[A/N : I added some chapters together to make the story flow more seamlessly towards the new chapter I'm currently working on, let me know in the comments what you think of the changes!]
They were clearing a building, Sonny on point with Trent on rear guard while Brock and Cerb took the middle. The rest of Bravo team was securing the perimeter. Normal, routine shit that they were so accustomed to they could do it in their sleep.
Suddenly Cerb sat down and gave a low whine. Brock saw Sonny's hand on the doorknob to the last room they had to check and without a thought he reacted, running before his brain had caught up to his body. He hit the Texan a split second before there was a deafening blast that sent them both flying, then darkness.
"...Brav...ree...avo four…five!"
"Sonn..."
"Bud...to me..."
"...ock...down!"
A bolt of lightning spearing through his side had Brock wrenching his eyes open, the world around him hazy. A figure hovered over him and he thought he heard someone call his name, but with his ringing ears and aching skull it was impossible to make sense of the garbled words being tossed around him.
But everything lurched into focus the instant a pair of hands touched his side. The blurry figure coalesced into Sonny who was leaning over him, both hands pressing down on a wad of gauze. Hard.
Brock tried to shove him away, to stop the wave of pain cresting towards him, but Trent was suddenly there.
"Easy, easy, you're okay," Trent said, gently taking off his helmet and setting it to the side. "In the explosion you got hit with some shrapnel. We're gonna wrap your side but you gotta promise not to touch it. Can you do that for me?"
Brock gave a weak nod, his headache ramping up a level as his heart rate also jumped. Shrapnel. He tried to breathe as he waited for the nausea to pass.
"Alright buddy, this is gonna suck but we gotta roll you," Trent said, nodding at Sonny who quickly shuffled into position near Brock's shoulders. Together they rolled him onto his side and though he tried to stay quiet he couldn't stop the groan that escaped. Sonny squeezed his shoulder in sympathy while gloved fingers gently felt along his back before he was returned to the floor, his vision graying out from all the movement.
"No through and through so we can pressure wrap," Trent was saying to Sonny as he pulled gauze out of his med bag. Daring to glance down, Brock saw a piece of metal sticking up a few inches past his vest, directly above his hip bone. Within a few moments Trent had tightly secured it from shifting with numerous bandages. But simply seeing it reminded him there was something in him.
That's when the shock started.
"Hey buddy, you're doing great," Trent said, noticing the shivers that had begun to wrack Brock's body as he elevated his feet on a broken chunk of concrete.
"Don't...feel great," Brock retorted.
Trent again rummaged through his med bag. "I'm gonna give you some fluids." He soon produced a bag of saline and quickly started the IV. Brock tried to focus on the slight pinch in his arm rather than the fire in his side, but it was difficult.
"Yeah boss. Brock got clipped in the side, can't tell how deep it is but Trent says there's no exit. We'd love to be out of here soon," Sonny said, presumably to the faint voice of Jason echoing from nearby. Brock realized his helmet was gone, a faint memory of someone taking it, and turned his head to look for it. He gasped as his vision went white.
"Hey, don't move! You've probably got a concussion," Trent explained, fingers gently probing his skull. Brock closed his eyes and allowed Trent to finish his examination while the ringing in his ears slowly faded back to a dull roar. It was a toss up for which hurt more, his head or his side.
"Cerb?" he asked, voice gravelly. There was a scuffle then a wet nose pressed against his cheek and he huffed weakly.
"Lassy saved our bacon yet again," Sonny said fondly. "Gave you enough of a warning to tackle me out of the way like some linebacker from hell!"
Brock knew Sonny was just trying to lighten the mood. The other operator was a man of few serious moments and always seemed at his best coming from a place of emotional detachment. Which was fine by him, it kept him from focusing too much on how much he hurt.
"You owe me a case of beer," he said quietly, earning himself a chuckle from his teammates.
"We both do," Trent corrected. "Plus a new chew toy for Cerb."
"I second that," Sonny agreed.
The sound of falling debris quickly ended their peaceful moment. Brock opened his eyes, blinking to clear his vision.
"We trapped?" he asked. Trent and Sonny shared a quick look.
"The guys are working on gettin' us out," Sonny replied. Brock sighed, Cerberus shifting closer. So that was a yes. He tried to stay calm as his eyes began growing heavy. Maybe some rest would help his headache.
"Brock! Brock, come on, open your eyes!" Trent coaxed. He tried but there was a sudden weight keeping them closed. He was too tired to fight the pull of sleep.
"He's still out, but his pulse is good and the bandage seems to be holding."
"D'n touch..."
Brock weakly pushed against the hands touching his side, his arms heavy. Even breathing was an effort.
"Brock, you with me?" Sonny asked.
"Mhmm," he grumbled, debating whether to simply go back to sleep.
"Hey, hey, no sleeping!" Trent ordered. Brock blinked heavily up at his two teammates.
"Welcome back," Sonny smiled. He was kneeling beside him with Trent on his other side, both of them watching him closely.
"Can you tell me where we are?" Trent asked.
"Colombia. There was a bomb and we, we um...we got trapped?"
"That's right. We're still in the building but the guys think they should be able to get us out in the next few minutes," said Trent.
Brock exhaled, allowing his eyes to slide closed. A rough hand gripped his chin. "Open your eyes number five!"
His eyes snapped open at the command, staring up at Sonny Quinn. The Texan had a fierce look on his face and his fingers were squeezing Brock's chin so tightly he couldn't move his head.
"You keep your eyes open, do you hear me?"
The command was clear. As number three, he was their unofficial leader until they were clear of the building and back with the rest of the team. So whatever order he gave, Brock would do everything he could to follow.
"N'sleepin'" he slurred, earning himself a pat on the cheek as Sonny released him. Trent sat back with a heavy sigh. Cerb nudged him with a small whine.
The sudden pops of gunfire nearby had all three of them tensing, muscle reflexes demanding they return fire.
"Boss, you good?" Sonny asked into his headset. For a moment there was silence before more gunshots erupted from the side of the building closest to them. Trent threw himself over Brock while Sonny covered Cerberus, and the four of them hunkered down to wait it out.
After a few moments the gunfire stopped, then their radios crackled to life. Sonny and Trent relaxed from their protective positions and looked at each other which made Brock start to get worried.
"Copy Bravo One. Holding our position," Trent said into his mic.
"The guys okay?" Brock asked.
Trent patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. "They took some heat but things are quiet again. Brass is worried about them being too exposed and ordered them to fall back to a nearby building. Once it's dark they'll finish digging us out. We just have to be patient."
Brock signed. He had been clinging to the hope of being rescued ASAP and the thought of having to wait a few hours before the rest of their team could return to try and finish the excavation wasn't a happy one. He was shaking, hurt, and dizzy. And being ordered to stay awake when a nap would help kill the time only seemed to sour his mood further.
"I w'nna sleep," he grumbled, aware he was being irrationally grumpy though the pain in his side and head was making the task of staying awake near impossible.
Trent shook his head sadly. "Sorry buddy, we can't risk it with your concussion."
He knew his friend was just following protocol, that he wasn't being malicious or trying to hurt him, but in spite of that he had to blink away the burn of tears. He focused on his breathing and mentally cursed the way concussions always fucked up his emotions.
"What's going on with Jess? We haven't seen her around lately," Sonny coaxed. Brock looked up at the ceiling. The last person he wanted to think about was Jess. They had fit together like two puzzle pieces, dating for nearly four years. But eventually she had wanted something more stable and his hectic life as an operator had driven a wedge between them. He hadn't told any of the guys they'd broken up a week before. Opening up wasn't his forte, and he had more important things to focus on.
But now that he had nothing more to do than lay there on the ground bleeding and concussed, his mind seemed to only want to think about the woman he had lost. The tears threatened to start again.
"Brockolli?" Sonny asked, using his affectionate nickname to bring him back to the present.
He was unsure what to say. "We broke up."
"Oh man," Trent said, hanging his head.
Sonny looked torn between sympathy and anger. "Why didn't you tell us?!"
"Not important," Brock replied. He hadn't thought it was worth mentioning.
"Brother, that is definitely important!" the Texan railed.
"Did she move out?" Trent asked. Brock gave a small nod. The medic huffed, looking unhappy. "That means when we get back you're staying with one of us. No way are you healing up on your own."
Brock shook his head, ignoring the headache. "M'fine."
Sonny rolled his eyes and mumbled something to Cerberus about his human idiot. Trent leaned forward, his face hovering a short distance from Brock's. "This isn't up for discussion. You're staying with one of the guys until I deem you cleared to return to your apartment. And don't even think about going around me to Jason or Ray, I'm sure they'll both be on my side on this. So just accept our help."
He swallowed past the lump in his throat and gave a short nod, flinching when the throbbing in his head increased in response. Trent relaxed, giving his arm a squeeze as he sat back.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"It's nearly seventeen-hundred," Trent replied, checking his watch. "Sunset should be in about two hours."
"Then we can get the hell out of here," Sonny added.
After that things got fuzzy. Trent started a new saline bag and closely monitored his pulse and blood pressure. Sonny passed the time by checking every inch of Cerberus to ensure their favorite canine was in one piece, while Cerberus thoroughly enjoyed the attention. And Brock focused on staying awake as ordered, despite his pounding skull and the intense desire to sleep.
"How's he doing?" Sonny asked as Trent replaced the blood soaked bandage with a new one. Brock felt listless, listening as if from a great distance.
"The bleeding's slowed, but his pressure's in the toilet and this is the last bag of saline," Trent replied, voice pitched low.
"What can I do?"
"Make the sun set early, or get us out of here," Trent sounded worried, bringing the world a little closer into focus as Brock tried to pay more attention.
"Bravo one, what's your ETA?" Sonny asked into his headset. There was a crackle as someone replied and he paled, all bravado gone as he looked at Trent.
"Wha's wrong?" Brock asked. He might be hurt, but he was still overly perceptive of his teammates. They'd been through too much together not to be.
Trent turned to him, giving him a quick smile that didn't reach his eyes. "The rest of Bravo should be here soon."
Brock shivered, knowing his friend was lying to him but he was too tired to figure out why. Sonny noticed the trembles and quickly stripped off his jacket to lay over him while Trent started a new bag of saline.
"What...what time is it?" he asked, catching the glance his teammates shared.
Sonny leaned forward, watching him closely. "You sure got scrambled, huh?"
Brock shrugged, hissing when the movement pulled at his side. Judging by their reactions he had already asked that question previously though he had no memory of it. With his brain so addled he couldn't be sure.
"It's okay," Trent soothed, seeing the flicker of confusion cross his face. "Your short term memory is mixed up from the concussion. Completely normal."
Completely normal. He repeated that to himself like a mantra, trying to dispel any lingering doubt that he was truly fucked up. The occasional throbs of pain from his side tried to overrule that idea.
"Hey buddy, can you try to take slow breaths for me?" Trent asked. The heaviness in his chest was growing and Brock realized he was gasping for air like a fish out of water. But it was as if he was breathing through a straw, unable to pull in enough oxygen.
"Easy, slow breaths. In and out," Sonny coaxed, demonstrating the slower breathing.
Brock shook his head, fear taking over. He was normally a rational man who did as he was told without question, but in that instant he couldn't.
"It's okay," Trent soothed. "Just breathe. Come on, you gotta calm down."
Brock squeezed his eyes closed, focusing on slowing the rapid breaths rattling through his chest. He inhaled, held it until it felt like his lungs would burst, then exhaled. His mind panicked, screaming that he wasn't getting enough air and needed to breathe more, and though he tried to shove it away he could feel the flaring pressure building in his chest. And nothing his teammates did, not Sonny rubbing his arm in sympathy or Trent murmuring a litany of encouragement, helped.
His eyes slammed open, searching for anyone that could help because he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe!
His eyelids were growing heavy while the world slowly faded around him. There were hands gripping either side of his face and Trent was there and he couldn't breathe.
The thump-thump-thump of helicopter blades.
Sonny was yelling, along with Trent. Soon the voices of Jason, Ray, and Clay joined in.
Brock drifted, barely clinging to himself.
Then he was floating. The world became quiet.
The sound of a door opening, then a chair moving against the floor, brought Brock out of the swirling black and closer to awareness. For a while, he was content to simply listen to the faint voices.
"How is he?" Mandy asked.
"Better. The doctor said surgery went well, but they're worried about ARDS," replied Davis.
"ARDS?"
"Acute respiratory distress syndrome. His lungs started failing when he went into hypovolemic shock, and by the time they got him out of the field he'd coded. He lost so much blood they had to give him two rapid transfusions, and his pressure is still lower than they'd like."
"Shit."
"Listen, I've got a favor to ask. The staff want to send him back to the states, but Brass wants the team to finish the op. Would you fly back with him?"
"There's no way they're gonna agree to stay in country."
"They don't have much of a choice. Blackburn laid it out to them : finish and get a guaranteed downtime until Brock heals, or leave and risk being spun up without him."
"Jesus!"
"That's why I was hoping you might agree to go back with him. We aren't sure how long the op might take and I don't want him waking up alone."
"I'll keep an eye on him," Mandy promised. Brock allowed himself to fall deeper into sleep, the two women's voices fading away.
Brock felt pulled towards consciousness, fighting the allure of the dark. He instantly regretted it as awareness brought pain. His side was burning and no one appeared to notice. A whimper escaped his throat as his hands skated over his stomach before bumping into a thick bandage. Probably Trent's handiwork.
He blinked, expecting his gruff teammate to be sitting beside him looking haggard and disheveled; the usual appearance of someone who had tried valiantly to save their brother and almost failed. Instead he found himself in an unremarkable hospital room empty of any Bravo team members. He spied a pair of black sweats folded on the bedside table and slipped the nose cannula off before slowly propelling himself upright.
Such a simple action took more energy than he cared to admit and left him hunched over, his side burning stronger than before. Part of him wanted to lay back down and press the nurse button, to have someone come and numb his pain with heavy duty meds.
But there was only one thing Brock Reynolds hated more than hospitals, and it was not knowing where his team or his dog was. Judging by the darkened sky outside the window it was late, probably past visiting hours. Which meant that the guys were at home resting, or he was the only one yet stateside.
Either way, he wasn't staying any longer.
He gathered what little strength he had to throw off the blanket and slide his legs out of bed, forcing himself to stand up. Once he was semi-vertical, one hand still using the bed for support, he nearly passed out but he stubbornly clung to consciousness as he flipped off the monitor and began removing leads from his chest. Then his IV, a small trickle of blood coating the inside of his arm. Finally he slipped out of the hospital gown and sat on the edge of the bed to tug on the sweatpants. He silently thanked whomever had brought the clothes for the zip up hoodie he found under the pants, and a pair of flip flops sitting on the floor. They must've known the herculean task it would be to lift his arms above his head or bend to tie his shoes.
Once dressed he had to sit back on the bed for a moment to make the room stop spinning. A sliver of doubt wondered if he was being stupid for leaving when he was obviously not physically ready.
He squashed that little voice and shoved himself to his feet and towards the door.
"What are you doing out of bed?" a female nurse demanded, spotting him leaving his room.
"I have to go," Brock replied matter-of-factly. He slowly approached the nurse's station and leaned heavily against it for support. "I'm signing myself out."
"Idiot," the nurse grumbled, grabbing a clipboard. "I'll have to get a doctor. Don't pass out, or leave."
He nodded as she hurried away, sliding the clipboard closer so he could fill out the paperwork. His bed and home were calling him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Brock turned, surprised to see Mandy rushing towards him. She appeared to not have slept recently, her hair a mess and dark smudges under her eyes.
"I'm going home."
"Like hell you are!" she snapped, taking the clipboard away from him. "I didn't spend eight hours on a plane and then eight more watching you sleep to have you do something this reckless."
"You watched me sleep?" Brock asked in surprise. Mandy sighed, running a hand down her face. Suddenly he remembered the earlier conversation he'd overheard and everything clicked into place.
"I hope you aren't serious about leaving."
Brock turned to see the nurse and a female doctor approaching. Neither looked impressed by his show of bravado.
"I've worked with plenty of headstrong vets who swear they're good enough to go home, but then they show back up a few days later worse for wear. I'm not inclined to add you to that list. You have twenty-three stitches, a minor concussion, and you're still in recovery from surgery. I am strongly advising you against leaving," the doctor said.
"I'm not gonna be back," Brock replied. "Just give me whatever form you need me to sign and I'll be out of here."
The doctor didn't appear convinced. "How are you getting home? Do you have anyone that can drive you, or look after you for the next few days?"
"Je…" Brock began, her name dying on his tongue. There was no way he was calling her for help. "I can take a Lyft."
"And I assume there's no one to force you to get some rest?" the doctor asked.
"I can bring him home, force meds down his throat and make sure he takes it easy," Mandy promised. Brock looked at her in surprise and she raised her eyebrows at him in a silent challenge, holding out the clipboard to him.
"Um...yah, she can," he said, taking the clipboard. The nurse grumbled as she sat back down at the desk and the doctor handed him a prescription for pain meds, one for blood thinners, and another for antibiotics.
"Change the bandage once a day to keep it clean and don't soak the wound, a shower's fine but no baths. No strenuous activity. With your decreased lung function you need to try some breathing exercises but make sure to get plenty of rest. And if he spikes a fever bring him back immediately," the doctor explained. Mandy absorbed all of the information in stride.
"One last time; I strongly advise against you leaving. If you do, you understand you're taking full responsibility for any potential risks?"
Brock handed the doctor the clipboard with the signed paperwork. "I understand."
He turned and began walking down the hall towards the exit, trying his damnedest to hide how shaky his legs had become or how much of a struggle it was to stay vertical. Once out of sight of the doctor and nurse, Mandy surreptitiously wrapped her arm around his side, mindful of his injury. He was too tired and sore to do much more than lean against her, thankful for the support.
"You're an idiot," she griped.
The drive to his apartment was quicker than Brock had expected, Mandy pulling into a parking spot with practiced ease. He didn't remember giving her his address.
"Wait here, I'll grab you some more clothes. Any requests?"
"Wait...why do I need clothes?" Brock asked, his brain trying to catch up.
Mandy shook her head. "You're not staying here. I'm taking you back to my place, I can keep a better eye on you there plus no stairs."
"But don't you need my keys?"
She reached in her pocket and produced his keys, jangling them at him with a mischievous smile. "Who do you think brought those clothes to the hospital for you?"
The realization dawned on him that she was trying to take care of him in her own way. It felt strange.
"Sweats are good, and maybe some shorts. There's a duffel bag in my closet," he replied.
Mandy nodded, opening her car door. "Stay here."
"Yes ma'am," he said, watching her jog up the three flights of stairs to his apartment. She disappeared inside and he took the opportunity to lay his head against the cool glass window, wondering how the team and Cerberus were doing. Without him there Cerb was probably going crazy, and Trent was the only other one trained to handle him. The poor guy. He hoped they came home soon.
Mandy returned a few minutes later, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She threw it in the backseat before climbing back into the car and handed him his cell phone.
"I forgot it here earlier. Looks like the guys are worried about you."
Five missed calls from Trent. Three from Sonny. One each from Jason, Ray, and Clay. Even a text from Davis. He sighed, typing out a message he hoped would alleviate their concerns before sending it out to each of them.
"Only need to make one more stop," Mandy said as she pulled into a Rite Aid parking lot. Brock gave a short nod. She hurried inside as his phone chimed, unsurprisingly Trent was calling again.
"Hey."
"Don't hey me! You signed yourself out AMA?" his best friend demanded. Brock winced.
"You know how I feel about hospitals…"
"I don't give a damn how you feel about them! You had surgery! Your lung function is compromised! You shouldn't even be awake! What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"
Brock waited for the tirade to end, knowing better than to interrupt Trent when he was in "medic mode". Though he'd never been on the receiving end of Sawyer's infamous anger before.
"You're at high risk for post-op infection, and your lungs need to be closely monitored!"
"Mandy's making me stay with her," Brock interjected. "She's very bossy."
"Oh. Well...I guess that's better than your place," Trent said.
"What's wrong with my place?"
Trent sighed heavily. "Three flights of stairs sound fun to you? And I bet you have no food. I like Mandy's idea."
Brock opened his mouth to argue but Trent said, "Hold on, Jason wants to talk to you."
"Brock Reynolds!"
Hearing his name being spoken in such a tone made him cringe. He really didn't want to hear another lecture.
"Mandy's in charge until we get back, is that clear?" Jason ordered, and Brock knew better than to argue.
"Yes sir."
"Whatever she tells you to do, you do it. She decides you're an idiot and need to go back to the hospital, you're going without any complaint."
"Yes sir."
"And one of us will be checking in with her to make sure you're following orders."
"Yes sir."
"The boys wanna say hi," Jason said before putting the phone on speaker.
"Brockolli!" Sonny yelled. In spite of his embarrassment Brock smiled. "The first time you get in trouble and I'm not there to witness it!"
"Don't encourage him," Ray chuckled.
"We're just glad you're alright. Cerb mises you!" Clay said. As if on cure Cerberus gave an enthusiastic bark.
"Good boy," Brock laughed. It felt amazing hearing his brother's voices, though he wanted nothing more than to be there with them. His first major injury since joining the teams and he was stuck stateside while they were still in country. It felt wrong.
"Get some rest, we'll talk to you soon," Jason said.
"'Kay. Be safe," Brock replied. He stared at his phone long after the call had ended, his brain still a bit foggy. He figured it was the hospital drugs working their way out of his body.
Mandy appeared, loading two paper grocery bags into the backseat beside his duffel bag before climbing in and handing him a small bag with his prescriptions.
"You okay?" she asked, noticing him still staring at his phone as she pulled out onto the street.
"'M'fine." He knew she didn't believe him, but she stayed quiet the rest of the drive to her home. He wasn't surprised to see it was located in a quiet residential area with expensive cars in every driveway, large lawns, and signs for a neighborhood watch. She pulled into the driveway of a one story white house with black trim, the garage opening.
Biting back a groan, he climbed out of the car before Mandy could offer to help him, his body screaming he needed pain meds yesterday along with a week long nap. When he turned to attempt to grab his bag he wasn't surprised to see her holding it already and giving him a once over as if to dare him to try and take it from her.
Reluctantly he followed her inside as the garage door closed.
"It's nothing fancy, but I like it," she said as she flipped on an overhead light and led him into a spotless kitchen. He spotted stainless steel appliances, granite countertops, black cupboards, and a center island with a large cooktop and grill.
"I love cooking," she explained, noticing his glances. "You want the tour?"
Brock shrugged, feeling it rude to refuse. Mandy led the way into the living room, an L shaped couch taking up one whole wall and separating the room from the kitchen. A TV sat opposite with bookshelves on both sides. He glimpsed the front door with triple locks as they continued down a hall to an office devoid of any decoration except her college degrees hanging behind the oak desk. Two monitors and a laptop took up most of the desk space.
"I keep the walls bare for all my notes," she explained, almost self-conscious. He wondered when she'd last had a guest.
Opposite the office was the guest bathroom with the bedroom beside it. She set his bag down in an armchair in a corner of the room and turned to look at him as he sank down onto the bed.
He couldn't hide the groan that time.
"Okay tough guy, let's get some meds into you then you can sleep," she said, leaving the room and returning a moment later with a glass of water. He didn't bother trying to pick out the correct meds, instead handing the bag over to her. She silently handed him a single oblong white pill which he swallowed, draining the glass before he gave it back and laid down.
He needed to be horizontal now.
"Do you want to change?" she asked. Brock shook his head, his eyes already closing.
"You're on...you're on top of the blankets."
He slowly rolled to his uninjured side, allowing her a chance to tug the blankets out from underneath him. Then, much to his dismay, Mandy tucked him in.
A moment later the light switched off. "Your phone's on the nightstand, and my room's right down the hall if you need anything."
"Mhmmm," Brock grumbled as a way of thanks, already feeling his body melt into the mattress. He heard a chuckle then the door softly clicked shut and he slept.
Someone was there, they were asking him questions, but Brock didn't want to wake up. He liked sleep. It was warm and comfortable and safe. There were more questions, to which he gave non-committal grunts of approval. He was just so tired.
Suddenly the blankets were pulled back and his shirt was lifted. He shivered, unsure of what was going on. And then hands were touching his side.
Fear instantly unfurled in his chest. He didn't care if it was irrational or an overreaction, all he knew in that moment was he didn't want anyone touching him.
He lurched upright, shoving himself away.
Mandy materialized beside him, her hands raised before her in a sign of peace. "Hey, you're okay. You're okay."
For a moment Brock stared at her, the subsiding panic coupled with the fading adrenaline making his head spin. Slowly the room around them became clearer. They were in her guest bedroom, a med kit sitting open on a nearby chair along with fresh rolls of gauze.
And as quickly as the panic had hit, the embarrassment followed suit.
"I'm so sorry," Brock mumbled, looking away.
"You don't have to apologize," Mandy said. "I'm sorry for startling you. I thought you were awake."
"I was, sort of. I'm sorry."
He still couldn't look at her. He didn't want her to see the shame clearly written all over his face. The last time he'd reacted so badly to someone touching him was during SERE training six years ago. He thought he was doing better.
"I can wait, if you want."
"What?" Brock asked, turning to look at her.
Mandy seemed unfazed by his reaction. "I still need to change your bandage. But I can come back."
"Oh. N-no, that's okay," he said.
"Alright then. I'll try to be quick," she promised. Brock slowly laid back down, holding his breath as the movement sent fire racing up his side. Once he was horizontal Mandy leaned closer.
"I'm gonna take off the old bandage, check your stitches, then tape down a new one."
Brock gave a quick nod.
He stared at the ceiling while she again pulled his shirt up to expose his side. Her fingers gently peeled off the current bandage and he forced himself not to look down at his wound, no matter how much he wanted to.
Some things were better left unseen.
Once she finished inspecting the stitches she deftly secured a new bandage to his side and smoothed down his shirt.
"Your stitches look alright as far as I can tell, though it is a little red. I'm gonna send a pic to Trent, see what he thinks. And before your next dose you need to eat something. I've got jello, toast, or soup if anything sounds good?"
Brock had zero appetite, but he knew better than to tell her that. It was bad enough she was sending Trent a picture of his wound, if she mentioned to him that he wasn't hungry he'd get worried. A worried Trent was a lot to handle.
"I'll try some toast," he replied. Even the thought of food made his stomach clench. Yet the fear of being dragged back to the hospital outweighed the nausea
"Okay," Mandy said before leaving the room. Though he was loathe to admit it, he appreciated having her there to take care of him. It didn't make him miss the guys any less, but it was still nice.
Using the brief unattended moment, he forced himself upright. The room swam in slow circles around him before solidifying. His chest felt a little tight but not wanting to waste his sudden energy he climbed to his feet and stumbled over to his duffel bag. With one arm wrapped around his side he dug through it for a fresh shirt and boxers, then quickly changed while keeping an eye on the open doorway.
Once he'd pulled his sweats back on he grabbed his phone and headed towards the living room.
"Oh!" Mandy exclaimed, nearly running into him when he turned the corner in the hallway. He staggered sideways out of her way, his shoulder bumping the wall. A bolt of pain stabbed through his side and he leaned forward, wrapping both arms around himself.
"Shit, are you okay?"
"Fine," he lied, slowly straightening. Mandy didn't look convinced, but she didn't push him. Instead she put her arm around his waist, being careful to avoid his injury, and helped him to the living room while balancing the plate of toast in her other hand.
After she'd settled him on the section of the couch that jutted out from the wall so he could lay down and still watch tv she covered him with a blanket then handed him the plate.
Brock took a small nibble of the toast, surprised to find it quieted his stomach. He realized perhaps some food was a good idea after all.
"Any requests?" she asked as she sat down and turned on the tv. She'd left space between them which he appreciated.
"I'm good with anything," he replied, finishing the first piece of toast and moving on to the second.
"Well, I'm obsessed with this show," Mandy said, starting a new episode of Great British Baking. Brock gave a small chuckle and placed the empty plate on the cushion between them, pulling the blanket higher across his chest. Secretly he loved baking shows and found them quite calming, which after the last few days sounded perfect to him.
He settled further into the couch, content.
"He's asleep," Mandy said, her voice echoey and distant. Brock wondered who she was talking to but didn't want to interrupt, more than happy to stay in the realm of semi-sleep.
"Yeah, he's been taking his meds and I even got him to eat some toast. He freaked out earlier when I was changing his bandage, but nothing serious. No, it was fine I just startled him. I thought he was awake but then I touched him and he...no, no, it was like he was dreaming. Kept apologizing afterwards, until he calmed down. Okay, I will. Thanks Trent. You guys be safe. Okay. Bye."
The bubble of warmth that had expanded in his chest popped, leaving him feeling distinctly deflated.
Trent would feel honor bound to tell the others about his little "freak out" and he was certain that meant they'd treat him with extra gentleness once they returned. He hated it.
They all were damaged in their own twisted ways. He just didn't like sharing all the finer details. His teammates knew the overall story; he was an only child who got along better with animals than people. His mom had died when he was a kid and his dad died a week before his eighteenth birthday. He joined the military the day after.
After the rest of Bravo saw the scars on his back he told them they were from his father without even thinking about it. The guys had been able to fill in the rest, but they never pushed for an explanation. When he felt comfortable with each of them he shared a new tidbit about what life had been like after his mom died, like when his dad began drinking and using him as a punching bag. And for their part none of them ever made him feel like his secret wasn't safe with them. If anything it bonded their team closer than ever. He'd finally found the family he'd never had before.
They accepted him, damage and all. While he wasn't good at letting others take care of him, and hated being the center of attention, they made him realize it was okay to trust others. Having everyone worrying about him still made his skin crawl but he was getting better at allowing it.
"Brock?" Mandy asked from nearby, pulling him from his sleepy thoughts. He blinked up at her, seeing the cup of water and pill bottle in her hands.
"Next dose," she said. He pulled himself into a sitting position, his side dully throbbing. Once he'd forced the medication down with a swig of water she headed back into the kitchen.
Brock was surprised when he glanced at his phone to see he'd slept for nearly eight hours. "Any word from the guys?"
She reappeared with a new plate of toast that she handed to him before sitting down. "Still on mission, not sure how long it's gonna take to complete. They all miss you."
"I miss them too," he said, ripping the toast apart with his fingers. He wasn't hungry and hoped she wouldn't notice.
"After you eat I need to change your bandage," Mandy said.
Brock stopped fiddling with the toast to glance at her. "I could do it myself."
She shot him an appraising look. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm feeling a lot better. I think I just needed some sleep."
Fearing she still didn't quite believe him, he slowly climbed to his feet and hobbled towards the bathroom. "I'll go get it changed, you get the next episode queued up."
Mandy chuckled and he waited until he heard the tv turn on before closing the bathroom door and leaning heavily against it. His legs threatened to give out beneath him but he locked his knees and forced air into his lungs. Even if it felt like breathing through a straw.
After a moment he rolled up his shirt and peeled off the old bandage, then stood staring at his reflection in the mirror while the dread filled his stomach like a heavy lead ball.
The stitches were still intact but the skin around it was definitely red, and beginning to look swollen. And judging from the warmth he felt radiating from it, Trent's worst fear had come true.
Infection.
Taping down a new bandage, he straightened his shirt and splashed some water on his face. He was pale and shaky and wanted to curl up in a cave somewhere to hide how miserable he felt. But that wasn't an option.
He needed to convince Mandy everything was fine so she would report that back to Trent and the others. They needed their heads in the game so they could complete their mission without feeling the need to rush home to him. People got hurt when they rushed.
The trek back to the living room seemed to take longer than before, and he was aware of the chills that had begun creeping across his skin while his chest kept growing tighter. But Mandy hardly noticed as he sat back down on the couch and covered himself with two blankets. The next episode of the baking show started and he settled against the pillows, willing his body to cooperate.
The rest of the afternoon and early evening passed in much the same fashion, with Mandy supplying water and pills and toast at the correct times while they binged their way through an entire British Bake Off season. Trent and Jason texted her a few times, and the whole team texted him plenty. He swore the warmth he felt was embarrassment at all the attention, not the fever he could feel growing higher with each passing minute.
Finally, after finishing the first episode of a new season, he kicked off the blanket and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
Mandy instantly noticed, giving him a once over before she left the room.
"I'm just a little hot, it's no big deal," he lied when she reappeared.
"Humor me," she said, holding out a thermometer to him. Reluctantly he placed it under his tongue, fearing to see exactly how bad it might be. After a minute it beeped and he checked the screen before she had a chance.
103.
Shitshitshitshitshit
"What's it say?" she asked, voice deceptively calm.
"Um...100. Low grade."
She didn't appear convinced, staring at him with crossed arms and a deep frown. He realized it was possible he'd finally met his match when it came to sheer stubbornness, though Cerb might give her a run for her money.
"If it gets any higher you can take me back to the hospital," he suggested. After a moment she sat back down and started the next episode, seemingly pleased with his idea.
Brock slumped down into the pillows, his hand pressing against his side. He knew it was pointless trying to mentally heal himself but the prospect of returning to the hospital seemed worth trying something.
The heat radiating through his hand was starting to worry him though.
He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming, because his dad was dead. There was no way Charles Reynolds could be standing in front of him, a belt in one hand and a beer in the other.
Please let it be a dream.
"Worthless," his dad slurred, beer sloshing from the bottle as he swayed. "Can't even handle an infection like a man. You need others to take care of you like some weakling."
Brock bristled at the comments. "Go away."
"Does she even know how weak you are?" his dad continued as if he hadn't heard him. Brock glanced over at Mandy, surprised to see she was asleep on the other end of the couch.
"She has no clue how much of a dead weight you are."
"Go away."
"I bet your team doesn't know either. If they did you'd be kicked out so fast your head would spin."
"Go away!"
He was unceremoniously yanked from his dream, left shivering on the couch in the dim darkness. He was surprised to see Mandy was still asleep in the same position she'd been in during his dream.
The realization that he'd been asleep didn't calm his racing heart as much as he'd hoped. Or maybe that was the fever, which he could feel burning through him. Suddenly he yearned for a cold shower. Anything to offer a reprieve from the scorching inferno inside of him.
Quietly he stood up and shuffled towards the guest bathroom, listening for any sound to alert him that Mandy was awake. He figured it was pretty late and hoped the shower wouldn't wake her.
Yet once he stood in the bathroom, a shower seemed too difficult for him to manage. Especially since he remembered the doctor telling him to avoid getting his wound wet until the stitches had been removed later the next week. He stood in the bathroom, the glow from the lights hurting his eyes, and wished more than ever that his team was there. Trent would know what to do. Jason and Ray would settle his nerves. Sonny and Clay would crack jokes to keep him smiling.
He really needed his brothers.
Instead, he opted for turning off the light and laying down on the cold tiles. He hoped it would help bring his fever down and make breathing a little easier. Once his eyes closed the bone-weary exhaustion quickly pulled him under and he knew no more.
For a moment Brock wasn't sure where he was, finding himself curled up on his side on a hard floor. Everything hurt; each breath burned through his chest, and his side was on fire.
A dark figure crouched beside him with their hand on his shoulder and he flinched away, an urgent voice filtering through the cotton in his head.
"Brock? Hey, it's Mandy. Come on, I need you to wake up."
"M'wake," he murmured.
"Thank god," she sighed, her voice sounding different than usual. Brock blinked in the bright light, the room spinning around him. He tried to focus on her face swimming above him but the dizziness was making him see double. His eyes quickly closed before the nausea could be made worse.
"I woke up and you weren't on the couch, and when I found you on the floor I thought you…"
She seemed unable to finish her sentence. Brock tried to pay more attention even as he felt himself slipping away. Because there were definitely tears on Mandy's face and she was worried about him and he knew something was wrong.
"Hosp'tal?" he slurred. Mandy nodded quickly.
"I already called the paramedics, they should be here any minute. Just stay awake."
"D'n't tell...guys," he begged. She gave another nod.
The doorbell rang and she rushed from the room, leaving him alone on the floor. He closed his eyes and figured he could rest until she got back. Then other voices were there asking strange questions and talking loudly. Everything around him seemed to lurch and tilt as strong hands grasped him, rolling him onto his side and sliding a board beneath him. The jostling sent fire racing through his side and he whined in the back of his throat.
"Easy Brock, let the paramedics do their job," Mandy said from nearby. Brock relaxed, as much as he could under the circumstances, and felt himself begin to float. He wondered if he was moving on his own, or being moved. A sudden blast of cooler air yanked him closer to awareness and he saw grey clouds above him, but his eyes wouldn't stay open long enough to see if it was going to rain.
"I'm riding with you," she demanded, leaving no room for argument. Then Brock watched the clouds be replaced with the ceiling of a strange car. The world began to sway below him and a piercing alarm started ringing.
He may not have known anything else at the moment, but he would always recognize an ambulance siren.
Mandy leaned over him, her eyes looking sad.
"I'm not sad, just worried about you," she said. He didn't think he'd spoken aloud, but he also wasn't sure. Everything was getting shiny.
"Is there anyone else you want me to call?"
Brock shook his head. His only family was still in another country handling a mission. There was no one else.
"Okay. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," she promised. Brock nodded, feeling his eyes close. He was too exhausted to fight the pull of sleep, even as he heard his name being called.
He hoped his brothers would come home soon. That thought sent him careening off the edge into darkness.