What had started out as a reinforced recon patrol - with Hannibal's team to back up another squad led by Captain O'Reilly - had turned into a bloodbath. They'd been ambushed, and they'd walked right into it. O'Reilly and most of his team were dead. Face had been shot through the leg and BA had caught shrapnel in his back. Snap had a concussion and Murdock was down one chopper thanks to a well-aimed RPG. Cruiser's arm was mangled - bloody and broken. The only consolation Hannibal had was the fact that in the end, everyone on his team was still alive.
By the time they were lifted back to the base, their most serious injury and biggest concern was Snap, who was unconscious, so there wasn't a whole hell of a lot they could do for him at the moment, and Cruiser, who was distinctly not unconscious. He'd caught a round in his forearm that had hit the bone and, Hannibal suspected, shattered it. He hadn't really had a chance to look at it yet, but that was what rounds from an AK-47 tended to do when they hit. It had been fired at considerable distance – proof of which was the fact that his arm was still attached – but there was no telling how bad the damage was inside until he let someone look at it.
Unfortunately, the medics had a different plan for how to go about doing that than Cruiser did.
"I don't want the fucking morphine, do you understand me!" Livid, bleeding, and cursing every few words at the medics who were taking too long in his professional opinion, Cruiser was drugged enough from adrenaline alone. "Get this fucking bullet out of my fucking arm before I dig it out myself and shove it down your fucking throat!"
"Easy, Cruiser," Hannibal said calmly.
"Fuck off!" That anger was liable to turn on anyone, without discrimination.
They were readying morphine. Cruiser was out of his chair the moment he saw it. "Fucking son of a -" It only took a half step for him to register the excruciating pain, and he turned his head away and to the side. "Ow! God damn mother fucking -"
"I don't think he wants the morphine, guys," Hannibal said calmly.
The man with the syringe stared for a moment as Cruiser was guided back into the chair. Then he took a step towards Hannibal, lowering his voice. "Sir, I can't even tell how badly broken his arm is."
"Well, if he needs surgery, we'll re-evaluate." Hannibal shrugged. "Right now, he wants the bullet out. So get it out. He can take the pain."
The man laughed nervously. "Sir, with as pissed off as he is, I am not going to try and dig a bullet out of his arm without some morphine. It's not safe. For any of us."
"Fine," Hannibal said flatly. "Then let me do it."
The two of them stared at each other for a long moment before the man handed over the small glass bottle with the syringe still sticking out of it. "Suit yourself, Colonel."
"Cruiser?"
Hannibal set the bottle on the counter before looking at him. The string of angry cursing paused for just a moment as Cruiser looked up.
Hannibal grabbed the tools he needed off of the top of the cabinet. "Give me your arm."
Cruiser glared at him, seething with vicious anger. But through the pain, there must have been some form of logic that made him still capable of reason. He took a few deep breaths, and calmed.
"If it's shattered, you're taking the morphine and going for surgery."
"It's not," Cruiser growled. "I can feel it."
"Fine. I'm just telling you."
Teeth gritted and eyes blazing, he lay his arm carefully on the table. Hannibal ushered the nurse out of the way as he grabbed the sterile gauze she'd already prepared with peroxide.
Cruiser didn't move his arm as Hannibal dug into it. Snarling at the pain, his head turned away, entire body tense, Cruiser nevertheless didn't flinch. After several moments, Hannibal retrieved the slug, and pressed the bandage over the top of the bleeding wound.
"Hold this," Hannibal ordered flatly.
Cruiser didn't really need to be told. His hand pressed down on the bandage, over the wound. He was hyperventilating from the pain, but he didn't make a sound other than the ragged breaths as the nurse readied suture thread. Hannibal cleaned the wound - at that, Cruiser couldn't withhold the cry of pain - and Cruiser tended to the blood himself as Hannibal sewed it closed.
With that task finished, Hannibal set his fingers firmly on either side of Cruiser's forearm and moved down slowly, tracing the bone. Cruiser nearly jumped out of his seat as Hannibal approached the wound. "Jesus fucking -"
"You're going to need a doctor to set it," Hannibal said flatly, taking his hands away. "I'm not doing that."
Cruiser growled, but didn't argue.
"Nurse, will you let them know, when they have a chance?"
She nodded, and was gone almost instantly. Hannibal watched her go, then cleaned up the blood and finally removed his gloves, tossing them in the trash. "How's the pain?"
"Fuck kinda question is that?" Cruiser demanded angrily.
Hannibal cast him a sideways glance. "Just asking."
Every few seconds, Cruiser moved his fingers, just to remind himself that he could. Every time, he was reminded with a pain that made him wince that yes, everything was still attached.
"Morphine is still here."
"Will you shut up about the fucking morphine?"
"Why don't you want it?"
"Because I don't." Cruiser moved his fingers again and clamped his jaw shut as the pain reminded him they were still there. Glaring at his arm, he waited for the agony to subside again. "You don't need to be here."
"I'll stay anyways. In case you change your mind."
It was a pointless thing to say. Hannibal knew that. He wasn't stupid. But he had to say it. Just like he had to stay. He made himself comfortable, leaning back on the wall and closing his eyes. Cruiser glared at him.
"Sure do wish you'd go hover around someone else."
Hannibal smiled faintly, eyes still closed and head back on the wall. "You get really irritable when you're injured, you know that?"
Cruiser growled audibly. Hannibal's smile grew.
"You can take your commentary on my disposition to a couch session with that fucking head shrinker you're so fond of."
"Which one?" Hannibal asked casually, unoffended.
There was no patience in Cruiser's answering expression and very little humor, if any at all. "How about the one flyboy sees?"
The blatant accusation, an invitation to an argument, went unanswered. "As far as I know, he's not supposed to be under any psychiatric care right now."
"Shocking." He took another deep breath and looked at his arm, then brought his left hand up and prodded at it a bit, gritting his teeth as he tried to figure out how badly broken it was.
"You keep messing with that, you're going to make it worse."
"Do I look like I need a girl scout leader to hold my hand?"
"You should take the morphine, Cruiser."
"Fuck you! You know what?" Cruiser stood, grabbing his arm and cradling it to his chest. The pain was excruciating, but he didn't cry out. "You fucking send us out there with a lunatic at the controls and you're surprised when it doesn't go well? What the fuck are you thinking?"
Hannibal raised a brow. "Murdock getting shot down has absolutely nothing to do with why your arm is broken." His eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke with an edge, just short of a command. "Sit down, Sergeant."
Cruiser pushed himself up as fully as he could, given the pain. "Or what?"
Hannibal raised a brow. "Or you're posing a legitimate threat to your own well-being and as your commanding officer I will take any steps necessary to ensure your safety."
He left the threat open for interpretation. Cruiser glared daggers in reply. "Safety and well being my ass. You fucked that notion upside down already."
"Sit down, Sergeant," Hannibal ordered in a full command.
Cruiser clamped his jaw shut, a war waging on inside of his head. Debating non-compliance. But his arm was injured; there was no getting away from that fact. Finally, he threw a glare back at Hannibal and forced himself to sit back down, muttering under his breath.
"Fucking unbelievable."
"If you've got something to say, you're free to say it."
"I've got a hell of a lot of things to day, but you don't wanna hear any of them."
"You know where I stand as far as Murdock goes. I've seen absolutely nothing to change that position. In fact, that he was able to pull himself and Snap out of that downed chopper and be a help to us when we were on the ground says a hell of a lot more than the fact that you're pissed off right now, and in pain."
"God damn it." He hissed as moved his arm a bit, trying to get it to a position that was even slightly comfortable again. "You're so full of shit, I don't even know what to believe with you anymore and all your self-righteous golden boy bullshit mission you're dragging all of us in on."
"To be honest, Sergeant, I'm not sure what to think of you either." He kept his voice controlled. "Where the hell is all this even coming from? Because I don't give a good god damn who you've got personality conflicts with."
Cruiser kicked his foot out, irritated and once again ready to step up. Hannibal was pushing. And Cruiser was in just enough pain to lose his grip on rationale.
"You've always been good on the ground, good on this team. Now all of a sudden you're all bent out of shape because - what? You're thinking I'm gonna sacrifice my team on a whim? For the hell of it? I haven't given you any reason to think that. And this irrational... temper tantrum is not like you."
Cruiser was back on his feet. "You shitting me? What do you need coke-bottle glasses to see that he's not right in the fucking head? Or are the nightmares and screaming and middle of the night throw-downs against his own team not enough?"
"Middle of the night throw -" Hannibal cut off, shaking his head in disbelief. "Cruiser, that is not what happened and you know it."
Cruiser snarled, jaw clenched, just daring Hannibal to blow him off a second time. "How long have I been on the ground with you, huh?" Cruiser demanded. "And how many times have I asked you to solve my problems? Fucking personality conflict temper tantrum... You think I'm a fucking flower girl? How fucking needy do you think I am that I wouldn't deal with that shit on my own?"
Hannibal stared him straight in the eye. "And that, Cruiser, is what's got me so goddamn confused about this."
"I don't see what's so fucking confusing."
"Murdock is scarred. Damaged. I'm not arguing that. What I am arguing is your proposition that makes him incapable of doing his job. Because I haven't seen that. I have seen him excel in every new responsibility I put on his shoulders. So what exactly are you expecting me to say?"
"At what cost, huh?" Cruiser took a deep breath, his arm was fucking killing him from that last move. "Look, he's a good pilot, I'll give you that. But his fucking 'damage' isn't just affecting him."
He forced some of the anger back down and took a deep breath, trying to be calm and rational. "I told you," he said flatly. "This shit is fucking throwing me. And that means I'm not the only one. I'm serious, Colonel. Don't blow it off."
It wasn't meant as a threat or a challenge. In fact, it was as close to a request as Cruiser would ever get. Hannibal shook his head. "I'm not blowing you off. But you're gonna have to do better than 'his damage is affecting me' if you want me to get involved. Because that's your problem, Cruiser. Not his."
"God damn it, you're wrong!" Just like that, the control was gone. "I'm not… You know what? Fuck you."
He took a step towards the exit. But Hannibal stepped into his path. "Sit down, Sergeant." He couldn't leave here until that arm was set. After that, Hannibal didn't much care where he went to cool off.
Cruiser glared daggers at him. "Or what?" he challenged. "We've been through this. I'm done playing ring around the rosie with you."
He shoved past Hannibal, ignoring the sharp stab of pain. But he couldn't ignore it when Hannibal grabbed his upper arm, grating bone on bone in his forearm with the rough motion as he pushed him back towards the chair. It was a good thing Cruiser hadn't made it far from the chair because he would've fallen down as he screamed in pain through grated teeth.
Hannibal was calling the medic. Cruiser was struggling to breathe, to push the pain back down to a manageable place. He couldn't even see straight for the pain.
"You're going to get some morphine now, Cruiser," Hannibal said softly. "I think the pain is making you a bit unstable."
Cruiser smiled wickedly, in spite of the pain that was making him almost delirious, as he watched Hannibal ready a syringe. "You better have a fucking plan for that you limey fuck." He laughed. It was anything but humorous.
Hannibal had a plan. An exchange of glances and a nod, and the two medics who'd answered Hannibal's call had their hands on Cruiser. His eyes went wide, and he fought the moment the hands were anywhere near him for all he was worth. He didn't even feel the needle against the pain in his arm. It was overwhelming and blinding and every move, every touch caused it to rip through him. Pinned down and disoriented by the pain and adrenaline alone, he laughed until he felt the fog slowly setting in. Cold, hollow eyes finally found Hannibal as the morphine flowed in his veins.
"I'm gonna kill you for this," he slurred, his voice cold and distant.
Hannibal sighed. "Just rest, Cruiser."
He couldn't keep his eyes open. He didn't have a choice. As he slipped away into unconsciousness, the last thing he heard was the soft sound of Hannibal's voice.
"God knows you deserve a break."
The nurse was just finishing with the last of the stitches on Face's leg when Murdock showed up at the edge of the curtain. The bullet would've done a lot more damage if it had been a little further to the left. None at all if it had been a half inch to the right. Just more than a graze, just less than a wound, it had made a path clean through. It would be sore, and there was no running in his immediate future. But he needed a few days off anyways. He wasn't complaining. It was a small price to pay.
"What do you think, nurse?" Murdock asked. "Will he ever dance the Tango again?"
She smiled, and patted Face's leg, below the injury. "He should be just fine in a few days."
Face smiled at her. She was a reminder of the beautiful things that still existed in the world, somewhere. He offered a quiet, "Thank you," then watched her leave without another word. On to the next bloody injury. Face sighed as he swung his legs carefully over the side of the table, pointing to the nearby chair.
"Hand me my pants, will you?"
Murdock grabbed the rumpled fatigues, which were now missing a leg. "You want me to go grab you another pair?"
Face glanced at them, then down at the bandage on his thigh, distracted by it for a moment. It really was a large bandage for what felt like a minor wound. "No, I'm only going as far as the hootch."
"Suit yourself."
Face took the pants and carefully bent to slip them over his feet. "How's Snap?"
"He'll be up and doing everything by the book and in triplicate in no time. He's got a concussion, but they were able to wake him up. So no coma. He should be fine in a couple days."
Face nodded as he spent a few moments struggling with his pants before he fell back on the cot, exhausted. He was lightheaded. He'd lost a lot of blood. As soon as he got back to the team room, he was going to drink a gallon of water and sleep for a week.
"Need a hand with your boots?"
Face eyed him for a moment, distrustful. But for once, Murdock didn't seem to have all the energy of an excited puppy. He seemed almost normal. Maybe Hannibal was right. A little bit of adrenaline mellowed him right the fuck out. "Sure," he answered cautiously.
Grabbing the less than clean combat boots in one hand, Murdock took the small wooden chair nearby and pulled it next to the bed. Dropping down into the chair, Murdock set one boot on the ground and held open the other one. Carefully he pulled the boot on with minimum jostling of his injured leg, then slowly and carefully tied the laces.
"Hannibal went with Cruiser, 'cause it's a good bet he needed morphine. But other than the bullet in his arm and a serious case of pissed off, he should be fine, too."
"O'Reilly isn't." Face watched Murdock carefully, as he slowed just briefly. "His entire fucking team got wiped out. And there's still two bodies out there we haven't recovered."
Murdock's smile was still in place as he looked up, but there was sadness in his eyes as he set Face's foot back down and reached for his cigarettes. "Yeah, that's true." He stared at his smokes. "But what we did out there today… It matters."
There was an odd, almost amazed tone to his voice. Face sighed as he looked away. Looking back, it would have been better if they hadn't gone at all. But there'd been no way to know that. And none of them would've been willing to roll that dice.
Murdock let the silence linger for a few moments, then lit his cigarette. His full smile returned as he shoved the pack into his pocket again. "They dug the shrapnel outta BA's back, too. He's already back in the team room, probably fast asleep and dreaming happy little BA dreams."
Face smirked. "Yeah, gotta love that morphine."
He reached for his own cigarettes, lit one unceremoniously, and tipped his head back as he blew the smoke into the air. He let the silence linger for a long moment. Thank God for silence; Murdock really was a hell of a lot easier to get along with when he wasn't bouncing around the room looking for someone to annoy the hell out of.
Finally, he glanced back down, eyeing the pilot curiously. "You did okay out there." The approval was hesitant. The last thing he wanted was for Murdock to get the idea they were best buddies or something. But he really had held it together exceptionally well. Especially for a pilot.
Murdock stared at him for a moment, then forced a tight smile as he mumbled, "Thanks."
Face didn't answer.
Murdock took a deep drag , keeping his head down he looked up at Face, blowing out a stream of smoke before he spoke again. "You know, it's the damndest thing. When I'm flying, or doing something like we did today, I feel…" He licked his lips, trying to find the word, and shook his head when he couldn't find it.
"Alive?" Face offered quietly.
Murdock studied him for a moment, and the slight smile turned more genuine. "It means something. What this team does. And being a part of that somehow just makes everything else kinda fade into the background."
Face watched him carefully, and finally lowered his eyes as he took another slow, deep drag. "Just don't let it go to your head, flyboy," he warned, his voice soft. "It could all be over with one bullet.
