Orginial: Reach Out and Touch Faith
Written for Sensory Overload - an original fiction ficathon, run by ephemera_tales.
Title: Reach Out and Touch Faith
Word count: 3075
Warnings: Torture ( see policy)
With thanks: To apiphile and lapis_lazuli, for beta services above and beyond. To ephemera_tales, for running such a fun challenge. To my Nice Young Man, for putting up with me.
Notes: If you think this reads less like a short story and more like an excerpt from an unwritten novel, you may be onto something.
---
Yesterday.
It wasn't the first time Steve had been tortured.
It wasn't even the first time Steve had volunteered to be tortured - the training class when he first joined the Intelligence Services had already dealt him that hand. And it wasn't the first time he had been tortured by the rebels.
It was, however, the first time he'd been tortured by the rebels since he defected to them, and that made it special.
---
Now.
He wakes up in a clean bed. In the time between opening his eyes and finally persuading them to focus, he watches his surroundings shimmer around him, gradually revealing themselves to be the inside of a hospital ward. It's far from a surprise - he was, after all, the one who told Henderson where to leave him to be sure he'd be found - but it's a relief none the less. Henderson and her group make very thorough torturers.
He hadn't been certain that in the thrill of leaving enough new scars to hide the few that matter they'd remember he was more useful to them alive. Still, he's alive now, carrying their bug and their bruises.
It's a slight surprise when Mary's man - when Ytar enters the room, but not a great one. Dr Ytar Franks is one of Intelligence's most trusted medical staff, and he gets most of the psych-risk cases. He's smiling, and Steve wants nothing more than to reach out and punch him in the face. Sadly, that'll have to wait.
Ytar smells of antiseptic, cinnamon aftershave and smugness. Only the latter suits him, but he's in charge here, and it suits him well. Maybe that's what Mary sees in him, besides the good looks and lazy charm of a man who earns more than Steve, Jack and Mary put together.
The good doctor begins to poke him, checking tubes and patches and wires. He leans in close over Steve's head, and the smell of cinnamon is overpowering. Steve remembers the day Mary bought that aftershave for her lesser half, and has to bite down a smile at the memory of Jack's face when she proudly showed it to them. The effort of doing so hurts, and his vision clouds again as the pain washes over him. "He likes it," she'd said, and between Jack's laughter and Steve's mild terror of her, they'd never quite got round to telling her what cinnamon was slang for in Ytar's home city.
Still, Ytar wears it. Steve suspects Mary knew exactly what it was slang for.
"Jack's coming in soon," Ytar says as he adjusts a particularly vicious looking needle. "Nurse Rogers beeped us both as soon as you woke up."
He puts a hand to Steve's head to keep him from nodding understanding, which is just as well. All movement is painful right now.
"We've got you on the lowest dose of pain med that's still humane." There's no need to be so smug about it, but that's the good doctor's default setting, so Steve decides not to take it personally. He can punch him in the face when it no longer hurts to move. "We thought it sensible not to go any higher until we'd spoken to you. Some of the weapons they used on you were non-standard, to say the least, and we didn't want to complicate your injuries further."
So the tools weren't regular issue, despite Henderson's promises. More worryingly, somewhere along the line Intelligence had noticed. Idly, Steve wonders if Henderson sold him out or was sold out herself. Either way, there's not a lot he can do about it now.
"Don't talk. There's too much metal in your jaw. Blink twice if you can remember being injected with anything." Ytar is looking directly at his face now, clearly displeased that he has to wait on someone else's answer.
Steve blinks twice.
"Good," mutters Ytar, ticking off the appropriate boxes on the clipboard he's plucked out of thin air. "And do you know what? Twice for yes, three blinks for no."
Steve blinks twice, grateful once again for the first hand training in torture methods he got when he joined Intelligence.
Eventually, after so many blinks that the room shimmers in and out of focus and red spots flash in front of Steve's eyes, they establish that the rebels used beta tetrazone. Steve had first met that particular sensory enhancer on his third day of training. This time round, Henderson had told him what they were using, but he hadn't needed his memory jogged to remember that one.
Ytar sets the clipboard down at the end of the bed and begins to adjust the flow of what must be pain medication into Steve's arm. A nurse has appeared from a door Steve hadn't noticed, flickering into existence to stand by the good doctor with-
It isn't pain making the walls blur. Of course it isn't. It's an energy screen. The tools they used on him really weren't regular issue, if this is the level of security Jack ordered.
Steve could kick himself, if not for the obvious. Jack would have noticed the energy screen instantly with injuries twice as severe. But then Jack wouldn't have sold his own side out in a crisis of conscience, so arguably Steve has lost the right to compare himself to his boss.
It hurts to sigh, but he does so anyway. Then he lies back and waits for the worst to happen.
---
---
Three hours earlier.
Mary was alone when Ytar phoned, catching up on some of the paperwork that had been neglected after Steve went missing. Jack was out of the office, hunting down any lead possible to find out what bastards had done this to one of his men, and George and Elliot were off doing whatever George and Elliot did when they weren't working overtime. Jack would know. She, however, didn't give one good shit.
Jack would know that, too.
"Mary?" There was no vid facility on Mary's phone, but 'Tar's voice still brought a smile to her lips, even as she frowned at the interruption. The bastard did that to her, time and time again. Just because it was the only bright spot in an otherwise godawful day didn't make it any less annoying.
"Yes," she said, sorting through one of Jack's large blue files for a T3P form. "What? Has he woken up?"
"I thought we could go out for dinner tonight," he said, his easy confidence not masking a faint apologetic tone. The smile left her lips.
She sighed, writing down dates on the T3P as she waited for the frustration to leave her voice. It wasn't fair to take this out on him. It wasn't even fun. "'Tar, you know how much work we've had since Steve- Since he went missing." She could tell as soon as the words were out that she hadn't waited long enough. Fuck it. She threw her pen against the wall, hard enough to snap it in two. Everything was shit right now, and the least 'Tar could do was appreciate her workload.
"I appreciate that," he lied. If he did, he wouldn't be sniffing around for a dinner date when she was trying to do the work of three officers. She watched the ink from the broken pen stain the carpet. It wasn't as if he needed to woo her to get a fuck now, and damn it, now was not the time. You'd think a doctor could understand that.
"I'll see you when I get home," she said, and hung up, careful not to slam the phone. She'd have to clean the stain before Jack got back; today she didn't have the energy for a fight with either of them. Nor the energy to mend a broken phone.
The T3P was for an armed robbery somewhere in Aylesbury. No one had died, but it had been close for two of the victims. One of the items stolen was a disc Intelligence quite wanted back. Sooner rather than later, please, and sooner than that if possible. She put it on Elliot's middle priority pile, then reached for another form from her own.
The paperwork stared down at her. Mountains of it, piled up on every available surface. A sudden memory of that bloody penguin sitting on top of Steve's stack of non-urgents hit her, making her smile and wince together. They'd given it a name, that bloody penguin, but she couldn't remember what. Jack would know.
Jack had bought it for Steve, a quiet apology for some of the things he'd said when Steve had found out about them. Steve came in one morning to find it sitting on his chair, two beady penguin eyes looking up at him. Mary'd had her back to the whole thing, not trusting herself not to laugh if she caught anyone's eye, but Jack swore afterwards Steve had taken a minute to try and glare the thing into submission before giving up and going for some coffee.
She'd turned round to watch just as he'd gone for the coffee, and so saw for herself as he paused, lifted the penguin from his chair to the top of his paperwork and asked it if it'd like a mug of coffee, too. It was a good memory. As she reached for a new pen, she tried to believe she wouldn't let it be spoiled by what those bastards had done to him. He'd be back on his feet and back in the office, fighting crime and pissing her off, before you could say "Fucking rebel torturer scum."
---
Now.
She's still alone, and going through the dates on yet another T3P when Ytar phones again. "Mary?"
"Yes. Has he-"
"Yes," 'Tar cuts her off. "I've just been in to up his pain meds. Before they cut him open, they used beta tetrazone on him."
Mary allows herself to wince. The torture training when she joined Intelligence is not something she wants to relive. "Poor bastard." She slams her fist into the table to clear her head of the memories.
"Yes. He's in fine form, though, for what they did." 'Tar's voice is lazily professional. She feels a smile blossom across her face again. This, this here, this is what she - what she likes about him. Not the circumstances, true, but she cannot get enough of Ytar's calm, lazy confidence that he's just the damned best at what he does. He is. It's just a bonus that what he does is now making Steve well again.
She thinks, briefly, of telling 'Tar this. The thought is gone almost as soon as it occurs, but leaves her wondering what he'd say. Now, as ever, is not the time to find out.
"Can he speak yet?"
"No," 'Tar says, then lets out a brief, hissing laugh. "But he's glaring at me with almost healthy levels of hatred and contempt."
Mary smiles, and lets a quiet snort of approval escape. "Did you wear that cinnamon crap?"
She can feel the answering smile in his voice as he replies, "But of course. Wouldn't want to miss the chance to expose him to it while he's helpless."
Another sudden memory hits her. Her own torture training. Day three. The first day she went into the chair. No one touched her, there were no loud noises, no bright lights: that came later. On day three, she sat there. Men, women she'd never met walked around her, not speaking. One of them had paused, peered at her --
"Mary?" The laughter hasn't left 'Tar's voice.
-- and finally spoke: "You are not helpless. Yet."
She swallows, punches the table again. On day three, she had found that amusingly tacky. On day five, she hadn't. "Yes, 'Tar?" Her voice is harsh again.
"You went quiet." It's not an accusation. He's back to being mild. Treading on eggshells around her. Bastard.
"I do that." She pauses. "I'll be in to see Steve as soon as I can."
---
---
Two hours earlier.
Jack signed the form for the energy shield without a second thought, snapping "Standard procedure" in response to the lieutenant's puzzled look. "They used classified weapons on him," he added. Ytar Franks nodded confirmation, and to his credit waited until the lieutenant left before shooting Jack a puzzled look of his own.
There was a silence as Jack continued to fill in the necessary forms. It was restful. He thought of butterflies and lambs frolicking in green pastures. Or coffee. Maybe he thought of coffee.
"Classified weapons?" the doctor asked, sounding for all the world like Mary on a good day. The violence was very much under control.
Jack shrugged and thought of coffee. It was a calming thought, and certainly one to hold on to when dealing with the doctor. "Thank you."
The doctor nodded again. "What classified weapons?"
Jack held back a scowl. Why Mary couldn't have a taste for passive men, he wanted to know. And while they were at it, he wanted to know why he couldn't have just one single, solitary quiet day on this job, and which bastards did this to Steve. But cooperation was owed something, and half the truth wouldn't cost much. "They might come back for him. Finish the job." He paused. "Or worse." Which was true.
The doctor was silent. It was a good look for him.
"When he notices-" Jack began.
"He'll be in too much pain," the doctor said. "His injuries are severe. The pain meds will dope him, too."
"When he notices the energy shield," said Jack, fully aware of how severe the damned injuries were, "please tell him the same thing."
The doctor nodded, fortunately not expecting a reason. He could damned well make up his own, and for now Jack was just fine letting him think what he liked about corruption in Intelligence. The doctor liked Steve rather more than Steve liked him, which wasn't hard, but if the suspicion gave him some pleasure, Jack was happy to let it. The real worry could wait until Steve was well enough to survive the operation. Standard procedure wouldn't allow that delay if there was the possibility the rebels stuck something in him while they were cutting him open.
He sat, busying himself with the final P5X form, and tried to ignore the doctor's bustling. Steve would be okay. Steve would be okay because if the bastard wasn't okay, people would suffer. People would suffer anyway, it was true, but, Jack thought as he stabbed his pen into a violent flourish of a signature, most of them were guilty.
---
Now.
It clearly hurts Steve to sit up in bed, but he does so. The good doctor, as Steve would put it, assured Jack before they entered the room that this progress is entirely due to the pain medication. Jack doesn't believe this, even knowing the shape Steve was in when they found him. Ytar, he grudgingly admits, doesn't take credit where it's not due, but it's not unheard of for doctors to underestimate their patients. After all, the doctor admits Steve noticed the energy shield.
The doctor leaves again after adjusting a couple of tubes. Jack is sure this is just for show, and the look Steve shoots at him lets him know he's not alone in this opinion.
"C'p'n," Steve says once the doctor has gone. He even manages a smile, which is more than he did at work the week before this happened. He's so damned pale it hurts to look at him, but Jack's damned if he's going to let his own squeamishness stop him treating one of his men with respect. "Caught them yet?"
The effort of speaking is obvious, too, but Jack pretends not to notice. His eyes flicker to the monitor above Steve's head and back to Steve before he answers. "Not yet. Soon."
"Slacker." The response comes almost before the words have left Jack's lips.
Jack considers pretending not to notice that Steve pretended not to notice that Jack is pretending not to notice his pain, but decides that's all a bit too Ytar and Mary for him. Instead, he grins unapologetically and trusts Steve to understand. He does not look away when Steve tries to grin back.
"The bastards got you good," Jack says.
Steve doesn't nod, which surprises him. It must show on his face, jostled between the relief and the fear and the anger, because Steve answers, "It hurts to nod."
The bastards. If they did put anything in Steve, he'll find it and he'll shove it right back into them. The bastards.
"Mary will be in soon," he says. He looks at the monitor again, this time taking in its lines and numbers. These are the doctor's territory, but Steve sure as hell isn't. "She's doing your paperwork."
"Good," says Steve, so firmly that if it weren't for the bruises and the tubes and the scars and the needles Jack could almost believe he's well.
"Try telling her it hurts you to do paperwork. Maybe she'll keep doing it."
As Steve attempts another grin, Nurse Rogers enters carrying a steaming mug of coffee. Steve perks instantly, not noticing the pain, then deflates as he remembers the tubes in his throat.
"Thank you," Jack says to the nurse before turning back to Steve. "I ordered you some coffee. I thought I'd drink it for you."
"Bastard," says Steve, but happily. Mary would be amused - they always told her she had the monopoly on that tone of voice: pissed off vying with fond for centre of attention. But it's good to hear it from Steve, and even better to sit beside him and sip scalding hot, dirt-strong coffee as Steve smiles. It won't be long before Steve's gulping the stuff down, whatever the doctor says. Jack considers bringing the penguin - Percy, Steve's taken to calling it - to keep Steve company while he's stuck in here. He'd hate it, of course.
He loses track of how long they sit like that. His coffee's drinkable now, he knows that, and Steve seems in less pain than before. Steve can, in fact, move his arm a bit, which must mean the pain is down. Slowly, so slow Jack cannot make himself keep watching, Steve brings his hand up to touch Jack's.
That's when Jack knows it'll be okay.
---
End
---
Challenge Details:
The title of your story will be : Reach out and touch faith
Your story should contain reference to at least three of the following prompts.
Sight : red
Sound : creak
Smell : cinnamon
Touch : slippery
Taste : coffee
The references may be literal or metaphorical, explicit or implicit, but they should be there.
Feedback is adored. Concrit is craved.
Title: Reach Out and Touch Faith
Word count: 3075
Warnings: Torture ( see policy)
With thanks: To apiphile and lapis_lazuli, for beta services above and beyond. To ephemera_tales, for running such a fun challenge. To my Nice Young Man, for putting up with me.
Notes: If you think this reads less like a short story and more like an excerpt from an unwritten novel, you may be onto something.
---
Yesterday.
It wasn't the first time Steve had been tortured.
It wasn't even the first time Steve had volunteered to be tortured - the training class when he first joined the Intelligence Services had already dealt him that hand. And it wasn't the first time he had been tortured by the rebels.
It was, however, the first time he'd been tortured by the rebels since he defected to them, and that made it special.
---
Now.
He wakes up in a clean bed. In the time between opening his eyes and finally persuading them to focus, he watches his surroundings shimmer around him, gradually revealing themselves to be the inside of a hospital ward. It's far from a surprise - he was, after all, the one who told Henderson where to leave him to be sure he'd be found - but it's a relief none the less. Henderson and her group make very thorough torturers.
He hadn't been certain that in the thrill of leaving enough new scars to hide the few that matter they'd remember he was more useful to them alive. Still, he's alive now, carrying their bug and their bruises.
It's a slight surprise when Mary's man - when Ytar enters the room, but not a great one. Dr Ytar Franks is one of Intelligence's most trusted medical staff, and he gets most of the psych-risk cases. He's smiling, and Steve wants nothing more than to reach out and punch him in the face. Sadly, that'll have to wait.
Ytar smells of antiseptic, cinnamon aftershave and smugness. Only the latter suits him, but he's in charge here, and it suits him well. Maybe that's what Mary sees in him, besides the good looks and lazy charm of a man who earns more than Steve, Jack and Mary put together.
The good doctor begins to poke him, checking tubes and patches and wires. He leans in close over Steve's head, and the smell of cinnamon is overpowering. Steve remembers the day Mary bought that aftershave for her lesser half, and has to bite down a smile at the memory of Jack's face when she proudly showed it to them. The effort of doing so hurts, and his vision clouds again as the pain washes over him. "He likes it," she'd said, and between Jack's laughter and Steve's mild terror of her, they'd never quite got round to telling her what cinnamon was slang for in Ytar's home city.
Still, Ytar wears it. Steve suspects Mary knew exactly what it was slang for.
"Jack's coming in soon," Ytar says as he adjusts a particularly vicious looking needle. "Nurse Rogers beeped us both as soon as you woke up."
He puts a hand to Steve's head to keep him from nodding understanding, which is just as well. All movement is painful right now.
"We've got you on the lowest dose of pain med that's still humane." There's no need to be so smug about it, but that's the good doctor's default setting, so Steve decides not to take it personally. He can punch him in the face when it no longer hurts to move. "We thought it sensible not to go any higher until we'd spoken to you. Some of the weapons they used on you were non-standard, to say the least, and we didn't want to complicate your injuries further."
So the tools weren't regular issue, despite Henderson's promises. More worryingly, somewhere along the line Intelligence had noticed. Idly, Steve wonders if Henderson sold him out or was sold out herself. Either way, there's not a lot he can do about it now.
"Don't talk. There's too much metal in your jaw. Blink twice if you can remember being injected with anything." Ytar is looking directly at his face now, clearly displeased that he has to wait on someone else's answer.
Steve blinks twice.
"Good," mutters Ytar, ticking off the appropriate boxes on the clipboard he's plucked out of thin air. "And do you know what? Twice for yes, three blinks for no."
Steve blinks twice, grateful once again for the first hand training in torture methods he got when he joined Intelligence.
Eventually, after so many blinks that the room shimmers in and out of focus and red spots flash in front of Steve's eyes, they establish that the rebels used beta tetrazone. Steve had first met that particular sensory enhancer on his third day of training. This time round, Henderson had told him what they were using, but he hadn't needed his memory jogged to remember that one.
Ytar sets the clipboard down at the end of the bed and begins to adjust the flow of what must be pain medication into Steve's arm. A nurse has appeared from a door Steve hadn't noticed, flickering into existence to stand by the good doctor with-
It isn't pain making the walls blur. Of course it isn't. It's an energy screen. The tools they used on him really weren't regular issue, if this is the level of security Jack ordered.
Steve could kick himself, if not for the obvious. Jack would have noticed the energy screen instantly with injuries twice as severe. But then Jack wouldn't have sold his own side out in a crisis of conscience, so arguably Steve has lost the right to compare himself to his boss.
It hurts to sigh, but he does so anyway. Then he lies back and waits for the worst to happen.
---
---
Three hours earlier.
Mary was alone when Ytar phoned, catching up on some of the paperwork that had been neglected after Steve went missing. Jack was out of the office, hunting down any lead possible to find out what bastards had done this to one of his men, and George and Elliot were off doing whatever George and Elliot did when they weren't working overtime. Jack would know. She, however, didn't give one good shit.
Jack would know that, too.
"Mary?" There was no vid facility on Mary's phone, but 'Tar's voice still brought a smile to her lips, even as she frowned at the interruption. The bastard did that to her, time and time again. Just because it was the only bright spot in an otherwise godawful day didn't make it any less annoying.
"Yes," she said, sorting through one of Jack's large blue files for a T3P form. "What? Has he woken up?"
"I thought we could go out for dinner tonight," he said, his easy confidence not masking a faint apologetic tone. The smile left her lips.
She sighed, writing down dates on the T3P as she waited for the frustration to leave her voice. It wasn't fair to take this out on him. It wasn't even fun. "'Tar, you know how much work we've had since Steve- Since he went missing." She could tell as soon as the words were out that she hadn't waited long enough. Fuck it. She threw her pen against the wall, hard enough to snap it in two. Everything was shit right now, and the least 'Tar could do was appreciate her workload.
"I appreciate that," he lied. If he did, he wouldn't be sniffing around for a dinner date when she was trying to do the work of three officers. She watched the ink from the broken pen stain the carpet. It wasn't as if he needed to woo her to get a fuck now, and damn it, now was not the time. You'd think a doctor could understand that.
"I'll see you when I get home," she said, and hung up, careful not to slam the phone. She'd have to clean the stain before Jack got back; today she didn't have the energy for a fight with either of them. Nor the energy to mend a broken phone.
The T3P was for an armed robbery somewhere in Aylesbury. No one had died, but it had been close for two of the victims. One of the items stolen was a disc Intelligence quite wanted back. Sooner rather than later, please, and sooner than that if possible. She put it on Elliot's middle priority pile, then reached for another form from her own.
The paperwork stared down at her. Mountains of it, piled up on every available surface. A sudden memory of that bloody penguin sitting on top of Steve's stack of non-urgents hit her, making her smile and wince together. They'd given it a name, that bloody penguin, but she couldn't remember what. Jack would know.
Jack had bought it for Steve, a quiet apology for some of the things he'd said when Steve had found out about them. Steve came in one morning to find it sitting on his chair, two beady penguin eyes looking up at him. Mary'd had her back to the whole thing, not trusting herself not to laugh if she caught anyone's eye, but Jack swore afterwards Steve had taken a minute to try and glare the thing into submission before giving up and going for some coffee.
She'd turned round to watch just as he'd gone for the coffee, and so saw for herself as he paused, lifted the penguin from his chair to the top of his paperwork and asked it if it'd like a mug of coffee, too. It was a good memory. As she reached for a new pen, she tried to believe she wouldn't let it be spoiled by what those bastards had done to him. He'd be back on his feet and back in the office, fighting crime and pissing her off, before you could say "Fucking rebel torturer scum."
---
Now.
She's still alone, and going through the dates on yet another T3P when Ytar phones again. "Mary?"
"Yes. Has he-"
"Yes," 'Tar cuts her off. "I've just been in to up his pain meds. Before they cut him open, they used beta tetrazone on him."
Mary allows herself to wince. The torture training when she joined Intelligence is not something she wants to relive. "Poor bastard." She slams her fist into the table to clear her head of the memories.
"Yes. He's in fine form, though, for what they did." 'Tar's voice is lazily professional. She feels a smile blossom across her face again. This, this here, this is what she - what she likes about him. Not the circumstances, true, but she cannot get enough of Ytar's calm, lazy confidence that he's just the damned best at what he does. He is. It's just a bonus that what he does is now making Steve well again.
She thinks, briefly, of telling 'Tar this. The thought is gone almost as soon as it occurs, but leaves her wondering what he'd say. Now, as ever, is not the time to find out.
"Can he speak yet?"
"No," 'Tar says, then lets out a brief, hissing laugh. "But he's glaring at me with almost healthy levels of hatred and contempt."
Mary smiles, and lets a quiet snort of approval escape. "Did you wear that cinnamon crap?"
She can feel the answering smile in his voice as he replies, "But of course. Wouldn't want to miss the chance to expose him to it while he's helpless."
Another sudden memory hits her. Her own torture training. Day three. The first day she went into the chair. No one touched her, there were no loud noises, no bright lights: that came later. On day three, she sat there. Men, women she'd never met walked around her, not speaking. One of them had paused, peered at her --
"Mary?" The laughter hasn't left 'Tar's voice.
-- and finally spoke: "You are not helpless. Yet."
She swallows, punches the table again. On day three, she had found that amusingly tacky. On day five, she hadn't. "Yes, 'Tar?" Her voice is harsh again.
"You went quiet." It's not an accusation. He's back to being mild. Treading on eggshells around her. Bastard.
"I do that." She pauses. "I'll be in to see Steve as soon as I can."
---
---
Two hours earlier.
Jack signed the form for the energy shield without a second thought, snapping "Standard procedure" in response to the lieutenant's puzzled look. "They used classified weapons on him," he added. Ytar Franks nodded confirmation, and to his credit waited until the lieutenant left before shooting Jack a puzzled look of his own.
There was a silence as Jack continued to fill in the necessary forms. It was restful. He thought of butterflies and lambs frolicking in green pastures. Or coffee. Maybe he thought of coffee.
"Classified weapons?" the doctor asked, sounding for all the world like Mary on a good day. The violence was very much under control.
Jack shrugged and thought of coffee. It was a calming thought, and certainly one to hold on to when dealing with the doctor. "Thank you."
The doctor nodded again. "What classified weapons?"
Jack held back a scowl. Why Mary couldn't have a taste for passive men, he wanted to know. And while they were at it, he wanted to know why he couldn't have just one single, solitary quiet day on this job, and which bastards did this to Steve. But cooperation was owed something, and half the truth wouldn't cost much. "They might come back for him. Finish the job." He paused. "Or worse." Which was true.
The doctor was silent. It was a good look for him.
"When he notices-" Jack began.
"He'll be in too much pain," the doctor said. "His injuries are severe. The pain meds will dope him, too."
"When he notices the energy shield," said Jack, fully aware of how severe the damned injuries were, "please tell him the same thing."
The doctor nodded, fortunately not expecting a reason. He could damned well make up his own, and for now Jack was just fine letting him think what he liked about corruption in Intelligence. The doctor liked Steve rather more than Steve liked him, which wasn't hard, but if the suspicion gave him some pleasure, Jack was happy to let it. The real worry could wait until Steve was well enough to survive the operation. Standard procedure wouldn't allow that delay if there was the possibility the rebels stuck something in him while they were cutting him open.
He sat, busying himself with the final P5X form, and tried to ignore the doctor's bustling. Steve would be okay. Steve would be okay because if the bastard wasn't okay, people would suffer. People would suffer anyway, it was true, but, Jack thought as he stabbed his pen into a violent flourish of a signature, most of them were guilty.
---
Now.
It clearly hurts Steve to sit up in bed, but he does so. The good doctor, as Steve would put it, assured Jack before they entered the room that this progress is entirely due to the pain medication. Jack doesn't believe this, even knowing the shape Steve was in when they found him. Ytar, he grudgingly admits, doesn't take credit where it's not due, but it's not unheard of for doctors to underestimate their patients. After all, the doctor admits Steve noticed the energy shield.
The doctor leaves again after adjusting a couple of tubes. Jack is sure this is just for show, and the look Steve shoots at him lets him know he's not alone in this opinion.
"C'p'n," Steve says once the doctor has gone. He even manages a smile, which is more than he did at work the week before this happened. He's so damned pale it hurts to look at him, but Jack's damned if he's going to let his own squeamishness stop him treating one of his men with respect. "Caught them yet?"
The effort of speaking is obvious, too, but Jack pretends not to notice. His eyes flicker to the monitor above Steve's head and back to Steve before he answers. "Not yet. Soon."
"Slacker." The response comes almost before the words have left Jack's lips.
Jack considers pretending not to notice that Steve pretended not to notice that Jack is pretending not to notice his pain, but decides that's all a bit too Ytar and Mary for him. Instead, he grins unapologetically and trusts Steve to understand. He does not look away when Steve tries to grin back.
"The bastards got you good," Jack says.
Steve doesn't nod, which surprises him. It must show on his face, jostled between the relief and the fear and the anger, because Steve answers, "It hurts to nod."
The bastards. If they did put anything in Steve, he'll find it and he'll shove it right back into them. The bastards.
"Mary will be in soon," he says. He looks at the monitor again, this time taking in its lines and numbers. These are the doctor's territory, but Steve sure as hell isn't. "She's doing your paperwork."
"Good," says Steve, so firmly that if it weren't for the bruises and the tubes and the scars and the needles Jack could almost believe he's well.
"Try telling her it hurts you to do paperwork. Maybe she'll keep doing it."
As Steve attempts another grin, Nurse Rogers enters carrying a steaming mug of coffee. Steve perks instantly, not noticing the pain, then deflates as he remembers the tubes in his throat.
"Thank you," Jack says to the nurse before turning back to Steve. "I ordered you some coffee. I thought I'd drink it for you."
"Bastard," says Steve, but happily. Mary would be amused - they always told her she had the monopoly on that tone of voice: pissed off vying with fond for centre of attention. But it's good to hear it from Steve, and even better to sit beside him and sip scalding hot, dirt-strong coffee as Steve smiles. It won't be long before Steve's gulping the stuff down, whatever the doctor says. Jack considers bringing the penguin - Percy, Steve's taken to calling it - to keep Steve company while he's stuck in here. He'd hate it, of course.
He loses track of how long they sit like that. His coffee's drinkable now, he knows that, and Steve seems in less pain than before. Steve can, in fact, move his arm a bit, which must mean the pain is down. Slowly, so slow Jack cannot make himself keep watching, Steve brings his hand up to touch Jack's.
That's when Jack knows it'll be okay.
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End
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Challenge Details:
The title of your story will be : Reach out and touch faith
Your story should contain reference to at least three of the following prompts.
Sight : red
Sound : creak
Smell : cinnamon
Touch : slippery
Taste : coffee
The references may be literal or metaphorical, explicit or implicit, but they should be there.
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