Recovery and Remembering
Early May in Northern Virginia. The weather could be fickle as if Mother Nature wanted to tease everyone with a few more reminders of winter before devolving into the stagnating heat and humidity of summer on the Chesapeake. They'd had an inch of snow three weeks ago, which melted the next day, followed by a daily guessing game of temperatures and weather. Apparently, this was normal for the region.
Face hated it. He ached for the warm sun of California. Actually, he just ached. He was slowly healing from the gunshot wound at Villa Cucina and was surprising everyone by being a very compliant patient. The private duty nurse Stockwell arranged was an older woman with a gentle but no-nonsense air. She reminded him a bit of Sr. Perpetua, the resident nurse at the orphanage. She made it clear that Face was ultimately responsible for his recovery, and he did not want to annoy or disappoint her. He did not argue about taking his meds or dealing with the seemingly constant checking of his vital signs and dressings. She insisted on the entire team learning how to change the dressing, take his temperature, and look for any signs of infection. He was infinitely relieved when his catheter had been removed two days ago, though. Even after all that the guys had been through together, there were still some things that were embarrassing. She was gone now, satisfied that her charge would be well-cared for between her scheduled twice-a-week checkups.
Home from the hospital for almost two weeks now, and this was the first time he'd been allowed outside. The slow walk across the patio with BA's support had exhausted him. Now, stretching out in the lounger – well, as much as he could stretch without wincing – he closed his eyes and relished the warmth of the sun on his face, drifting into a pleasant doze.
A stray cloud blocked the sun and cooled the air. Face absently pawed at the blanket, too far asleep to get a grip on it. Someone was immediately there, pulling the blanket around his shoulders.
"You OK, Face?" It was Frankie. "You warm enough?"
He blinked awake. "Huh? Oh, yeah, just a little cool." Hannibal was watching him closely, concern etching his features.
"You gotta be careful." Murdock appeared at the foot of the lounger. "Can't get a chill. A cold could be very serious." He peeked under the blanket to check Face's feet. Somewhere, Murdock had found a pair of wool-lined moccasins, and he now checked to make sure they were still in place.
"You cold?" BA was standing by the edge of the patio. "I got some chicken soup cooking. Thought that would be a good thing for supper, but I can heat it up now." He started to turn to head back to the house.
Face was fully awake now. He took in the quartet of worried faces and sighed. "Guys. Guys. Look. I'm fine." He caught Hannibal's frown. "Really," he insisted. He smoothed the blanket. "I know I'm a long way from being back, and it'll take time, but you're all acting like I'm fine china. I'm not gonna break."
He caught the glances that the other four shared, some kind of unspoken conversation. They knew something that he didn't. That scared him.
"What?" he asked. "What's going on?" He looked at each of his partners. "What aren't you telling me? Is there something wrong? Something the doctors… something bad?"
The four continued looking at each other, finally settling on Hannibal.
"Guys? What? Tell me!"
Hannibal rested his hand on Face's shoulder. "It's OK, kid. Just relax. It's just that…"
"We didn't want to give you anything else to…think about," Murdock finished for him.
"You just needed to get better," BA added.
"Yeah," said Frankie.
"What?" Face repeated. He was starting to panic.
Hannibal squeezed his shoulder. "We weren't sure if you needed to know…" He sighed. "We're treating you like fine china because, right now, with all of this, you are. To us." He sighed. "We lost you that night, Face. Twice."
"What?" He shook his head. "I know it was bad, but…"
"I was giving you CPR on the way to the hospital. They brought you back in the ER, but you coded on the operating table. They had to give you almost 7 units of blood before they got you even marginally stable. They couldn't stop the hemorrhage."
"Seven units? Hannibal, that's impossible. You bleed out at four. So seven…" he glanced at the others, looking for confirmation that Hannibal's statement was ridiculous. Their expressions said otherwise.
"They almost didn't get you back," Hannibal said softly.
"They wasn't even givin' you 50-50 odds," BA murmured.
"Hannibal said the hell with Stockwell and called Fr. McGill and Mama Baracus," Frankie said.
Murdock said nothing, but his brown eyes were huge.
Face felt his chest tightening and his breath coming slowly as he saw their somber expressions. He hadn't realized the hell the others had gone through. He hadn't realized how close he'd come to dying.
"I don't remember a lot," he said quietly. "Being cold on the floor in the restaurant. Frankie telling me he'd seen worse on set. Then being carried and some kind of explosion. Being in the van." He looked up at BA. "The horn. You were laying on the horn."
"And drove up on the sidewalk a couple of times, too," BA admitted.
"Then a lot of nothing, but after a while, there were voices." He looked at BA again, frowning as he tried to catch the memory. "You were there. I remember that. You were holding my arm and my hand. And said you'd be strong enough for both of us."
BA rested a hand on Face's arm again. "They said if you made it through the next day, you had a chance. Weren't no way you weren't gonna make it. I wasn't gonna let that happen."
"And Frankie," he managed a shaky smile at the younger man who so often felt like an outsider. "You kept telling me you were checking out the nurses and when I got out of the hospital, we were going to get a condo in Ocean City and take them down there for a week. Make a new definition of private duty nursing."
Frankie grinned. "Had to keep you thinking of the future, man."
"Murdock, you were just there. Kept telling me you were staying and that I had to stay, too." The pilot's eyes were damp. "And you kept saying you were sorry. And there's nothing to be sorry about, so stop it. Please."
"Ok, muchacho." But he still looked worried.
Face looked at all of them. "I didn't think about how hard it was for you. I'm glad you were there. You probably pulled me through." He felt himself starting to tear up and pulled a deep breath to steady himself.
"So if we're a little overprotective right now, humor us, ok?" Hannibal asked.
Face sniffed and smiled a little. "Yeah. But all of you at once, it's a bit much. Can we do some kind of, I dunno, a rotation?"
"Sure. Watches. Just like when we're on a job. Four-hour watches, starting now. I'll take first shift."
"That's good," BA said. "I'm still making soup, so I'll take second." Murdock and Frankie drifted away, deciding the rest of the schedule.
Face settled against the pillow again and closed his eyes.
"Hannibal?" he asked sleepily.
"Yeah, Face. Right here."
"You and Maggie need to get married and have a couple of kids."
"Huh? Why's that?"
"'Cause you sing a mean lullaby."
"What?"
"Well, that wasn't BA whispering 'You are My Sunshine' in my ear." He was still smiling as he drifted asleep.
I'd have tap-danced naked around the Reflecting Pool and up the Capitol Steps if that's what I needed to keep you alive that night Hannibal thought. He settled back into his chair and picked up his book.
The clouds moved away, and sunshine once again shone down.