The Fields of Elysium (1/1)
Title: The Fields of Elysium (1/1)
Rating: T
Author: jlrpuck
Characters: Elias McCoy and Ruby Quarles
Disclaimer: The characters contained in this story are the products of my imagination; as such, I retain all right to and ownership of them.
Summary: Another glimpse into Elias’s life before his partnership with Peter.
Notes: I’ve long been wondering about this particular story of Elias’s, the vague outlines of it always being present in my mind but the character not terribly keen to provide any further detail. That changed after writing about his misadventures in the Highlands, with the result that I banged this fic out in about three hours one August evening.
Many thanks to ginamak for her assistance with this fic-not just for bouncing ideas off of, and for suggesting the title, but also for her exceptional patience in beta-ing. She had her work cut out for her, even more than usual, given the speed with which the story was written. Any mistakes in this story are mine, and mine alone.
The Fields of Elysium
They seemed to materialise out of thin air, the men surrounding the team faster than he could process. In the eternal moment before his instincts kicked in, Elias noted the way the light reflected off the stitching on the red dragon shoulder patch of the man closest to him. At once all hell broke loose. The world seemed to warp around him, moments of high-speed action interspersed with time slowing to a crawl, events suddenly looking like a flip-book whose pages were turned unevenly.
And then he was snapped fully back into reality, fighting not just for his life but for those of his comrades, his mind screaming at him to survive as his body reverted to muscle memory. Rolling, ducking, his arm first recoiling as he used his firearm, then jerking and twisting as he had to rely on his knife. He was trying desperately to get back to the radio he'd foolishly left with his kit, the group having paused for what they thought was a short rest break as they marched along the border with Wales. It had been a standard patrol-an easy patrol, in fact, Elias only having to worry about the radio while Erskine gave the youngest member of the team a chance to earn some time navigating. Elias had been double-checking their location, though, had made sure they were on the correct side of the bright red line on the map.
By the time he reached his radio, the skirmish had settled into something almost rhythmic-short bursts of gunfire, the sounds of Welsh or English being shouted as members of each team dug in. The clink of metal boxes being opened was the first warning that more than firearms were going to be used against them; he was running out of what little time they had to get the hell out of there.
There were bodies lying motionless in the middle of the glen, he noted, his own green-clad comrades and the dark blue that marked the Welsh. He forced himself to be dispassionate as he took account of who they'd lost, made himself compartmentalise what he was seeing so he could remain effective and do everything he could-everything he'd been trained to do-to ensure the team made it out. The muddy ground was a comfort, providing him a place to burrow down as he radioed in for help, his ear pressed against the speaker. The mic was held against his lips as he radioed the basic information: their location and number of casualties as well as the number of men and weapons they were facing. It had been a lucky thing indeed he'd been tracking their position; poor Ned was lying still in the glen now, unable or unwilling to get to the protection the trees offered.
As he listened to Gaines calmly repeat the information, Elias suddenly found himself thinking of Ruby Quarles. He remembered how she'd looked the night he’d visited her in the comms building, when she’d told him that people had died whilst she’d spoken to them. At the time he’d wanted nothing more than to pull her to him, to comfort her; now, he desperately wished it was her on the other end of the radio at that point. If he was going to hear anyone’s voice for the last time, it should be hers.
The cacophony faded away as he had a moment of perfect clarity: He loved her, no question. And he’d foolishly let her slip through his fingers, and had even managed to lose track of her. What a stupid, stupid git he'd been.
The thoughts were chased from his mind by a renewed attack from the other side, the Welsh now lobbing grenades across the clearing and then chasing those blasts with small arms fire. In the group still lying in No Man’s Land, Elias saw movement-just a twitch, but enough to tell him that at least Ned was still alive. His instinct was to run and drag the young lad out, but he forced himself to remember his duty, to continue to inform Gaines and headquarters of what was going on in front of him. He kept his eyes focused on the scene before him, dutifully reporting everything he could see, then released a soft sigh as he was informed that support was en-route, salvation in the form of an extra unit and rotary wing aircraft coming from the Cotswolds.
The bubble of hope was extinguished as he watched Erskine try to sally forward to get Ned. His officer was cut down by a hail of bullets, leaving no question in Elias's mind that the older man was dead. There was a hail of gunfire from his side, now, the team trying to provide cover so they could get their casualties and get out; and then Mikes was hit in the leg, coming up lame just outside the shelter of the trees.
“Guaranteed one casualty, one injury. Have to go, Alpha, work to do. Delta out.” He signed off, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time anyone outside that damned glen heard his voice. He took another long look around, trying to work out the position of the opposition in relation to their supplies, hopeful that something of use was within reach. He couldn't see anything, and felt his frustration spike with hopelessness. They were all going to die in that godforsaken place, and he'd never get to tell Ruby Quarles a single damned thing.
He swallowed, re-focusing, concentrating on the present rather than might-have-been’s or could-be’s. He ducked-and-covered his way to where the bulk of the unit was now, the radio strapped across his back, his weapon re-loaded and his knife ever-so-briefly cleaned. They'd started as a unit of ten, Ned being an extra for training; they were now down to six, Ned and Erskine and Matt all motionless in the glen, Mikes now a few trees away, resting after having crawled to a safe spot. A quick survey of the group showed they were each getting low on ammunition, but it was enough to at least buy some time and-hopefully-to get their colleagues and get out of there.
If they could just get their hands on some proper explosives.
He wasn't the only one with that thought, and as the light slowly started to wane they came up with a plan that would hopefully get them enough supplies to blast their way out. Elias wanted to be the one to go after the knapsack they'd targeted, desperate to do something more than simply sit back and be a human antenna. He was outvoted, his teammates pointing out that he was more than their radioman: he was also their pole star, their guide back to safety.
"We need you in one piece, McCoy," Robert said quietly, putting an end to any further debate.
They waited until dusk then moved, relying on the enemy to use their standard battle tactics. The diminished team shifted position, turning the tactic neatly against their foe, and by the time it reached full dark they had their knapsack back in hand.
"We going to try to the lads out?" Ben whispered. Mikes was building some sort of device in the night, and Elias could just make out Robert working to bandage the technicians leg.
"Aye."
Elias had no idea who gave the firm reply, but it didn't really matter-nobody in the group had a desire to leave their friends to the devilry of the Welsh.
His neck prickled, his senses suddenly on alert. Something had shifted around them, and they were out of time. Using touch signals the group organised, they started to battle their way out. At some point he felt his left arm begin to burn but pressed on, his eyes shifting rapidly between the compass on his wrist and the darkness before him, his goal to outrace their pursuers without losing any of his comrades. He could hear the lads behind him, heavy breathing interspersed with periodic curses and short bursts of weapons fire. Someone had found some grenades; every now and again he could hear the sound of a pin being pulled, followed a short time later by a muffled explosion behind them. And then, when he thought they'd never make it out of there, he began to hear the soft whump-whump of rotary wing aircraft.
They'd make it. If he could just get them moving faster, surely they could do it.
Someone behind them launched a flare as the noise of their pursuers drew nearer, and the entire scene was bathed with an eerie phosphorescence. They'd entered a clearing, and he turned to encourage his friends to run as hard as they could in a straight line across, to get to the far side so the aircraft could land between them and their pursuers. Another flare went off, this one red-the sign for the aircraft to come get them, to hurry the hell up already. Robert brought up the rear, the medic making sure nobody got left behind; he gave Elias a grin as he approached at full pelt, his kit bouncing around his waist as he ran. Gunfire; then Robert's shocked expression as he was hit; and then the soft thud as he hit the ground, unmoving. Elias felt bile rise in his throat, then ran towards his friend, his mind racing as he reached the unmoving form, adrenaline providing all of his energy now as he grabbed Robert's arm and hefted him over his shoulder. His friend was limp, a heavy weight-knocked unconscious, no doubt, Elias refusing to entertain the notion that he was dead. Sheer force of will propelled him across the clearing, his entire being focused on getting his friend to hospital as soon as humanly possible, to making sure he survived.
The wind around him began to whip violently, their salvation providing cover fire as they landed. The door was open on the side of the aircraft, and the survivors took care to ensure the deceased were loaded on first before getting in themselves. Elias came last, hefting Robert in before clambering up onto the hot metal, taking time only to give the signal that they were all out before returning his attention to his fallen comrade.
His vision began to swim as he worked frantically to unbuckle the vest the man wore, to try to stem the bleeding he'd felt seeping through his own clothes. He could hear voices shouting-a teammate directing fire, the flight medic providing information to the pilot. The helicopter lifted, the familiar sliding sensation of combined vertical and horizontal movement forcing him to shift his balance, bracing himself so he wouldn’t fall on the still-unmoving Robert. He shook his head, suddenly dizzy; with a deep breath, he tried to tune out the ricochet of bullets in the small space as their attackers tried to halt the team’s escape. He jumped at the sound of a gun firing near to him, followed by more shouting, by a sudden rise and increase in acceleration of the helicopter, the noises and motion slowly overwhelming him. Elias grit his teeth in concentration, determined to make sure his friend was safe if it was the last thing he did. His fingers grew clumsy as he worked to expose the wounds in Rab’s torso; he shook his head once more, and attempt to clear it of cotton wool, thinking now that he needed to find a way to get rid of the blood covering his hands. It shone black in the green light of the helicopter cabin, a fact Elias noted with curious detachment as the sound slowly faded around him. His vision swam, wooziness seeming to consume him suddenly, and the aircraft seemed to tip around him as his own body finally gave out on him.
~ - ~
Elias awoke in a cold sweat, disoriented and desperate for a drink of water. His eyes closed, he began to catalogue where he was, an exercise he'd perfected the first time he'd been injured. His back was killing him-never a good sign-and he could smell the hint of hospital all around him, that peculiar and unnerving mix of metal and antiseptic.
The memories hit him with brutal force as he came fully awake, the image of Robert dead in the helicopter driving him to force his eyes open in a desperate attempt to outrun the vision. What he saw only disoriented him further. Instead of the standard pale green walls of a hospital ward, he was in a darkened room with white-ish walls. There were no fluorescent lights in the ceiling above him, no machinery next to the bed, no omnipresent nurse or soldier sitting at his feet, monitoring him to be sure he'd not become the sixth man of his unit to die.
Instead moonlight flooded the room, rendering everything a confusing grey-everything except for the figure of Ruby Quarles, who was leaning over him with what appeared to be a concerned expression.
"Must have died," he murmured, his eyes drifting shut in resignation. He could still smell the hot exhaust from the evacuation aircraft, the tang of blood from Robert-and, he supposed, himself and everyone else on the team. There was no way he should be in a bedroom with the woman he'd let get away.
He jumped as he felt a hand gently cup his jaw, and opened his eyes to find Ruby Quarles was still gazing down at him. She was quiet for a moment, as if deciding what to say; he, personally, couldn't wait to hear what his subconscious came up with. Was there a subconscious in the afterlife?
"You're not dead," the vision whispered, her thumb stroking his cheek.
"Must be. You're here."
There was a fleeting smile at that, and he felt his own lips curve in reply. "You were dreaming," she said softly, her smile turning to a frown. "You called out."
He blinked several times, his head finally clearing. Gone was the tang of battle and the whiff of hospital air; he could smell the powderiness of the laundry soap Ruby used on her sheets, the slightly spicy scent that indicated "Ruby's flat" to him. He sat up, glancing around them once more for reassurance, remembering that yes, they were in Ruby's room, with the window at the head of the bed and her wardrobe just across from them. And her, sitting right next to him, her hand down resting on his thigh.
He wrapped his arms around his body, shifting from her touch as he drew back into himself, the familiar coping mechanisms kicking into action. The nightmare tormented him with regularity, his mind insisting on replaying those events with far too much frequency. At least he hadn't awoken on the floor, which had happened more than a few times.
The bed shifted, followed by the sound of Ruby’s soft footfalls as she left the room without a word. His eyes remained closed as he focused on the here and now and not the past, trying not to think at all about the fact that he’d had the nightmare while sharing a bed with Ruby. Since they’d started sleeping together he’d only had the dream once, and then on a night when he’d been home alone. It had been false hope that she’d somehow managed to keep the dream at bay with her presence. He was still working to fully resign himself to the fact that the nightmare would most likely always be there, waiting to pounce on him with no warning-even when he was with Ruby.
Elias jumped as he felt cool fingers against his neck, the adrenaline still in his system making him far more susceptible to being startled. The fingers slipped away; the bed dipped once more. Ruby’s breathing was soft, and he sensed her gaze on him. He took a deep breath, then slowly opened his eyes. She was watching him, her expression not full of the pity he’d expected, but rather one of quiet understanding. She held a glass in her hand, and quietly extended it to him. He took it with a nod, briefly rolling his shoulders before taking a deep draught of the icy water.
His neck and shoulders were still thrumming with tension, but he could feel his heart rate finally slow down as he took measured sips from the glass. The room remained silent, the moonlight continuing to bathe the scene in washed out shades of grey.
Elias glanced at the now-empty glass in his hands, rolling it thoughtfully as he weighed what to do. He was used to dealing with this alone, to having plenty of time and space and silence to come to terms with the memories. He had no idea what to do with Ruby sitting not a foot from him, waiting on his actions to guide hers. Tilting his head side-to-side, his neck popped as his muscles slowly relaxed. He briefly leaned over to place the glass on the nightstand.
When he looked at Ruby this time he could see a slight frown-worry, he supposed, at how very quiet he was being. Elias reached for her, pulling her to him; her arms slipped around him as he buried his nose in the crook of her neck. He closed his eyes, shock washing through him as he once more saw Robert being shot, the memory as vivid as the reality had been. He tightened his hold on her, and focused once more on the here, the now-on the feel of Ruby’s night shirt under his hands, on the way the scent of her perfume still lingered, hours after she’d put it on.
The image slowly faded, and he once again felt able to breathe.
Her hands slowly stroked his back, the repetitive motion soothing him further, and he finally relaxed his hold on her. He turned, placing a kiss against her hair, then rested his cheek on her shoulder.
"You want to talk about it?" she asked softly, her breath warm against his skin.
"Not really, no." He took a deep breath. "But I will." It helped that she knew most of the story-he'd given her his copy of the internal report into the incident shortly after he'd almost killed them coming back from Portsmouth. But he also wanted to share it with her, some instinct telling him that it was right that she know.
"Elias, if you don't-"
"I do." He placed another kiss against her hair, the action serving to further ground him in the present. He let her go then shifted, using the wall next to the bed as a support; his back really was killing him, just another permanent reminder of what had happened in Wales. Ruby watched him, her hair gleaming as the light threw half of her face into shadow. She saw him watching her in return, and the corner of her mouth quirked upwards as she took his hand in both of hers. He swallowed, then closed his eyes and leaned his head back.
"I remember that day. Every single second of it. How Ned's bloody boots kept coming untied, so we decided to stop for a proper break, to let him take his shoes off and re-lace them properly so we'd not have to stop again. It had been rainy, for what felt like an eternity-days upon days-and the ground was soft, which was both a blessing a curse. We were all grateful for the rest, for the ability to look up at the sky and not have it be pissing down. It was sunny, finally, and I got a bit drunk off that, the fresh air and the sunlight. I stopped paying attention, looking into the group and not out of it, and they caught us by surprise. "
Ruby was gently stroking his hand, and he focused on that, working to calm himself down. The guilt he felt over not being more vigilant was crushing even on a good day; it was always exponentially worse in the immediate aftermath of dreaming about it. He needed to get it under control, to lock it away again so he could function normally.
"Ned was right in the middle of the glen-he got shot first, I think, no idea what hit him. Poor bugger. The rest of us were leaning against trees around the edge of the area, so there was a scramble as we tried to regroup. That's when Matt got hit, I think-I didn't see that, but it's the only time it really could have happened. I'd left the radio out of reach, which was stupid, so I lost time getting over to it; and I'd been a daft git to begin with, wandering off to the opposite side from everyone else, wanting just a touch of quiet." He took a deep breath, swallowing hard before continuing. "Gaines was on the other end that day, which was probably for the best-the man is utterly imperturbable. So we worked out an escape plan, and he gave me faith that we'd survive if we could make it to the landing zone; I just had to do my bit and get everyone together and out of there." He smiled briefly. "That's when I knew I was in love with you."
Ruby's fingers stilled, and he opened his eyes. She looked poleaxed, and he raised his head. "Oh, yes. I knew then. Nothing like a little imminent death to bring things into sharp focus." He gave her hand a squeeze, then closed his eyes and dropped his head to rest against the wall once more.
"Erskine went to get Ned, or Matty, or both-it doesn't matter, he was killed and there was nothing any of us could do. Spitty was second in command, and by the time I made it over to the group he'd rallied the team around him." He took another deep breath, fighting down a shudder at the sudden, visceral memory of bullets whizzing around him, thudding mercilessly into the trees he kept hiding behind. Ruby's hand tightened around his, and the memory faded.
"The thing about the dream is, that it seems almost hyper-real. It was bad enough living it, but remembering it that way...the greens are greener, the reds redder, the smells..." He swallowed down the bile that rose in this throat. "I never realise it's a memory, either; I always wake up and think I'm back in hospital, waking up that first time afterwards. I was lucky-I passed out before I realized just how badly I was injured, while I was still in shock. I wasn't able to help defend us, either, but given how much blood I'd lost I'm not sure I'd have been of any use at all. "
Ruby turned his hand over. Her fingers gently stroked his palm, forcing his hand to relax. He felt some of the tension leave him. He could hear the resignation in his voice when he spoke again. "I honestly don’t know which was worse-going through the actual firefight, or the days afterwards, when everything hurt and I couldn't do anything, and every time I woke up there was a new bit of bad news. I knew we'd lost Matt and Ned and Ersk and Robert-" His voice broke saying his friend's name; it always did. "-but I didn't know about Harry. And then Mikes, too; they just couldn't save him, although they certainly tried."
They'd almost lost him, too, by all accounts. None of his injuries in and of themselves were fatal, but they'd been numerous enough that he'd gone into shock from severe blood loss. His saving grace had been having a blood type that meant he could take a transfusion from anyone. He still considered that he got off the luckiest of the group; while his back bothered him periodically, he'd been able to go back into full service once he'd completely recuperated.
"The physical part was bad, but the interviews and deconstruction and reconstruction and everything they put into trying to find someone to blame was worse. If you can believe it." He let out a humourless chuckle. "Every day-every single day-I was recounting the story to someone new; a doc, or a general, or an independent investigator. And then the entire thing was wrapped up with a prolonged visit from the psychologist, whose job it was to get me to the point mentally that I could go back and do that all over again without thinking twice.
"McCoy is exceptionally resilient, and has exhibited the ability to bounce back from a variety of challenges," Ruby quoted softly. She'd read it in the report, but he knew that it was also one of the first lines in his medical file. Someone had commented, ages ago, that it was one of the main reasons he'd made the team: he could take a beating and go back for more.
"Being 'resilient' just means you're not the one who died." He let out a heavy sigh. "I usually wake up at the hospital bit. My mind likes a good story arc, I guess, and the glen gives it everything it needs. Disorienting as all hell, though-it usually takes me a solid few minutes to remember where I am-and when I am." Elias threaded his fingers through Ruby's, and opened his eyes.
"So. That's it." He gave her hand a squeeze. "I'm sorry I woke you."
He could see Ruby's jaw tighten, her eyes sparking in the half-light. "Did you just apologise for having a nightmare?" Her voice was low, disapproval radiating from her.
"I apologised for waking you up."
She leaned forward, pausing inches from him. "You had a nightmare. I don't care that you woke me up. In fact, I'm half-tempted to give you a proper what-for for having the nerve to apologise for anything related to it." Her free hand came up, her fingers drifting along his jaw line. "You can always talk to me, Eli. Always. I don't care if you wake me up to do it." She leaned in, placing a soft kiss against his lips before snuggling against him.
He rested his chin on her head, his arm wrapped around her. "You're too good for me."
"I'm just good enough for you." She leaned back, her eyes serious as she looked at him. "You don't deserve some sort of metaphysical bollixing off for what happened, you know. It wasn't your fault."
"So I've been told. Repeatedly."
"The report was full of rubbish, but it had some useful things in there, too. Like the fact that none of you could have known you were in enemy territory."
"We should have been vig-"
"You're human. All of you were. And the Welsh team knew about the bad maps, and had been planning for just this sort of thing for aeons. The fact that so many of you survived is proof of the fact that you were an exceptional group." She leaned forward, adding in a low voice, "And the fact that you got them out from memory alone is proof that you were exceptional at your job, too."
"I should-"
"No, Elias. None of this 'should have' or 'could have' game. It will kill you if you let it." She pulled back, her gaze holding his. "I know you. You did the best you could with the circumstances you were given. I also know you're never going to forgive yourself for what happened. And I know that nothing I say, or anyone else says, will change that." Sadness washed over her face, and her eyes shifted to focus to his chin.
"I can't, Rue."
"I know." Her gaze returned to his. "I'm always going to be here for you, though. If you want to talk, or anything. Even if it's the middle of the night and I'm sound asleep. I'll be selfish on this bit-I can't bear the idea of you trying to hold it all in, simply because you don't want to inconvenience me." Her eyes dropped to where she now held his hand. "I hate that you have to suffer for something that was out of your control."
He exhaled slowly. His gut instinct was to brush off the offer, habit rearing its ugly head. He'd spent years now tucking the omnipresent memories-and the accompanying guilt-away in a corner of his mind, hiding it away from everyone else in his life. He'd stopped seeing a psychologist when he'd left the service, and the men with whom he'd worked in the year immediately after that had no interest in dwelling on anything other than the heroics of pulling a dead comrade-a dead friend-from a battle that should never have been fought.
Ruby was making the offer because she genuinely cared, and a small voice in the back of his mind chirped that she had a point: that maybe talking about what had happened would be more help to him that burying it and hoping it would just go away some day.
"Ok," he finally said, relief washing through him at the words.
"I mean it, McCoy. Wake me up, if you have to." She jabbed a finger into his chest, his hand still wrapped in hers.
"I will. I promise." He raised their hands, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." She freed her hand from his, and once more snuggled against him. "I love you, you know. All of you."
He swallowed thickly, then replied, "I love you, too."
His back was still screaming, and he needed a cup of tea before he could properly go back to sleep. But sitting there with Ruby wrapped in his arms, the air of the bedroom finally cool against his skin-it was too perfect for him to move. He closed his eyes with a sigh, and relaxed into Ruby's shared embrace.
~ fin ~
Rating: T
Author: jlrpuck
Characters: Elias McCoy and Ruby Quarles
Disclaimer: The characters contained in this story are the products of my imagination; as such, I retain all right to and ownership of them.
Summary: Another glimpse into Elias’s life before his partnership with Peter.
Notes: I’ve long been wondering about this particular story of Elias’s, the vague outlines of it always being present in my mind but the character not terribly keen to provide any further detail. That changed after writing about his misadventures in the Highlands, with the result that I banged this fic out in about three hours one August evening.
Many thanks to ginamak for her assistance with this fic-not just for bouncing ideas off of, and for suggesting the title, but also for her exceptional patience in beta-ing. She had her work cut out for her, even more than usual, given the speed with which the story was written. Any mistakes in this story are mine, and mine alone.
The Fields of Elysium
They seemed to materialise out of thin air, the men surrounding the team faster than he could process. In the eternal moment before his instincts kicked in, Elias noted the way the light reflected off the stitching on the red dragon shoulder patch of the man closest to him. At once all hell broke loose. The world seemed to warp around him, moments of high-speed action interspersed with time slowing to a crawl, events suddenly looking like a flip-book whose pages were turned unevenly.
And then he was snapped fully back into reality, fighting not just for his life but for those of his comrades, his mind screaming at him to survive as his body reverted to muscle memory. Rolling, ducking, his arm first recoiling as he used his firearm, then jerking and twisting as he had to rely on his knife. He was trying desperately to get back to the radio he'd foolishly left with his kit, the group having paused for what they thought was a short rest break as they marched along the border with Wales. It had been a standard patrol-an easy patrol, in fact, Elias only having to worry about the radio while Erskine gave the youngest member of the team a chance to earn some time navigating. Elias had been double-checking their location, though, had made sure they were on the correct side of the bright red line on the map.
By the time he reached his radio, the skirmish had settled into something almost rhythmic-short bursts of gunfire, the sounds of Welsh or English being shouted as members of each team dug in. The clink of metal boxes being opened was the first warning that more than firearms were going to be used against them; he was running out of what little time they had to get the hell out of there.
There were bodies lying motionless in the middle of the glen, he noted, his own green-clad comrades and the dark blue that marked the Welsh. He forced himself to be dispassionate as he took account of who they'd lost, made himself compartmentalise what he was seeing so he could remain effective and do everything he could-everything he'd been trained to do-to ensure the team made it out. The muddy ground was a comfort, providing him a place to burrow down as he radioed in for help, his ear pressed against the speaker. The mic was held against his lips as he radioed the basic information: their location and number of casualties as well as the number of men and weapons they were facing. It had been a lucky thing indeed he'd been tracking their position; poor Ned was lying still in the glen now, unable or unwilling to get to the protection the trees offered.
As he listened to Gaines calmly repeat the information, Elias suddenly found himself thinking of Ruby Quarles. He remembered how she'd looked the night he’d visited her in the comms building, when she’d told him that people had died whilst she’d spoken to them. At the time he’d wanted nothing more than to pull her to him, to comfort her; now, he desperately wished it was her on the other end of the radio at that point. If he was going to hear anyone’s voice for the last time, it should be hers.
The cacophony faded away as he had a moment of perfect clarity: He loved her, no question. And he’d foolishly let her slip through his fingers, and had even managed to lose track of her. What a stupid, stupid git he'd been.
The thoughts were chased from his mind by a renewed attack from the other side, the Welsh now lobbing grenades across the clearing and then chasing those blasts with small arms fire. In the group still lying in No Man’s Land, Elias saw movement-just a twitch, but enough to tell him that at least Ned was still alive. His instinct was to run and drag the young lad out, but he forced himself to remember his duty, to continue to inform Gaines and headquarters of what was going on in front of him. He kept his eyes focused on the scene before him, dutifully reporting everything he could see, then released a soft sigh as he was informed that support was en-route, salvation in the form of an extra unit and rotary wing aircraft coming from the Cotswolds.
The bubble of hope was extinguished as he watched Erskine try to sally forward to get Ned. His officer was cut down by a hail of bullets, leaving no question in Elias's mind that the older man was dead. There was a hail of gunfire from his side, now, the team trying to provide cover so they could get their casualties and get out; and then Mikes was hit in the leg, coming up lame just outside the shelter of the trees.
“Guaranteed one casualty, one injury. Have to go, Alpha, work to do. Delta out.” He signed off, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time anyone outside that damned glen heard his voice. He took another long look around, trying to work out the position of the opposition in relation to their supplies, hopeful that something of use was within reach. He couldn't see anything, and felt his frustration spike with hopelessness. They were all going to die in that godforsaken place, and he'd never get to tell Ruby Quarles a single damned thing.
He swallowed, re-focusing, concentrating on the present rather than might-have-been’s or could-be’s. He ducked-and-covered his way to where the bulk of the unit was now, the radio strapped across his back, his weapon re-loaded and his knife ever-so-briefly cleaned. They'd started as a unit of ten, Ned being an extra for training; they were now down to six, Ned and Erskine and Matt all motionless in the glen, Mikes now a few trees away, resting after having crawled to a safe spot. A quick survey of the group showed they were each getting low on ammunition, but it was enough to at least buy some time and-hopefully-to get their colleagues and get out of there.
If they could just get their hands on some proper explosives.
He wasn't the only one with that thought, and as the light slowly started to wane they came up with a plan that would hopefully get them enough supplies to blast their way out. Elias wanted to be the one to go after the knapsack they'd targeted, desperate to do something more than simply sit back and be a human antenna. He was outvoted, his teammates pointing out that he was more than their radioman: he was also their pole star, their guide back to safety.
"We need you in one piece, McCoy," Robert said quietly, putting an end to any further debate.
They waited until dusk then moved, relying on the enemy to use their standard battle tactics. The diminished team shifted position, turning the tactic neatly against their foe, and by the time it reached full dark they had their knapsack back in hand.
"We going to try to the lads out?" Ben whispered. Mikes was building some sort of device in the night, and Elias could just make out Robert working to bandage the technicians leg.
"Aye."
Elias had no idea who gave the firm reply, but it didn't really matter-nobody in the group had a desire to leave their friends to the devilry of the Welsh.
His neck prickled, his senses suddenly on alert. Something had shifted around them, and they were out of time. Using touch signals the group organised, they started to battle their way out. At some point he felt his left arm begin to burn but pressed on, his eyes shifting rapidly between the compass on his wrist and the darkness before him, his goal to outrace their pursuers without losing any of his comrades. He could hear the lads behind him, heavy breathing interspersed with periodic curses and short bursts of weapons fire. Someone had found some grenades; every now and again he could hear the sound of a pin being pulled, followed a short time later by a muffled explosion behind them. And then, when he thought they'd never make it out of there, he began to hear the soft whump-whump of rotary wing aircraft.
They'd make it. If he could just get them moving faster, surely they could do it.
Someone behind them launched a flare as the noise of their pursuers drew nearer, and the entire scene was bathed with an eerie phosphorescence. They'd entered a clearing, and he turned to encourage his friends to run as hard as they could in a straight line across, to get to the far side so the aircraft could land between them and their pursuers. Another flare went off, this one red-the sign for the aircraft to come get them, to hurry the hell up already. Robert brought up the rear, the medic making sure nobody got left behind; he gave Elias a grin as he approached at full pelt, his kit bouncing around his waist as he ran. Gunfire; then Robert's shocked expression as he was hit; and then the soft thud as he hit the ground, unmoving. Elias felt bile rise in his throat, then ran towards his friend, his mind racing as he reached the unmoving form, adrenaline providing all of his energy now as he grabbed Robert's arm and hefted him over his shoulder. His friend was limp, a heavy weight-knocked unconscious, no doubt, Elias refusing to entertain the notion that he was dead. Sheer force of will propelled him across the clearing, his entire being focused on getting his friend to hospital as soon as humanly possible, to making sure he survived.
The wind around him began to whip violently, their salvation providing cover fire as they landed. The door was open on the side of the aircraft, and the survivors took care to ensure the deceased were loaded on first before getting in themselves. Elias came last, hefting Robert in before clambering up onto the hot metal, taking time only to give the signal that they were all out before returning his attention to his fallen comrade.
His vision began to swim as he worked frantically to unbuckle the vest the man wore, to try to stem the bleeding he'd felt seeping through his own clothes. He could hear voices shouting-a teammate directing fire, the flight medic providing information to the pilot. The helicopter lifted, the familiar sliding sensation of combined vertical and horizontal movement forcing him to shift his balance, bracing himself so he wouldn’t fall on the still-unmoving Robert. He shook his head, suddenly dizzy; with a deep breath, he tried to tune out the ricochet of bullets in the small space as their attackers tried to halt the team’s escape. He jumped at the sound of a gun firing near to him, followed by more shouting, by a sudden rise and increase in acceleration of the helicopter, the noises and motion slowly overwhelming him. Elias grit his teeth in concentration, determined to make sure his friend was safe if it was the last thing he did. His fingers grew clumsy as he worked to expose the wounds in Rab’s torso; he shook his head once more, and attempt to clear it of cotton wool, thinking now that he needed to find a way to get rid of the blood covering his hands. It shone black in the green light of the helicopter cabin, a fact Elias noted with curious detachment as the sound slowly faded around him. His vision swam, wooziness seeming to consume him suddenly, and the aircraft seemed to tip around him as his own body finally gave out on him.
~ - ~
Elias awoke in a cold sweat, disoriented and desperate for a drink of water. His eyes closed, he began to catalogue where he was, an exercise he'd perfected the first time he'd been injured. His back was killing him-never a good sign-and he could smell the hint of hospital all around him, that peculiar and unnerving mix of metal and antiseptic.
The memories hit him with brutal force as he came fully awake, the image of Robert dead in the helicopter driving him to force his eyes open in a desperate attempt to outrun the vision. What he saw only disoriented him further. Instead of the standard pale green walls of a hospital ward, he was in a darkened room with white-ish walls. There were no fluorescent lights in the ceiling above him, no machinery next to the bed, no omnipresent nurse or soldier sitting at his feet, monitoring him to be sure he'd not become the sixth man of his unit to die.
Instead moonlight flooded the room, rendering everything a confusing grey-everything except for the figure of Ruby Quarles, who was leaning over him with what appeared to be a concerned expression.
"Must have died," he murmured, his eyes drifting shut in resignation. He could still smell the hot exhaust from the evacuation aircraft, the tang of blood from Robert-and, he supposed, himself and everyone else on the team. There was no way he should be in a bedroom with the woman he'd let get away.
He jumped as he felt a hand gently cup his jaw, and opened his eyes to find Ruby Quarles was still gazing down at him. She was quiet for a moment, as if deciding what to say; he, personally, couldn't wait to hear what his subconscious came up with. Was there a subconscious in the afterlife?
"You're not dead," the vision whispered, her thumb stroking his cheek.
"Must be. You're here."
There was a fleeting smile at that, and he felt his own lips curve in reply. "You were dreaming," she said softly, her smile turning to a frown. "You called out."
He blinked several times, his head finally clearing. Gone was the tang of battle and the whiff of hospital air; he could smell the powderiness of the laundry soap Ruby used on her sheets, the slightly spicy scent that indicated "Ruby's flat" to him. He sat up, glancing around them once more for reassurance, remembering that yes, they were in Ruby's room, with the window at the head of the bed and her wardrobe just across from them. And her, sitting right next to him, her hand down resting on his thigh.
He wrapped his arms around his body, shifting from her touch as he drew back into himself, the familiar coping mechanisms kicking into action. The nightmare tormented him with regularity, his mind insisting on replaying those events with far too much frequency. At least he hadn't awoken on the floor, which had happened more than a few times.
The bed shifted, followed by the sound of Ruby’s soft footfalls as she left the room without a word. His eyes remained closed as he focused on the here and now and not the past, trying not to think at all about the fact that he’d had the nightmare while sharing a bed with Ruby. Since they’d started sleeping together he’d only had the dream once, and then on a night when he’d been home alone. It had been false hope that she’d somehow managed to keep the dream at bay with her presence. He was still working to fully resign himself to the fact that the nightmare would most likely always be there, waiting to pounce on him with no warning-even when he was with Ruby.
Elias jumped as he felt cool fingers against his neck, the adrenaline still in his system making him far more susceptible to being startled. The fingers slipped away; the bed dipped once more. Ruby’s breathing was soft, and he sensed her gaze on him. He took a deep breath, then slowly opened his eyes. She was watching him, her expression not full of the pity he’d expected, but rather one of quiet understanding. She held a glass in her hand, and quietly extended it to him. He took it with a nod, briefly rolling his shoulders before taking a deep draught of the icy water.
His neck and shoulders were still thrumming with tension, but he could feel his heart rate finally slow down as he took measured sips from the glass. The room remained silent, the moonlight continuing to bathe the scene in washed out shades of grey.
Elias glanced at the now-empty glass in his hands, rolling it thoughtfully as he weighed what to do. He was used to dealing with this alone, to having plenty of time and space and silence to come to terms with the memories. He had no idea what to do with Ruby sitting not a foot from him, waiting on his actions to guide hers. Tilting his head side-to-side, his neck popped as his muscles slowly relaxed. He briefly leaned over to place the glass on the nightstand.
When he looked at Ruby this time he could see a slight frown-worry, he supposed, at how very quiet he was being. Elias reached for her, pulling her to him; her arms slipped around him as he buried his nose in the crook of her neck. He closed his eyes, shock washing through him as he once more saw Robert being shot, the memory as vivid as the reality had been. He tightened his hold on her, and focused once more on the here, the now-on the feel of Ruby’s night shirt under his hands, on the way the scent of her perfume still lingered, hours after she’d put it on.
The image slowly faded, and he once again felt able to breathe.
Her hands slowly stroked his back, the repetitive motion soothing him further, and he finally relaxed his hold on her. He turned, placing a kiss against her hair, then rested his cheek on her shoulder.
"You want to talk about it?" she asked softly, her breath warm against his skin.
"Not really, no." He took a deep breath. "But I will." It helped that she knew most of the story-he'd given her his copy of the internal report into the incident shortly after he'd almost killed them coming back from Portsmouth. But he also wanted to share it with her, some instinct telling him that it was right that she know.
"Elias, if you don't-"
"I do." He placed another kiss against her hair, the action serving to further ground him in the present. He let her go then shifted, using the wall next to the bed as a support; his back really was killing him, just another permanent reminder of what had happened in Wales. Ruby watched him, her hair gleaming as the light threw half of her face into shadow. She saw him watching her in return, and the corner of her mouth quirked upwards as she took his hand in both of hers. He swallowed, then closed his eyes and leaned his head back.
"I remember that day. Every single second of it. How Ned's bloody boots kept coming untied, so we decided to stop for a proper break, to let him take his shoes off and re-lace them properly so we'd not have to stop again. It had been rainy, for what felt like an eternity-days upon days-and the ground was soft, which was both a blessing a curse. We were all grateful for the rest, for the ability to look up at the sky and not have it be pissing down. It was sunny, finally, and I got a bit drunk off that, the fresh air and the sunlight. I stopped paying attention, looking into the group and not out of it, and they caught us by surprise. "
Ruby was gently stroking his hand, and he focused on that, working to calm himself down. The guilt he felt over not being more vigilant was crushing even on a good day; it was always exponentially worse in the immediate aftermath of dreaming about it. He needed to get it under control, to lock it away again so he could function normally.
"Ned was right in the middle of the glen-he got shot first, I think, no idea what hit him. Poor bugger. The rest of us were leaning against trees around the edge of the area, so there was a scramble as we tried to regroup. That's when Matt got hit, I think-I didn't see that, but it's the only time it really could have happened. I'd left the radio out of reach, which was stupid, so I lost time getting over to it; and I'd been a daft git to begin with, wandering off to the opposite side from everyone else, wanting just a touch of quiet." He took a deep breath, swallowing hard before continuing. "Gaines was on the other end that day, which was probably for the best-the man is utterly imperturbable. So we worked out an escape plan, and he gave me faith that we'd survive if we could make it to the landing zone; I just had to do my bit and get everyone together and out of there." He smiled briefly. "That's when I knew I was in love with you."
Ruby's fingers stilled, and he opened his eyes. She looked poleaxed, and he raised his head. "Oh, yes. I knew then. Nothing like a little imminent death to bring things into sharp focus." He gave her hand a squeeze, then closed his eyes and dropped his head to rest against the wall once more.
"Erskine went to get Ned, or Matty, or both-it doesn't matter, he was killed and there was nothing any of us could do. Spitty was second in command, and by the time I made it over to the group he'd rallied the team around him." He took another deep breath, fighting down a shudder at the sudden, visceral memory of bullets whizzing around him, thudding mercilessly into the trees he kept hiding behind. Ruby's hand tightened around his, and the memory faded.
"The thing about the dream is, that it seems almost hyper-real. It was bad enough living it, but remembering it that way...the greens are greener, the reds redder, the smells..." He swallowed down the bile that rose in this throat. "I never realise it's a memory, either; I always wake up and think I'm back in hospital, waking up that first time afterwards. I was lucky-I passed out before I realized just how badly I was injured, while I was still in shock. I wasn't able to help defend us, either, but given how much blood I'd lost I'm not sure I'd have been of any use at all. "
Ruby turned his hand over. Her fingers gently stroked his palm, forcing his hand to relax. He felt some of the tension leave him. He could hear the resignation in his voice when he spoke again. "I honestly don’t know which was worse-going through the actual firefight, or the days afterwards, when everything hurt and I couldn't do anything, and every time I woke up there was a new bit of bad news. I knew we'd lost Matt and Ned and Ersk and Robert-" His voice broke saying his friend's name; it always did. "-but I didn't know about Harry. And then Mikes, too; they just couldn't save him, although they certainly tried."
They'd almost lost him, too, by all accounts. None of his injuries in and of themselves were fatal, but they'd been numerous enough that he'd gone into shock from severe blood loss. His saving grace had been having a blood type that meant he could take a transfusion from anyone. He still considered that he got off the luckiest of the group; while his back bothered him periodically, he'd been able to go back into full service once he'd completely recuperated.
"The physical part was bad, but the interviews and deconstruction and reconstruction and everything they put into trying to find someone to blame was worse. If you can believe it." He let out a humourless chuckle. "Every day-every single day-I was recounting the story to someone new; a doc, or a general, or an independent investigator. And then the entire thing was wrapped up with a prolonged visit from the psychologist, whose job it was to get me to the point mentally that I could go back and do that all over again without thinking twice.
"McCoy is exceptionally resilient, and has exhibited the ability to bounce back from a variety of challenges," Ruby quoted softly. She'd read it in the report, but he knew that it was also one of the first lines in his medical file. Someone had commented, ages ago, that it was one of the main reasons he'd made the team: he could take a beating and go back for more.
"Being 'resilient' just means you're not the one who died." He let out a heavy sigh. "I usually wake up at the hospital bit. My mind likes a good story arc, I guess, and the glen gives it everything it needs. Disorienting as all hell, though-it usually takes me a solid few minutes to remember where I am-and when I am." Elias threaded his fingers through Ruby's, and opened his eyes.
"So. That's it." He gave her hand a squeeze. "I'm sorry I woke you."
He could see Ruby's jaw tighten, her eyes sparking in the half-light. "Did you just apologise for having a nightmare?" Her voice was low, disapproval radiating from her.
"I apologised for waking you up."
She leaned forward, pausing inches from him. "You had a nightmare. I don't care that you woke me up. In fact, I'm half-tempted to give you a proper what-for for having the nerve to apologise for anything related to it." Her free hand came up, her fingers drifting along his jaw line. "You can always talk to me, Eli. Always. I don't care if you wake me up to do it." She leaned in, placing a soft kiss against his lips before snuggling against him.
He rested his chin on her head, his arm wrapped around her. "You're too good for me."
"I'm just good enough for you." She leaned back, her eyes serious as she looked at him. "You don't deserve some sort of metaphysical bollixing off for what happened, you know. It wasn't your fault."
"So I've been told. Repeatedly."
"The report was full of rubbish, but it had some useful things in there, too. Like the fact that none of you could have known you were in enemy territory."
"We should have been vig-"
"You're human. All of you were. And the Welsh team knew about the bad maps, and had been planning for just this sort of thing for aeons. The fact that so many of you survived is proof of the fact that you were an exceptional group." She leaned forward, adding in a low voice, "And the fact that you got them out from memory alone is proof that you were exceptional at your job, too."
"I should-"
"No, Elias. None of this 'should have' or 'could have' game. It will kill you if you let it." She pulled back, her gaze holding his. "I know you. You did the best you could with the circumstances you were given. I also know you're never going to forgive yourself for what happened. And I know that nothing I say, or anyone else says, will change that." Sadness washed over her face, and her eyes shifted to focus to his chin.
"I can't, Rue."
"I know." Her gaze returned to his. "I'm always going to be here for you, though. If you want to talk, or anything. Even if it's the middle of the night and I'm sound asleep. I'll be selfish on this bit-I can't bear the idea of you trying to hold it all in, simply because you don't want to inconvenience me." Her eyes dropped to where she now held his hand. "I hate that you have to suffer for something that was out of your control."
He exhaled slowly. His gut instinct was to brush off the offer, habit rearing its ugly head. He'd spent years now tucking the omnipresent memories-and the accompanying guilt-away in a corner of his mind, hiding it away from everyone else in his life. He'd stopped seeing a psychologist when he'd left the service, and the men with whom he'd worked in the year immediately after that had no interest in dwelling on anything other than the heroics of pulling a dead comrade-a dead friend-from a battle that should never have been fought.
Ruby was making the offer because she genuinely cared, and a small voice in the back of his mind chirped that she had a point: that maybe talking about what had happened would be more help to him that burying it and hoping it would just go away some day.
"Ok," he finally said, relief washing through him at the words.
"I mean it, McCoy. Wake me up, if you have to." She jabbed a finger into his chest, his hand still wrapped in hers.
"I will. I promise." He raised their hands, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." She freed her hand from his, and once more snuggled against him. "I love you, you know. All of you."
He swallowed thickly, then replied, "I love you, too."
His back was still screaming, and he needed a cup of tea before he could properly go back to sleep. But sitting there with Ruby wrapped in his arms, the air of the bedroom finally cool against his skin-it was too perfect for him to move. He closed his eyes with a sigh, and relaxed into Ruby's shared embrace.
~ fin ~