Slight CW for this chapter... a character reflects on the Team's time as POWs, including brief non-graphic references to both psychological and physical torture, as well as self-destructive behavior. It's all left pretty vague, but if you feel that any of these elements might make you uncomfortable, please just skip the few paragraphs that are written in italics. :)
XxXxXxXxXxX
Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Face checked the Peterbilt's dash clock against his wristwatch. They were a minute and sixteen seconds out of sync, which currently meant it was either twelve minutes thirty-three seconds or eleven minutes seventeen seconds too soon. Face let out an aggravated sigh. Slumping back in the seat, he settled in to wait some more.
Timing was everything. Granted, arriving late was a calculated risk, but the potential benefits were worth it. He'd given a lot of thought to exactly how he should play it. Play her. This wasn't a one-and-done kind of deal. Depending on how things went with Murdock, Face might find himself needing to prevail upon Angie's generosity again. Maybe even repeatedly for, well, a long time to come. It's why he planned to go with the most convincing play he had: the truth.
Not the, 'I didn't come to see my best friend because I'm a wanted man who just broke out of a maximum security stockade' truth, but the harder truth—the emotional kind. The only aspect of this engagement that would be more performance than truth was his trucker persona and the extra anxiety he planned to lay on for effect. The rest would just be him and a few carefully chosen blanks. The thought terrified him. But it was the best chance he had at being able to secure future visits.
If he needed them.
If Angie didn't ultimately change her mind and deny him access as the rules said she should.
If she wasn't just playing him in order to collect the bounty on his head.
If Face didn't just seize his chance and snatch Murdock out of here tonight.
If, if, if.
He'd already made several sweeps of the area at irregular intervals. There wasn't an MP in sight and no signs of extra hospital security having been posted. The latter wasn't too surprising given that he'd seen very little in the way of meaningful security at the hospital period. They relied heavily on door and window alarms, as well as the white-clad enforcers they called orderlies. But there were almost no security cameras—a choice Face guessed might have been made in deference to some of the residents' diagnosable paranoia—and rarely was an armed security guard seen beyond the main entrances.
Face closed his eyes, mentally reviewing the hospital blueprints and the lay of the grounds once more. Within hours of Father Magill telling him where Murdock was earlier that week, he'd managed to obtain copies of the plans and memorized the layout of every floor. He could break into this place in his sleep. If it hadn't been for Hannibal, he would have snatched Murdock days ago. But Hannibal had said no. One simple word that had left Face mentally and emotionally hydroplaning. How could Hannibal not want to rescue Murdock? The thought was unconscionable. It went against everything Hannibal had ever taught them and everything the man stood for. Yet no matter how hard Face'd argued for it, Hannibal had refused to be moved. It hadn't been until the fifth round of verbal warfare that the truth had finally struck home.
Hannibal wasn't entirely certain Murdock didn't belong in the VA.
The realization had plowed into Face with all the subtlety of a tank, cutting off his breath mid-sentence. Hannibal had held his gaze, a flash of guilt passing through his eyes, followed by an even stronger look that seemed to plead with Face to… to what? To understand? To not fight him on this? To ignore the fact that Hannibal believed Murdock had fallen back into the abyss of his own mind, and he wanted to give the "professionals" a chance to save him this time rather than endangering the Team? Not because of the pitiful threat the hospital security posed—but because of Face.
That unspoken truth had left Face spinning out in denial, even as his memories betrayed him.
The POW Camp. Murdock being taken. Days passing. The likelihood of Murdock being dead increasing with each one. But he hadn't been dead. The VC had given him back—basically unharmed in body, yet completely shattered in spirit. An empty shell.
Face's whole world had tunneled then to one, single purpose: Murdock. Saving him, getting him back, protecting him. He'd thrown himself into the task body and soul—and it had worked. He'd gotten Murdock back.
Only to have the VC try and take him away again.
It had been ugly. All of the helplessness and grief that'd been building inside of Face had reached critical mass and exploded in a fit of violence. Charlie had accommodated his show defiance with enthusiasm, but the viciousness of their retaliation had only made him more wild. Because as long as the VC were focused on him they didn't touch Murdock. As long as he kept screaming they left Hannibal and B.A. alone.
And, suddenly, Face hadn't been helpless anymore.
Weeks later, in the darkness of a shared hospital cubicle Hannibal had admitted just how much Face had scared him. That while Murdock's blankness had been heartbreaking, watching Face lose control had been even worse. All of them had taken turns spitting in Death's eye even before the Camp. But none of them had ever purposefully kicked her in the teeth and then dared her to hit back. There was a line between accepting Death and challenging it—or worse, chasing it. Face had crossed that line as far as Hannibal was concerned, and had come all too close to achieving the prize.
Realizing Hannibal was afraid they might find themselves skirting that same danger zone now, had shaken Face. He'd walked away without saying another word and kept walking until he reached the orphanage. He hadn't intended to go there. Hadn't really had any place in mind other than away. But once he was on her steps he hadn't been able to bring himself to leave. He'd slipped into the chapel unnoticed, then made his way to the Father's office mere minutes before nurse McCabe had arrived.
The good Father would undoubtedly say that it had been Divine Providence who'd guided him there. Perhaps he was right. All Face knew for certain was that he'd gone there with his soul in upheaval; and left with his hope and confidence restored.
Murdock hadn't given up completely—not yet. He was still holding on, which meant Hannibal was wrong. This wasn't the same as when they'd been in the Camp. It wasn't. And so long as that was true, it couldn't possibly hurt Face to see Murdock. It was that simple.
Again, Face checked the clocks: two minutes forty seconds; one minute twenty-four seconds.
He took a breath. The wait was almost over.
XxXxXxXxXxX
Angie glared at her wristwatch.
The meeting was supposed to take place on her break—a fifteen minute window beginning at oh-two-hundred hours, when she took her nightly turn around the V.A.'s yard. It was quiet, secluded, and completely secure. Father Magill had promised her that his lad would be here. He hadn't given her the boy's name nor given her any clues as to why coming in the daytime during proper visiting hours wasn't in the cards. When she'd tried to press him on both of those points, the Father had merely given her an enigmatic smile and suggested she ask the boy herself when they met.
Somehow she felt that should concern her more than it did. But, then again, she was also fairly certain she'd lost her mind at some point while standing in that priest's office, so reasonable thinking might be well beyond her at this point. If he wasn't a man of the cloth, Father Magill would make an excellent used cars salesman. It was the only excuse she could fathom for why she'd agreed to meet a combat-hardened stranger, in the middle of the night, by herself, and not tell anyone she was doing it. Oh, and then sneak that same combat-hardened stranger in to visit the nearly catatonic patient in Room 104. No big deal.
And if she could stop being so angry at the guy for apparently standing her—them—up, she should really find a moment to be relieved she wasn't going to lose her job or be murdered tonight. But somehow the fact that there were only seven minutes left on her break and she had yet to see hide nor hair of her mystery visitor only made her feel… disappointed. There, she admitted it. If you scratched around beneath all the bluster and indignation you'd find nothing but disappointment. Like it or not she'd pinned all hope of helping Murdock on Father Magill's promise that his lad would show up tonight and now—
The heavy rumble of a diesel engine interrupted her mid-thought. The V.A.'s private grounds were situated on the backside of the hospital, circled by a stand of trees and a security fence. The roads that bordered the trees were smaller, designed for local resident traffic only. Big-rigs never came down those roads—and what she was hearing now was most definitely a big-rig.
Raising her hand to block the glare from the yard's street lamp, she squinted toward the tree line. As her eyes adjusted, she spotted it: a red bobtail cab, barreling down the narrow lane. It came to a halt midway of the park, tires skidding and engine choking at the sudden downshift. The thing had barely settled, when the driver's side door was thrown open and a man dropped out. He landed with an athletic grace, knees bending to absorb the force of the jump while his upper body remained perfectly centered. Some of the grace scattered the next moment in a wild bid for speed. He cut through the trees, then down the length of the security fence. Even in the dark and crossing unfamiliar terrain, he never checked up or slowed his speed. Until he came to the park's rear gate—eight feet from where Angie stood waiting. In a slightly breathless flurry, the man skidded to a halt.
Angie stared at him. He stared back. Normally, Angie couldn't say she paid attention to a person's eye color, but his were so wide in that moment, like a frightened animal, she found it impossible not to notice. His eyes were a stormy blue.
"Are— are you Miss McCabe?"
"I am."
Relief washed away the frightened animal look, leaving behind the hopeful face of child. She had to shut down the immediate temptation to fall for his innocent appearance; he was a combat vet after all, young or not. Once upon a time that thought would've made her heart ache.
"Father Magill sent me," he said.
When Angie only nodded, his hope visibly dimmed.
"Please, I know it's after two, but I was in Bakersfield when I got Father's message and still had a delivery to make and then there was a wreck on the freeway and I got a flat tire and I—" The man cut himself off abruptly as he broke eye contact. With an aggravated sigh, he swept the hat off of his head and ran a grease stained hand through his hair. "Seems the faster I tried to get here, the more the world seemed intent on slowing me down."
A more dejected picture of humanity Angie had never seen. She took a step closer to the iron gate. "Well, you're here now."
His head shot up, doe-like eyes once more locking onto hers. "You mean, it's okay? I'm not too late?"
"That depends. What's your name?"
"Alvin. Alvin Brennar."
"Rank?"
"Currently? Truck driver."
Angie arched an eyebrow. "I'm more interested in formerly, young man. And I prefer straight answers."
Stiffening to something just shy of full attention, he said, "First Lieutenant. I— I was a First Lieutenant."
"All right, then, First Lieutenant Alvin Brennar. You should understand that I have a few questions I need answered before I let you in. Assuming I do in fact choose to let you in." She fought to keep her tone and expression stern. She felt compassion for this boy—something she hadn't truly been expecting to feel—but she wasn't sold yet.
Alvin snapped the cap back on his head and grabbed the gate's bars with both hands. "But Father Magill said if I made it here in time you would—"
"I said I would meet with you. And here I am," Angie said firmly. "But I have a responsibility to protect the interests of every patient and staff member on my floor, including those of your friend, Captain Murdock. I can't allow just anyone to enter this building."
The boy swallowed, but nodded. "Okay. What do you want to know?"
"For starters, why we're having this meeting at all."
He blinked. Frowned.
"This is a hospital, Lieutenant, not a prison. The family and friends of our residents are encouraged to visit as much as possible. During visiting hours." She couldn't help feeling a sense of satisfaction as the boy looked suitably abashed at her statement. But the intensity of his flush as well as his physical retreat from the gate was unexpected and unwanted. He seemed to fold in on himself, his lean, but well muscled frame shrinking before her eyes.
"I, ah… I didn't know where Murdock was until this week. I don't exactly have a permanent address right now. That truck…" Without lifting his head, he waved toward where he'd left the sleeper cab.
She imagined the flush on his down-turned face deepening.
"When Father Magill first told me Murdock was here, I dropped everything. I came here as fast as I could, I swear. And I've been back every day since. Every day. But I— I—" Alvin twisted away from her.
"You what?"
"I couldn't walk through the door, is that what you want to hear?" he snapped, spinning back around to face her. "I'm a Green Beret, was part of an elite Special Forces unit in 'Nam, and now— now I'm back here and I can't— I can't even… My best friend is in there and I couldn't…" He broke off, trembling hands tightening into fists.
In spite of herself, Angie found her heart softening, and her feet carrying her closer to the gate. Whether she let this boy into the hospital or not, there was one thing she absolutely refused to do and that was stand by while he passed out from anxiety induced hyperventilation. Which was exactly where he was heading if he didn't calm down and get his breathing under control. "Lieutenant— Alvin. I need you to listen to me."
"Why? Are you going to try and tell me it's not my fault, like Father Magill? Huh? Or that it's okay that I can't…"
"Can't what?" she prodded. When the only answer she received was a series of shorter more stuttered breaths, she again moved closer. "Alvin?" She kept her voice pitched low, her tone neutral. "What is it you can't handle? Is it public spaces? Hospitals? The smell? Seeing that many veterans all in one place?"
He didn't quite meet her eyes, but his breathing slowed, head tilting toward her. "I— I don't know. I…" Frustrated, he shoved a hand back through his hair. "Everything, I guess. It was all just so much. I don't do so well with crowds any more and there were always so many people around, I knew I might… do something wrong. And then they might think I was… they might not let me…" Fear and shame twisted his handsome features. His hands trembled.
It erased what was left of Angie's doubt. She dipped her head, waiting until the boy's suddenly glassy stare met hers. "You know, Alvin, if they committed a body just for not liking to be around people, I would've been put away years ago."
There was a brief, startled pause, and then Alvin laughed. It was a little choked and perhaps a little disbelieving, too, but a laugh nonetheless. "So, ah, does that mean you'll let me in?"
Crossing her arms over her chest, Angie considered the question. As much as she wanted to help Captain Murdock, it was obvious now that he wasn't the only one who needed help. Jeopardizing the health of one man, for the sake of another, was a high price to pay—and not a risk to be taken lightly. "I honestly don't know, Alvin. Father Magill seemed to think sending you here like this was a good idea. What do you think he was hoping would happen?"
"Father knows how hard I've been trying—and how often I've failed. I think… I think maybe he was hoping the late hour would help me make it through the doors this time. Not having to deal with so many people being around, you know?" With a mirthless chuckle Alvin looked down at his loosened fists. "I guess we were both hoping."
Angie met and held his gaze. Perhaps Father Magill had been right—perhaps this was worth the risk. With deliberate care, she unlocked the gate.
He stared, hopeful and wide-eyed yet again. "You— you mean, it's okay? I can see him?"
"You make it through that door and I'll give you as much time with him as I can. If you can't, well, we'll just have to see if we can't work something else out."
The grin that lit his face was dazzling. So dazzling Angie had the passing thought she should have brought her sunglasses.
She also had the passing thought that somehow she'd just been taken.