Hostage Rescue (Closed forAngeleyez and NiceandBrutal)

"One minute!"

The crew chief's voice cut through the din of the Blackhawk's engines as they started their final approach to the target. Ensign Scott Hartmann held one finger aloft to confirm what his men already knew: one minute until they rapelled out of the helicopter and into combat. Scott doubted there'd be too much fighting though, but he couldn't be complacent about it. One bullet was all it took to fuck you up. And as far as intel knew there were bullets aplenty down there.

It wasn't the first time Scott had seen combat. Joining the Navy SEALs at age 21 after a grueling selection, Scott had specialized in airborne operations and medical work. He'd done several tours in both Iraq and Afghanistan and now, 10 years later, he was in amongst the élite of the élite, SEAL Team 6. During his time in the service he'd sustained injuries twice. There was a scatter of shrapnel scars in his sunbaked face, mingling white streaks and spots with the leathery tan he sported. Standing 6'3" tall in a toned and trim body, he struck an imposing figure. His hair and beard, normally light brown, was bleached almost white by the baking sun, lending him an almost aryan air with his baby blue eyes. He had an almost imperceptible limp after being shot in the thigh a few years back.

Scott adjusted his night vision goggles and quickly checked his gear one last time before the rappel. The compound was bathed in explosions as an AC-130 Spectre laid waste to the outer defenses and breached the wall. Scott had to hand it to those Air Force pukes. They knew what they were doing. They'd punched the wall exactly where they said they would.

The mission had been put together in record time, a break in intel giving them a good window of training time shortly after the location of the hostages had been confirmed. The compound they were hitting tonight had once housed CIA men as they rested between missions in Afghanistan back in the day when Al Quaida, Taliban and the USA had been best buddies in the fight against the Soviet Union.

Being nothing but professional about it, the agency had willingly dispatched men who'd lived there to tell of conditions in the area and of course to help to build a training mockup for the SEALs under Scott's command to train in. They had decided to go at the night of the new moon, their dark vision gear giving them an almost unfair advantage.

But this wasn't about being fair. This was about getting innocent US citizens home. The medical team had been caught on suspicion of being spies in the border region of Afghanistan and Pakistan and they were soon referred to as prisoners and hostages interchangeably. Scott and his SEALs weren't about to split hairs on the matter and they would shoot to kill if anyone opposed them.

The helicopter flared, then hung still over the compound. They kicked out the ropes and checked them to see if they were securely fastened. They were. Scott growled "Go go go!" on the comms, and the SEALs in his Blackhawk swung into action, mirroring the second team of SEALs landing on the roof.

Scott was the last man out of the helicopter, quickly rapelling down the rope and moving into position with his team. As his feet touched the ground, he heard the door miniguns start to growl as shell casings started raining around him. Contact with hostiles. Without needing to be told, his team got to cover and started to scan the area. Then they moved as "all clear" was confirmed by all.

They moved up to the house and unceremoniously shot the door off its hinges with a shotgun before kicking it in. They made contact with an adult man carrying an AK-74. He stood blinking, looking confused, giving Scott all the time in the world to drop him. No time for chivalry or sentimentality. As planned, two of Scott's six men were placed as guards on the stairwell leading up, while Scott and his remaining men cleared the ground floor.

It was in the kitchen they found their first piece of bad news. One of the nurses had been shot and killed, apparently after being tortured. "Hostage found. Dead." Scott spoke in a monotone, detached. But he knew he'd pay for this later. He identified her as Elisabeth Drummond although he couldn't be 100% sure, given the state she was in. But she was female and the hair matched her description. Anyway, that was for forensics to decide.

A silence had fallen over the premises after the Blackhawks lifted away and started flying cover. He could hear the Spectre unloading on the terrorist training centre barracks nearby, and the Ranger blocking force giving an 'all clear' from the roadblock and ambush they'd set up.

The next room was the living room, and they could hear whispers from within. Taking no chances, they tossed in a flashbang and went inside moments after its detonation. Three armed men were quickly dispatched, leaving two women and five small children hurt and disoriented but alive. They herded the unarmed civilians together and placed a guard with them, then they proceeded into the basement.

They could hear the second team dispatching hostiles in the floors above them, working through the upper floors like a well-oiled relentless killing machine. They snuck down the stairs to the basement and found a single door at the landing. This door would need a breaching charge. Scott just hoped the remaining hostages were in their separate cells.

Charge in place, they ran back up the stairs and detonated it, showering the corridor behind it with wooden and metal shrapnel as the door disintegrated in the blast. As expected, there were armed men on the other side, one of them obviously dead after standing too close to the door. The other tried feebly to raise his weapon and was shot dead for his troubles.

It was a narrow corridor and there were two doors on each side of it. From one of them came a gasp and a male voice with an american accent calling out: "Hello? What's going on?" They worked their way through the doors one at a time. They found Doctor Eric Berg in the first cell on the left. He was firmly told to shut the fuck up and stay still as they worked through the other doors.

The two next cells were empty. Scott was first man in as they breached the final door. There were two persons in this room. A boy no more than twelve handling a rifle almost as big as himself, and a woman Scott thought was Veronica Price, the other nurse of the medical team. Ronnie to her friends. The boy raised his rifle and Scott realized he'd fucked up. There was a resounding 'click' as the boy screamed in terror and frustration. Angels on Scott's shoulder it seemed. The boy had forgotten to take the weapon off safety.

Without thinking, Scott lunged forward and yanked the rifle away from the boy. He then gave the kid two firm slaps across the face, causing him to collapse in a blubbering heap, all courage forgotten. His men quickly tied the boy with plastic strips and lugged him out of the cell, casting disapproving glances at their team leader. He knew what they were thinking. He should have shot the kid. He was slipping.

He looked the woman over. 5'2", light brown hair, blue-grey eyes, thin scar down her face. Yup. That was Veronica Price. She was lying on the floor, tied. Scott flicked his knife out and quickly cut through the ropes. Then he leaned down and looked her in the eyes. "Veronica, we're here to take you home. Can you move?"


Edit: cleaned up language.

Cocooned in darkness, Veronica floated along, knowing she should she be awake but dreading what she'd find should she do so. She knew pain awaited her. Pain had been a constant companion since the accident. She couldn't remember what the three of them had been joking about. One minute, they were laughing and the next, she had found herself the only survivor of a horrific head on collision with a drunk driver.

Fragments of memories from after the crash flashed through her mind like pictures in a slide show. The hot wash of blood spilling down her face like a busted pipe... Being unable to move with parts of the mangled wreckage of Mo's VW Bug pinning her down... Waves and waves of pain coursing through her body, her right thigh on fire, while her left ankle was like ice...Screaming hysterically when she finally spotted Maureen and Corina and realized they were dead... Hearing the calm voices of the rescue workers as they cut through the wreckage to reach her... Finally, the pixie face of the young EMT who told her reassuringly that she was going to be fine even as she administered something that made her get so very sleepy.

Aches and pains began registering with Veronica... aches and pain not consistent with the broken femur and shattered ankle. Even her facial pain seemed off - both cheeks versus just the right. Eventually full consciousness found her, and she woke to a different kind of hell.

Laying on a dirty floor with her arms and legs tied, Veronica blinked in an attempt to clear her mind. Staring at the bars of a cell in front of her, she almost missed the young boy standing nearby, a gun almost as big as he was leaning against the wall next to him. The same boy, Usman something, who had been their guide for the last week... Her first week in this assignment.

Veronica's eyes welled with tears as she remembered the events of the last two weeks. She wasn't even supposed to be in the border area helping distribute vaccinations. She was supposed to have started a 3 month intensive communications course so she'd be able to have some grasp of the language here, but Nikki Jones, who was supposed to have come, had developed a rare case of measles, and so she had been tagged to take her spot in the rotation.

There had been a whirlwind of activity trying to get the few things that she was allowed to bring with her packed and ready to go. Before she knew it, she had flown halfway across the world and had met up with the rest of the medical team, Doctor Eric Berg and Elisabeth Drummond. Her mind shied away from thinking about Elisabeth - her distant screams of pain and terror still echoing in her ears.

They had made a good team, even if Veronica found Dr Berg to be a little overbearing and she was pretty sure he and Elisabeth were sleeping together. Even still, they had been efficient at working through the long lines of those seeking vaccinations. Dr Berg and Elisabeth had been able to communicate with their patients, and while she couldn't... her reassuring smile calmed many a screaming kid. You didn't have to speak the same language to understand fear, and most children responded favorably to her kind and sympathetic face.

And then there was the fateful evening two nights, at least she thought it was two days ago. They had been following a supply truck loaded with medical supplies to their next stop on the circuit. It had been a relatively cool evening so she had been wearing a jacket over her tunic and dress slacks, her version of scrubs here in the mountains. They had just rounded a sharp bend in the road when the truck ahead had exploded. Their driver, a local native whose name she could never pronounce correctly, had slammed on the brakes and their jeep had ended up in a massive fish tail before turning over on its side.

The similarities between this and the accident years ago had left Veronica stunned, but then she heard shouting and gun shots. The driver shook her arm and motioned for her to head to a cluster of rocks off to the side of the mountain. She had scrambled for safety aware that Dr Berg and Elisabeth were also trying to move. She had crawled her way out of the jeep, ripping her pants at the knees.

Her panicked breaths sounded loud to her ears as Veronica managed to get to her feet and crouching over tried to run as quietly and as swiftly as she could. She had just made it behind the rocks when she heard deep voices close by. Peeking around her hiding spot, she watched a large figure backhand Dr Berg while another hauled Elisabeth to her feet and yelled something in her face. A third shadow yanked the driver from the jeep, and after demanding something in an angry voice, pulled out a gun and shot him in the head.

It was all Veronica could do to not cry out in horror. She was getting ready to sink back behind the rock when something heavy was thrown over her head and her arms were pinned to her sides by someone who cried something in a triumphant voice. She was dragged, kicking and screaming, to a vehicle where she was thrown into the back seat and elbowed hard in the ribs. She had quieted enough to hear Elisabeth saying something she couldn't understand in a terrified voice, and then she heard Dr Berg say something... His voice nowhere close to calm. She was thankful that at least they were still together even if she had no clue what was being said.

However, she had never been able to see either Dr Berg or Elisabeth once they got to wherever they had them. She had been slapped, kicked, punched, beaten with what felt like a gun or club for what felt like hours, and could distantly hear the sounds of Dr Berg and Elisabeth getting a similar treatment. They would ask her things, growing more and more angry when she couldn't respond with anything more than "please... I don't understand... I only speak English..." over and over again.

When the beatings hadn't seemed to work, they seemed to make a game out of making her think she was about to be killed. They alternated between cocking a gun to her head or placing a knife to her throat... over and over and over again until she wished they would just get it over with already. Veronica grew numb to the mental torture as she climbed into her special spot... The one that had gotten through the painful recovery from her multiple surgeries earlier. This seemed to make her captors even angrier and the beatings grew more and more until she was fairly certain her entire back was nothing but a gigantic bruise and that she was in danger of having her scar split open from the multiple blows to that area.

They had just begun the next round of beatings when the building shook from some unknown explosions. The men had grabbed the guns that they always kept nearby and had rushed out. One of them had pushed her former guide into the cell with her, thrust a gun in his hands and muttered something to the boy with a jerk of his head in her direction.

The men rushed off and left the two of them alone. Knowing he could speak a little English, Veronica pleaded, "Please, Usman... Help me get out of here... Help me, please." She had been shocked when he took the rifle and had slammed her in the head with it, knocking her temporarily unconscious.

Apparently he too had been stunned by his actions as the gun was beside him when she finally came to. Gunshots were closer now, almost as if they were inside this very building. Veronica was afraid to hope, but anything that had these guys in a dither surely was a good sign for her.

Suddenly Usman grabbed up the rifle as a large man in military fatigues burst through the door. Usman raised the rifle, but the only sound that it made was a click. The soldier ended up yanking the rifle out of his hands and slapping him before Usman was passed to other soliders just outside the cell.

Veronica could only stare as the man looked at her. She squeaked when he pulled out the knife, but he only cut her bindings. She was shocked when she heard his next words...

Veronica, we're here to take you home. Can you move?

Veronica was stunned to hear her name come from his lips, and it took her a few seconds to process what he was saying. Could she move? Licking her dry lips, she'd responded in a husky whisper, "I'm honestly not sure..."

"I'm honestly not sure..."

It was an honest response. She was a nurse, and as good at evaluating her wounds and her physical and mental state as anyone could be expected to be in her circumstance. Scott made a snap decision. "I'll carry you, Veronica. You're going home." He sheathed his knife and let his rifle hang on its sling as he knelt down and gingerly snaked his arms around her shoulders and knees. Then he braced himself and lifted her up. She wasn't heavy, and he lifted her with ease.

"Cover me," he growled to his men. Scott edged out the celldoor, mindful not to bump Veronica. He proceeded down the corridor just as Dr. Berg was escorted out from his cell. "Ronnie! Thank God you're allright!" He tried to run to her but he was restrained by Scott's men. They did not have time to play catch-up now. It was only a matter of time before the pakistanis figured out what was going on, and it wasn't at all sure that they would tolerate another armed incursion into their country. Speaking of...

A burst of static on his comms, then: "Sir, the pakistani air force just scrambled two F-16's. ETA fifteen minutes. Suggest we haul ass, sir." Scott acknowledged and started belting out orders. "Team one, secure hostages and embark Blackhawks. Team two, form defensive perimeter, collapse in on LZ for extraction once team one is clear." He switched frequencies and ordered the Ranger blocking force to prepare for extraction as well.

Scott had a scarf wrapped around his neck. "Veronica, I need you to take my scarf to protect your eyes now. A Blackhawk helicopter will land and whirl up a veritable duststorm. You don't want more dirt and grime in your eyes and cuts." They had really worked her over. She had cuts and contusions marring an otherwise pretty face. And all because she'd wanted to make a difference, to do some good. It really was a shame.

The LZ was marked and ready as team one exited the compound through the breached wall. Team two was already in position, securing the LZ. Good. His SEALs made him proud yet again. The staccato clattering of the Blackhawk's rotors heralded a storm of dust as the aircraft flared and gently landed. Scott went with the men escorting Dr. Berg and entered the helicopter, making sure Veronica was strapped in securely before checking to see if his team and all three hostages were secure. Then he donned the helicopter's comm headset and told the pilot "all present and secured."

With a sickening jolt, the helicopter lifted off the ground before dipping its nose forward as it started the flight back to Afghanistan. The Blackhawks ferrying team two and the Rangers in turn reported clean lift-offs as they fell in formation behind the lead helicopter. The Spectre exited the airspace and the fighters covered the rear for the eight Blackhawks as they flew north, towards Afghanistan.

The din in the aircraft was terrific, so Scott didn't hear Dr. Berg's crying. But it was plain for all to see that his eyes were fixed on the bodybag, a grim reminder of Elisabeth Drummond's fate.

I'll carry you, Veronica. You're going home.

Veronica almost cried when she heard those words as relief poured through her, although at the same time she was afraid she was dreaming or, worse, hallucinating. It wasn't until she felt strong arms lift and cradle her that she truly realized she was doing neither. She hadn't felt so safe in days and tears started to well up, and she closed them in an attempt to keep them at bay.

Ronnie! Thank God you're allright!

Veronica heard Dr Berg nearby, but she didn't want to open her eyes for fear the tears would start streaming down her face. She hadn't cried the entire time she had been beaten and tortured - she was not going to break down now!

The deep, pleasing voice of her rescuer distracted her as he rattled off orders of some sort. She got the impression that their departure was going to be a bit abrupt, but the care in which he carried her by no means gave any indication that this was anything rushed.

Veronica, I need you to take my scarf to protect your eyes now. A Blackhawk helicopter will land and whirl up a veritable duststorm. You don't want more dirt and grime in your eyes and cuts.

Veronica reluctantly opened her eyes at his words and caught the pitying look he was giving her. She could only imagine what she looked like. It felt like the area around her left eye might be starting to swell, and her scar... Well, her scar was on fire although she couldn't tell if there was really any danger to it opening up.

Grateful to have taken the scarf to cover her face when she felt the wind from the helicopter whipping up around her, Veronica soon found herself gently placed in a seat and buckled in. Letting the scarf drop to her lap, she felt oddly lost no longer being in her rescuer's arms and she wished she could recall his name. She would have asked, but it was so loud she doubted anyone would hear her. The noise made her head ache, and she ended up closing her eyes again as she sought her special spot once more to minimize it.

Scott surveyed the scene inside the Blackhawk. Veronica had shut her eyes, more than likely processing what she'd been through these last weeks. He wondered if she was aware just how long she and her colleagues had been prisoners. He knew that Al Quaida had taken a page from the CIA's book and started employing sensory deprivation as a way to break their subjects. She seemed almost eerily calm as she sat there with her eyes closed, not acknowledging Dr. Berg, not looking at the bodybag containing the earthly remains of Elisabeth Drummond.

Dr. Berg was going to pieces. His voice couldn't be heard over the din of the engines and rotors, but Scott could read his lips. "Elisabeth! No! Please!" Tears streaked his face as he bit down on his knuckles and drawing blood, trying to contain himself. This wouldn't do. Scott had seen this before. He could very well do something stupid next. Scott opened his medical bag and selected a pre-filled intramuscular syringe containing a sedative. Scott unbuckled his seatbelt and tapped Dr. Berg on his shoulder. He held the syringe up in the green interior cabin light for the doctor to see what he had in mind. Dr. Berg just nodded before collapsing and giving free rein to his emotions. Scott injected the sedative with a practiced hand.

In the headphones he heard the pilot announce "Feet dry. Welcome back to Afghanistan, ladies and... you other ladies." The pilot knew full well that the hostages didn't wear headphones connected to comms, and allowed himself some levity. It was his way to deal with the post-mission adrenaline crash. Scott started feeling his hands shake as he approached Veronica again. He tapped her gingerly on her shoulder as he removed his headset and moved his head in as if to hug her. "Are you in pain, Veronica? Do you need some painkillers? Sedatives?" He had to yell for her to hear him.

His hands had started shaking really bad by now. His teammates looked at him with suspicion in their eyes. He'd frozen as he entered the room with Veronica and the kid. And now he was starting to shake like a leaf. He'd experienced some post battle jitters before, but not as bad as this. Had he reached his limit?

He cleared his head and concentrated on Veronica's answer.

It was amazing how the cacophony of noise inside the helicopter was oddly soothing to Veronica, almost like bubble wrap to the rawness she was struggling with. She had almost completely zoned out and fallen asleep when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

Startling violently, Veronica's eyes shot open in alarm while she struggled to swallow her cry of fear, even as she tried to prepare for the next round of beatings and torture that would follow the questions she couldn't answer. Her terror-filled eyes were unable to immediately process the blue-eyed man when she had expected to see the cruel visage of her captors.

Are you in pain, Veronica? Do you need some painkillers? Sedatives?

It seemed to take forever for the pounding in her ears and accelerated breathing to subside enough to identify the man as her rescuer and then to string his words together such that Veronica understood them. She normally steered clear of both, preferring to deal with pain on her own terms, but she was tempted. She was distracted by movement and was surprised to see his hands violently shaking.

Without thinking, Veronica reached out and clasped his hands in her, which caused her to moan softly at the pain that rippled through her back. She squeezed his hands gently, and answered in voice made hoarse from the pain, "No....thank you."

Scott could have kicked hmself as Veronica flinched. He should have known better. She was traumatized and would react violently if touched. Her eyes were as wide as the contusions allowed and her mouth was slightly open and her chest heaving with rapid breaths. Scott regretted touching her, but he hadn't been thinking straight, what with his own inner turmoil to contend with.

Suddenly she clasped his hands in hers and she gave them a reassuring squeeze. Scott felt almost a physical jolt as her petite hands sought to calm his rather large hams with fingers. And wonder of wonders, it worked. The trembling subsided as her bruised and battered yet warm and soft hands held his calloused and coarse instruments of death.

"No....thank you." Her voice was hoarse and the effort of talking and compassionately grabbing his hands seemed to cause her pain. But she knew her own pain threshold, so he didn't push the subject. He let his own hands untangle from her and he gently took her hands in his and squeezed ever so gently back as he smiled a tentative smile at her.

Then the radio in his headset squawked and he was out of the little moment of intimacy and back as SEAL commander. "Touchdown in ten minutes." Scott switched frequency and called the base. He asked for ambulances and medical teams to stand by. He requested transport for the body bag. The Rangers would land with them and be debriefed, then after action critique and individual reports would follow. Scott sighed. The civilians would be hastily treated at the MASH and then flown home to the States. There they would undergo treatment and counseling while being interviewed by the CIA. And after that, they were on their own with their bad memories, their scars, and their nightmares.

He looked over at Veronica who'd closed her eyes again. He made a decision. Using the internal comms of the Blackhawk he told the pilot to kill the engines as soon as they landed. He didn't want to jolt her again, so he would wait until the noise had died down before addressing her.

Blue and red runway lights heralded their final approach to the airbase. Scott looked around the helicopter's cabin. His men had started stowing their gear, ready to disembark. Dr. Berg was sedated, his head lolling from side to side as the Blackhawk swung around, flared, and gently landed. Scott noticed that the engines were cut at once, and he heard the pilot order his fellow pilots in the other choppers to do the same. The Spectre had already landed, and the two fighters providing cover landed shortly after the helicopters did.

As the whine of the engines and the clatter of the rotors died down, Scott's team disembarked. They lugged the bodybag with as much respect as they could muster while one man escorted the sedated Dr. Berg to one of the waiting ambulances. Scott hunched down on the floor, watching Veronica.

When he started to remove his hands from hers, Veronica was afraid she might have somehow offended her rescuer. She had only thought to try to comfort him in a way she had so desperately needed during her captivity. She had never realized how much her mom had helped her get through the aftermath of the accident simply by being there and holding her hand until she was all alone in that awful cell. She was relieved when he returned the squeeze and offered her a tentative smile.

Veronica was thinking about how startling his eyes were in such a tan face when something must have been said on his headset and she watched his body language change. The soft, almost approachable expression changed in a flash to something more businesslike and totally devoid of emotion. For some reason, it made her remember the one captor... the one who had seemed sympathetic one moment and then beating her senseless the next... and it made her almost afraid of her rescuer.

Shutting her eyes, Veronica was only able to make out a couple of the words that he said...ambulance...medical teams...body bag. She understood the need for the first two. If Dr Berg and Elisabeth had the same treatment as her, they were all likely going to need a fair amount of time to recover. Her mind balked at trying to understand the need for a body bag and she could feel what felt like a panic attack coming on.

'Breathe....1....2....3, breathe....1...2...3,' she ordered herself over and over like she was a hyperventilating patient. It took awhile, but between the noise and the counting, she was able to get herself back together and back into her own little, no pain world.

Eventually Veronica realized that she had stopped moving and that it was blessedly quiet. She slowly opened her eyes to find her rescuer crouched down, looking at her. He appeared calm so apparently they were someplace safe. She wanted to say something profound... to thank him for rescuing them, but all she could manage was a weak smile and a small tear that slowly made its way down her cheek.

Scott was about to speak when she opened her eyes. She looked at him and opened, then closed her mouth. A small smile accompanied by a tear were the only expressions of emotion she managed, yet it told him a few things. She was still in shock, that much was apparent from her behaviour both in the chopper and now. He talked to her soothingly and calmly.

"Veronica, you are on an american base in Afghanistan, north of Pakistan. You are safe. Your colleague, Dr. Berg, has already been taken to the hospital, and Miss Drummond's body will be taken care of before it's flown back to the states. I never got to tell you until now how sorry I am for your ordeal and how sorry I am we did not get there sooner."

He paused. In the back of his mind he had a nagging doubt about how wise it was to talk about her dead colleague. He decided to push on: "Now, we need to examine you at the hospital as well. There may be some broken bones after, uh, after what they did to you."

Unexpected and unbidden, his eyes started to well up and sting as he thought of what she'd been through. He had to quell an impulse to hug her. He looked down for a moment, then asked her: "Will you let us take care of you? The doctors and nurses here are first rate, and you will receive further treatment and debriefing back in the states." He thought it unwise to whisk them off so soon and delay the debrief of them. But that was out of his hands.

If it were up to him he would have let them vent right here and right now. Get the first raw emotions out of the system and not bottle it up because some smartypants in their organization with a full weekend's course in PTSD demanded that THEY be responsible for their counseling and debrief.

He slowly reached out for her hand, maintaining eye contact all the while. "Let me help you," he offered. All the while he talked with her, the medical team had slowly approached the helicopter in the increasing wind.

Veronica listened as her rescuer began speaking. He had such a wonderfully deep voice, so soothing, that she felt that she could listen to it all day. Safe at an American base - thank god! Dr Berg headed to the hospital... She frowned slightly as she heard his next words, not understanding them. What did he mean take care of Elisabeth's body? What was wrong with her? Did she need help? And why would he say body and not just Elisabeth? What did he mean not get there sooner? They had been rescued so quickly... only a couple of days after their capture, right?!

Warning bells began going off in Veronica's head. Something was wrong, something was incredibly wrong. She needed to figure out what it is. She needed to see Dr Berg and Elisabeth. She needed to see them right away. They could help her understand. They understood what people were saying over here. She was only the friendly face, the kind smile, the hand to hold... Her breathing began to grow unsteady again, and she clenched in teeth so tightly that it made her entire face ache.

Now, we need to examine you at the hospital as well. There may be some broken bones after, uh, after what they did to you.

Veronica wanted to put her hands over her ears to block out his words for no sooner did he say them than she began to see still frames of the questioning, the beatings, the torture inside her head again and again and again; however, her insides shook so much it was all she could do to try to control it. Something was wrong, something was incredibly wrong...

All of a sudden, it looked like her rescuer was trying not to cry, as he said "Will you let us take care of you? The doctors and nurses here are first rate, and you will receive further treatment and debriefing back in the states." . Something was wrong, something was incredibly wrong... She knew she had been roughed up a bit, but she figured she'd live...at least thanks to the timely rescue. He slowly reached out for her hand, his blue eyes never leaving hers.

Let me help you.

Veronica's hands began clenching and unclenching as what little control she had over the inner tremors broke and began to manifest itself outwardly. Her breathing became ragged as she tried to get the words out.

"Something's wrong... Incredibly wrong...."

He watched her composure start to crack as he talked. A look of relief was replaced by a look of utter confusion, confirming his suspicion that he should have kept his mouth shut about Elisabeth Drummond. Her body language became ever more restless and fidgeting as she started to react to what she'd been through and what he said.

"Something's wrong... Incredibly wrong...."

She was coming apart before his eyes. He'd never seen anything more heartbreaking. Tears started streaking down his face as he watched this innocent young woman start to cope with what she'd been through.

At that moment the medical team was at the cabin door of the Blackhawk. Scott turned towards them and told them with a voice that would tolerate no objections: "Stand down. I will get her to the hospital." They hesitated. He repeated, with a low key voice he used to intimidate recruits: "Stand. Down. Now!" They retreated and waved off the ambulances, their headlights sometimes dimmed by passing clouds of dust as the wind swept over the base.

"Come here," he said, his voice soft and consoling. He slowly leaned in and placed his hands on her shoulders, ready to pull away if she flinched and equally ready to pull her into a hug if she wanted to.

All the while he whispered: "You've been incredibly brave for so long, Veronica. Let go. I'm here for you. You're safe. No one will think less of you for venting."

Come on girl, let yourself go, he thought.

Veronica fought to maintain control of her limbs as the tremors increased in intensity, almost as she was having an epileptic fit. The sad blue eyes tried to pull her in, but there was danger in the path he was offering. Something was wrong...

When he barked at someone outside the cabin door, she flinched and almost cried out at the pain. Soft to steel... Good to bad.... Pain and more pain... Incredibly wrong...

Come here

His voice was low, soft and consoling. Like the devil... Beguiling, tempting her to be weak... Dr Berg.... Elisabeth... She needed to find them, to talk to them... Something was wrong...

Her entire form froze the moment he placed his hands on her shoulders, unable to move away because of the seat straps. He whispered truly tempting things, but they were wrong. Her breathing became erratic. Let go? Let go?! No, pack it up, stomp it down... Don't let anything out. Must... not.... show... anything... Her vision started to blacken until all she could see was those damn blue eyes.

Incredibly wrong...

Scott calmly unbuckled her seatbelt even as he saw her face again become impassive. She mustn't clamp down! Scott continued talking.

"Please Veronica. You've endured so much, too much now to let them win. Don't let the bastards shut you down. Let it all out. You and Dr. Berg survived this. I will take you to him so you can see that he's okay. And we will hold a short memorial service for Elisabeth Drummond before we ship her home to her family."

Scott became aware of voices not far off. He peeked from out of the helicopter as a PR officer led a gaggle of reporters and TV crews around on what amounted to a post-mission show and tell. Someone had seriously fucked up.

"...and here is one of the helicopters used in the actual rescue mission. The UH-60 Blackhawk is the workhorse of..."

Scott leaped out of the Blackhawk, fury etched across his face. "WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD IS GOING ON HERE!?" he bellowed. "You! Lieutenant! Get this flock of vultures away from here NOW!"

But it was too late. They had spotted her. They ran past Scott and scrambled around the helicopter, shoving microphones and cameras in Veronica's face. "Miss Price! Miss Price!" "Look at the camera, Veronica!" "How does it feel to have been rescued like this?" "Are you hurt?" "Do you have anything to say to your rescuers?" "Are you mourning the loss of Elisabeth, Veronica?" "Do you have anything you want to say to her family?"

When recounting the incident later, Scott would always point out how glad he was that his men had gone through the trouble of lugging his weapons away. If they hadn't, he might well have been in jail for murder. As it was, he snapped and tore into the little crowd of reporters like a lion into a flock of zebras. The PR officer tried to intervene and got a black eye for his troubles.

At the end of it, there were three expensive cameras smashed on the ground, two reporters with broken wrists, and one so traumatized she ended up touring talk shows for the next couple of months talking about how she'd faced the beast of military fury and survived.

When the reporters had retreated to a safe distance, Scott reverted to a sort of stern gentleness as he reached in and lifted Veronica out to carry her to the MASH.

On their way there he whispered apologies to her for his show of fury, for his unability to save her from the reporters, and for the way they had addressed her. He was mentally exhausted after that new burst of adrenaline, and he wept in frustration. As he stumbled along, he whispered something that was half cadence, half mantra: "Please don't let the bastards break you. Please don't let the bastards break you."

Veronica wanted to scream... To tell him to just shut up... To stop looking at her with those gorgeous, beguiling eyes... She didn't want to listen to his words. He was lying... Elisabeth couldn't be dead. Maybe he was really one of them... That was it - they were using him to make her cry... to break her resolve to show them nothing... the one thing they hadn't been able to control since her capture.

Just then, something outside got his attention once more, but this time he didn't go cold, he went fiery. She couldn't actually see everything going on despite no longer being strapped in, but she could hear the fury in his voice as he demanded something like birds be removed from the area. 'Wait... that doesn't make sense,' she thought. She shook her head a little trying to clear it and only ended making herself dizzy and with the beginnings of a major headache.

Suddenly there was a maddening swirl of noise and light as microphones and cameras were thrust in her face. Voices, English-speaking voices, called out to her, but the questions they asked were as unintelligible as the questions her captors had screamed at her for hours on end, only these new voices didn't have guns to her head and knives to her throat. Just like that she was seeing guns and knives, and Veronica was unable to keep from shrinking back away from these new threats, eyes as wide as her injuries would allow.

And that's when he went ballistic. The unleashed violence was terrifying. Not so much the smashing and crashing of camera equipment on the ground... the shouts and screams from those that had been only moments before shouting at her. No, what terrified her was the way he went from kind and caring to uncontrolled fury and then back again, as if someone somewhere was throwing a switch and he, merely a puppet.

Her rescuer was back in kind and caring mode when he reached in and lifted her out, holding her carefully in his arms. With nowhere to go, Veronica couldn't have escaped if she wanted to and so held herself as still as she could terrified that he snap again. His whispered apologies confused her and added to headache that was rapidly escalating.

Please don't let the bastards break you. Please don't let the bastards break you.

'Cant.... Let.... Break... Me,' she thought as she finally gave up and succumbed to the pain in her head, becoming limp in his arms.

Scott continued his mantra until he suddenly felt her go limp. She'd had enough. Or maybe she had some internal damages? Scott didn't think so, but he couldn't be sure. He ran. She wasn't the lightest load he'd ever carried, but she was far from the heaviest. He cast his mind back to selection training in Coronado, where his classmates and himself had lugged large wooden poles around for hours-days-weeks during Hell Week. Compared to that, this was nothing.

He burst through the door of the reception area and handed her off to the doctors and nurses there. He gave a full report of his perception of her mental and physical state and was soundly scolded by a doctor who didn't give two hoots in hell for commandoes playing doctor and God. Scott bowed his head and explained how he'd thought it best to shield her from too many people, as she seemed traumatized and afraid. This only fueled the doctor's anger.

"Well OF COURSE she is traumatized. OF COURSE she is afraid! What the hell did you expect, numbnuts!?" The doctor abruptly turned around and stalked off, mumbling and grumbling about well-meaning amateurs. Scott stood in the reception area, humbled and humiliated. But he saw that the doctor was right. He should have let the professionals deal with her. What the hell was wrong with him?

As he stood there musing, a nurse came up to him and handed him a cup of coffee. "Here ensign. Even fuck-ups get to have a cup of coffee." She smiled as she handed it over, and he could only chuckle in return. "Oh, and by the way," she continued, "nice work getting them out of there. Too bad about Drummond." Scott suddenly wanted to get out of here, a lump forming in his throat. He muttered a "thanks for the coffee" before stumbling out and walking right into a gaggle of journalists sporting bruises and broken wrists.

The journalists froze as he stalked past them, then hurried into the relative safty of the MASH. He went back to his quarters and changed out of his blood-spattered fatigues. He went to the communal shower area and washed the real and imagined grime off his body as he went through the mission in his head. The mission had gone smoothly until... until he saw her. What the fuck was THAT about?

He'd just changed into clean fatigues when his 2IC walked in to tell him the debrief was about to start. Scott followed and entered a pre-fab office/container. His team was present, freshly showered and ready to vent. A floorplan of the house had been produced and hung up and they wasted no time in going through the mission, from insertion to extraction. It was telling of the complexity and difficulty of the mission that it took longer to debrief the mission than to actually execute it.

Each soldier recounted their experience, correcting and verifying each other as they talked it through. Scott was the last to go through the mission, and he'd been handed the audio logs from the mission. He played the audio, a chill going down his spine as he heard the dispassionate voices reporting and commenting as they shot their way through the house.

Everyone were candid, and Scott knew he had to say something about his freezing up and almost being shot by a teenager.

"I can't now tell you why I froze. I might have been relieved to find miss Price alive after finding Elisabeth Drummond dead. I might have been surprised by the young age of the terrorist watching over her. I might have been put out by the fact that miss Price, despite having been mistreated, is a beautiful woman." He earned himself a chuckle for his observations. But if they were to function as a team there could be no secrets that could jeopardize the mission. Speaking of which...

"There's a distinct possibility I might be arrested. You see..." He told of his encounter with the journalists, earning himself a round of applause when he was finished. No-one in the room were fond of the hyenas of the press that cheered with bloodlust every time the USA scored a 'righteous' kill. Being on the tip of the spear of the armed forces and blessed with an intelligence moderately higher than the average grunt, the SEALs did not like the one-sided jingoistic way news of their actions were presented.

A couple of MP's appeared in the door and Scott's team was on its feet as one, glaring at the policemen. Scott ordered them to stand down before he went along with the MP's.

He was led to the arrest where the base commander waited for him, along with the PR officer now sporting a black eye and a psychiatrist. Scott knew what was coming. He explained his actions and the mental state he'd been in at the time of the event. The psychiatrist conferred with the base commander, leaving Scott alone with the PR officer for a moment. "For what it's worth, lieutenant, I'm sorry about the eye."

Scott was told to get on his feet, he was to be accompanied to the hospital to be put on observation. He followed the psychiatrist into a waiting HMMWV and was whisked off to the hospital. He was told to strip and to dress in hospital PJ's. He was then put in isolation and told to wait.

It was the humming that finally broke through the layers of fuzziness that clouded her brain. Soft humming that one might make when alone with one's chores. Humming that her captors had never made, electing instead to subject her to total sneak attacks upon her person or screaming fits of rage with which she swore her ears still rang.

Even without the humming though, Veronica would have been able to sense the presence as it approached her with shoes that made a faint squeaky sound. Cool fingers gently touched her wrist, causing her eyes to open but just barely. She could make out a young woman dressed in scrubs with a stethoscope around her neck and realized she was taking her pulse. After she jotted down whatever the results were on a chart at the end of the bed, the young woman pulled a small penlight from a pocket and said, "Come on, Veronica... you know the drill, sweetie... show me those pretty eyes of yours..." as she flicked the light back and forth between her eyes.

Squeezing her eyes shut in reaction to the light, Veronica tried to turn her head away, but those damn cool fingers caught her gently by the chin. "Veronica, I know it hurts, but I need to check your pupils, hon. The doctor is concerned about your concussion. You know the drill... Just a quick peek at your pupils is all I need," the woman said in a soft, soothing voice that made Veronica want to lash out in pure spite - dammit, it hurt!

Clearing her throat, the woman tried again, "Veronica, we've been through this for the last 4 hours. It will just take a second, and then I'll give you your next round of painkillers." Pausing, she then added, "Please don't make me get Doctor Sullivan. He's already in a foul mood because of the extra patients he's had to see thanks to Ensign Hartmann. Work with me, love..."

Having no clue what the nurse was prattling on about, Veronica begrudgingly opened her eyes slightly, but only because somewhere in the back of her mind, someone was spouting off the medical procedures one would follow when treating a concussion. Obviously spotting her opportunity, the nurse flicked the light between her eyes once more, causing tears to stream down Veronica's face.

Clicking the penlight off, the nurse stroked her hand and said, "All done... See, that wasn't so bad... Now, can you tell me what your full name is, and maybe your favorite color? I think we're both tired of month, date and year, yes?" Wanting nothing more than to be left alone, Veronica croaked out in a small voice, "Veronica P-P-Price... P-P-Purple, I think...

"Okay, Veronica... I'm going to give you the next round in your IV," the nurse said in that damn soothing voice of hers. "It will take a few minutes to take effect, but I'm sure it will help." Veronica searched her memory for what had happened since her rescuer hauled her out of the helicopter, but found only vague recollections of a stern older man in white who must have been the doctor, a gurney ride and pain... a lot of pain.

Licking her dry lips, Veronica asked in a halting voice, "W-w-what... is.... w-w-wrong... me?" She cringed to hear the weakness in her voice. Dammit, she had to be strong! She tried to move, but her ribs and back felt like they were on fire.

The nurse came back into her field of view, a sympathetic look on her face. She once again patted her right hand, and Veronica slowly became aware that she was always touching her right side, never her left. Looking down, she finally spotted the short cast on her left arm. Her gaze cut back to the nurse and waited.

"Let's see... You already know about the concussion. Besides dehydration and exhaustion, you're suffering from a fractured left wrist as well as fractures in ribs 7 through 10 with a possible diaphragmatic hernia," she rattled off in a clinical tone. She must have seen the surprise in Veronica's eyes as she continued, "Yes, you'll need surgery if that proves true... We're not sure yet though. Doctor Sullivan wants to do another series of X-rays later."

Veronica started to float as the painkillers started to kick in. She wanted to ask more questions, but she couldn't get the words to form. Leaning over her, the nurse tucked some loose strands of Veronica's hair behind her ear. "You also have contusions over almost every inch of you, Veronica. They've responded well to the ice packs and compression, but you have some that have been classified as severe, so we're having to monitor them closely for potential development of hematomas."

Watching Veronica's eyes flutter, the nurse straightened up and ended with "Rest, Veronica... Get some sleep. Maybe I can bring Dr Berg to see you later... He's been anxious to see you." She walked out as Veronica's eyes finally drifted shut.

Scott waited. And waited.

He was pacing his room. Then sitting down. Then checking the door. It was locked. He sat down again, drumming his finger on the cold metallic surface of the small table that, apart from two folding chairs, his bed, and his nightstand, was the only piece of furniture in the room. There was no light switch. There was no clock. There were no pictures nor calendars. Not even a mirror.

A suspicion began to grow. It was confirmed when he saw loudspeakers discretely built into the roof. The only thing they could use as solitary confinement was a sensory deprivation chamber used to break Taliban and Al Quaida fighters. The irony wasn't lost on Scott. A wry chuckle emanated from him then.

"I know where I am you guys. And I know you can hear me. I realize you consider me a security threat, but is this the best you could come up with? Come on! Let's get this over with. Send the shrink in here so we can talk! You're wasting your time and mine."

The door opened up and a nurse entered. She was petite, but carried herself with enough confidence that Scott didn't dare hassle her or give her a hard time. "The doctor won't be able to see you tonight. Seeing as you're not a hostile, we've seen fit to give you the remote to the lights." She pointed out the dimmer and the on/off switch before asking him if he needed something to fall asleep.

Scott considered it. His mind was going a mile a minute, and he was still fueled by adrenaline. "I'd like a sedative if that's okay," he said, his voice betraying a hopped up weariness. He needed to calm the fuck down. He needed sleep. There were too many conflicting and upsetting images flashing through his mind now like some obscene slideshow.

She brought him a plastic cup of deliciously cold water and a pill that would knock him out in less than an hour, or so she promised. Scott smiled gratefully and didn't object when she took the cup away. They apparently thought him suicidal for some reason. They were being inconsistent about it, though. There was enough metal and wood in here for him to fashion a primitive weapon should he so desire to, which he didn't. Chuckling at their amateurish precautions, he lay down in bed and stared at the ceiling. White, with light fixtures embedded and protected, it offered no comfort. Scott closed his eyes.

The drug took its time to slow down his mind but almost imperceptibly, he became sedated and calm. With the calmness went the adrenaline, and he went from drowsy to sleeping without ever being aware of feeling tired.

Unfortunately, his dreams gave him no quarter as the brain processed and jumbled the images of the last 24 hours.

Boarding the Blackhawk, full of swagger to mask the nervousness. In flight, everyone occupied in their own little hell of fear and uncertainty as they watched the darkness. Then the controlled chaos of rapelling down under fire, the automated response of his team as they reacted and took charge of the situation, helped by the doorgunners in the Blackhawk. A cameraman appeared and was instantly shot to shreds as the elusive Veronica pranced off. They entered the house to find the corpse of Elisabeth Drummond waiting for them. An evil grin spread across her face as she sat up, then stood and pointed at Scott. "If you were quicker I'd be alive!" Blood trickled and glistened as it ran down her face from the hole in her forehead. Scott raised his rifle and shot her, which caused her to laugh. "You won't get rid of me that easy, soldier boy!" He ran past her and touched several Al Quaida terrorists, yelling "TAG!" as they slumped to the floor. A young man appeared with Veronica in a leash. He fired his antique rifle and Scott watched the bullet close in on him in slow motion, felt it drill into his forehead, felt it push his brain back before exiting, tearing most of the back of the skull with it. Veronica looked at him and said "Trust me, it's better this way. Something's terribly wrong, you see..."

Scott awoke, covered in sweat. He didn't know how long he'd slept, but he had one hell of a headache. He was also hungry and desperatelt thirsty, his mouth as dry as the desert. He closed his mouth and let his tongue roll around for a minute to get some moisture in there. "Hello?" he croaked. Three minutes later and the door opened. The same nurse as before entered the room. She had a lopsided smile on her face. "Guess you really needed to sleep, huh?"

"How long?" Scott croaked. "You've been out for close to 28 hours," came the reply. "Any longer, and we'd have to hook you up to IV's. As it is, we've prepared some food for you." Scott's stomach rumbled. "I need to use the toilet first, and I need a shower. And water! Please!" She left the room and returned with towels, fresh clothes and a large plastic bottle of water.

He quenched his thirst, showered, and ate his fill. The food made him drowsy, but he was aware of the time now. It was early morning, and he didn't want to turn his sleeping pattern upside down.

As his headache slowly subsided, he started to take stock of what he'd been through. The execution of the mission had been just about perfect, up until... until what? Elisabeth? That had shook him, he realized. And he'd been equally shocked when he'd found Dr. Berg and Veronica Price alive. Veronica... she'd tried to console him in the helicopter even though she... Scott's eyes started to sting, and that's when the psychiatrist entered the room.

A short and pudgy fiftysomething with a large bald patch, a round and smiling face and a pair of glasses he used more for looking over than looking through. He strode in and shook hands with Scott. He carried a clipboard and a pen and he had a white coat over his army fatigues.

"Ensign Scott Hartmann. One purple heart, two bronze and one silver star, and recommended for the Navy Cross after your last mission. In addition to numerous campaign ribbons and service medals too numerous to blather about. You're a professional, Hartmann. Let me cut to the chase. What happened to you?"

The psychiatrist, Dr. Brooks, peered at Scott over his glasses in anticipation. Scott was baffled by the question, and he threw his arms up in a futile gesture as he exhaled sharply, not sure he trusted himself to speak as he felt a lump form in his throat. Dr. Brooks looked at him and said simply: "M-hm." To buy some time and to get his emotions in check, Scott took a long swig from his bottle.

"It says here that you've been in action since the invasion of Afghanistan in 2001. You've seen a hell of a lot of action. Wounded once, I see. They had you in a ward for six months with a gutshot. They had to remove some of your small intestine and you had an ileostomy bag most of the time. The doctors patched you up and you applied for active duty. And you've been on active duty ever since. So tell me Hartmann, when will enough be enough?"

What was he getting at? He was still fit for duty! "It will be enough when I say so. WHEN. I. SAY. SO!" Dr. Brooks just looked at him in that piercing yet frustratingly nonthreatening way. "It doesn't work like that, Ensign. When the Navy says 'enough' you're supposed to reply 'sir, yes sir' and take whatever job they offer you. And judging by your actions during and after your mission, I'll recommend a thorough evaluation before we deem you fit for active duty again. Or do you disagree?"

Again he gave Scott that piercing stare. Scott thought it through. His pride was hurt, but it'd be worse if he went out on a mission and got someone (like Elisabeth?) killed. He swallowed, tears in his eyes now. "I don't disagree," he croaked, tears running down his face. Dr. Brooks smiled a practiced sympathetic smile. "Good, Scott. It is very encouraging that you say that. I've read the mission logs and listened to the audio. Please Hartmann, tell me in your own words about the mission and its aftermath."

Scott started telling everything. How they'd hurriedly planned and trained for the mission, being told that they would almost certainly expect casualties. How he hadn't slept very good as past ghosts had started to haunt him as he anticipated a mission that might end in a bloodbath. How the initial stage of the mission had gone better than feared, how his hopes for a perfect mission had been shattered as he found the body of Elisabeth Drummond. How he'd frozen as the youth had leveled the old russian rifle at him, thinking 'this is it' as the boy pulled the trigger. Admitting how he'd rather die than kill another underage kid. The relief of finding Dr. Berg and Veronica Price alive. How Veronica had touched him by trying to calm him down when his hands shook like crazy. How she'd grown weaker and how obvious it was that she was in denial about Elisabeth, and how furious he'd been when the journalists started crowding her.

It all came pouring out in excruciating detail. Scott wept. He raged. He never lost control. Dr. Brooks made notes and asked pointed questions when necessary. They spent the best part of two hours in the room as Scott poured his heart out, venting his fears and doubts and frustrations.

By the end, he was exhausted. Dr. Brooks watched Scott with his kind eyes and said "You've been very frank with me, Ensign Hartmann. But it seems to me you were overly protective towards miss Price. Why is that, you think?"

"Why indeed," Scott retorted. "Maybe I just felt bad for her. Maybe I wanted to ensure the mission wasn't a total wash. Maybe I wanted to reintroduce her to some common fucking decency after what she'd been through." Deep down, Scott knew that wasn't the truth. The truth was he admired the young nurse for pulling up stakes and leaving for another country to help others. He admired her resourcefulness as they were told of the accident as part of the psychologic profiling of her, and how she'd studied to be a nurse after her accident. His eyes had always lingered a little longer on the pictures of her when they memorized their faces. He knew every line of the facial scar that somehow made her more beautiful because it made her look, well, real.

Dr. Brooks didn't seem convinced, but said nothing. "I think it's safe to let you out amongst the living, Ensign Hartmann. You are not to go anywhere near the journalists. It'll be a small miracle if none of them sue. We'd like to keep you here for observation, but we'll move you to a less isolated room."

Scott was assigned to a four-man room with a window and an adjoining bathroom. He kept to himself, but noted that he was free to come and go, at least for the time being. He noticed there were strong winds rocking the building. According to one of the nurses, it had been like that for the last twelve hours. Scott started wandering the corridors aimlessly, subconsciously hoping to meet Veronica again. He wanted to see how she was doing. He wanted to thank her for trying to calm him when she saw his turmoil. He wanted to... what?

He kept walking around the hospital.

The sudden sound of a deep voice and a firm grip on her right wrist jarred Veronica awake. Shrill, high pitched screaming filled the darkened room as she immediately lashed out with her left hand. A male voice cursed loudly in the background as pain traveled up her arm and rippled through her chest and back after she obviously connected with something or someone.

Over and over the hysterical sound echoed in her ears, as she tried to free herself from the strong hands holding her down. It wasn't until someone else came rushing in and a soothing female voice said, "Veronica, it's okay, sweetie... You're safe... Please calm down... You're safe.." that Veronica realized the raw, terror-filled screaming was her own. She maintained her struggling even as the same voice continued, "Veronica, you're going to hurt yourself... I'm going to give you a shot, sweetie... You have to calm down."

Veronica made a small sound of protest as a needle slid under her skin and she felt the cool rush of liquid get injected. The vaguely familiar female voice continued her litany of assurances until Veronica had quieted down, her ragged breathing the only visible sign of her continued agitation.

If she cared to listen, Veronica would have heard the male corpsman try to explain what had happened to a group of concerned hospital staff, but she was too busy fighting the tremors that were building up again. She would have heard one of the nurses scold the corpsman for failing to make noise, any noise, so as not to have startled her when taking her vitals; however, she had used up every last bit of reserves she had just moments before and the tremors began to take over.

The nurse looked over and cursed quietly as Veronica shook and shuddered. Full body shudders that rattled her teeth. Calling out for some heated blankets, she grabbed Veronica's hand and said, "Come on, Veronica...just relax. Don't fight it... Relax. You can do it, sweetie..." Someone quickly deposited blankets on the bed, and she was just as quickly cocooned in their warmth as her teeth chattered.

She wanted it to stop... Dear God, why wouldn't it stop...

Scott could hear her screams only too well. She was nearby and she was frightened. All rational thought went out the window as one thought coursed through Scott's head: She needs me!

He raced through the corridor, weaving and dodging between staff, patients, and equipment, careful not to knock anyone or anything over. He arrived to see an upset corpsman explaining to anyone that cared to listen what had happened. Scott was about to lay into him, but a nurse beat him to it. She coldly told the corpsman how it was his own damn fault he'd sport a black eye.

Scott noticed one of the journalists lingering nearby. He walked up and softly whispered in his ear: "As of now, you're categorized as 'walking wounded'. If you want to keep that status, I suggest you make yourself scarce." The journalist turned around, paled, then took off.

Scott walked to the door of Veronica's room and gently but firmly pushed his way in. The screams had stopped but she was shaking violently. The scolding nurse gave Scott a no-bullhit stare and told him: "As long as you're here, make yourself useful, ensign." She tossed a pile of blankets at him and he wasted no time in spreading them over Veronica, doing his best to gently cocoon her.

Watching her like this almost broke his heart. You don't deserve this, Veronica. You've been through too much already. Please God, make her pull through! He brought up a folding chair and sat down. He cleared his throat loudly and told her: "Veronica, it's ensign Scott Hartmann. We've met before. I'm here to keep you safe, Veronica. You are safe with us here." His words rang hollow, his voice was wavering.

The other nurse with the kind face and voice looked at Scott, doubt etched on her face. Scott clasped Veronica's hand: "I'm holding your hand now, Veronica. If you don't want me to, just pull away." He turned to the kind nurse and read her badge. "Lieutenant Nicholson, you better inform Dr. Brooks of my whereabouts, lest he thinks I've gone AWOL."

Then he settled down to keep his vigil, letting her know he was there by keeping up a monologue of inconsequential and safe everyday things. The nurses let him be for the time being and he let them do their job.

Teeth chattering like a kid's wind-up toy, Veronica tried to sink into the cocoon of warm blankets. The nurse inside her fussed about the potential damage she was inflicting upon herself, while the lost, frightened child inside wailed for the comfort of her parents' embrace.

A loud throat clearing to her right drew Veronica's eyes as a large, male form sat down beside her. Her insides turned to ice even as the tremors continue to wrack her body at the sight of her rescuer, unsure if he was in soft or hard mode.

Veronica, it's Ensign Scott Hartmann. We've met before. I'm here to keep you safe, Veronica. You are safe with us here.

All sorts of strange thoughts raced through her mind at his words. Thoughts ranging from 'Oh, so that's his name...' to 'But who will protect me from you...'. She stared at him unblinking, afraid that she'd miss the signs of his pending transition to the cold, hardened warrior that would make his appearance at the oddest times.

The hospital clothes he was wearing caused her forehead to wrinkle slightly as she automatically check him for signs of injury. Had he been hurt while he was rescuing them? She hoped not... She couldn't stand the thought of him... of anyone really, being hurt. She shivered and shook as Scott reached out and engulfed her hand with his.

I'm holding your hand now, Veronica. If you don't want me to, just pull away.

Her fingers immediately twitched as she thought to release his hand, but at the same time, that lost, frightened child demanded that she not let go. In the end, her hand remained in his, albeit loosely, as she listened to him chatter softly. He commented on everything from the storm that was raging outside and depositing sand in just about everything to looking forward to going and getting an ice cold beer when they eventually let him.

It didn't really matter to her what he talked about, but his voice and his hand was like a lifeline that slowly pulled her out of the shattering earthquake that shook her frame. Eventually the tremors subsided and all that was left was his voice, his hand and the sad, blue eyes that stared back at her.

He talked. And he talked.

As her shaking and chattering subsided, Scott started hoping she would snap out of it, pull through, and allow herself an emotional release. He'd noticed that she seemed frightened of him at first. He couldn't understand why. Was it because he reminded her of her ordeal? Maybe he should just leave and let her be? Or maybe he'd frightened her as he tried to protect her from the journalists?

In hindsight, Scott was starting to feel ashamed for his actions. He didn't approve of the press and their methods, but he still could have refrained from using the amount of force he'd done. Back in the helicopter she'd been in a weakened physical and emotional state. He'd been stupid to wave off the medics. He'd been a complete ass when attacking the journalists.

"Veronica, I need to apologize to you. I should have let the medics take care of you right away. And I shouldn't have whaled on the journalists like I did." He let out a ragged sigh. "But I was tense. I was elated that the mission went as well as it did. And I felt sorry for you, for... well, you know. I hadn't slept well for the last couple of nights. And I felt protective towards you not only because we'd just freed you, but because you saw my misery in the helicopter and tried to console me. Me! After what you'd been through you reached out to me and calmed me."

Scott's voice grew heavy with emotion as he spoke. Without realizing it, he'd started stroking her hand. "And- and I wanted to thank you for that. No one has done that to me since I fell off my bike as a twelve year old and my mother..."

He needed to stop, to rein in his emotions. He needed to be in control. But a part of him wanted to hug her and calm her and tell her that everything was going to be okay, and for her to do the same to him. His right hand gingerly held hers as his left hand neared her face. "I'm going to brush away a few strands of hairs from your face, Veronica. I won't hurt you. If you don't want me to do it, just tell me 'no' and I will stop."

He watched her intently.

He had such an appealing voice... Deep and husky, showing more range of emotion than she seemed capable of. She could listen to it for hours and perhaps she did.. It was hard to gauge the passage of time as he sat, talked and held her hand, but she was grateful that he did. She didn't feel so alone, so afraid that someone was going to sneak up on her, not while he was nearby, almost like he was on guard.

Veronica felt slightly ashamed though that she clung to him when he seemed to be here for medical treatment as well. It was apparent even to her that the poor man was going through his own issues, perhaps a head injury that she just couldn't see. And yet she still worried..worried and wondered when he was going to snap, and so she eyed him much like a stray cat eyes a person putting a bowl of milk out... Ready to flee or, in her case, scream if he should attack.

Surprised by his eventual and totally unexpected apology, Veronica couldn't help but feel sympathy at the raw emotion in his voice as he said, And- and I wanted to thank you for that. No one has done that to me since I fell off my bike as a twelve year old and my mother.... She watched as he attempted to collect himself, but was unable to formulate words that might make him feel better when she feared opening her mouth would start her own tide of emotions spewing forth.

Veronica flinched slightly when his left hand neared her face, bracing for the expected slap, before she heard him softly say, I'm going to brush away a few strands of hairs from your face, Veronica. I won't hurt you. If you don't want me to do it, just tell me 'no' and I will stop. He watched her intently, the expression on his face resolute..as if he fully expected her to reject the kind gesture.

Swallowing painfully, Veronica croaked out, "R-R-Ronnie..." - a small olive branch to the man beside her.

"R-R-Ronnie..."

She finally spoke. Scott couldn't help himself as a tear trickled down his cheek. He knew the significance of the nickname. "Hey Ronnie. I'm Scott, but I guess I already told you that." He paused. What DID one to say to a traumatized person who'd endured beatings and maybe even worse?

He gently and deliberately brushed some strands of hair away from her face. She was black, blue, and swollen, though not as swollen as she'd been when he carried her here. Her left hand was in a cast and she was propped up in a way to suggest damage to her left side.

"They really worked you over, didn't they," he muttered, leaving unsaid if he meant the medical staff or her captors. He felt helpless now that he just sat here with her. He didn't dare talk about her ordeal. He didn't dare mention Elisabeth Drummond. And he'd exhausted all topics he felt comfortable discussing with her. Besides, she was exhausted.

Nevertheless, the issues were forced upon them when there was a gasp from the door. Dr. Berg had arrived. He rushed to Veronica's side and started babbling a mile a minute. "Oh my God, Veronica. I'm so happy to see you alive. I told you we'd pull through! I told you we weren't forgotten, didn't I? They will be shipping back Elisabeth's body as soon as the storm lifts. Those bastards murdered her in cold blood! They murdered her, Veronica! It might just as easily have been us, Veronica!"

Scott had heard enough. He managed to appear calm as he leaned in and whispered in Dr. Berg's ear: "Listen Doc, I know you've had it rough. Believe me, I do. And I know you've been anxious to see Veronica to see if she's safe. I get that. But you need to realize she needs rest right now, DOCTOR!"

Doctor Berg looked as if he'd been slapped. He noticed Scott for the first time and balked as he recognised him. Then he did a double take as he noticed Scott's apparel. "Were- were you hurt?" Scott sighed.

"No, I wasn't hurt. I'm here for psych evaluation after I, ah, had a little breakdown." There was no point in sugarcoating it. Scott had had a good rest and had come to his senses after a long sleep and an exhausting conversation. There was no shame in having a nervous breakdown in his line of work. "I was allowed to wander around the hospital. I heard Ronnie scream and I went to her." He said this in a matter-of-factly way. "I just wanted to... to be here for her. Neither one of you deserved what happened to you," he added as emotions started seeping into his voice again.

Scott blinked away fresh tears. He resolutely sat down again and said: "It's Scott again, Ronnie. I want to hold your hand again, if that's okay with you?"

Hey Ronnie. I'm Scott, but I guess I already told you that.

Veronica would have tried to smile if she wasn't convinced it would hurt like hell, but then she noticed the tear meandering down the side of his cheek, traveling along his jawbone until it collected at his strong chin and then plopped onto the floor. The sight of the tear distracted her as she marveled at how easily he showed his emotions while at the same time puzzled as to why the tear would fall in the first place.

She barely blinked when he gently brushed some strands of hair away from her face, her eyes never leaving his face. She shouldn't quite figure out the expression on his face, until she heard him comment under his breath, They really worked you over, didn't they? Her lips tightened slightly at the thought that he was pitying her. She knew she must look a sight, but she had survived... She'd heal...

A noise at the door and a sudden flurry of movement towards her had Veronica bringing her hands up defensively before recognizing Dr Berg. Slowly and painfully lowering her arms back to her sides, she was surprised to see him moving so easily around. She didn't automatically comprehend what he was saying until she heard the words Those bastards murdered her in cold blood! They murdered her, Veronica! It might just as easily have been us, Veronica!

Her vision darkened as Veronica distantly recalled Elizabeth's muffled screams, and then.... the sound of the gunshot echoing down the corridor... the only shot she had actually heard fired as her captors normally just tormented her with the frightening soft click just behind her ears. The sound that now put an exclamation point on Dr Berg's words. Oh my god, not Elizabeth... She had a son back home... She had a son...

It might just as easily have been us, Veronica! seemed to echo in the room despite the fact that she was partially aware of Dr Berg and Scott exchanging words; however, ice had formed in her veins, immobilizing her. Not Elizabeth... She had a son to go home to. Veronica only had her parents... It should have been her... Should have been her.

Guilt crushed her. Sorrow filled her. Ice consumed her. Silence controlled her. Veronica was unable to respond to Scott's question, couldn't even turn her head, as all she could think was that it should have been her...

Scott didn't dare grab her hand again. Judging by her demeanor, the news about Elisabeth had finally hit home. Daggers shot out of his eyes at Dr Berg who wisely ducked out of the room. In the back of his mind, Scott wondered how it was that Dr Berg hadn't been more injured. Elisabeth looked like she'd been through a grinder before she'd been shot. And Ronnie had been severely beaten as well. But Berg? Hardly a scratch. That was worth looking into. He grabbed a notepad and a pen and scratched down the words: Berg hardly wounded. Why? Sellout of some kind? Investigate!

But right here and now, Ronnie needed him. The wound that was Elisabeth Drummond's death had been opened. Scott started talking: "Do you know, Ronnie, I had a little speech prepared for the three of you. I wanted to tell Elisabeth that her son David would get to be with his m- his m-m-mom again," and the tears started flowing again, "and I wanted to tell you that your mom and dad would get you back safe and sound, and I wanted to tell Peter Berg that his fiancé would still get to haul him down the aisle. I can keep the promise to you and Berg."

He laughed a short bitter laugh. "Do you know, they call this clusterfuck of a mission successful. It sure doesn't feel like it." They had struck hard and fast and killed or captured all terrorists and they had rescued two out of three hostages. But Elisabeth was dead, Ronnie was a wreck and Berg? Scott had a growing suspicion there was something fishy there. It was too bad they hadn't had time to gather intelligence in the compound before they extracted.

"Ronnie, I have to tell you something, and you may hate me for it. But we could have saved Elisabeth. We could have gone in a day earlier if we'd left without a blocking force. We might have risked an extended firefight, but we could have gone in a day before. It was my call to make, and as it was a hastily gathered mission I was afraid of unknown variables that could fuck up you, my men, or myself. I didn't pull the trigger (a quick picture of Elisabeth sprawled on the floor, her brain spattered on the floor and wall), but I might as well have.

And there he was at the heart of it. What had been nagging him all along. His postponement had cost an innocent civilian her life. "I'm- I'm so sorry, Veronica!" He wept again. An then someone was at the door.