A Tale of Six Scars - Scar Number Three

 

..3..

 

“Hey Facey!” Murdock’s voice broke into his doze, “I’m cooking! What do you fancy, steak or chicken, bud?”

 

Face cracked open an eye to find Murdock stood in front of him, hands on hips, flowery apron and baseball cap, squinting into the sun.

 

“Steak? We got some steak? Where the hell did we get that from?”

 

Murdock looked around frantically, making shushing motions with his hands; “Face!” his eyes were darting like minnows, “Keep it down will you! The owners might want it back!”

 

“Owners?” for just a moment Face considered getting involved, but then he closed his eyes again and kicked back. He and Hannibal had been to some boring as shit debriefing for the whole day, and if Murdock had ‘found’ some steak he wanted to cook for tea, then who was he to complain? “Steak would be good buddy. What we having with it?”

 

“Um, more steak?” Murdock offered and Face just laughed. Of course.  

 

“Sounds good...”

 

He closed his eyes. It would take Murdock ages to get himself set up and sorted out. Plenty of time for a bit more shut eye in the late afternoon sun.

 

“Hey, man, what you doin’ with my tool box?”

 

Or maybe not.

 

Face slid down in his sun lounger; now that BA was on the scene there was only one way this was going to go...

 

Murdock sighed dramatically, “Making dinner, Bosco! What does it look like?”

 

“Dinner?” Face could picture BA’s frown, “You don’t need no tools to cook with, fool!”

 

There were sounds of a scuffle and Face screwed his eyes even more tightly shut.

 

“Give it back, BA! I need that for the steaks!”

 

“Steaks? That aint ever gonna be a steak! It’s still got its hooves on, man!”

 

Face passed a hand over the top of his closed eyes and wished he had enough hands to block both his ears as well.

 

“What do you think the saw was for!” the outrage in Murdock’s voice was almost amusing.

 

“Urgh! No way man! You aint using my tools to chop up some dead animal! Gimme!”

 

“It proves it’s fresh B... A...!

 

“Fresh? It’s still breathing!”

 

Suddenly the boring as shit debriefing seemed very appealing and Face really wished he was still there...

 

“Face! Facey!! Help me...!”

 

The sound of running footsteps pounded against Face’s nerves.

 

“No one gonna help when I get hold of you!”

 

There was a crash. Then a thud. Then a squeal. And a thump.

 

Then there was more scuffling, “Give it back!”

 

“Get off me, fool!”

 

“Face! Tell him!”

 

“I’m tellin’ you!!”

 

Face felt his sinuses beginning to throb and squeezed the bridge of his nose tightly.

 

“It’s mine! I had it first!”

 

“I said, get off!”

 

Face forced his eyes to remain stubbornly closed, but his ears picked up lots of things happening all at once. He heard the grunts of the renewed scuffle, then the zip of a tent flap opening and a very pissed off voice shouting, “Murdock, BA!” and then, even louder, “Lieutenant! Get a grip of this situation!” He opened his eyes and jumped to his feet, pretending he hadn’t noticed the fracas until right that second and was just in time to see the disputed saw flicked out of BA’s hand by Murdock’s flailing arms and spun through the air, straight into the boss’s shoulder, not two feet behind them.

 

Everything stopped. The saw fell to the ground with a weird twanging sound and the three subordinates turned and stared at their CO. Hannibal himself looked at the shocked expressions on their faces, then frowned  and glanced down at his shirt just as a bright crimson bloom appeared around the fresh tear on the shoulder...

 

____________________________

 

Face smiles as his finger traces the silver line. They never did get their steaks, and he’d always thought it had been so unfair that he had been assigned to clean out the latrines along with the other two... It wasn’t like he had even done anything...! He frowns, maybe that had been Hannibal’s point...

 

But after he’d been stitched up and had time to calm down, even the boss couldn’t deny it had been funny.

 

Hannibal shuffles under his touch and Face freezes, eyes flicking up to meet his boss’s as Hannibal is watching him with his steady blue gaze.

 

“Something funny, kid?”

 

Face’s smile is wavering around the edges; he doesn’t want to be sent away. Not fucking was bad enough, having to spend the day alone would be a disaster...

 

“No...”  He lays his head back down on Hannibal’s chest, “Just being still. And quiet.”

 

He feels Hannibal’s chuckle under his cheek and the kiss on the top of his head surprises him, but when he looks up, Hannibal is already back in his book, maybe a third of the way through. He settles down again, wondering if he can maybe take a nap, but a neat inch long scar right in front of him catches his eye and he frowns, touching it gently with his finger tip.

 

He remembers this one as well, although he really wishes he didn’t...

Next scar...