Chaos ficlet: For Each Other 1/1
Title: For Each Other
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: eviinsanemonkey asked for Rick in peril. Mostly unbeta’ed, though I did try to give it a read myself.
Summary: On his knees, Rick tries to remember how it came to this.
-o-
Rick thinks he’s going to die.
This isn’t a totally uncommon thought for him. During his short stint with the ODS, he’s been put in perilous situations time and again. Sometimes he doesn’t even realize the depth of his danger until all is said and done.
He knows this time, though. It’s kind of hard not to.
After all, his nose is swelling so badly that breathing is a struggle. More than that, his left eye is bruised shut and blood is blurring the vision in his other eye. His ribs ache and he’s lost feeling in his hands from the bindings that have his arms tied so tight behind his back that shoulder dislocation seems imminent.
Oh, and the gun pressed into the back of his head. That’s a pretty clear indication of just how screwed Rick is.
On his knees, Rick tries to remember how it came to this. He remembers the mission--lost plutonium headed toward the black market--and he remembers the meeting with their in--a former German nuclear scientist--and he remembers Michael telling him how dangerous this is--because people die doing this kind of thing--and he remembers the meet going wrong and seeing Billy go down, followed by Casey and Michael--and that feeling of certain dread when he knew he was next.
And Rick doesn’t remember the next part, but he remembers waking up alone in a dank, concrete cell. He remembers the guards, he remembers the beatings, he remembers the single question, again and again: who do you work for?
There was only one answer to give, and Rick repeated it until his throat was raw, no one, no one, until his voice stopped working, until it was all he heard in his tortured dreams when darkness finally came.
It’s hazy after that. Pain and bleariness in equal turns. The question is still there, drumming into his skull, but he doesn’t know how to answer it any more, doesn’t care to try. He believes his answer. He works for no one and he’s alone here and now he’s going to die a stupid and anonymous death.
It’s a crystal clear revelation, cutting sharply into his fogginess. All his work, all his training--it’s coming down to this. He’s always said he’d die for his country, and now he’ll prove himself in the end. He’ll be a grave marker in a cemetery, a star on the wall. A memory.
He’s not alone anymore, though. Across the room, Michael is on his knees facing him. He looks almost as bad as Rick feels. Casey is to his right, seeping blood from a gash behind his ear. Billy’s on his left, listing somewhat to his side, but keeping upright by sheer force of will. There are guards all around, and the gun pushes into the back of his head a little harder and the accented voice is strong above his head.
“So I ask you again,” the voice says. “If none of you will talk for your own benefit, maybe you will talk for each other.”
Michael doesn’t flinch. Casey’s eyes narrow, and Billy straightens himself somewhat.
The gun scratches the back of his head roughly.
“Who do you work for?” the voice demands, and the gun knocks his skull a little to punctuate the point.
Michael inclines his head slightly. Behind his back, Casey shares a look with Billy.
“We’ve told you,” Michael says, his voice thick but clear. “We don’t work for anyone.”
The gun pokes deeper and the safety is clicked off; Rick can barely control a sob.
But Michael’s voice is steady, resolute. His gaze meets Rick’s and the answer is for him. “We’re in this for each other.”
It’s a cue that none of them have discussed, but they all know it anyway. Casey slams upward into one of the guard, and Billy lashes out another. Guns fire and knives clatter and Rick feels himself flung to the side. The force of the impact dims his vision and the rattle of bullets cuts into his consciousness, drowning out the answer he’s forced himself to memorize.
When Rick wakes up this time, there are gentle hands on him, pressing on his wounds, cleaning up his blood. His blinks his good eye open and takes a strangled breath and realizes he’s still alive.
He’s still alive.
Michael is above him. Casey and Billy are hovering just behind. Casey’s brow is creased and Billy looks concerned. Michael just smiles. “You’re okay, Martinez,” he says. “You’re going to be just fine.”
Rick still can’t speak--it’s still a struggle to breathe--but this time when he slips away, it’s not to darkness, it’s to sleep, and all he can hear is Michael’s voice, echoing softly into his dreams: we’re in this for each other.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: eviinsanemonkey asked for Rick in peril. Mostly unbeta’ed, though I did try to give it a read myself.
Summary: On his knees, Rick tries to remember how it came to this.
-o-
Rick thinks he’s going to die.
This isn’t a totally uncommon thought for him. During his short stint with the ODS, he’s been put in perilous situations time and again. Sometimes he doesn’t even realize the depth of his danger until all is said and done.
He knows this time, though. It’s kind of hard not to.
After all, his nose is swelling so badly that breathing is a struggle. More than that, his left eye is bruised shut and blood is blurring the vision in his other eye. His ribs ache and he’s lost feeling in his hands from the bindings that have his arms tied so tight behind his back that shoulder dislocation seems imminent.
Oh, and the gun pressed into the back of his head. That’s a pretty clear indication of just how screwed Rick is.
On his knees, Rick tries to remember how it came to this. He remembers the mission--lost plutonium headed toward the black market--and he remembers the meeting with their in--a former German nuclear scientist--and he remembers Michael telling him how dangerous this is--because people die doing this kind of thing--and he remembers the meet going wrong and seeing Billy go down, followed by Casey and Michael--and that feeling of certain dread when he knew he was next.
And Rick doesn’t remember the next part, but he remembers waking up alone in a dank, concrete cell. He remembers the guards, he remembers the beatings, he remembers the single question, again and again: who do you work for?
There was only one answer to give, and Rick repeated it until his throat was raw, no one, no one, until his voice stopped working, until it was all he heard in his tortured dreams when darkness finally came.
It’s hazy after that. Pain and bleariness in equal turns. The question is still there, drumming into his skull, but he doesn’t know how to answer it any more, doesn’t care to try. He believes his answer. He works for no one and he’s alone here and now he’s going to die a stupid and anonymous death.
It’s a crystal clear revelation, cutting sharply into his fogginess. All his work, all his training--it’s coming down to this. He’s always said he’d die for his country, and now he’ll prove himself in the end. He’ll be a grave marker in a cemetery, a star on the wall. A memory.
He’s not alone anymore, though. Across the room, Michael is on his knees facing him. He looks almost as bad as Rick feels. Casey is to his right, seeping blood from a gash behind his ear. Billy’s on his left, listing somewhat to his side, but keeping upright by sheer force of will. There are guards all around, and the gun pushes into the back of his head a little harder and the accented voice is strong above his head.
“So I ask you again,” the voice says. “If none of you will talk for your own benefit, maybe you will talk for each other.”
Michael doesn’t flinch. Casey’s eyes narrow, and Billy straightens himself somewhat.
The gun scratches the back of his head roughly.
“Who do you work for?” the voice demands, and the gun knocks his skull a little to punctuate the point.
Michael inclines his head slightly. Behind his back, Casey shares a look with Billy.
“We’ve told you,” Michael says, his voice thick but clear. “We don’t work for anyone.”
The gun pokes deeper and the safety is clicked off; Rick can barely control a sob.
But Michael’s voice is steady, resolute. His gaze meets Rick’s and the answer is for him. “We’re in this for each other.”
It’s a cue that none of them have discussed, but they all know it anyway. Casey slams upward into one of the guard, and Billy lashes out another. Guns fire and knives clatter and Rick feels himself flung to the side. The force of the impact dims his vision and the rattle of bullets cuts into his consciousness, drowning out the answer he’s forced himself to memorize.
When Rick wakes up this time, there are gentle hands on him, pressing on his wounds, cleaning up his blood. His blinks his good eye open and takes a strangled breath and realizes he’s still alive.
He’s still alive.
Michael is above him. Casey and Billy are hovering just behind. Casey’s brow is creased and Billy looks concerned. Michael just smiles. “You’re okay, Martinez,” he says. “You’re going to be just fine.”
Rick still can’t speak--it’s still a struggle to breathe--but this time when he slips away, it’s not to darkness, it’s to sleep, and all he can hear is Michael’s voice, echoing softly into his dreams: we’re in this for each other.