Storms Part III

By Lucifiel

Disclaimer: ……

Raphael ducked as a few dozen syringes flew over his head. "Stop it!" He shouted, flipping the operating table that he had nearly been raped on over and taking cover behind it.

Now that he had a means to avoid the syringes and other items that were flying around the room, he had a small time slot with which to collect himself. The Doctor straightened his coat and pulled out a smoke. He lit it and put it to his lips. Lime. He liked lime.

"Oh YEAH!?!? Well I don' give a fuck about no court martial! My ANIKI'S the GENERAL, so fuck off an' leave my Doctor alone ya fuckin' pervert!! Jesus CHRIST! Ya think there'd be a whole mess o'Privates who'd wanna fuck ya!! At least leave the HELP alone!"

There was a crash and a grunt that sounded very much like Michael. Raphael poked his head over the table and was met with a boot to the face. He gave a cry and flew backwards, holding his cheek. The Major smirked and held Michael up by the collar. The boy appeared to be unconscious again.

The Doctor's face contorted in fury, "You bastard…" He hissed, "He's been injured, put him down. I suppose you feel perfectly macho in defeating a sixteen-year-old boy." Navez chuckled and made as if he was going to throw Michael aside. Mistake.

Michael's eyes snapped open and a savage grin appeared on his face. He grabbed the Major's arm and used it to swing his foot up and into the Major's throat. While still in mid-air, the Lieutenant brought his other leg up and wrapped it around Navez's neck.

Snap.

Raphael gasped, bringing his other hand up to cover his hand in horror. It was burned on his still-smoking cigarette. He cursed and waved his hand in the air. Michael landed at the same time the Major did, panting and coughing.

"Shit," Raphael growled, pitching his cigarette to the side and gathering Michael up, righting one of the two tables that hadn't been destroyed. The other Michael had used to bash Navez in the side of the head, apparently. It was broken in half.

He placed the boy on the table and brushed some of the hair back from his face, "Michael? Michael, talk to me. What hurts?"

"I dunno," Michael murmured, his head lolling to the side, "You tell me…yer the Doctor…"

"Right." Raphael set about fixing Michael up again. The boy was tough; he wasn't going to die any time soon. He needed serious rest, though. The Doctor moved toward his medicine cabinet and started to clean up the mess the two had left. He had no idea what he was going to do with the body of the Major. Such a thing would be missed, unfortunately. What the Hell was he going to do?

"Cold," Michael mumbled, trying to curl up. Raphael rushed to him and laid the boy out flat again.

"Don't, just lie still. I'll get you a blanket." He went to his suitcase and clicked it open, sifting through suits and bottles of cologne, and found his quilt. His damned nurse had made it just for him and insisted that he take it with him. The Doctor laid it over Michael's small form and sighed, "Sleep, all right? Your wounds need time to heal."

He went back to cleaning up, and finished some four hours later. Surprisingly, the nurses hadn't bothered him to look at anyone. Perhaps they were finding that their training was in fact genuine and they didn't need to run to him for every little thing that went wrong with an already dying man.

With the cleaning finally done, he sat at his desk and put his head in his hands. What the Hell was he going to do with the Major's body? Although it was a considerable relief to know that he wasn't going to be raped any time soon, a murder had been committed, and it had been an officer that was murdered. Michael would burn for it.

But what did he care, right? Michael wasn't important to him, just another patient. He stood and walked outside of the tent to have another smoke. At least the voices that had been plaguing him were-

//Suuuure he isn't important to you. You want him, don't you? Look at him, sweet and vulnerable. You could probably take him in his sleep. Go on, you know you want to.//

Raphael shook his head, "That's not true…he's a patient of mine."

//Then why are you keeping him in your office instead of sending him to the nurses where all the other patients are?//

"B-because…shut up!"

//Convincing. Just take him…get it over with. The Major's out of the way, who's going to know?//

"I-"

"Raphael? Sir?"

The head nurse. Shit. Raphael chucked his cigarette and dashed back into the tent, looking around frantically for something to do with the body, "Uh, yeah, I'm here…uh, I'm not quite dressed, could you please wait for a moment?"

"Certainly Sir, it's nothing major." Raphael winced at the pun and continued hunting for something to do with the body. Finally he just decided to set it on fire. What harm could it do?

//You idiot. It's a tent. It will burn down.//

"Oh yeah…"

//Get some sleep.//

"Screw you. I've got to get rid of this!"

"Doc?" Michael sat up, rubbing his eyes and wincing at the pain in his wrists. Not surprising, it was a miracle in itself that the boy had managed to pull what he had with the Major and keep his tendons intact.

"Uh, oh! S-sorry Michael, go back to sleep…I'm just trying to figure out what to do with this…"

"Oh, that? Bash its face an' dump it with th' dead. No one'll notice. This's a war, man. People die." He laid back down and was soon softly snoring away. Raphael considered. It was a good idea. He could disfigure the Major's features and no one would ever know. Of course, it was a bit unnerving how Michael could talk about something like that so frivolously, but that didn't matter.

The Doctor stepped outside and darted around until he found a discarded gun. Darting back to his tent, he proceeded to bash the Major's face in. Raphael found that it was quite a stress reliever. That completed, he dragged the body out of the back of his tent and threw it in one of the piles of dead.

"Whew," He found a water barrell and proceeded to wash his hands and face in it.

//Nice going, now go back to that boy and--//

"Listen you!" Raphael exclaimed, straightening and sending water droplets scattering to the muddy ground, "I've had just about enough of this!" He stomped back to his tent, "If you're going to keep bothering me I'll just blow my own head off, how's that!"

//Something tells me that it would be more of a loss for you than me.//

"Oh, go away!" He set about trying to repair the broken operating table so that he could get some sleep.

"Doctor Raphael! What happened to you??" His head nurse again. She hadn't bothered to knock.

"Wh-what?" The Doctor asked, blinking as he stretched masking tape to try and tape the table back together.

"Your face!! It looks like someone stomped it with a boot!" She rushed over and felt his face with a maternal air of seriousness, "Thank goodness nothing is broken! You're very lucky! What happened?!"

"I…er…fell."

"You fell."

"Yes, I fell."

"On what?"

"A, uh, gun."

"You fell on a gun."

"Yes! What is this, woman?? Cross-examine the Doctor day!!? If I say I fell on a God-damn gun then that's what I fell on!!!"

"Y-yes Sir…" she trailed off, then went to his cabinet and grabbed some salve and gauze, applying the salve and winding the gauze around his head, "Now leave this on for today, and I'll change it tomorrow."

"Fine, fine. Now what did you want?"

"Well, I just thought that you'd like us to take the patient now, Sir…"

"No. He stays with me."

"Sir? But--"

"He stays, with me." Raphael growled. The nurse nodded and scurried out of his office portion of the tent.

//Not attracted to him, eh?//

"Fuck. You."