate for rescue.

"Doc!" Sam exclaimed, anguish filling his voice.

And with one last tug, Barnsdale pulled the remainder of the dressing from deep inside the wound.

The sound of Michael's tortured scream brought Fiona and Madeline charging from the farmhouse porch where they'd just settled in with a cup of coffee. By the time they made it into the building, down the hall, and into the room, Michael was laying semi-conscious on the bed, and Barnsdale was cleaning up the bloody mess from the debridement.

"Michael!" Fiona and Madeline cried in unison.

"He's okay," Sam said, his voice shaky, belying his own distress. Clearing his throat and running a hand over his head, he said more strongly. "He's fine."

"He's right, ladies," Barnsdale agreed. "He'll be fine. We just did a debridement," he explained. "It's a rough procedure."

"Well couldn't you have at least knocked him out or given him some novocain or morphine or something?" Madeline exclaimed.

"Not Novocain. And Morphine wouldn't touch this, Mrs. Westen," he explained. "And I didn't want to risk knocking him out for fear of respiratory arrest. It simply had to be done, Ma'am, and there's just no easy way."

"He's right, Maddie," Sam said. "Michael understood."

"Well I don't understand!" Madeline cried. "To do something so painful to cause him to scream like that? Michael to scream? Surely you could have given him something!"

"No Ma'am. Nothing. I'm sorry," Barnsdale said sincerely.

She glared at him in disbelief and suddenly struck him across the face. "Don't you ever touch my son again," she said, her voice low and menacing. Turning she went to Michael, shoving Sam aside. "And you, his friend!" she snarled. "How could you let him do that to him?"

Fiona stood staring at a still visibly shaken and exhausted Sam, as a new expression spread across his face. The look of hurt, sadness, and grief was obvious. Madeline's words had cut him to the core. And in that moment Fiona realized something. Something she had never truly understood before. When Sam called Michael 'brother,' he meant it. Sam loved Michael, too. She had never really gotten that before. But now she did, and she saw Sam in a whole new light. Walking over to him she grabbed his arm and squeezed it, looking up at him in an effort to encourage and comfort, it finally dawning on her what a toll the last two days must have taken on him.

Walking over to Madeline, Fiona draped an arm over her shoulder, standing beside her as she looked down at Michael. She almost seemed to be guarding him.

Michael had his eyes closed but his lips occasionally formed silent words, peppered with the occasional grimace and the audible word, "No." It was difficult to witness. Tears fell from Madeline's face.

"Madeline," Fiona said gently. "Sam was only trying to help. You know that."

Madeline looked at her and then at Sam. "Yes. I know that," and she sniffed, pulling herself together. "Of course. I'm so sorry, Sam," and she quickly walked over to Sam and hugged him. "I didn't mean it," she said, looking up at him. "You know that. I.. I was just so upset. To hear him…," and her voice trailed off.

"Sure, Maddie," Sam said. "I understand."

Madeline then turned toward Barnsdale. "I'm sorry," she said simply. "I shouldn't have struck you. I know you were just doing your job."

"It's okay, Ma'am. I've had worse," Barnsdale said, making a mental note to have his jaw x-rayed first thing in the morning.

"Sam," Michael's voice suddenly called out, and everyone turned toward him, not expecting him to even be conscious.

"I'm here, Mikey," Sam said, going quickly to his side. "How 'ya doin'?" he asked, concern filling his voice.

"I don't ever want to do that again, Sam," Michael said softly, his voice just above a whisper. "I can't…"

"I know, Buddy. You won't have to. Promise."

"Larry. Larry will be…"

"Don't you worry about Larry," Sam chastised. "You just worry about you."

" …think I'll sleep now," Michael said, too tired to argue.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, brother. Sleep. Sam's got your back."

And Michael slept.

A/N: Okay, boys and girls. I'm going to stop here. What do you think? So far, so good?

crittle247 I took your review to heart and did my best to include a Michael narrative. Let me know what you think. I do read the reviews and try to bend the story to the likes and dislikes as best I can, when I can. Thank you for the suggestion.

DedeMcG thank you so much for the review. I appreciate you coming out of lurkdom just for me! I have been trying to make my chapters a bit longer. They are, for the most part, half again as long as the earlier chapters… up from around 1,000 words to usually over 1,500. This one actually comes in at 1,850, not counting the A/N. But, still, I'll try to do better and make them even longer in the future. Thanks for the advice!

Beach Dove, thanks for taking the time to review. Yes, I know I need a BETA. LOL! Would you like to volunteer? I really am doing the best I can.

To the rest of the folks that mark this as "favorite" or put it on "story alert" etc. Please do consider also posting a review. I read them and take them to heart. If you have a request, it's a good way to let me know. So far I've specifically taken the advice of at least five reviewers suggestions and done my best to make the improvements, though not always as successfully as I'd like. I'm trying though. :0) This is only my second fic and I'm learning as I go.

Next chapter: What would you like? More whump? More action? More story? Or…Wrap this puppy up for crying out loud, we're growing old? Let me know!