Blame Emergency/Squad 51 with Johnny (Randolph Mantooth) and Roy (Kevin Tighe) for my infatuation with hurt/whump. I was soooooo young but Mmmmm, yeah, never outgrew it.
"Eric?" Mandy knocked. "Hey, hi ya," She opened the door to the trailer that served as his office, poked her head in and sniffed indelicately. "You're not smoking, are you?" she entered and set a pint of low-fat milk and a loaf of wheat bread on his desk.
Eric just moaned.
She waved a bottle of Pepto. "What happened?"
He reached for the bottle of pink paradise. "Thanks."
"Ulcer's acting up, huh?" she glanced around the office but couldn't detect any chaos and decided his issues were personal. "What did you do to upset your wife this time?" No, wait, there were some papers on his desk…..a file…a transfer file?
"Told her I wasn't leaving Friday." Eric drank from the bottle, provided measuring cup/lid be-damned. Medically, Pepto wasn't proven to ease symptoms of an ulcer, but either it helped calm the burning in his gut or he just thought it did. Either way, anyone tried to take his bottle of pink miracle medicine away from him, they were losing a hand.
"Bet that didn't go over well." She patted his shoulder sympathetically as she passed him to look out the window. Nope, no activity on the base. Everything was quiet, people were hunkered down inside during the hottest part of the day. "What's going on Eric?" she frowned, judging Eric's mood. Upset his wife by not going home as scheduled? Had to be Jason. "What did Jason do this time?" she asked, sitting down. She felt right at home running free in Eric's office. "Didn't the doc confine him to quarters?"
"Yup." Eric swirled around and using a ruler, slapped a spot on the map pinned to the wall. "Not there now." He traced the large red circle with the ruler and smacked the center again. "Now, he's there." More Pepto. "Least, he's supposed to be."
"But he's not?" She again looked out the window, but sitting down, all she could see were the over-head tents. "Does that stuff really help?"
"I sent his team on a recon mission with Delta." He looked fondly at the bottle of Pepto, "Will do for now."
"Bevy?" she snorted. Explained why someone had been smoking in Eric's office. "What happened?"
Eric poured a glass of milk and munched on a dry slice of bread. Anything to appease his stomach. "Delta came back without Spencer."
"They what?" Mandy got to her feet and went to the window. The Bravo Team quarters were quiet. Jason wouldn't stand for any member of his team being left behind. Oh no. "Do you know what happened?"
"Bevy," Another slice of bread. "Is a dick. Anything to pick a fight with Hayes."
"Jason went to get him." Mandy stated, no guessing required. She knew.
"Took his team and Davis."
She nodded, crossing her arms. Sonny stand aside, stay back, while his boss, stricken with the flu, took off in search of one of their own that another Team had left behind? Not while he still drew breath. She was surprised Sonny had even returned to get Jason. And she said so.
"Quinn left him?"
"Sonny didn't know. He and Trent were on the other transport. When Brock came to, he radioed Trent….."
"Came to?" Mandy interrupted. "Brock's hurt?"
"Knocked stupid by a rifle butt."
"No hostiles in the area." Mandy argued.
"In the truck."
"Someone on Delta hit him?" she raised an eyebrow. "Wow, Jason must really be sick." but she knew retrieving Spencer came first, Delta's ass-kicking would come.
"We haven't heard from Bravo since."
"They haven't called in?" she was frowning again.
"Comm's are out, sat's are down, can't raise 'em. Sand storm."
"Then something is wrong."
"No field medic with them."
"How long has it been?"
"Since they left? Three hours. I expected them back in two."
"Are you searching?"
"Unit's on the ground."
"Air?"
"On standby."
"Delta?"
"Reassigned."
She sat back down. "So you think something happened to Clay?"
He just stared at her.
"It's going to be dark soon."
"Sun down, it'll cool off."
"They'll find shelter."
"Not if they didn't find Spencer."
She winced. Jason wouldn't return without a body. "Why aren't we leaving Friday?"
"You can." Eric corrected. "Jason's in no condition to fly. Dunno what condition Spencer will be in when they bring him in."
***000***
"What's her problem?" Sonny scowled at Lisa. "Do something. Shut her up."
Lisa stared him down, hands on hips. Why her? She and he were gonna have a fight. "Listen here Sonny," she began, but was just too worn out to pick a fight. Sonny was right, Mahira was upset. Both Jason and Clay required attention. "This isn't over." She told him.
With Pashtan doing his best to translate, Lisa was able to convince Mahira that: no, no one had up and died on her kitchen table; no, Clay wasn't dead, the mean men hadn't killed him; yes, the poor boy still breathed; yes, they would indeed move him. Yes, Jason too.
But it wasn't Lisa's words of assurance that silenced Mahira. It was what the men were doing. In stunned disbelief, she watched Sonny and Trent pick Jason up from the floor and carry him into the living room where they put him on her couch and promptly ignored him. They returned to the kitchen where Brock was removing the ropes around Clay's ankles.
Once free, they picked him up and carried him to HER bedroom. Her husband protested, moving to halt their progress. Brock firmly pushed him back into his corner and Sonny and Trent kicked open the door to the bedroom. She followed – Brock allowed her, apparently they no longer thought her a threat – clucking fluidly in her native language.
Sonny really wished she would shut the fuck up.
"Christ, he's a solid little shit. Heavier than he looks. They call this a bed?" Sonny said in disgust. They heaved and swung Clay up and over, dropping him on top of the sheets. "It's on ropes."
"They ain't got much." Trent agreed. "It's off the floor….the hell?" he was pushed aside as Mahira wedged between them, still ranting, shaking her head.
"I don't think she likes him in her bed." Sonny mused.
"She's probably never seen a naked man in her life."
"Pffft." Sonny scoffed. "He's not naked."
"Might as well be to her." He turned towards the door, moving Mahira aside. "Go." He pointed.
Mahira shook her head but they didn't understand why she was still upset. Sonny shrugged and left. Trent followed, leaving a flabbergasted Mahira staring at the man in her bed. Belt still around his thigh, hands still tied, still covered in sweat, blood, dirt, sand. He was filthy. The staples – something she'd never seen before – pulling his skin together were left open to the air, still oozing blood, puss, saline…..no bandage to protect it from sand or dirt….his leg unwashed.
This was care?
She waited, but no one returned to see to him. There he lay, all sprawled out, trembling, sweating, bleeding, in her bed, ruining the mattress. She said a prayer, shook out a light blanket, tossed it over him and left the room. He wasn't her problem.
"Jason still out?" Someone asked and someone answered, but Mahira didn't hear the response, wondered what they were doing, when someone would take care of the man in her bed. No one went.
She wandered aimlessly around her house, feeling oddly detached at everything she saw and heard. Her life and house tossed upside down, inside out.
She was in the children's bedroom. They were playing a board game. She promised them something to eat soon.
She was in the kitchen. Brock and Lisa were picking up Clay's gear, clothes, equipment, weapons; rifle, handgun, knife, stacking it near Jason. The floor was cleared. Broken dishes, pieces of pottery and remnants of the meal swept into a corner. Towels were tossed over the puddles of blood and water on the floor, wiped with feet and left. The table was wiped down, the rags tossed on the growing pile of towels on the floor.
She was at the front door. The Humvee that had brought these men to her door sat right outside. Such a large vehicle, and yet, they hadn't heard it approach. A fluorescent multi-colored flag flapped from the antenna in the wind.
She was in the living room. Jason hadn't moved, still sprawled as he was when he'd been dropped on the couch. The man was obviously ill, and he still scared her.
She was in her bedroom. The man in her bed stilled breathed. Panted actually. For even with the blanket covering most of him, she could see his chest heave with each gulped breath. He hadn't moved. He too, was sprawled on his back. But while the man on the sofa didn't move, this one didn't lie still. The blanket was rucked up to his knees, he fretted his feet. He was hot, too hot, cooling him down would help him rest easier. He was restless, moving uneasily, his head, his feet, twisting his hands against the rope...she bowed her head. Her husband would be cross were she to offer hospitality to their unwelcome and unwanted houseguests, but the man needed care.
She turned to leave and her forehead met a hard obstacle. She froze, didn't move, didn't blink, didn't utter a squeak. Didn't raise her head until the .9mm pressed hard against her skin, forced her head back until the strain made her neck ache.
He was so close to her, had approached from behind without her being aware, she was too scared to move, or speak. She started to tremble, tear-filled eyes downcast, wanting to plead for her life, beg that her children needed their mother, but she kept her tongue.
"Boss?" Lisa said calmly. "What'cha doing?"
"What is she doing in here?"
"Just checking on Clay." Or so she hoped. "She means him no harm."
"Get her out of here."
The gun was pressed against her forehead so hard, it was leaving a red mark. Her knees were shaking, making her gait stilted as she allowed Lisa to put an arm around her shoulders and lead her from the room. Lisa gave Jason a dirty look. He didn't care.
Jason set the safety and tucked the gun behind his back in the waist of his pants. A glance at Clay told him the kid was struggling to gain control, and he was breathing, but that knowledge did nothing to calm his nerves. He still didn't know if the kid was ok, would be ok or when he would know.
"Hey!" Sonny yelled at him from the kitchen. "Leave him alone and go lie down! He's fine!"
Jason hesitated. He was too unsteady, too weak to put up a fight if Sonny came after him, but he didn't want Clay out of his sight. Because Clay wasn't fine. He knew that. He did.
"BOSS!"
Jason went down where he stood.
This time, someone came to get him. They picked him up and carried him back to the couch. They put him down and left him alone.
Their wounded and ill attended, quarters secured, the team now saw to their own comfort. That's the way it was. The way they were trained, the way they performed, the way their team worked. Immediate care and attention had been given, time to eat. So, they sat on their helmets, munching on sandwiches.
Mahira stumbled, catching her weight against the counter. Two men injured and they calmly ate? One suffering, both ignored and they sat, laughing in the kitchen?
"Appears women can pack a cooler like they do a purse," Sonny commented around a mouthful of shredded, if a bit wilted, lettuce. "Never-ending goodies in there."
"Still don't know how they get all that shit in a purse." Brock agreed. Or found time to toss ready-made hoagies into a cooler while running to catch a waiting Humvee on a search mission, but hey, he wasn't complaining.
"Hey, your life often depends on my superior packing skills." Lisa kicked his ankle. "Haven't killed you yet. Trent, Clay ok?"
Trent shrugged. "Maybe."
"Meaning, come on Blackburn." Sonny was still hungry but said nothing. They still had to feed Jason, perhaps Clay. The ice had melted, but the drinks inside the cooler were still cold.
"Wouldn't hurt him to put a pep in his step." Trent agreed. "Kid's strong, he's fighting."
"Yeah, but he's fighting us."
"No good can come of that."
"Hope no one ever tries to torture that kid."
"He won't break easy."
"He trusts us and he still wouldn't give up and let go."
"Has a pretty high tolerance of pain."
"He's a wuss. Passed out from a couple of staples."
"He's a stubborn shit." Trent stood up. "Gonna secure the perimeter before dark."
"He'll search in the dark." Brock said, meaning Blackburn. "Want company?"
Trent shrugged. Brock took that as; don't care, whatever, sure, if you want.
"Ten minutes." Lisa said. "Don't make me come after you."
"What she said." Sonny made a point to glance at his watch.
Pashtan showed them where to throw trash, where to put towels and cloths for laundry, another cistern in the house where they could obtain safe drinking water; asked permission for his siblings to be allowed a meal.
"The hell?" Sonny growled. "We aren't monsters."
"We burst in and took over their house Sonny. We didn't knock and ask for assistance. You bullied the father, threatened the mother, scared the children. You destroyed their home. Ruined their dishes, table, chairs, bed. They've been taught to fear American soldiers."
"We haven't hurt them." He waved at Mahira who had come in the back door with a pitcher and was pouring its contents into handle-less cups. "She just does whatever she wants."
"She's feeding her kids Sonny. Something you should see about doing."
That shut Sonny up. He didn't want to go near Clay. Scared the kid would look at him with those blue eyes full of accusation and blame. If anyone could convey emotions with their eyes, it was Clay. And those eyes were currently murky and pain-filled.
"I know what you're thinking." Lisa said. "How you feel."
"Don't think you do."
She snorted. "Yeah, and the perimeter needs securing. Sure."
"It does." Sonny insisted.
"Uh-huh." She opened the cooler, taking out bottles of Gatorade. "Trent is full of guilt. Jason asked butTrent made the decision to put Clay through this Sonny. He may very well be told by the doctor it was needless."
"Gut tells me different."
"I know. But you weren't the one finger deep in muscle and tissue."
"No." Sonny agreed. "Just tied him up, held him down, sat on him, smacked his head against a table, so you know, Trent could go cutting him up. That's all."
"You want Jason? Or Clay?" she held two bottles.
Sonny growled and snatched a bottle. "You and me."
She gave him a cheeky grin and followed him out of the kitchen.
"How is he?" Jason was awake, half sitting up, half slumped against the couch. "Where's Brock?"
"Brock's good." Lisa answered. "How are you feeling?"
"Spencer?" he ignored her.
"What's she up to?" Sonny wondered, not hearing or answering Jason, attention on Mahira.
Mahira walked by bearing a tray with a pitcher, cups and a bowl. Pashtan followed her with a pail of water and a handful of cloths. She'd made up her mind these men didn't intend to hurt, rape or kill her or her family and if no one was going to see to the care and comfort of the man in her bed, she'd do it herself. There'd been an argument with her husband, but he had finally conceded, stating while he wouldn't help the 'invading infidels', he wouldn't stop her from doing so as long as their son remained with her.
"Sonny." Jason began, waving a hand after Mahira. He took the bottle Lisa held out to him. "Any aspirin?"
"I'm on it boss."
Sonny followed her back to Clay's room. She set the tray on the dresser, directed Pashtan were she wanted him to set the pail of water and motioned for him to remove the blanket. Then she just stood and stared at Clay. Finally, she reached to remove the belt around his thigh. She tried four times. But each time she reached out, she pulled her hands back and tucked them into her skirts. She'd wait a moment and try again.
"Ibuprofen." Lisa offered Jason three. "Clay's holding on. Take these and lie back down." She pushed his shoulder until he went down on his back. "Sonny has him, go to sleep."
Mahira moved back when Sonny stepped forward. She kept her eyes on her folded hands.
Clay stirred, sensing the presence of others suddenly in the room with him. He tensed, willing his eyes to obey – to open, to focus, to see. But the room was dim, the scents around him unfamiliar to anything he was remotely accustomed to and what shapes and shadows he could see, were not identifiable. The bed didn't even feel like a mattress. He swallowed, stomach churning. It was a bed, wasn't it? Oh God, where was he?
"So kid, how did not having anesthesia or pain meds feel? You remember any of it?" Sonny had to cinch the belt tighter before he could release it, wincing when Clay jerked. "Sorry, easy there. You good? Just need another sec. No? Don't like that?" Clay was squirming. "Okay, hang on." He reached into a pocket on the leg of his camos.
Mahira grabbed Pashtan and hid him behind her, backing them away when Sonny pulled a knife.
Clay was still trying to gain his senses, trying to wake up, trying to comprehend what was going on. Nothing was right. He was hot. He hurt – no, he was in pain. His leg. Something was tight, held pressure, getting tighter. His hands were tied. He couldn't think, couldn't connect to reality. He tried focusing on what he last remembered…..
"Please sir," Pashton peeked around his mother. "She mean him good. See?" he pointed to the tray. "Water."
"No, no lad." Sonny shook his head and slowly reached for the rope dangling from Clay's bound wrists. "Gonna cut him loose is all."
They were on a recon mission with Delta. Their leader was an asshole. Didn't like Jason. Clay didn't like him. Sonny was bitching. Clay was sent high. A pull-out was called. The trucks rolled out. He didn't even bother to pick up his pace. Even a flat-out run wouldn't get him there in time. He'd been left behind. In the desert. Alone. With a canteen of water that wouldn't last through morning.
He started walking, didn't get far. Strong winds. Sand blew up, in his eyes, his nose, he tasted it, swallowed it. He couldn't see his hand in front of his face. The truck tracks were gone. The road was gone. He needed shelter.
He stumbled, right leg buckling. He was on his knees.
Something was in his leg…..he'd been shot? He hadn't heard gun fire…..blood…..something was sticking out of his thigh. A stick? Ow. It fucking hurt. He tried to stand. Couldn't. The sand attacked. It punched him, knocking him to his back. A man. A fist fight…..the attacker grabbed the stick, shoved it deeper into his thigh, the stick broke…black dots danced, his vision narrowed, his hearing faded…he pulled his gun….shot the man between the eyes, rolled away…..nothing. A Humvee…..Jason…..nothing…..
He didn't remember anything after Jason caught him and they both hit the ground. He shifted uneasily, chest tight, making it hard to breathe. He lived, but he didn't know for how much longer. His heart had relocated to his right thigh and despite being confused, he knew that wasn't good. Hearts should not be moved.
Thumpthumpthumpthump – thumpthump – thumpthumpthumpthump – thumpthump.
But it still pumped blood through his body. He felt every beat, every pulse, every throbbing, painful thump. He swallowed. Hard. Swallowed again. Tried not to panic. The simple beating of his heart shouldn't hurt so much. No part of him should hurt this much. Why did he hurt so much?
He concentrated on attempting to gain control and subdue his panic. He'd been taught better. He knew better. Do. Not. Panic. You. Can. Not. Panic. Do. Not. Panic.
But he didn't know where he was. Or why. He knew he wasn't on base or even in a hospital. He didn't know who he was with. He knew he wasn't alone. Someone was with him. Fight or flee?
Panic. Fight.
His bound hands came up, twisting over his head to grab at the headboard with a palm. Grabbing hold, he pulled himself up, coming off the mattress faster and with more ease than Sonny had guessed him capable of.
"Whoa! Easy there kid." Sonny held his hands up, arms out, dropped the knife. "Spencer? Just me. Ole Sonny Quinn."
Had Clay not attempted to pull his legs up and get them underneath him, he might have been able to stand. But he didn't go for his feet, he went for his knees and his thigh didn't cooperate. With a cry, he went face first into the mattress, hands reaching to hold his thigh, but his own touch started him screaming.
"DAMMIT!" Sonny exploded.
