Author's note; I hope you enjoy.

There was still work to be done, though. The tomatoes were in desperate need of a good weeding, the thatching on multiple buildings needed to be repaired, there was meat to process and firewood to gather

Life, weird and painful though it was here, must go on.

Rifling through the boxes of supplies in the homestead, it only took Newt a moment or two to put his hands on an unused plastic water bottle. Another moment to fill it at the water barrel outside the cook hut and he was off, headed back to the box, prepared to fulfill his duties and assist the new recruit. In the short time that he'd been gone, the box had already been emptied of supplies, which were stacked in neatly organized piles around the ugly square hole in the grass. A couple of the builders were rolling barrels towards the cook hut, Alby and another boy were muscling a large crate of something or other back towards the center of the glade. Frypan and Jeff weren't back yet, so as the others worked on stowing the supplies, Newt once again jumped down into the box, approaching the greenie in a slow but steady way.

The man had pulled his left leg up towards his chest, his free and injured arm resting across his knee. His head was once again leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. For a heartbeat Newt thought the man had truly passed out this time, until he got one step closer and those green eyes snapped open once more. Still no fear, thought Newt, intrigued. Mild confusion, curiosity, interest. But no fear. Newt crouched down so he could look the man straight in the face.

"'Lo greenie. I'm Newt. How're you holding up?"

Silence.

"Alright then. Not feeling terribly chatty, eh? I know this is one big shucking mess, so we'll just take this slow for now. I'm going to come over there, sit by you for a bit. That alright?"

More silence, but this time there was the faintest hint of a twitch at the side of his mouth, just a breath of a shrug. Taking this as consent, Newt eased over to the man's left side, sliding his back down the grate until he was seated beside the guy, leaving about a foot of space between them. Newt was big on personal space. He held up the water bottle, tilting it from side to side so that the water sloshed audibly, then held it out in front of the man. "I bet you're dry as dust by now. Drink?"

Silence.

Looking over, Newt considered the mangled wrist, the still trembling hand. Weighing his options, he uncapped the bottle, moving it in a hesitant, questioning way towards the man's mouth himself. Poor sod probably couldn't even hold it himself-

A firm, no-nonsense grip on his wrist stopped his arm dead. Looking right at Newt, a deadpan expression on his face, the man pushed Newt's arm away.

"...alright then. Not thirsty at the moment. Got it."

He recapped the bottle, setting it aside for now. He figured the guy would have to give in to thirst sooner or later, and the day was already warm. He'd make sure it was available, when the guy was ready to accept it. Not quite sure what the proper thing to do next was, Newt was mildly relieved to hear another person clambering down into the box to join them. Glancing up, he nodded once to Jeff, pushing himself up to his feet and moving out of the way. Thinking of the guy's violent (and frankly, who could blame him?) reaction to the last attempt to help him, Newt figured he should make some introductions.

"Jeff this," Newt gestured, "is our new greenie. He's been in the wars, and needs some patching up. Wrist especially, it's bleeding loads. Green Bean," Newt looked right at the man, making sure he understood that Newt was talking to him, "This is Jeff. He's a med-jack. He fixes up our cuts and burns and what-not. He's gonna bind up that wrist, fix you up a bit." The man quirked an eyebrow. "Please do try not to thwack him, Green Bean. He's just going to help you, honest." The man let a little puff of air out of his nose, lifted one shoulder. After a long moment of silence, a long stare between the battered man and the blonde boy, the man rolled his eyes, and held his arm out towards Jeff.

Jeff cast a nervous glance at Newt and, seeing the boy's encouraging nod, scooted forward and took a light grip on the offered appendage. He turned it over, looking carefully at the small but substantial hole on either side of the man's wrist. Opening the kit bag he had slung over his shoulder, Jeff took out a smallish bottle of some murky liquid, a small pot, and a handful of linen bandages. "Not gonna lie, this'll probably burn like hellfire." Jeff said, looking at the man for the first time. The man did that odd little shrug again. As Newt looked on, Jeff popped the lid on the bottle of liquid and splashed some quickly on the open wounds.

The man's face twitched, his nostrils flared, but he still made no sound. He watched in silence and with mild interest as Jeff used a scrap of bandage soaked in the acrid smelling liquid to clean most of the blood, dried and fresh, from the immediate area of the wounds. Opening the small pot, he stuck two fingers into a noxious looking sickly green paste, and smeared it liberally on both bleeding holes. Working quickly, Jeff tightly bound the wrist in a fresh piece of bandage, tying it securely. He then grabbed his gear and hurriedly stepped back.

"Anything else he needs looked at?" Jeff asked, glancing at the man, but looking to Newt for the answer.

"That was the major for now. We'll have to get his other arm off that bleedin' pike as soon as we can, and then he'll need the same again. I'm not quite sure..." Newt cut himself off as he noticed the man waving at him, trying to get his attention. He held up his hand, palm out, in an unmistakable gesture to stop, then held up his index finger. Wait.

As the boys watched in mild confusion, the man reached his free arm up towards his captive limb. His unhindered fingers traced over his right hand, his wrist, the bolt protruding from his flesh. They could hear his breath coming in quick breathy pants. He closed his eyes, and gripped his pinned wrist with his left hand, holding his breath, furrowing his forehead.

"Wait," Newt said quickly, stepping forward, "Don't panic. We'll get you off of there, Greenie, just hold on a-"

The muscles in the man's shoulders tightened like a fist as he ripped his other arm free of the bolt. Once again, blood flew through the air, a few droplets spattering on Newt's face, on Jeff's shirt, on their shoes. Shuddering, breath stuttering harshly, the man didn't move for a moment, just sat and visibly tried to compose himself. When he opened his eyes again, he lifted them to meet Jeff's, and holding his right wrist tight with his left, offered it to the boy, tilting his head. Newt executed an almost graceful turn and promptly lost his breakfast in the bottom of the box. While Jeff's stomach was made of slightly sterner stuff, he still had to swallow greasily a couple of times to keep his own gorge down. Ignoring the retching behind him, he stepped forward to do his job.

Newt laced his fingers through the metal wall of the box, supporting himself as his stomach lurched and heaved. Working with Alby to unpin the man's left wrist had left him sick to his stomach , but he hadn't really had to see what was going on; it all happened so fast. He was holding the guy, then he was on his face with his head singing, he didn't actually see Alby pull him off the first bolt. Seeing it this time, watching the flesh buckle and tear, feeling the warm drops on his face, he couldn't maintain. He coughed roughly, spitting out the last of the bile in his mouth. The taste was bloody awful. He was a runner, for pity sake, not a bleedin' med-jack or a slicer. Blood and gore had never been his strong suit.
A measure of composure regained, Newt turned back to the others. Jeff had finished cleaning and binding the fresh wound, and looked to be trying the convince the greenie to take some water. He started to pick up some of the mutters as the ringing in his head began to ease.

"...lost a lot of blood. You need to drink something, try to get some of your own back."

The slightest head shake.

"It's just water, nothing stronger. Not that we don't have something stronger around here, I could probably rustle up something with more bite to it, if you'd just take a bit of this first."

Another head shake.

"Aw come on, greenie, it's not like we pissed in it. Here, I'll take a swig first, you'll see. It's just shucking water!"

Newt sighed at the one sided exchange. "Leave off him, Jeff," Newt advised, his voice a bit hoarse and scratchy from his recent attempt to throw up his stomach lining. "He'll have a go at it when he's ready. Right Greenie?" Taking the almost expected silence as a tactic agreement, Newt strode up to the man and offered his hand. "Well, ready to get out of here? Go on then, I'll give you a hand up and I'll show you-"

The man was shaking his head. No.

"Well, you can't bloody well just stay here, in the box. Come on now, I'll stick with you, give you the tou-"

The man held out a hand. Stop.

This silent treatment was really starting to irk Newt. The bloody git can't even be bothered to talk to me, how the hell am I supposed to convince him that it's safe to step outside of this ruddy box? Sorely tempted to give the guy a good solid boot in the ass and haul him out of the box by his hair, if he had to, Newt narrowed his eyes and studied that man carefully, considering his best options. His eyes landed on the almost forgotten swatch of stained bandages circling the man's neck. Suddenly, things made considerably more sense.

"Oi Greenie. You can't speak...can you?"

The man closed his eyes for a minute. He shook his head. No. This explained quite a bit. Certainly not everything, but there was time for the rest. Newt sighed heavily, shaking his own head. How were they ever going to form some kind of trust and understanding with this new comer if he couldn't voice his own thoughts and fears? Questions, revelations, even jokes? And how do you provide an answer if you're only guessing at the question?

With a gesture to Jeff, the boys stepped to the far side of the box. Newt was just thanking Jeff for his quick work and sending him on his way when Frypan finally poked his head over the opening above the box. "Sorry!," Frypan called, "I had to scrounge a bit, the boys ate me out of house and home this morning!" Frypan tossed a small canvas bag to Newt, which on a quick check contained a couple of rough rolls and an apple, then gave Jeff a helpful hand up onto the grass. The two walked back toward the small group of buildings, chatting back and forth.

Newt went back to where the greenie was still slumped against the wall. He held the bag out, offering it. "It's not fancy, but it's food. Here, Green Bean." The man made no move to sit up and reach for the food, showed no inclination to take the bag at all. Newt repressed the urge to snarl, barely, and simply went close enough to set the bag of food and the water bottle within easy reach. "I have some duties to see to, and as you're not terribly interested in taking a look at your new home sweet home, I'm going to have to leave you here on your own for a bit. Take the time, have a nibble, drink some water. I'll come to check on you in a while." The guy gave his one shoulder shrug, eyes fixed firmly on Newt's face for a moment, then he simply laid his head back and, once more, closed his eyes. Trying not to get too terribly steamed at the obvious dismissal, Newt hefted himself out of the box. After a moment of debate, he pulled the doors of the box down, turning the thick metal lever and locking them in place from the outside.

At least he'd know where to find the bastard.

This story is slow to start, but we'll start getting to the meat in the next chapter or two.

R&R, if you so choose.

~Ruby