"Check the wounded!"
Why was the room spinning?
The pain... oh damn the pain...
It only just dawned on him. Chloe. Was she alive? Did Salazar...?
"Let me try something..."
That voice... It was definitely hers. He looked over to the computer briefly to see her sitting down. In his swaying vision, he spotted a black eye forming in deep shades of purple. He breathed an airy sigh of relief and pulled his gaze up to the ceiling. She was alive... Thank goodness she was alive...
"In order to control our satellites, the signal has to be relayed through proxies. One of them will give us the source of the transmission." She said. "It'll take some time."
"Do it, Chloe," David replied.
"You better watch your back. Whoever compromised Salazar can get to you. Be careful... Good luck."
"Get him to sick bay."
Footsteps echoed on the metal floor, coupled with explosions from the deck. Some were leaving, others were arriving... a couple were approaching. Faces appeared in his vision, one leaning over him. The other turned away with a finger on his ear piece. The one still there turned and shouted, "Hey! We've got a live one here!" He then was pulling something out, and pressure came to his shoulder.
Farid winced and gasped faintly at the pressure applied. There was something about it... a sort stabbing feeling...
His eyes widened and he pushed the hands off his shoulder with his right hand - as it hurt to move his left. "T-the bullet... Do not... do not touch it...!"
The hands he shoved off returned to hold him down. "Easy there, okay. Moving around won't help either. We'll get the bullet out, 'kay?"
Chloe's voice carried from the computer. "He's alive?"
"And kicking," the soldier noted, digging through and pulling out a pair of pliers. He looked down at Farid with a sorry look. "This isn't going to feel too good. Hold still." He then found the bullet in the wound and gripped it. Just that was enough to tear a cry from his throat, and the soldier let go of the tail end of the bullet. "Alright. Alright. We'll take this slow then. Count of three." Farid nodded stiffly his hands gathering fist-fulls of his military pants.
Please be quick, he prayed.
"One..." The other soldier knelt down to keep him in place. "...Two..." The pliers came around the bullet again; Farid bit his cheek. "...Three!" The soldier twisted the bullet to dislodge it from the bone it stuck itself in, and his vision flashed white while he writhed on the ground underneath the other soldier's hands. He wasn't sure if the scream was in his head or not.
His shoulder was throbbing so painfully. He wasn't even aware of it when the bullet actually came out. Not until the other soldier gave a short whistle. "Shit, man. He really nailed you on that one."
Farid blinked a little, his sight slowly returning again. "I... How bad is it...?"
The one who removed the bullet placed the offending projectile on the floor and went to investigate the wound. "Well, the bullet got wedged right in some bone, that's why it was such a bitch to get out. But anyway, I think you got a good fracture from it. I'm no doctor, but you're gonna need X-rays to know for sure. We should get you down to sick bay."
He nodded, his shoulder aching. They did have a point.
"Can you stand?" The other asked, easing his weight off him. "Need any help?"
Farid sat up using his uninjured arm as support. "No. No. I should..." he grunted standing up, and immediately felt the blood rush from his head and he stumbled a couple steps before the two steadied him. His face had gone several shades paler then.
"Yeah, that's bull." One of them said. "We'll just come with you and make sure you don't go fainting outside."
With a weak nod, he made no moves to argue with them. He hadn't the energy to do so.
On their way down, he stared at the destruction and death with unspoken sadness. Menendez's private military and US soldiers were littered about the floors, some slumped over tables, and other just barely living and clutching their wounds (of course, the other soldier walking with him would finish off the PMCs when they showed up). The windows were blown or shot out, and their boots crunched over the shattered glass on the floor. In one room, Farid spotted a technician with his head thrown back on the seat so his face was visible. There was a bullet wound in between his eyes, and blood dripped into his hairline; an expression of shock and fear left frozen to his face.
And to no one's surprise, sick bay didn't look much better. The windows to its office was blown out and bodies were littered about it; some were US soldiers who bore the cross insignia that marked a medic. But in the back room, there was finally a sign of life. The limited medics were rushing around cot to cot checking wounded - one of which was Admiral Briggs, who was nursing a wound in his thigh.
Since there were no available cots, Farid leaned against the wall and let himself slide down to a sit. He didn't bother to grab at his wound, it hurt too much for that. No, he would just wait for his turn to be treated in silence. He didn't think it right to beg for immediate treatment. Not when he saw so many in much greater need of care than him.
It wasn't long though before he was noticed by one of the medics, who approached. Maybe one of the two soldiers who walked him here told the man of his condition. It made sense, seeing as this guy was holding a screen in one hand and immediately went to take scans of his shoulder. Farid watched him through half-lidded eyes.
The medic frowned. "Do you want the good news, or the bad first?"
"What's the bad news?" Farid asked.
"You've got quite the nasty fracture on the head of your humerus," he said, "and that did a number on the deltoid muscles. And with that, I'm worried it could have done some nerve damage too. This is going to be a bitch to recover from."
He acknowledged this with a slow nod, trying to remember what something like that meant. Unfortunately, he was only smart in terms of computers and technology - not anatomy. "And the good news?"
"You lucked out; the bullet missed the major arteries and veins," he said with a smirk, "otherwise, you would have bled out by now."
He nodded quietly with agreement. Yes, not bleeding to death was a very good thing.
The medic studied the screen a few more moments before half-thinking to himself, "I'm pretty sure you won't be needing surgery. It's a non-displaced fracture, and the muscles should repair itself just fine. So we should put keep the arm immobilized until things have healed up enough to move them. Stay right here while I get a sling."
Not like he was going anywhere. Farid stayed where he was while the man left for a minute and returned with a sling in hand and a white metal box in the other.
"Best get this cleaned up and shut," the medic said, opening the box and getting to work. Not once did Farid try and watch him work on his shoulder, he was too busy biting his tongue against the pain while the wound was being cleaned out. Once the wound was stitched shut and a patch placed over it, the medic sat back on his heels. "Alright, anything in particular you need to tell me about medical records? 'Cause I think you should be on some meds for the pain."
Farid shook his head. "No. Not that I can think of."
"No allergies to anything?" The medic asked with a raised brow.
"Eh... I doubt a shellfish allergy is important in this case." He returned with a half shrug.
A short laugh, and the medic shook his head and pulled out a syringe and a clear bottle of some liquid. "I wouldn't think so, but you never know, right?" Casually, he stuck the needle into the liquid and pulled the plunger to get the medication into the instrument with a careful eye on the dosage. He recapped the liquid and put it away before flicking the tube of the needle experimentally. "Alright. I'm only giving you a little bit for now. Come back down here tomorrow or if you got any problems, okay? I don't got any spare cots for you to crash in here."
Farid nodded, even though that last part was pretty obvious. Then flinched at the needle when he was given a shot in the arm. The next thing the medic did was work his arm into the sling and help him up.
"Like I said, come back if you need anything," the medic repeated, "and don't sleep on that shoulder, got it? Sleep on your back or your other side if you can."
With a slightly surprised but also humorous expression, Farid replied, "I think that is a given."
"Well, I'm dealing with 'he-men'," the medic retorted with a grin, "and trust me, some people need to be reminded."
That said, he left the sick bay and made his way back to the war room. There, Chloe was still quickly tapping away on the computer and a guard was watching the door. The two dead soldiers were being cleaned up now, wrapped in body bags and carried off. He stared at the black material with a dreadful thought sinking into his mind.
That could have easily been me.
He shook it off and glanced at the computer screen over Chloe's shoulder. He knew what she was trying to do, but from the look of it, she was going about it in the weirdest of ways. With a look of consideration, he said, "You know, there are ways to track a signal down."
She twitched a little, but didn't look away from the screen. "I know. I'm doing just that. Shouldn't you be in sick bay or something?"
"Eh... normally yes. But there are plenty of people there already, and I am far from the worst." He replied, still trying to figure out what exactly her idea of tracking this signal was. That would have been easier, had he known what she already did. "Have you tried to use any programs? There should be one for this job."
"Can't. The Celerium Worm is blocking the use of any programs, so I need to find a bypass." She leaned towards the screen a moment, eyeing something and he noticed a smirk growing, and pushing at her black eye. "...And I think... I... found it."
A message box blinked on the screen, and she quickly closed it. She went ahead and opened the programs list and started up a few different applications. Farid watched them open curiously, though he was starting to get where this was going. "I think I am starting to see the method behind your madness."
Chloe shrugged and started rebooting the firewall. "Not madness went you know what you're doing. I'll be honest, I'm far from cracking the virus, but for the time being I'm just trying to track the signal." She opened one window in particular and went ahead with tracking the signal for the drones. Midway through tracking the source, however, the computer froze. "Ah, shit." It sounded almost like she knew this would probably happen.
She went ahead and rebooted the computer, but this time it was considerably slower. There was a very clear air of impatience to her as she glared at the screen. Then she turned away from it and lightly bit at her lip ring in her irritation.
"So... Is your shoulder bugging you at all? It had to have hurt pretty bad." Clearly Chloe was changing subject to calm herself down while the computer was rebooting.
Farid half shrugged, by now, the pain medication was starting to kick in, so it was a little better than... oh say, four minutes ago. "To be honest, I can hardly feel it right now. So no."
With a curt nod of consideration, she looked down at her lap after quickly checking the screen - not done rebooting. "You know. You didn't have to jump in front of that bullet. It was stupid, really."
He sighed and looked at the screen - by now it seemed they both were using it as an excuse not to see each other eye to eye. While he knew that, he hated to admit it to himself. "I did what I had to do."
She hated that answer. So, so much... And he could see that written all over her face, from the narrowed eyes to the thinly pressed lips. She seemed to silently be urging him to be honest about it.
But he didn't know what the truth was himself.
"Suddenly this is all too hard. I am tired of putting up walls. I want someone with the strength - and the honesty - to break them down."
― Jodi Picoult
13:43.
Farid stared at that number for what felt to him much longer than necessary. That meant he had been awake for... he couldn't remember how long. Long enough where he could be this damn tired.
Maybe it wasn't just jet lag. Once the defense systems had been restarted and worked properly, they were able to fight off the in coming drones. With China's help, of course. Right now, there was a meeting between the commander of the fighters, and Admiral Briggs. He could have attended if he wanted to, but he didn't have the energy to care about that right now.
So many problems in one day. How does anyone deal with all this in one day? He had been stressing about his cover just this morning, then he killed his best friend, he almost died saving some girl, and they just had their necks narrowly saved by the Chinese military. Funny how that worked. If this had been yesterday morning, he wouldn't have even guessed this was where he'd be.
He was just reaching for the door handle to the server room when the door suddenly opened in his face, and for the briefest of moments, he was seeing stars.
"Oh shit! I- Sorry!" The person who opened the door sputtered.
Not for the first time today, he had found himself leaning against the wall. His hand was gripping at his throbbing nose, and he grumbled a few swears under his breath. Okay, let's add being smacked in the face by a metal door to the list, shall we?
He let go and gingerly prodded at it to check if he was bleeding. Nope. "I guess I had that coming." It certainly woke him up.
Looking up, he met Chloe's wide eyes before she rubbed the back of her neck and weakly laughed. "I - eh... I was rushing. Didn't think anyone was outside the door."
Farid glanced down to see she was holding a touch pad with a map displayed on the screen. "Would it be safe to assume you localized the signal?"
Chloe grinned a bit and started walking to the war room. "Actually, yes. I just managed to track that sucker down. Haiti. That's where the signal's being broadcast. So it might be possible that Menendez is there."
"And you were going to tell Admiral Briggs?" Farid asked, falling in step beside her.
"Why wouldn't I?" She returned. "Things are getting bad, especially in Los Angeles from what I've been hearing. They're trying to evacuate the president from there right now. That Mason guy is spearheading the effort, apparently."
"Section?" Farid said with the slightest bit of surprise. Well, it did make sense. He was the one to really capture Menendez, so he would probably understand how to work against him than most of them. "I hope he's okay."
"Believe me, I think your friend can handle himself just fine," Chloe assured. "He was the one to shoot that DeFalco bastard down in Colossus."
Farid suppressed a shutter at that. He remembered hearing that DeFalco had been shot down in Colossus. Really, he knew that was a good thing for them, Menendez was a little at a loss of losing his right-hand man. Besides, he bitterly hated DeFalco - and that was a difficult feat. It almost seemed like in the few months he knew that man, he became some sort of toy to him. Maybe not in the physical sense - usually - but he had a thing for mind games.
It wasn't surprising that Chloe took note of his silence. "You were undercover in that group, weren't you? Have you ever met DeFalco personally?"
He nodded. "He was... difficult... to say the least."
She looked down at the touch pad, seeming to get what he meant. "It must have been rough."
Farid didn't say a word at that. Thinking about his time being a double agent felt not too unlike ripping into his chest and wringing at his heart. However, noticing that they were approaching the war room, he got ready to turn around. "Well, Admiral Briggs will be pleased to know you found the signal's source. I guess I-"
"Hey, do you want to go in with me?" She asked.
He sighed. What he wanted was to go to his cabin and take the longest of naps. But sure enough, his Yes-Man tendencies were coming back to haunt him. "Okay."
The door opened and they stepped inside. They were studying a holographic map tracking the hordes of drones that Menendez stole. Their courses going straight for the coasts again, like they had seen before the diverging. Another bunch on their way for China over way of the Pacific.
At their entrance, Admiral Briggs glanced over for a moment before returning his stare to the screen. Farid noticed how he was balanced more heavily on one leg, and a crutch was leaned on one of the chairs. "Chloe. What is it?"
"I've pin pointed the signal to the drones," she said, stepping over to the holo-table and setting in some very specific coordinates. The map moved to show Haiti, and a red dot marked a spot on the coast. "Right here. Haiti. What they're using to control the drones is broadcasting here. Menendez might be there too."
A wide set grin came to the Admiral's face and he looked over to the Chinese Commander. "You see, I told you we got the best on the job. Thank you, Chloe, this is a massive help."
Chloe turned away from the map, seeming to be considering something. "I should get back to the virus then. It's going to take me a while."
Briggs hummed in his deep, contemplative way. "Then get right to it."
Taking this as his cue to leave, Farid went to the door and walked out with every intention of getting some rest. What he didn't notice until he turned the bend of the corridor, was that Chloe caught up to him and started to try matching his slow pace.
"Hey, where're you heading to?" She asked.
"My cabin," he answered curtly.
"Mind if I join you for a little while?" Chloe requested, earning a confused look from the Yemeni man. "Not that I don't know what I'm doing with cracking the virus, it's just helps to have other people who at least understand what the hell I'm talking about."
"And I guess I fit that standard?" Farid concluded.
She shrugged. "I'd think so. Besides, I'm sure you'd need some help with that arm of yours."
With a humorous look at the short woman, he shot back, "Unless I need to hold a gun other than a pistol, I doubt there will be much helping."
Chloe smirked. "So I take it you aren't going to change your shirt then?"
Okay, she had a point there. Around his shoulder and collar, the grey shirt was stained dark red. The medic had made a cut to get at the wound more cleanly, so at this point it might need to be scrapped. "Touché..." He could remember hearing Harper over the comms hitting on her, and his noting on what a girl wanted. It almost made him laugh - if it weren't for his grief right then - Harper had always been a ladies man, or claimed to be, and he always felt not too unlike a little brother in the sense of watching him to see what he might do, what he could learn.
She could have just been being nice, that woman certainly had the capacity to do so, and his mind was probably just running to conclusions. That was probably it, he decided. She just wants to be nice because he jumped in front of a bullet for her. Sooner or later, she'd get over it, or he might have to set the record straight. But for now, since he knew there was no way he could do something as mudanely simple as change his shirt, he'd let her try to help. It couldn't hurt either one of them right?
When they reached the cabin, he opened the door and sat down on the cot, letting his head lean against the wall. He could have, and wistfully wished he had, fallen asleep right then. But the presence of another person made that a bit difficult. He only spent a moment where he sat before pulling the drawer out from underneath the cot and pulling out one of the extra shirts that sat in there.
By no stretch were these meant for him; these were extras. He knew that for sure since the clothes were a few different sizes. Actually, he was a little irked by that fact, since the only shirt that actually fit him was the one now cut and bloody. He then decided on a looser one, hoping that the space would make it easier to pull on and off. Finding a shirt, he kicked the drawer back in and went to take off the sling while praying that the pain medication would keep him from feeling the next few steps.
Taking off the sling was the easiest part by far. He was able to work it off with his right hand and place it to the side. But the shirt? Whole different story there. He didn't know where the begin with that.
Having noticed his dilemma, Chloe came over to help him. He got his other arm out first and pulled that side over his head, the shirt slid right off his injured arm with a lot less difficulty than he thought it would. True, it did hurt his shoulder a little - probably more if he wasn't on medication - but it was handled fairly well.
His thumb went over the bullet hole, where blood was crusted thick around it. That definitely should have killed him - if Salazar hadn't missed that is.
It soon became obvious that Chloe was watching him, and he looked up. She seemed to tracing some nasty scar on his side, as if it were a snake zeroing in on her ankles. That look vanished from her face, and she asked in a sympathetic tone, "How'd you get that?"
Farid glanced down at the scar - it was fresher than most, deep and silvery. "There was a crash; the tires were shot and we skidded off the road. That was... five months ago?"
Chloe nodded a little sadly, and her stare went up to the patch covering his stitches. Turning her gaze away, she said, "You know, it's a bit cold in here, you should probably put your shirt on."
Right. He hadn't forgot, it's just that he hadn't been sure what to do about her stare. Should he turn away or let her look? Well, since it was brought up, he didn't disagree with her - even if it wasn't cold.
Since the clean shirt was looser, he had an easier time pulling it on, though he needed help putting his arm in the sleeve, and Chloe didn't seem to mind helping him despite something being on her mind. Finally, he put on the sling and they were left in a momentary silence.
It didn't take long, she turned to leave with a "well, I guess I'll be going." but he stopped her.
"What is it? Is something troubling you?" Farid asked. "Before we got here, you were sounded like you wanted to stay for a while."
Chloe looked down at the floor and said almost feebly, "I'm sorry."
"For what? There is nothing to be sorry about." He remarked.
"Your shoulder's my fault. And I'm sorry about that." She said. "You were just doing your job, I know. But I just hate the fact that people need to get hurt for my sake."
"Has it occurred to you that I might not have done what I did because I was required to do so?" Farid stated, and to his surprise he meant every word of it. Chloe seemed to gawk when he said this, seeming to take her off guard. "I acted because I wanted to protect you, not because my job required to."
As the thought sunk in, her gaze dropped to his shoulder and then back up to his face. There was a sort of speechlessness, and he knew just what it was. Too shocked to speak, guilt... Did his face look like that? No. His held hurt and mourning, unlike hers.
"Why not you sit down," he recommended, scooting to the side to give her some space on the cot. "Cracking the virus will take a while."
Chloe nodded slowly, processing this before sitting down and looking down to her touch pad and opening some different applications.
And so started their long process of stopping the virus.
This is actually considerably more angsty than I intended. So yeah, Farid is going to be in a sling for a while - I'm debating with myself if there should be some lasting repercussions from the shoulder wound. Also, I feel like I should start plugging away at the highly plausible pairing of Farid/Chloe. I figured that starting off with feelings towards his saving her life would be a good place to start. Going by what a healthy relationship is to me (by my standards) it probably shouldn't be some instantaneous thing.
Well, I hope you enjoy - because this took me a bit of time to type up.