Author's Note: People. I am hurt that no one has reviewed this story yet. Will someone please review? Anyone?
Yes, if you are wondering, I really have no life except writing. Reviews are my food, the more I get, the happier I am, the more chapters/stories I'll post. So. I would deeply appreciate a review. How about this: I post one chapter per day. For every three reviews I get, I will post another. Hmm, not sure if bribing you people will work, but it's worth a try.
Happy reading.
Disclaimer: I'm not sure if I'm supposed to add one of these at the beginning of each chapter or what. Anyway, I don't own the A-Team, they own me.
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Neither Peck nor Hawthorne were allowed to sleep that night. They were allowed to stand up against a post and rest, but they were forbidden to sleep and they were forbidden to talk to each other.
Hawthorne didn't seem to mind the condition, as she was forced to stand up on street corners for long periods of time at night waiting for a customer to buy drugs. Peck seemed to be slightly annoyed, but didn't seem to care as he relaxed his mind and allowed at least that to rest.
The night passed slowly, with both of the recruits fighting to stay awake. When morning came, they were exhausted, but were still forced to run three miles at 5:00 AM.
They were given a small meal for breakfast, which they threw up an hour after eating. Nevertheless, they were both pushed in their workouts.
At least today, instead of running courses, they were sharpening their shooting skills. If they missed a target, they were forced to run a obstacle course, but since they were nearly perfect, they didn't have to so much.
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Danielle closed one eye and peered through her scope at the target, which was approximately two thirds of a mile away and the size of a pine cone. It was a challenge.
But she loved challenges.
Like that new, abusive CO. Sure, she had a broken arm that needed to be treated, and she probably had a couple of broken ribs, too. But how far could she push him? It was going to be a great game.
Yep. She loooved challenges.
Back to the target. She knew she could hit it, and carefully pushed all other thoughts away as she scrutinized it.
Her finger slowly closed in on the trigger, and a sonic boom erupted as the target fell over. She smirked to herself, silently congratulating herself on the shot.
"You did well, but not well enough. Hit the deck and give me fifty."
Hawthorne rolled her eyes as she rolled away from her gun, then tucked her broken arm behind her back as she did fifty one-handed push-ups.
As soon as she finished, Heller kicked her in the ribs, causing her to roll over onto her back. She chuckled, quite aware that he was probably going to kill her before she broke.
She was looking forward to it.
Tenderly, she stood up and glanced over at Peck. He seemed to be holding his own, rebellious enough to growl, but trying to stay out of Heller's fist. Danielle could tell that he was hiding behind a shell, just as she was. Strangely, she felt a connection to him... something she'd never felt to anyone else before.
"Look at me!"
She turned to Heller, her face twisted into a content smile. "Yes?"
Heller snarled and punched her stomach, probably cracking a rib. "Run the obstacle course now!"
She sighed and jogged off, her good arm wrapped tightly around her ribs, her bad arm hanging limply by her side. It was a good mile to the course, and it would be a tortuous run.
She kept running, her muscles burning and her ribs aching. Pushing the pain away, she kept persevering down the road.
"Private!"
She stopped, certain that the voice was directed at her. It wasn't Heller's voice, though, so who was it?
She turned to the direction of the voice and saw a nearly grey-haired Lieutenant marching up to her.
Oh, shoot, she thought as she stood up erectly as possible with her broken ribs. "Yes, Sir!"
"What's wrong with you?" The man asked, his voice rough and gravelly.
"Sir?" she asked, confused, taking a glance at his name patch. Smith.
"You're slouched. You look like your ribs are broken, and your arm looks like it definitely is."
"I'm fine, sir," Hawthorne replied, her tone hard and definite.
He chuckled. "Uh-huh. You mind me checking that?"
"Sir. I said I was fine, and my CO just commanded me to-"
"A CO can't come between a recruit and the recruits health," the man said. "So either you go to the infirmary right now or I'll drag you there myself."
A barely noticable growl escaped Hawthorne's lips, and she began to walk away.
"Private. Stop."
She didn't, but continued to walk forward.
The Lieutenant stalked forward and grabbed her shoulder. "I gave you an-"
Before he knew what was happening, she had flipped him onto the ground. He climbed up with a growl.
"I don't want to fight you," Hawthorne snarled, "but I will if I have to. Now get off my case."
She turned around and started to walk away. Smith slowly climbed up, then got close enough to punch her back.
"What the-" She exclaimed, scrambling to get up. Unfortunately, she found that she couldn't move anything.
Smith chuckled as he pulled her up into a fireman's carry. "I've studied a bit of martial arts, and I know where a pressure point is. I've just hit yours, and you won't be going anywhere for a couple of minutes."
Hawthorne growled, resigned for the moment as the Lieutenant started to carry her to the medical tent.
"I've seen you out there with Heller," the Lieutenant finally said. "It's not legal to abuse you or Peck like that."
"I can take it," Hawthorne said.
"They all say that before they break," Smith said as he neared the med tent. "Just like your arm. You think you can take it, but eventually, it'll hurt worse and worse until you won't be able to move it. Then you're going to give in, and it won't be a pretty sight."
Hawthorne mulled these words over as Smith was directed by a nurse to lay her down in a bed. Within ten minutes, her arm was broken again and re-set, then put in a cast. Her ribs were taped up, and she was set to go with instructions to stay off-duty and take prescribed painkillers.
Like that was going to happen.