A/N: A little fun here and a side step. I have some new ideas developing on the horizon so I decided not to rewrite this section and keep it open ended/ vague. A little relationship/ character development here.
Ch10: Call in the Cavalry
I wake up the next morning. Alive and well. Apparently the stranger wasn't sent to kill me -just yet.
The contents of the letter leave me looking over my shoulder. I half expect to see the woman slinking in the background, but I never do. After the first day of it, I'm mentally fatigued and mad. My life is the epitome of living hell, finally on the upswing of shit, and now I'm demoted to living like a fugitive -again. The mental distraction manifests itself during my afternoon PT while I'm climbing the set of stairs. A wrong twist and the newly met heavy set blonde Rafney about gives me whiplash as she breaks my fall. I'm grateful for the save, and the only thing really hurt is my pride. I'm probably the only guy to fall up the stairs, not down.
By evening I want to break something, and the gripmaster pacifies my temper. It's amazing what a little motivation can work wonders on a FUBAR arm. My anger completely blocks the nerve pain.
There's a knock at the door, accompanied by an unexpected chorus of giggling.
There's 3 of them crowding the doorway, all smiling and waving. The tall blonde says something in Icelandic. Pretty sure she's either asking if they can come in, or looking for directions. The short petite brunette whispers to the others and invites herself in, the tall blonde and bleach blonde girls following on her heels. I don't understand a word of what their saying. It's much like when Elle switches to her native language to bark orders -high pitching trilling and fast. I hear a few other women's voices out in the hallways passing by.
I give the trio a once over. I can tell from the way they're dressed they're no ordinary visitors.
The brunette makes an attempt at asking if I'm "The John". I doubt I'm the only John in this whole facility and respond with a shrug. The other two stand beside her. Smiling. Giggling. Hungry wolves in sheep's clothing. There's a glimpse of a gold necklace resting on the exposed bosom of the tall blonde -a rearing horse. I don't know if I should say yes. Part of me wonders if it's some ploy in light of yesterday's events.
And all those doubts go right out the window.
Before I know it, someone's mouth is on me and my mouth is on someone else's.
It's perhaps the best kind of ambush any soldier could ask for. Two's company, three's a crowd.
Four's an outright scandalous party.
Happy fucking New Years.
The next day I reason myself out of the paranoia and fall in what I can only describe as intoxicated. Euphoria. Surreal. Somewhere along the way I had forgotten about girls. It was never a priority or fixation. Now I remember why. They had almost gotten me in trouble the last time. And the previous night's rendezvous was a sweet indication of the dangerous path I could be heading down.
Pretty sure I could still taste the vodka in my mouth. The girls too. Find myself musing over the encounter.
I drift through PT and almost forget about my worries with Naomi when we cross paths on Monday night. She gets all squirrely when she sees me. I pitch a ground ball and play nice as she does the closing night patrol through the wing.
By late night, my head is out of the clouds. Back to reality. I can finally think clearly, undistracted. I finish out the evening with the book Elle gave me. It's a decent read. I'm not a dog guy, but I relate with Snitter. Things weren't always so bad with me at one point in my life too. Young, optimistic, naïve, invincible. Believing in our cause and loyal to a fault. Stupid is the better word for my recklessness. It got people hurt. It got people killed.
I got people killed.
Day 18 1/3/17
Nothing escapes past Elle. Within five minutes of being back to work, in my room, there's a whole paradigm shift. I can't tell if it's her or me though.
"Good morning John."
She takes a hold of my right hand where it's laying across my chest. I can make out the sensation of her hand by its warmth but fail to register her thumb across the back of my knuckles.
"Morning Elle."
"How'd we make out this weekend?"
Make out? It was a practically a full-blown orgy.
"It was quiet." I don't know how I maintained my composure. But I feel Elle's stare on me. It's suspicious. And I give it right back.
"I'm glad."
"How was your time off? Do anything special?"
"I stayed out with the gang and practically slept off the hangover the next day. I think I spent all of yesterday in my pajamas."
The thought of Elle in anything else but her scrubs was a bit hard to imagine -except when she came in on Christmas to visit. Even then she was bundled up in her parka.
"I can't imagine you drunk."
"Why's that?"
"You're too…" Can't quite think of the word. Guess I just never thought of her that way.
"Don't you dare try to say I'm 'no fun'. Speaking of fun," Elle pauses, stops rubbing, then pats the top of my hand to conclude our ritual greeting.
"I hope you're ready for an afternoon with Mr. Whitney."
Shit. That's today? It had slipped my mind amidst the chaos of the past few days. Between the stranger, the letter and the girls I was all disoriented.
"Can't wait."
A few warm up laps before anything. Breakfast is a complete surprise -french toast, small portion of bacon, cherries. Elle's outdone herself. Then it's off to PT to make up for lost time. I feel energized coming out of it and even better after the hot shower. The incision from the port is healing nicely. It feels good being free of all the IV lines and restraints. Still not free of the pills. Once I'm presentable she brings me by to Chad's place. He's in the same wing but towards the other end. As we approach I can hear something hard slapping against the wall. It makes a solid 2 hit ricochet. Well rhythmed.
"Keep it up Mr. Whitney and I'll be adding remodeling repairs to your bill." Elle announces as she breaks the doorway.
"Go ahead and do that sweetheart." Chad's seated closest to the window side of the room with something small in his hand. He's nothing but smiles and abundant energy. He throws a nod my way in greeting.
"Hey-oh hey-oh John. The warden finally say you could come out and play?"
"There's a first time for everything Chad."
"Call it a temporary release into custody Mr. Whitney." Elle answers.
"Any funny business and I'll have that ball shoved somewhere unpleasant."
"I might enjoy it." He tosses the ball up and catches it, but never takes his eyes off Elle. Chad's movements are very reminiscent of an athlete.
"You probably would." She pulls up another chair and gets me seated.
"I'll swing by around 4 to reclaim my patient. You boys need anything you know who to call."
She gives a lingering look in my direction. Almost reluctant to leave.
"Be good John."
"Always am." She gives a good quick scratch through my hair. Points 2 accusing fingers at Whitney to say 'I'm have eyes on you' before leaving. Chad holds his tongue until she's out of the room. Breaks the silence when he pitches the ball hard against the far wall, hitting just below the wall mounted television. It bounces off the tiled floor and straight back into his hand.
"You hittin' that?" There's no filter with this guy.
"No."
"Not yet, you mean." The ball hits the wall again and finds its mark. He's got the most delinquent grin. I find myself failing to hold back a good chuckle. This guy is ridiculous.
"When a man's not near the girl he loves, he loves the girl he's near."
"What the hell are you babbling about? You some sort of poet?"
"Nah. Read it somewhere." The ball ricochets again.
"Captain John MacTavis, right? Chad Whitney, 1st Battalion 75th Ranger Regiment." He offers his hand again, still mindful when I return the handshake.
"Just call me John."
"Well John, welcome back to the real world. Heard a lot about you over the years. Legend, my friend. Fucking BAMF."
"Uh, thanks?" I never took compliments well. I always felt like I needed guidance. Fixing up. Correction. Even when my feet were under me, I still found myself looking for someone else's leadership while others were looking up to me. Fake it 'til you make it. One of the first lessons you learn.
"Quick question for you Chad."
"Shoot."
"You have the chance to meet, those girls?"
"Ah, yes! They fancy themselves as The Cavalry." He throws the ball and catches it again flawlessly.
"The Cavalry?"
"Women have that certain affinity for horses, y'know? Same thing for a man in uniform. Like to mount up on a fine stead and shower us with their adoration."
"So that's what they're calling it now?" Heh, genius. The horse necklace made sense now.
"Call it a courtesy service. Honestly think they're a bunch of tag chasers. Got themselves more notches in their bed post than a wood carver."
Chad gives me the run down on the latest hospital gossip and we exchange what has become the sad fascinating apex of our current states. Being room bound with an active mind leads to dangerous discoveries -such as eves dropping, surveillance, and snooping through one's personal articles. It's both trivial and valuable information at the same time. Definitely an insight on how several people function in this place. After a bit the conversation changes pace.
"Eh, John buddy, you know I gotta ask -how'd it all go down? The fuck happened back at Site Hotel Bravo?"
The enemy of my enemy. Death breathing down my neck. The sand was in my face and I was staggering around with no bearings. The wound in my chest. Chad throws the ball again. I relive the feeling of that blade hilt leave my fingers just as quick. Resonating of chopper blades over my head. It's the beast in the sand from my waking dreams.
Hang in there, my friend.
"Actually Chad, I was hoping you could help with that."
A/N: I added in some last minute changes here and I'm kind of rolling the dice with it. Hope it didn't disrupt the flow here too much. Expect some background fill in the next chapter. Again, sorry this is kind of unwinding slowly, but I'm trying to be thorough and establish a good wholesome character development.