Chapter Warnings: Mild gore, mild language
"Now the story's played out like this, just like a paperback novel. Let's rewrite an ending that fits, instead of Hollywood horror." Someday (Nickelback)
Hannibal woke to a gentle darkness and was tempted to slip right back into the comforting warmth of sleep. It was his soldier's mind that stopped him. The memories leapt back into place along with alertness almost the minute his eyes had opened. With a sigh, the colonel sat up, rubbing the weariness from the lines across his face and trying again to think of a way to help his boy. Murdock had never been overly fond of physical contact even before this incident. Now he seemed downright terrified of letting them touch him at all. That alone made the task of seeing to his injuries nigh impossible without restraints or sedatives, both of which could easily trigger a flashback or episode they weren't equipped to deal with.
Bosco's voice was rumbling softly in the other room and the colonel pushed himself to his feet, blinking the last bits of sleep from his eyes. He took a moment to wash the chestnut dye from his hair, knowing it could help Murdock recognize them better to see his usual silver grey. Then he moved to the door that joined the two rooms.
Stars shone brightly above the darkened streets, peering through the open curtains at the occupants of the little room. The sergeant was seated in an armchair, facing the right-hand bed where Murdock lay. The captain himself had shifted around so he could face B.A. without laying on his right side and that hurt rib. This put his head toward the foot of the bed but Hannibal doubted Murdock would've cared even if he weren't in such bad condition. Bosco was talking softly, recounting a couple of their more memorable missions, more to fill the silence than to make conversation, Hannibal assumed, because Murdock didn't say a word. The man just lay there with his hands up to his chest while he watched B.A. with increasingly weary eyes.
Hannibal slipped into the room, passing behind Bosco and pulling the simple desk chair over beside the larger armchair. He sat, glancing at the sergeant before turning his eyes on Murdock, who was now watching the colonel and blinking sleepily.
"How is he?"
"I don' know, boss." Bosco sighed. "He stays pretty calm so long as I stay put where he can see me. Man ain't breathin' right though." He was right. The captain's breaths were too short, cut off no doubt by the pain of that broken rib. "An' he won't let himself sleep neither." B.A. gestured at the smaller man with one big hand. "Keeps shakin' his head or movin' that leg t'wake himself up."
Hannibal took the brief pause after his sergeant's words to look over the man lying before them.
Murdock looked awful… like death warmed over.
The only bit of him that appeared unharmed were his eyes and even those held an aching sort of pain. Hannibal had read through Brenner's previous experiments. The doctor didn't shy away from inflicting any manner of suffering he could manage and Hannibal was sure he hadn't pulled any punches with Murdock just because Lynch wanted something from the captain.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. They were soldiers and certainly, soldiers got hurt, but it was wrong and went against everything he was as a commanding officer to not be able to ease some of that hurt. Sometimes it was simple as ordering an obstinate lieutenant to the med tent, other times it required him to dress wounds himself, but there was always something that could be done. Not even the mortally wounded were left like this, bloody and hurting, without even a pillow to lie on. They were cleaned up, given pain killers, made comfortable; anything and everything was done to ease their passing and he'd rather take a bullet than let one of his men, a man who was not and would not be mortally injured, suffer worse than them. The colonel sighed and sat back, eyes still on his wounded pilot.
"We need to get him somewhere safe, somewhere better equipped to handle all this."
Bosco nodded in agreement and Hannibal frowned. Face knew the surrounding territory better than he did. He needed to discuss potential safehouses, locations for medical supplies and help with the lieutenant, but where was he? Hannibal turned to the man beside him, a suspicious anxiety growing in his mind.
"Where's Face?"
Bosco hesitated and the anxiety grew to full blown worry. Face was a hot-headed youth at the best of times. With all that had happened, it would be like him to sneak off on some pretense only to return to the hospital for revenge. The colonel hardened his voice, demanding again, "Sergeant, where is Face?" B.A. heaved a sigh.
"He ain't here."
"I can see that!" he snapped and B.A. shook his head softly before raising his eyes from the carpet to meet the colonel's stern frown.
"You said yourself, we need t'know what went down in there." The black head bobbed gently in Murdock's direction and the captain watched in silence, eyes moving between the men as they spoke. "Well… Face found a disc in the security room. Thought it might give us some idea, show somethi-"
"You thought?" Hannibal uttered a bitter laugh, almost shouting now, trying to keep his voice low so he didn't startle Murdock but only managing to lower his bellow to a low snarl. Murdock seemed oblivious, just watching them, though he'd tensed a bit when Hannibal had shifted in his chair to face B.A. "I highly doubt that! The second I step out of the room, you two decide to play CO and go and make the single worst decision available to you!" he snapped and Bosco glared back defensively.
"It wasn't like that."
"Wasn't it? Does sending Face out there with a van full of weapons and a damn recording of Murdock being tortured really sound like a good idea to you, sergeant?"
"You were dead on your feet, Hannibal, an' this fool couldn't wait till you was rested." Bosco spoke calmly, nodding at Murdock who blinked but otherwise didn't respond to the use of the irritable yet affectionate nickname the big man had given him. "Face won' go back to that place. Not before comin' here an' tryin' to help Murdock." The calm tone in the sergeant's voice did little to quiet the colonel's anger. It was a role reversal for them, Hannibal being the angry one while Bosco was cool and collected, and it wasn't one the older man was keen on continuing.
Face was gone, likely in the van, which gave him no mode of transportation with which to chase the lieutenant down. For the time being, there was nothing Hannibal could do to stop the young man no matter how much he wanted to. Whatever was on that tape, it wasn't anything he wanted his men to have to see. It was a commander's duty to take care of things like that and he could feel a well of guilt and frustration growing inside him. He should've been awake, should've gotten sleep before so he'd be awake when it mattered, should've known Face would do something like this.
Hannibal heaved a sigh and put the 'should haves' from his mind, turning instead to Murdock. The captain shifted, bending his injured leg slightly and drawing in a tight gasp as the pain made him wince. Hannibal frowned, eyes honing in on the details he'd missed earlier. Murdock's wrists had freshly dried blood on them, the bed's paisley sheets were more rumpled than before, and there were new red marks, just slightly off center from the bruises decorating the captain's neck. Bosco must've seen his frown growing concerned and spoke up before he could ask what had happened.
"Not too long after you stepped out, I came in here an'…" The dark head swung from side to side slowly, brown eyes moving to Hannibal's face. "He did it to himself, boss. Jus' started chokin' himself. Won't let me check it neither, but I think it might be swellin' up a bit." Sure enough, when Hannibal looked closer, he could see the slight swelling and hear the hoarseness in the uneven breaths. Steeling himself for whatever might happen, Hannibal looked his wounded man in the eye and spoke.
"Murdock? Can you hear me?" Best start slow, he thought. Murdock looked at him for a long while but didn't speak. The fact that he'd been responding to their voices and followed the conversation with his eyes, though, answered the question well enough and Hannibal moved on. "The bruising around your neck is swelling. You need to be upright to keep it down so I'm going to help you sit up, alright?" He waited for a response but Murdock just frowned at him in confusion, a hint of fear entering his eyes.
Moving slowly, Hannibal stood and took a step closer. He could sense B.A. watching him but kept his eyes on his pilot, who stared up at him fearfully and began to shift away. "I'll make it an order if I have to, Captain." Hannibal said it with a slight smile but the words caused a drastic change in the wounded man's face. Murdock's eyes narrowed, a frown creasing his brow that had nothing to do with the pain he felt. Anger entered his gaze and his jaw set firmly as he shook his head, no longer moving away but warning Hannibal with his glare not to come any closer. Hannibal frowned back, confused by the sudden change.
"You need to sit up, Murdock."
Another shake of the bloody head.
"Captain, I'm ordering you to get up, with or without my help."
The glare deepened and Murdock shook his head again, defiant rage shining in his eyes.
"Come on, Murdock," Bosco tried. "It's for your own good." Murdock didn't even look at him, just kept glowering up at the colonel who could feel frustration rising past his concern-weakened patience.
"Sit up, Captain, or I will be forced to make you."
Green eyes narrowed, daring him to try, but before he could even consider doing so, Face's voice cut in.
"Hannibal, stop." The colonel turned to find the younger man standing in the doorway between the two rooms. He must've come in through the other room's main door but that wasn't what caught Hannibal's attention. It was the pallor of the lieutenant's angled face, the haunted look in his eyes and the extra years that seemed to have weighed down the youthful features. Face looked from Hannibal to Murdock whose gaze hadn't wavered from the colonel's face. "Don't… Don't order him."
Hannibal studied his lieutenant, brushing off the irritation at the fact that he seemed to be doing an awful lot of studying and not enough doing lately. Face's eyes were ever so slightly red-rimmed and he kept running his fingers along his palms where tiny crescent shaped marks were intermittently exposed to the colonel's detail-seeking eyes. Face wasn't used to watching things like torture; Hannibal dearly hoped none of his men would ever have to be, but Face was young and rash and had only just begun to understand the brutality of war when they'd been wrongfully imprisoned. Again, Hannibal wished bitterly that he'd thought ahead and been there to take on the ugly task that the kid had been left with. The files alone were enough to tell the colonel that what Face had seen, what they'd done to Murdock, had been just as bad if not worse than the injuries and abuse from the enemy in the war. Face continued, voice low and weary.
"They were ordering him to get up too. If we do, he'll… he might think we're them."
Face waited until Hannibal took a step back from the bed before he waved the older man over to the window on the other side of the room. When he, Hannibal and Bosco were all together there, he spoke, glancing over at Murdock often as he did so. The pilot stayed put, relaxing marginally as Hannibal moved away but watching all three of them closely.
"Boss, I-"
"Should have woken me." Hannibal had meant to let it go but seeing the haggard features of his youngest son and hearing the raw tone in his voice only dug the well of his guilt deeper. It didn't help that Face just nodded and let out a forced chuckle.
"Yeah… Yeah, I probably should've. But it's too late for that now." Hannibal nodded in agreement and took a quick look over at Murdock to find the pilot's eyes fixed on Face, some unreadable emotion quivering just beneath the green surface. Face spoke again, soft and deliberately businesslike. "We need to get him to a doctor, Hannibal." The young man ran a hand through his already messy hair, closing his eyes wearily for a moment as he spoke. "There's… I mean there's the obvious stuff like his leg and the drugs but…."
"The blood?" Hannibal prompted, gently.
"It's not his, not all of it. His… His leg's the worst, and the broken rib, but they also starved him and…" Face trailed off again, taking a deep breath and swallowing hard in a way Hannibal recognized as an attempt to control his increasingly croaky voice. The colonel spoke again, giving Face enough time to compose himself, speaking over Bosco's low curse at the news Face was giving them.
"We don't need all the details now, Face. Just…." He looked back over at Murdock as the pilot shifted again, purposely bending his knee until the pain elicited a sharp gasp and forced his drooping eyelids open once more. "You're sure he needs a hospital?" Hannibal raised a finger before Bosco could interrupt with what the colonel was sure would've been an angry 'Of course he does, fool!' or something similar. "Because," he continued, "if we take him to a hospital, we run the risk of being found, not only by Lynch but by Brenner too. And as much as I'm sure we'd all like to have a word with the man, I don't think he'd be foolish enough to come alone." Face nodded in agreement and looked over at the fourth member of their team.
"No… No, I've got a place. I called ahead on my way back and it's not too far from here."
"This a safe place, Faceman?" B.A. asked with a frown. "Any doc's gonna be suspicious when he sees… stuff like this."
"Well…" Face sighed, moving back toward the chairs and Murdock's bed. "It's been how many years since Lynch… and she hasn't ratted us out yet." Hannibal followed, feeling a groan rising in his throat.
"'She,' Face? Please tell me this isn't another one of your old flames?" Face just chuckled, a hint of genuine humor entering his voice.
"She's a bit more than that, boss. She's a mother." Hannibal's eyebrows rose at that. "And a doctor, okay? I swear, it's the safest place on Earth for us right now." Hannibal just shook his head, deciding not to argue. Instead, he looked down at the frail man on the bed.
"Any ideas on getting him to the van?"
"Yeah…" Face said softly, not meeting Hannibal's eyes. "Just… let me talk to him for a minute?" Hannibal nodded and moved to the other room to help Bosco pack up their things.
Face waited until they left the room before he pulled the desk chair close to the edge of the bed and sat down. It was harder than he'd thought it would be, seeing Murdock again so close and with so much detail after the small security video. There was so much blood, all over his clothes, his hands and face, but it was the lost, longing sort of look in his eyes that broke Face's heart. Murdock shifted away, just like he'd expected, but exhaustion and pain seemed to be winning out over fear because when Face started speaking, Murdock grew still, just watching and breathing hoarsely.
"Hey, man… Look, I… I need you to know something, okay?" Face instinctively moved to rest a hand on his friend's shoulder, but Murdock flinched back and Face quickly lowered his hand. "Sorry… just… I need you to know that… that I know what happened… back there. And I swear to you, I'm gonna do everything I can to make this right, okay? But we can't stay here. We have to get going and-"
"D-Don't."
At first Face thought he'd imagined it but Murdock was breathing hard and as Face watched, he took in another rasping breath and spoke in a husky, strained voice.
"Pl-lease, don-n't." Murdock swallowed and blinked, his eyes growing bright with fresh tears and his voice croaky and broken. "I'm- m'sor-ry… jus' pl-lease don' go?" Face nearly choked on a breath as the tears he'd thought he'd beaten back on the way to the hotel fought to resurface.
"No- Hell, no. Murdock, you're coming with us! We're not… we're not leaving you here." The idea that Murdock would think that of them was almost worse than seeing him hurt and it took everything Face had in him to not break down right then and there. "We're all going somewhere safe, okay? All of us. So… So I need you to let one of us help you get to the van." Face's heart sank as Murdock shook his head, swallowing back his own tears as he spoke.
"No."
"Murdock, please? You need help, man. You can't get there on your own." The shaggy head just shook from side to side again and Murdock started to lever himself up on one elbow.
"I c-… I can. I jus'-" Anything else the pilot was about to say was cut off by a strangled gasp as he bent his right side in the process of sitting up. The pain must've been excruciating because before he could let out a cry, Murdock's eyes rolled back and he fell back to the bed, unconscious and limp. Face was on his feet in an instant, Hannibal's name shouted and his own hands moving quickly to Murdock's chest. Thumps of baggage and hurried footsteps heralded the arrival of Hannibal and B.A. but Face was too busy feeling gently along Murdock's right side, breathing a sigh of relief as he found the broken rib still in place instead of jabbed deeper into the chest cavity and possibly into a lung. Hannibal reached him first, checking Murdock's pulse at his neck and asking hurriedly.
"What happened?"
"H-He tried to get up… Must've bent the wrong way." Face shook his head, trying to clear the adrenalized blur that was making it difficult to form intelligent sentences. Hannibal was apparently satisfied with the captain's pulse, though, which calmed Face's nerves. The colonel rested a gentle hand on Murdock's head for a moment, brushing a lock of hair sticky with sweat from the pilot's brow before stepping back and looking between his men.
"Alright… Face, you help Bosco load those last two bags into the van then come back up here. B.A., get the van running and lean one of the seats back a bit so he can stay upright without putting too much pressure on that rib." Hannibal gestured to Murdock as he spoke and both Face and Bosco nodded.
Once the bags were loaded in the back, Face went back to the room, thankful that the hotel manager wasn't up and about this late. The kid who'd been manning the sign in desk was asleep in his chair and hadn't woken when he and B.A. had passed by so there was no danger of prying eyes seeing them when they carried out their wounded teammate. Face slipped back into the room as quietly as he could, so he didn't wake Murdock and was surprised to see Hannibal standing over the remains of one of the lamps, scribbling on a pad of paper from the side table drawer. The colonel caught sight of his surprised look and explained before Face got a chance to ask what the heck was going on.
"We need an explanation for all the blood," Hannibal said, gesturing with the pad at the bed's stained sheets. He finished the note and passed it to Face. "Stick this to the door as we leave. There's tape in the drawer." The note was short and simple.
'Sorry about the lamp. Friend cut his arm, taking him to the hospital. Money for new sheets and lamp is in desk drawer.'
While Face read the short note, Hannibal crouched down and selected a large shard of glass from the pile, wiping it on the bloody sheets until the edge was stained red. Hannibal tossed the piece of glass back into the pile and turned his attention to Murdock. The colonel carried his wounded man the whole way, Face going ahead to leave the note and open doors as they came to them. The blanket they'd brought with them from the VA was tucked under Face's arm and once they'd settled Murdock in the van, he draped it over his friend and took his seat, going over the driving directions in his head.
"Where to, Faceman?" B.A. asked, looking in the rearview mirror at his teammate.
"L.A." Face took in a calming breath, telling himself firmly that they would get there in time. It was a long drive from Colorado to L.A., but they'd make it, and then Murdock could get some real help. "Just get us to L.A. and I'll direct you from there."
B.A. looked doubtful but drove on anyway. The trip was spent in silence and darkness with the comforting scent of cigar smoke reaching back from the front seat. Partway through the journey, Face moved to crouch between the back seats, keeping Murdock still on the rougher turns. He took the opportunity to wash the worst of the blood from his friend's face and arms, using the disinfectant swabs from their first aid kit. The pilot didn't wake up, not completely at least. Now and then he'd groan and shift weakly in his seat but he didn't open his eyes and he didn't speak and before long, the sun was turning the sky a gentle gold and L.A. welcomed them with a sunny cheer that at least tried to penetrate the anxious darkness inside the big black van.
Face directed B.A. through the city until they came to a stop outside a familiar long, low building. Early church bells were ringing as Face got out and looked up at the steeple of St. Mary's that towered over the little buildings like a protective mother. Down on the streets the sun had yet to shift over the shadows of the buildings and although the sky was lightening from velvet darkness to soft blue, it was still a hazy darkness in the early morning. Face directed them around the back of the building so they wouldn't be seen by passersby. Hannibal joined Face at the van's side door, gathering Murdock into his arms again and sending a relieved smile at his lieutenant.
"You didn't say she was a Mother Superior."
"You didn't ask," Face answered with a wry smile.
She met them at the door, the woman Face had only spoken with over letters and telephone wires since he'd left for the army, Mother Margaret. He'd been able to call her now and then when he was on leave but after Lynch and the plates, he'd been forced to keep his contacts to a minimum. The last time she'd heard from him had been right before the team dropped off the map. He'd called from a pay phone at a dingy little gas station, just letting her know he was okay and giving her his side of the story before Hannibal had declared it time to move out again. She could've called the police right then and there and had them trace the call but she hadn't… and the anonymous cards he'd sent her on Christmas each year had never been reported either.
Of course, she'd only been Sister Margaret when he'd been here but things had changed. She still wore the white and black habit of a Franciscan nun but she was smaller than he remembered, barely coming up to his shoulder now, and her face had traded some of its youthful glow to soft lines of laughter around her mouth and eyes. The hair peeking from beneath her veil had lost its autumn auburn to winter's grey and white, but it was her, and despite the seriousness of their situation, Face couldn't help but smile. "Hi, Ma," he said softly and found himself enveloped in a brief but tender hug. A hug that felt like safety, tender words and nights curled up under a warm hand-sewn quilt in a room shared by three other boys while she read to them.
"Praise God, you made it safely," she said as she pulled back and stroked his cheek with one thumb with all the fondness of a true mother before looking to her other guests. Face stepped aside and the woman's grey-blue eyes fell on the frail form in Hannibal's arms. She wasted no time opening the door wide and standing aside so they could enter. "Take him to the open room there," she instructed, shutting the door behind them. The hall was hardwood flooring, the walls a soft white with a framed picture of the Pope at the end with his arms spread wide in welcome. It was strange being back, Face thought. The place had changed, grown. Rooms he knew as storage had been transformed into bedrooms, small and simple but more than enough for any homeless person who needed a place for the night.
St. Mary's was both shelter and clinic but Face knew her third function better than the others. The orphanage was on the other side of the church, separate from the homeless shelter they were in now, but the buildings were similar enough to give the lieutenant a bizarre sense of déjà vu, walking down the hallway with Mother like he had so often as a child. Usually to have a talking-to in her office about not scamming the other kids out of their pudding cups at lunch but what Face liked most about this place was that it was safe. No matter how deep in trouble he got as a teen wandering the neighborhood, this had always been a sanctuary of peace, like a last and immovable line of defense against the outside world. Even when burly construction workers came to the door, raging about a "snotty kid" who'd cheated at cards and made off with their money, Mother just stood her ground and righted things. That, of course, involved the return of Face's winnings, but she'd never once handed him over, never once lied to him or failed him like so many others had. In fact, Face was sure if Lynch himself came to the door asking about them, he'd leave chastened, ashamed and with a newfound respect for the Church.
Mother Margaret stopped to speak with a younger sister at the door, holding it open as the team entered. The room was small, just enough for a few souls to spend a comfortable night. There were two beds, one on the right, one on the left, and a small side-table in between and another by the door. A crucifix hung over the door and a framed painting of a saint was on the wall. The small plaque beneath it read 'Saint Benedict Joseph Labre, Patron of the Homeless.' Hannibal moved to the left-hand bed and slowly lowered Murdock onto the sheets. The captain frowned softly, eyes starting to open then falling closed again as Hannibal tucked the pillow under his head. The swelling around his neck had gone down after spending the whole ride upright in the van but there was a fresh trail of blood running down his leg and under the soft lamplight, he looked more like some unshaven vagrant who'd been the victim of a terrible gang attack than their jovial pilot friend.
He looked bad, really bad, and knowing the story behind the awful wounds only made it worse. Face crossed his arms, biting at one thumb, and standing back as Mother brought in a chair. She sat by the bed, checking Murdock's pulse and breaths with a practiced hand. As she did so, a young woman wearing the slightly simpler habit of a postulant came in with a large bowl of water, a small pile of clean cloths and a towel.
"Just set them there, Therese," Mother instructed, nodding at the small table. The girl did so, then just stood there, staring at Murdock's bloody form with wide shocked eyes. Mother turned and frowned sternly. "Go on then! Tell them to start Compline without me. I'll do my prayers as I work. And close the door behind you, dear." The girl left hurriedly with a chirped "Yes, Mother" and the older woman turned to the team with an air of authority that had always brought silence to even the rowdiest of rooms in the orphanage. "I hope you three know something about cleaning wounds because I think it's best if we keep this patient to ourselves instead of frightening all my postulants." Hannibal nodded in agreement, pulling the small table over by the side of the bed where Mother sat before speaking.
"Just tell us what you need, Mother." She nodded her thanks and edged her chair over, pulling a pair of scissors from the pocket of her habit and looking apologetically at Hannibal before cutting down the middle of the blood-darkened shield across Murdock's shirt.
"I'm afraid this shirt is just beyond saving," she said, more to herself than the team. She raised her voice, addressing all three of them though her eyes were still on the scissors which cut neatly down each sleeve. "If any of you know what happened to this poor man you'd better speak up. I need to know where the most serious injuries are before we can really start."
Hannibal looked to Face but the lieutenant hardly noticed. His eyes were fixed on his friend's chest which was a veritable flowerbed of bruises ranging from pale, sickly yellow to a dark damaging purple on his right side over the broken rib. Blood smeared across the colors where it had soaked through his shirt and Face was frankly stunned that Murdock could've moved at all let alone try to fight them off earlier in the hotel.
"Face?"
"W-What, huh?" Face looked up to find Hannibal and Mother watching him and he shook his head, banishing the images of Hayes' brutal blows from his mind and focusing on the task at hand. "Yeah, sorry." He moved to sit by Murdock's feet, careful not to bump the bloody limb beside him. "He's got a broken rib, just one I think, on his right side but uh… it's his leg. His leg's the worst." Mother probed gently across Murdock's chest, nodding to herself in a way Face knew meant he'd been right, just one broken rib, which was a small relief. Hannibal, though, was focused completely on Face, worry lining his brow.
"Details, Face?"
Face shut his eyes briefly, trying to dispel the image of Murdock shaking so hard he could barely stay upright while he forced piece after piece of metal into his own leg. Beside him, Mother was washing the smears of blood from Murdock's chest, still listening but letting Face tell the story to Hannibal for the time being.
"They… He cut it the- one of the first days," Face started, wincing as he realized that meant infection had had nearly a full week to set in before that last awful twenty-four hours had even started. "If it wasn't infected a few days later it's gotta be by now 'cause… because they had these… these pins and…" Face broke off, Murdock's pained breaths echoing in his mind over and over. Hannibal moved closer, resting a hand on Face's shoulder and waiting for the younger man to look up at him before speaking.
"Why don't you show me?" Hannibal nodded at Murdock. Face turned and eyed the knot of fabric around his friend's leg.
"Yeah…" he nodded. "Ma?" Mother turned, leaving the rag she'd been wringing out on the table by a bowl of water. "Is there anything you can give him that'll keep him asleep for a little while? They, um…" Face reached over, taking Murdock's hand and turning his arm so Mother could see the marks the needles had made there. "They were giving him something every day, along with fluids. I don't know what it was but… I don't want him waking up while we're doing this." Whatever Murdock would think, waking up in an unfamiliar place with hands all over him causing pain, it wouldn't be good and Face was determined not to let that happen. Mother examined the spots for a moment before looking back to Face.
"And you don't know what the drug was? Any symptoms or obvious effects?"
"Just a little." Face glanced at Hannibal, knowing the Colonel would guess where this information was coming from. Sooner or later he'd have to debrief the whole hellish video along with Brenner's twisted logs but for now, he focused on giving Mother what she needed to make things right. "It was something they cooked up themselves. It just… made him really scared, and he was hallucinating too. I don't know what else could be in it." Mother nodded and gave him a look he knew very well. It was the one that said 'We will talk later because there's a story behind this and I intend to hear it.' This time, though, Face didn't feel the usual guilt and embarrassment at having to retell the story of how he'd conned some kid or gotten into trouble again. This time it was far more serious and all he felt was revulsion at what Brenner had done… and a lingering fear that they'd still come too late to save Murdock because although the blood had been cleaned from his face, chest, and arms, his breathing remained stilted and his skin pale beneath the bruises.
Mother Margaret slipped out and returned with a syringe which she administered with practiced ease. It might've been because she'd chosen Murdock's left arm rather than his pin-pricked right, but for whatever reason, Murdock's only reaction to the needle was a soft moan and a weak attempt at pulling away that soon fell still as the medicine did its work. Mother beckoned Bosco closer and had him hold Murdock upright while she wrapped his ribs and spoke to Face over her shoulder.
"That was the lightest dose I dared use so we need to get as much done as we can before he wakes up. You and the Colonel get that leg unwrapped and washed up and I'll take a look as soon as I'm done here." Face nodded and waited till Hannibal had pulled a chair over beside Mother's where he could see. Then, slowly and carefully, Face worked the knot out of the makeshift bandage around Murdock's leg. The cloth was stiff with dried blood and although it was a good sized strip, it didn't cover the whole wound which had to be at least nine inches long and nearly an inch at its widest.
Once the cloth was removed, Face had to close his eyes for a long moment to compose himself because the wound looked so much worse up close. There was no way to tell if the skin around the cut was inflamed because all around the gash were dark, painful marks left by the guards' boots. The pins were hidden beneath dried blood, all but the largest and Face could tell Hannibal had noticed it, tell by the way his hand fisted around the dampened cloth, tell by the hard line that set his jaw and the ice glinting in his eyes. Face didn't meet Hannibal's questioning gaze, just took another cloth and wet it, wringing it out over the bowl before starting to clean the worst of the blood away so Hannibal could see.
He knew his voice sounded tight, strained and maybe even a little tearful but as he spoke, the images of Murdock's torture rose again in his mind in all their gritty horror and it was all he could do to speak slowly and clearly and not throw the rag across the room and smash anything he could in a fit of blind rage.
He told them everything, more or less. They were pressed for time with Murdock sleeping but he told them about the shocks, the beatings, the salt and the pins, all the physical damage that was dealt. He didn't mention Diablo, though, or Brenner's last, awful act. Those were things that couldn't be healed with bandages and medicine and he could debrief the rest later. Hannibal listened in stony silence as he and Face finished cleaning off the wound.
Bosco excused himself part way through Face's retelling of how they'd made Murdock walk. He didn't come back until after Mother had ordered them to rest. She'd taken one look at Murdock's leg and declared it a job for her and Sister Angelica who she'd gone to find, returning with some blankets which she gave to Face, directing him to the room across from Murdock's.
"You and the others should get some rest. You look tired enough to fall asleep standing up."
"But, Murdo-"
"Will be sleeping as well."
"Hann-"
"Will take the second bunk in your friend's room and if he doesn't sleep, I will have no choice but to move him in with you. Now go." Face tried to protest but her hand on his shoulder was enough to silence him. She looked up at him with a gentle smile. "We know what we're doing, Templeton. We'll do everything we can to help him."
Face still couldn't tear his eyes from the door and the light beyond where he could hear Hannibal's low voice speaking with Sister Angelica. In the end, Mother had to practically shove Face and B.A. into the room, leaving a bottle of disinfectant and some gauze for Bosco who'd come back with his knuckles torn up. He'd muttered his thanks and something about punching a brick wall before slipping over to one of the bunks. He cleaned and wrapped his hands, then just sat quietly, watching the door.
Face took the bunk on the left and sat for a while, listening to the low murmur of voices across the hall. He knew many of the sisters at St. Mary's had gone to medical schools and earned the right to be nurses as well as nuns but he doubted they'd ever seen injuries as bad as this. The team had been through a lot in the war and afterwards, each of them sporting battle scars but they'd never been taken away for so long, not alone. The whole team had been captured before. They'd been captured in pairs and groups of three but never once had they been completely alone and tortured for so long with no contact from the others and no hope of rescue. Because they all understood that if even one of them was free, rescue would be on the way soon.
What Murdock had faced was something else. Brenner had cut off any hope of rescue by reducing Murdock's world to a room of white walls and red blood, drugged and tricked him to make sure it would stick that he was alone. What the captain had done, what Murdock had done was amazing and awful all at once. He'd chosen Hell, faced it, and plowed through it all for them and the fact that Murdock could choose to do something so unthinkable while doped up and hallucinating was incredible. It was one thing for a soldier to march into Hell when his friends were at his side, another thing entirely for him to choose to march in alone and without hope of rescue; because in his mind, the team was there, not trying to break in and get him out but there and captured and helpless. Murdock had literally given everything for them, everything he had and there wasn't a word for that kind of sacrifice. It was loyalty and friendship, family and love all wrapped in one and it made Face want to scream and pound his fists into the wall because Brenner had put to death everything Murdock had fought for.
Bosco had lowered himself onto the pillow, lying down but not asleep. Face rubbed at his eyes, locking all thoughts of Brenner and anger away for now. He lay and faced the door, silently joining B.A.'s watch and feeling a gentle sense of unity fall over the room. Sleep eventually found them both, but only after long hours of waiting, listening to the soft sounds of voices across the hall and slowly calming hearts that were still clamoring for action. Murdock was safe. He'd be okay, now. He had to be….
Author's Note: Mother Margaret's look is stolen shamelessly from the BBC series Call the Midwife. She's the spittin' image of Sister Julienne. I'll post a pic at the end of this chapter over on Archive of Our Own.
Every review is a kick in the teeth for Brenner and a heartfelt hug for Murdock! :D