13 - Safe in a Frame
"You don't have to stay," Steph murmured, her voice a mere whisper. Her eyes remained closed, a defense against the glaring hospital lights. She attempted to glance at Will, but the neck-brace's rigid embrace allowed only a sliver of movement. A sharp pain lanced through her skull, and her stomach roiled as if on stormy seas. The time directly after her leap from the garage roof as a child was a hazy memory at best, but she recognised the hallmarks of a concussion that the nurse had listed then as they engulfed her body now.
Will abandoned his post at the gap in the curtain and moved closer to the bed so he was directly in her field of vision. All furrowed brow and worried eyes. He laid a hand on top of her uninjured one where she gripped the sheet. "I'm not leaving you here alone, Steph." His tone was hushed. Warm, quiet, and tender, just like always. It soothed her as much as it caused an unsettled flutter in her stomach. Will hesitated, the silence stretching between them like a chasm. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost a caress against the sterile backdrop. "I know hospitals aren't your favourite place."
That was an understatement. Her mother's stern lectures during childhood injuries, combined with the sterile scent that reminded her of her grandfather's final days, had given her more than enough experience with hospitals, and she was eager to leave this one immediately. If it wasn't for the fact that she had neither the energy nor the inclination to move and let the pain really shine through, she'd already be out the door. She glanced at her wrist, it's purple hue deepening by the second - she should probably let someone see to that before she tried to escape.
But the thought of keeping Will there wasn't any more appealing. He'd already worked a double shift, and was due back at work in a few hours. Steph could have piled all her childhood trauma into the bags under his eyes and still had room for all the emotional turmoil she'd had to deal with when Carlos left without a word a few years ago. He needed sleep, and he wasn't going to get it waiting with her for the doctors and nurses to get their acts together and do the scans they said they'd ordered.
Steph exhaled sharply. "Go home," she insisted, her voice firmer. "Rest." She clutched the sheet, a twinge of pain shooting through her chest that had nothing to do with her injuries. "Update tomorrow," she promised, her words clipped and urgent.
A lump formed in Steph's throat, a precursor to the tears she fought to hold back. She couldn't —wouldn't—let Will see the dam break. They'd only been dating almost two months and she wasn't completely comfortable with him seeing just how ugly her face got when she cried. She didn't want that image burned into his retinas the next time she was trying to flirt. He was kind, almost to a fault, and Steph didn't think he would ever mention it to her, but the thought would linger in the back of her mind. She wasn't a great flirt at the best of times, let alone with that kind of handicap weighing her down.
Will's fingers traced the stubble on his chin, a thoughtful dance as his gaze searched hers, sifting through the unsaid for clues. There was plenty of Plum still for him to discover. He knew she was stubborn, of course, but he didn't know that the reason she shied away from physical affection when they were out in public was because she didn't want to give any gossip mongers in her town the chance to start anything. He didn't know that the reason she hesitated every time he vocally supported her continued distance from her mother was because he was the first man to do so (aside from Deb) since Carlos. And she struggled to trust herself to lean into such an embrace of her opinions and boundaries given what had happened back in college.
They were still in that tentative beginning stage of the relationship where she wasn't sure how much of herself she felt comfortable revealing to him. She was still testing the waters with how much of herself she could trust him with. How much of herself she could bear to have broken or stolen away if this didn't work out.
The way Will was staring at her now, made her stomach clench with nerves, a sharply uncomfortable feeling searing through her insides as she waited for the inevitable scorn and judgement. Every muscle in her body tensed with anticipation, which did not do wonders for the persistent ache encompassing her body.
He let out a long breath, his gaze softening, losing the scrutiny and settling instead into something tender and contemplative. "You're asking me to leave you alone, in pain, and scared. I'll honour that, if it's what you really want, but-" His voice softened further, barely more than a whisper. "I hate to think of you lying here without support."
And of all the things he could say, that was almost worse than any judgement he could have made for her stubbornness. Because he understood. He understood how vulnerable she felt. He understood that although she was telling him she wanted him to leave, she really didn't want to be alone. But she also couldn't bear to open herself up to the potential devastation of allowing someone else into her heart.
"I just-" A third round-about dismissal stuck in Steph's throat as fear briefly overshadowed the pain consuming her body. She stared at the ceiling tiles above her, willing herself not to cry. A shaky breath eased its way tentatively into her lungs, wary both of the pain that a deep breath would cause, and of the kind and caring man standing at her bedside, watching her every move, every facial expression. Her eyes drifted closed. "Could you ask the nurse if I can have some water? My throat is dry."
The quiet that filled the curtained off cubicle was thick enough to muffle the bustle beyond, but Steph didn't dare to open her eyes, to see what he was thinking. She couldn't let his genuine concern for her melt the walls she had built around her heart. Several agonising moments passed before he uttered a simple, "Of course."
His grip tightened on her hand once more, a brief, reassuring squeeze before he stepped away, and Steph was surprised to find that it was her own fingers that were left grasping in his absence. The sound of his footsteps against the hard linoleum floor echoed through her head, impossibly loud.
She waited until she heard the curtain slide back into place around her bed before she opened her eyes again, only to immediately squinch them shut against the pain of a sob wracking her frame as the tears finally broke loose from inside her. What a shitty night. And there she was, pushing away the person trying so hard to love all the broken pieces of her.
It had started off fine. Just a regular Saturday. Sure, it was raining, but it didn't impede the few chores she needed to get done. Will's car was at the mechanic's so she'd grabbed coffee for them both and picked him up to take him to his shift at the restaurant. The few morning moments they'd stolen in the car before he'd had to climb out had sent them both on their way with a smile on their faces. Not even the sudden downpour that hit when she was halfway across the parking lot with her groceries an hour later could dampen her spirits.
Will had texted earlier to let her know that he was going to have to stay back to cover Naomi who had called in sick to the late shift, thereby cancelling the date plans they'd had for when she gave him a lift home. But it wasn't like she wouldn't see him at all. No, they'd have the twelve minute drive from the restaurant to his apartment building to spend together, and probably a few extra minutes of making out if Will wasn't too exhausted from working the double shift.
That had been the plan, at least, until the car in the next lane had lost control on the slick roads and slammed into the side of her car. She was just a block from the restaurant. Had been running late thanks to the steady rain as she cautiously navigated the streets. Her caution had all been for naught though.
Will was the one to call the ambulance. He'd just stepped out the back door of the restaurant when he heard the crash. And he'd been the picture of calm support in her panic and pain in the time that had elapsed since. Steph was grateful for that, even as her brain cautioned her heart to hold fast.
The scrape of the curtain rings against the frame above her alerted her to Will's return and she took a final, cautiously deep breath to stow her push and pull emotions in the appropriate box so she could face him again. When she slid her eyes open though, it wasn't Will she found peering at her from the gap in the curtain. Standing there in his signature perfectly tailored trousers and shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbows and top buttons open to reveal just a smidge more chest than was strictly necessary, was Deb.
The concerned tilt to his eyebrows as he moved toward her held Steph's attention only until a second man followed him into her curtained off circle. He was burly to Deb's slim frame, a full beard covering half his face and adding to the rough-around-the-edges air he had about him. Confusion furrowed Steph's brow for only a moment before realisation and guilt sliced through her like a double-edged sword.
"You were on a date!" she exclaimed as Deb reached her side.
He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned one hip against the side of her bed and cocked one of the eyebrows he'd had threaded especially for this weekend's date. "And you're in the hospital, Honey. I think we both know which one of those things is more important." Turning his head slightly, he tossed a soft, "No offense, Bear," over his shoulder to the man who, Steph had to admit, looked a bit like a bear now that she was thinking about it.
"We can get back to it later when we're sure she's okay," 'Bear' assured Deb, his meaty hands wrapping around the footboard where he'd come to hover.
Deb bent close to Steph's immobilised head and whispered at a volume that Bear could no doubt hear from his position mere feet away, "He's, like, the perfect combination of rugged and sweet." He straightened then, returning to a normal volume as he carefully moved the errant curls that had been inching their way into her field of vision back behind her ear. "As soon as I got Will's call, Bear knew my mind would be stuck on you and our date would be perfunctory at best, so he insisted we come make sure you're okay."
"That is sweet," Steph agreed. God knows they'd both had enough dates through the years that would have complained and been completely put out if they'd ditched the date in favour of ensuring the wellbeing of their friend. Recalling her own ruined date plans, she peered as best she could past Bear toward the sliver of the emergency department that she could see where the curtains didn't quite meet. "Where's Will?"
Deb pursed her lips, not afraid to give her a critical look even though she was already lying in a hospital bed and clearly injured. "He's in the waiting room." His tone made it clear that he thought Will should be in here with her instead. "He said you just needed a few minutes to yourself."
Tears stung at the back of Steph's eyes again. "I tried to send him away." Her voice was thick with emotion as she made the admission. But that was the thing with Deb, she had to be completely honest with him, because he could see right through her lies. He'd called her out for this kind of avoidance before, and she wouldn't put it past him to do it again. Their whole friendship was built on a foundation of delivering reality checks where they were due. It didn't sound like the kind of thing that would make for a healthy relationship, but it worked for them. "But he didn't want to leave me alone."
"Mmmhmm." The nonplussed tone matched his pursed lips and furrowed brow as he delicately tucked a curl behind her ear and propped half his ass on the edge of the bed beside her hip. He gripped her good hand in his, the way he always did when she needed a good stern talking to. Their eyes locked for a long moment as he stared past all her defences, straight to the core of her being.
A beleaguered sigh escaped him and he turned his head to catch sight of his date. "Bear, would you be a dear and rustle up a doctor or someone who'll actually do their job and treat a patient?"
Bear gave a short nod and disappeared back through the curtains without a word, leaving Steph and Deb alone with an uncomfortable silence growing between them.
Steph did her best to focus on her friend and not the pressure from the egg on the side of her head, but as the seconds ticked by her patience was eaten away by the pain. "Just lay it on me." Her request was resigned.
"You know I love you," Deb said, his thumb stroking idly back and forth against the back of her hand.
She tried to nod, but immediately thought better of it as the neck brace restricted the movements but not the jolt of pain through her head. "Of course." Deb's start did nothing to put her mind at ease, though, and she winced at the added tension winding her body tight and doing nothing to improve her physical condition.
Deb squeezed her hand reassuringly, his gaze firm on hers. "I want you to be happy. I want you to find love and bask in it the way you deserve. But you've gotta let people in, Honey."
"I-" Steph's protest was cut off by a stern look.
"You've got to let them in and share the hard parts with them, not just the fun, easy, happy parts." He puffed some air at the lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead, tossing his head when that didn't work, and settled his attention back on her once more. "Maybe it's time you talk to someone. Work through some of the unresolved issues that are holding you back. Will cares for you, he might even love you, and I know you really like him too, but you're scared to get attached. Not everyone is going to leave you at the first opportunity. I mean, look at me! I'm still here putting up with you; is it so hard to think that others can stick around too? You owe it to yourself to stay and find out what good can come to you instead of trying to keep yourself safe in a frame."
Before Steph had a chance to respond, the curtain scraped back to reveal Bear and a nervous looking doctor. He glanced at the file in his shaking hands and then over his shoulder to Bear.
"Okay, um, Ms. Plum?" he stammered. "I'm Dr. Wright. We're, uh, just about ready to take you down for some scans. Can- Can you tell me about your pain levels?"
*o*
A soft groan of pain pierced the almost oppressive silence of the bunker as Carlos eased his pack off first one shoulder and then, keeping as much weight as he could in his hand, slid it gingerly off his injured arm, letting it fall to the ground with a thump that brought the team's attention his way. After all, it was Carlos who had emphasised the importance of stealth on their latest outing.
It wasn't like it had done them any good, though. No sooner had they reached the vantage point he'd scoped out the night before than they were ambushed. Fifteen men emerged from the bushes, and they could tell from the way their weapons were trained steadily on them that they weren't there to offer them warm welcomes and a cool glass of iced tea.
No, they meant business. And they proved it by shooting the first of Carlos's team to take a single step forward. Like the rest of them, Collins had slowly raised his hands when the men appeared, but the stupid brave soul had decided to try to negotiate a surrender. No sooner had his foot touched the ground than a bullet hit him right between the eyes, exploding out the back of his skull.
Carlos's team sprang into action before their fallen comrade had even hit the ground. They managed to dispatch the enemy group fairly swiftly, and beat a hasty retreat, silent but for the sound of heavy breathing, boots crunching through undergrowth, and the occasional hiss or groan as they discovered injuries that had gone unnoticed in the heat and adrenaline of the battle.
And now, they were back at the bunker they'd secured several days ago. No further in their mission to take down the war general that had taken over the nearby village than when they'd set out a few hours earlier. Exhausted. Sporting various injuries. And down a medic.
Fuck stealth, Carlos thought. Leaning back against the wall he allowed himself to slowly slide down the concrete until he was seated on the hard floor, his pack between his spread knees. He wrenched it open, digging through one handed until he grasped his small first aid kit and pulled it out. He set about preparing the items he needed then glanced at the others.
With teeth gritted as he tore open the fabric of his sleeve to get to the bullet wound beneath, he bit out the question that had been on his, and likely the rest of the team's minds since the first man appeared in the clearing. "What the fuck was that?"
"An ambush." Yarrow plonked himself down on one of the equipment boxes, setting his pack down beside him in a much more controlled fashion. His cropped blond hair was smeared with blood, but Carlos couldn't tell from his position on the floor whether it was from his own injury, or from his running his hand over his head after attempting to assist Carlos to bandage his arm while they trekked through miles of dense forest.
"No shit, Sherlock." Behind Yarrow, their communications expert, McCray, paced the narrow space, barely masking a limp. Whatever his injury, there didn't appear to be any blood staining his dark fatigues. The permanent scowl he usually sported had a sharper edge to it as he eyed each of the men he passed. "How'd they know we'd be there?"
Yarrow cast a wary glance from Carlos, to McCray, to Tank where he stood silent and still as a statue by the entrance, then back to Carlos, who was in the process of cleaning his wound so he could attempt to remove the bullet.
The weight of the man's gaze slowed his already careful movements and he lifted his head, holding eye contact more firmly. Carlos knew the question on the tip of Yarrow's tongue before he'd even parted his lips to reveal it: "Could you have been spotted last night?"
Once again, Carlos recounted every measure he took to ensure he went unnoticed during his scouting mission the previous night, all the while digging in his own upper arm until he'd managed to prise the bullet loose, letting it clatter to the ground. Yarrow attempted to take over the task a couple of times, but Carlos waved him away. Someone had given away their position, and until they'd sorted out who, there were only two people on this team he could trust: himself, and Tank.
He cut his eyes to the man that had become his best friend and faithful second in recent years. Tank held his gaze for a long moment, then slowly and deliberately moved it to McCray. Carlos followed his attention, recalling the ill feelings Tank had shared after their first briefing. Something feels off about him. Carlos had felt it too, but there was little they could do about the mission assignment. All they could do was stay on guard.
Apparently, they hadn't been on guard enough.
"What about you?" Carlos asked. "Why don't you tell us where you were when you were supposed to be on watch last night?"
What followed was an argument that Carlos really could have done without. McCray was defensive. Yarrow was trying to keep peace. And with Tank's propensity for silence ever since his first deployment where his chatterbox tendencies had directly caused the death of his battle buddy, Carlos was left to wade through the quarrel alone. He never thought he'd miss the inane stories about the animals he'd fostered growing up, but right now he would have taken a tale about Vivian, the cat who'd adopted a baby duck, over the lies spilling from McCray's mouth.
Eventually, Tank had had enough of it, too, and moved to stand in the middle of the three men. He didn't have to say anything; his imposing size did the talking for him. They all quieted down and Tank pointed to two far corners of the bunker. "Yarrow," he commanded first, and then. "McCray." Finally, he turned to Carlos and pointed at the crate Yarrow had vacated waiting for him to follow the silent instruction before he paced to the first aid kit Carlos had abandoned when things got heated and threaded the needle.
His ministrations weren't as practiced, precise, or gentle as Collin's would have been, but they did the job, and while he worked, he muttered under his breath. "No turning back now." He snipped one stitch and started in on the next. "The sooner we finish this the better."
Carlos inclined his head almost imperceptibly, hissing as the needle once again penetrated his flesh. They'd already been playing things close to the vest, but McCray's reaction just now was enough to set them both on edge. "We followed all the breadcrumbs," Carlos pointed out under his breath. "But every time we move closer, it seems like we get further away."
Tank nodded, resting his forearms on his thighs and glancing to each of the men in turn, noting that while Yarrow had busied himself with tending to his own wounds, McCray was glaring daggers in their direction, the dim lighting casting ominous shadows across his face. "Tonight," Tank breathed. His voice was barely more than a rush of air, a rumble of indistinguishable sound from the centre of his chest. "We'll pin him down and get this done ourselves so we can go home."
Another miniscule nod was Carlos's only reply as he adjusted his position to lean back against the wall. He let his eyes drift shut against the growing headache, knowing that Tank was always watching his six, and let his mind drift, searching for his zone in the chaos of his thoughts. It took several moments, but he finally conjured up the image of Stephanie, her pouty expression watching him from the bed in his dorm room where she sat cross-legged, waiting for him to finish his English paper so they could go find the donuts she'd been craving all day.
She'd just delivered a heartfelt, "Don't you love me anymore?" when he dropped his pen, turning to face her at last. A confession rose up in the back of his throat, but she'd just come from a heavy make out session with her latest boyfriend, her lips still bruised and swollen from the activity. Instead, Carlos had lifted his new camera phone and snapped a photo of her so he could remember the way she looked right then.
He'd spent a lot of hours staring at that photo over the intervening years. Had printed it on his sister's computer and stuck it in a cheap frame to protect it. He kept it in the bottom of his footlocker all through his training. And even now, it was safely tucked into his sock drawer back home. Picturing her safe in that frame had a calming effect on him when it seemed like his world was at risk of imploding