This is the real chapter 7. I posted chapter 8 the last time instead of chapter 7. Sorry
Summary: Slade Wilson turns out to be Conrad Wolfe who was given an assignment to take care of a terrorism attack on the National Bank. The Titans arrive to find that Wolfe, whom Robin had accused of being Slade was in control. Wolfe let them know the situation. He also gave the terrorist some time to surrender but instead of doing so, the terrorists had attacked the civilians outside of the bank.
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The thundering sound of bullets has been replaced by an eerie silence.
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The injured were being treated. The whole area was quiet except for a few low murmurs. They were just relieved to have survived, all the while grieving for those who had been lost today.
The bank was emerged in a large shadow, one place more so than the others. It was the tent the seven had returned to.
"So much for patience." Beastboy crossed his arms and glared at Wolfe, who merely raised an eyebrow, his arms limp at his sides.
"I can't believe I'm agreeing with Beastboy a second time in one day." Raven spoke darkly.
He stifled in his seat. It wasn't because of the harsh words, nor was it because of his wound. It was still bleeding, and the blood loss did make him dizzy, but it was not too much to be bothering him.
What he dreaded, though, was the silence that seemed to have engulfed Robin. He was pacing around the room. He was dreading the accusations and curses that would come pouring out of his mouth. Accusations and curses that were well deserved at that, too.
Robin abruptly stopped in his tracks and stood there for a moment, nearly giving a heart attack to Wolfe. He then turned to him. No. Pounced on him was more like it. His face flushed with anger.
"Your little bait just backfired! People have been killed, even more injured. They had families! Families who would love them. Whose lives will be changed because of your arrogance! And you're sitting there as if nothing happened?!" He looked to his side in frustration. "What was I thinking?! You're Slade!" He had expected it, but it still hurt, horribly.
"We're going to go in there and save all the hostages. And you are not going to stop us." He growled at him and turned away.
They followed their leader with only Raven hesitating once before turning away. She felt his pain. Immense pain.
Wolfe wanted to stop them. Wanted to stop him. The terrorists had proven that they were ruthless. It was dangerous. Robin might not be able to walk away with only a few scratches this time. He tried to stand and to force them to stay, but he had lost too much blood. Everything swarmed before him.
He closed his eyes for a moment, willing the pain and wooziness to go away. When he opened his eyes, they were already at the foot of the entrance of the makeshift tent. He sighed. There would be no stopping them.
Normally, this kind of wound would have no effect on him. He was far too much used to pain. But he was already strained from his mission yesterday. -It was an emergency, the Commander had said.- Not to mention that he was mentally strained with being in Robin's presence for far too long.
The phone rang, breaking the dreadful silence and making them stop. All eyes were on the small phone sitting on the cheap desk. Right now, he didn't care who was at the other side of the line. He was just thankful that it had stopped Robin.
"Put it on speaker, Mr. Thompson." He managed to speak, trying his best to keep his light headedness.
"The man won't even answer the phone hims-"
"WOLFE!" A deafening bellow drowned Beastboy's murmurs.
Everyone stared, wide eyed. Wolfe, on the other hand, sighed and supported his forehead with his palm, his elbow on the arm of the chair.
"I am not deaf, Commander." He couldn't help but notice how strained he sounded.
"Well, you act like it! I told you to control the situation. I told you to never let the Titans in on this. Why am I not surprised that you've disobeyed my every order?"
He groaned inwardly and shifted in his seat in annoyance and discomfort. Of both his wound and his Commander.
"Is something wrong, Wolfe?" He could almost see the frown on the man's face.
"No. I am fine. Why would I be not?"
"You sound strained." Damn that man! He had to know every thing. "Wait." He could see the squint of his eyes that seemed to like that particular word. "You're hurt." It was more of a statement than a question.
"It's only a scratch, Commander. Nothing serious." He swatted off his concern.
"Oh, a scratch, is it? Are you talking about a scratch as in a bullet through some part if your body? As in bleeding to death?" He sighed as all eyes trained on him.
"It's only a minor bullet wound, Commander. Nothing to fuss about." His vision was swaying even more now.
"Minor?! How can any bullet wound be minor?" It was typical of Beastboy to speak up and ruin everything.
"Am I on speaker? Why am I on speaker?" When he didn't answer, he answered for himself. "You can't even move, can you?" The man said with an exasperated sigh.
"Hnnnn..." He groaned in clear displeasure.
"Mr. Thompson," He called out to the young agent he had assigned to Wolfe.
"Si... Sir?" He stammered, but he couldn't help it. It was the Commander of Department Thirteen! Of course he stammered. Even being addressed to by him was such an honor. Sure, he had met the true legend, Conrad Wolfe, in person, but still... it was the one in charge of the legend.
"Please go get one of the medics and get him treated. Obviously, he can't go there himself."
"Er... Right, sir. Right away sir!" He shot off to an ambulance.
"That was unnecessary." Wolfe spoke long after Thompson had left.
A snort made its way to the tent.
"Everything's unnecessary to you, Wolfe." He chose to ignore him.
As he heard footsteps and perhaps one or two sets of wheels coming their way, he slowly stood up and took off his jacket. Its insides were filled with dark slippery liquid. Well, so much for returning it.
He dropped it on the ground next to his chair. He unclasped the Kevlar vest and turned around to lift the cap from his face without showing it. After he was sure the cap hid his facial features, he dropped the Kevlar vest on the floor. It dropped with a thud on top of the jacket. He then slowly lowered himself down on the chair. He heard Starfire gasp and felt the others stare with shock or pity, or both.
He looked down to see that his blue shirt had turned black in most areas with the darkness still spreading through the fabric like a disease. It was so soppy that it felt heavier than it was supposed to.
"So... It wasn't that you wouldn't do anything but you really couldn't?"
In contrast to his looks, Cyborg had a warm heart. He was kind and caring. Not to mention understanding. Well, he had no problem with that, as long as it wasn't directed at him.
He grunted as he studied his shirt. It, like all the other shirts he owned, was a turtle-necked shirt. The bullet had hit just a few centimeters to the left of the kevlar.
Thompson came in, bringing a woman right behind him. She had a trolley full of medical supplies trudging along.
"This way." He gestured toward Wolfe, who had turned even paler, which he had thought to be impossible.
The woman didn't need to be told. She could see the state he was in. At the young agent's explanation, she had brought almost everything she needed.
"We need to stop the bleeding right away." She picked up a piece of clean cloth and handed it to Thompson. "Put pressure on the wound while I prepare."
He nodded curtly and ran to his side. He pressed on it firmly as he had been taught in Quantico. Meanwhile, the woman stepped right in front of Wolfe.
"Are you all right?" She spoke a little loudly.
"I recall being shot in the shoulder, not my ears. My hearing us just fine, thank you." He added with a sigh as she glared at him. "As I have said repeatedly, it's only a minor bullet wound. Just pull out the bullet and stitch the wound. It'll heal itself."
"Right." She didn't object. All she needed do was make sure he didn't die. She had no obligation whatsoever to his suicidalness. "But you'll have to wait. The ambulances are coming back with another batch of painkillers." She glanced down at her watch. "It won't be long."
"That would be unnecessary."
"See? Everything's unnecessary to you." Commander teased, making the poor woman jump in her place.
"But you can't say that it isn't, can you, Commander?" He smirked. "Just operate without them."
"But you might die of shock, you could-"
Laughter erupted from the speaker as Wolfe chuckled.
"I don't think I've heard anything funnier in my entire life!" The man bellowed.
"Yes, I agree." He spoke breathlessly between chuckles. The rest were beginning to seriously wonder if the two men were out of their minds.
"It's all right. I'm authorizing it. You may proceed. If anything goes wrong, you can be sure that I'll take the blame." Commander was still out of breath from laughing.
"All right." She pursed her lips as she answered, but picked a bottle of disinfectant and opened it.
She pulled a scalpel out of the plastic wrapping and approached Wolfe, picking up a pair of scissors instead in the last minute. She cut open the shirt near the wound with the scissors. She poured a generous, or not so to the patient, amount of the disinfectant on the wound and the skin surrounding it. She had expected at least a hiss, but he was still smirking as he had been when she approached him.
"Tell me, Commander. What is your true intent of you calling? It couldn't be to scold me for disobeying orders. You'd have enough time for that later." His voice didn't even falter, not even for a second, when she dug deep with the scalpel.
Sighting the bullet, she put down the scalpel and picked up a pair of tongs. She dug in the wound and pulled out the bullet. Wolfe didn't seem at all concerned about the whole ordeal. On the other hand, everyone else, except for the paramedic and Robin, flinched as if being struck down.
"Hmm..." He chose not to answer to Wolfe, and he, in return grunted.
The bullet dropped onto the tray with a clang. She then fished for any other substances like some pieces of cloth that got pushed inside. She took everything out and poured the disinfectant again. Then she started to stitch his wound. The wound was soon wrapped in clean bandages.
"What's your blood type?"
"Blood transfusion wouldn't be necessary. Fluids will do." He swatted her off.
"But you lost a lot of blood! You ca-"
"Exactly why I'm asking for fluids." He stared into her eyes and she threw her arms up in defeat.
She quickly attached a needle on the back of his hand and attached the tube to a pack of fluids. Then she hung it on a makeshift hanger. It fell down with a slow rhythm.
"Make it go faster. We don't have much time." She rolled her eyes and obeyed.
"Mr. Thompson, find out what happened to Team Gamma."
"Yes, sir." He picked up the radio and talked into it. "This is Beta. Come in, Gamma. What's your status? Gamma! Where are you?"
They were met with static. Dread sipped through him. One of his friends were among the Gamma. He was supposed to be in the Gamma team. It was sheer luck that had placed him beside the legend, he had thought. But it seemed as though luck had also pried him from the grips of death.
He held the device and looked at Wolfe, who sighed inwardly.
"Well, I bet the FBI will be thrilled to hear that their elite agents had gone missing."
Wolfe gritted his teeth at his Commander's sarcasm. But he couldn't say anything to counter him. It was true that they wouldn't be happy at all.
He watched the fluid drip down with frustration. It was too slow for his taste. The terrorist's fifteen minutes were more than up. He had killed all those people, embarrassed Wolfe, turned Robin's fury to him. Not only that, he had ruined his favorite shirt. There would be no such thing as mercy waiting for him when he got to him.
"Mr. Thompson, gather all men. We're paying Mr. T a visit." He smirked.
"But sir-"
"Go. Now."
"Yes sir." He looked around to find someone to help him, but upon finding none, he answered and left.
Suicidalness is a word-it really isn't a word, though- that probably describes Wolfe the best.