What Price For A SEAL? by Anne Tolar

Prologue

"Damn sub's late." Leary was a purely disgusted man, a corpsman with two seriously wounded officers and no way to get them or the rest of this team home. How long did they have to wait? It wasn't like the sub was being shot at; there were no torpedoes in the water. All they had to do was surface and pick up their fares.

"Well, Curran's out for good this time. I don't think the red one will even bring him around." The chief petty officer didn't like having both his team leaders down either.

"Maybe not, Hector, but I'm gonna try... Help me roll him over."

"Just give it to him. What difference..?"

"I'm not putting anything in his abdomen again. I've got a bullet in there as it is. It's going in his butt. Get him over, you guys."

For once, all of the team had made it out of Beirut alive... shot up, but alive, and now they didn't have a ride. Not because they were late and missed the 'bus', because the damn 'bus' was nowhere in sight. This was getting to be a dicey situation. Hawkins, the JG, was shot. Curran, their lieutenant, had made it, or at least had been dragged marginally conscious to the beach, only to fall just shy of the water. He needed help, bad. He'd been hit three times, but under normal circumstances, with Curran, it shouldn't have been that big a deal. Everything should hurt, he might have needed a little help moving, but nothing should have been life-threatening or even come close to bringing him this low.

Still Curran had pushed his famed luck to the breaking point a lot lately. He wasn't even supposed to be on this mission, not if the doctor had had her way, but here he was, and Leary wasn't one bit certain he hadn't crossed over and broken that luck of his into a million, tiny pieces.

The needle went through the seawater-logged uniform, rammed straight into the man's hip. Leary waited for the protest, the muscle flinches, that would say the shot was doing its job. There was no response.

"Come on, come on." Leary didn't know if it was a command and a prayer, but they needed him... they always needed him. This bunch of misfit SEALs had wondered often enough why it was Curran who made the difference, but he did.

Suddenly, the man gasped, gagged on the seawater he had swallowed, then pulled himself up, using his corpsman's sleeve for leverage. His face was the color of the seaweed that floated past him. His voice was extremely quiet, but there was still authority.

"Damn, Leary, I said stow that thing! I hurt like hell, and you're not helping. Don't give a damn what Mercy said!"

And then he puked. He didn't like to do it, but when the situation warranted it, he was good at it. He was good at almost everything. The meds in the big red-jacketed syringe were working fine, beginning to help a little with the pain, giving him a small bit of energy. His eyes were mere slits, his face flushed as the drugs found his bloodstream. He used what little strength he felt to concentrate on the situation at hand. The benefits from the injection wouldn't last long, and whatever the combination of drugs was, it was doing a better job of torturing his stomach than clearing his mind. But they needed him... he still had to 'do the deed'. God, in spite of the medication, he didn't think he had ever hurt this bad.

Leary just shook his head. "You weren't with us enough to give any orders, sir. The Chief and I decided we needed you back now."

At least the officer who was supposed to be in charge was awake again. As long as he was awake, he was in charge. To Leary and Abindallah, the world got a whole lot easier.

"Save the damn thing for Hawkins..."

"Hawkins, hell, sir... he's just floating and drifting. There aren't any more reds left, anyway, but Hawkins is probably just dreaming about broads. He doesn't care about anything right now."

"Everyone here?"

"Yeah, we're all here. Nobody wants to count off yet."

"Why?" Curran finally opened his groggy eyes more than a slit, and then noticed the full light on the surface of the Mediterranean. "Hell! What time is it? How long we been here?"

"It's around oh-six-hundred. That damn sub should have been here about an hour ago. We're getting a little tired, and we're a lot PO'd."

"Chief?"

"Yeah, Lieutenant."

"Get us lost on the way to the beach? We in the right place?"

"Right coordinates." Hector Abindallah repeated his instructions. "Just sitting here, or I should say floating, and waiting."

"Maybe just float back to shore; see if we can find a way out?"

"Thought of that. Kid says we're not going to be too inconspicuous running around Beirut in camouflage, sir, 'specially carrying two guys who are bleeding and puking, and nobody having even one little idea where we're headed. I would guess somebody might just be looking for whoever blew up that building."

"Sounds like typical tourists to me!!"

"Shut up, Hawkins." It was a normal reaction, Curran to his J.G... until the very damaged lieutenant remembered the condition his man was in. "Hawkins? Decide to join this party?"

"Fine party, boss! Where's Rexer? Where's Dane? Anybody got a brain grenade?"

"Does he know where he is?"

"I doubt it. When I gave you the red, I gave him a green and a yellow this time. A little new energy, and a little less pain, that's all. He's still got two bullets in him. He's just talking out of his head."

"Sub better get here fast. Do I remember... Building blew a little early?"

"Yes, sir. Everything went pretty smooth."

"Ramos!"

Another SEAL finned over to where he was. "Sir?"

"Let them know we were early?"

"Well..."

"'Well'... what? Get the word out?"

"No, sir. Communications went down."

"Great! Franklin? You wait to call extraction time, or just jump in?"

"We..."

"No wonder we're swimming. Sub ought be here about..."

As if on command, the sub's beautiful, long-awaited conning tower raised from the surface of the sea.

"I'll be damned. Lieutenant, how'd you manage that? Lieutenant?" Leary asked, but just as Curran had gotten them through this, he now needed their help to get through it himself. Floating in the cool Mediterranean water, weak from loss of blood and too much punishment, he clung to his corpsman and his chief, losing sight of their mission and even who he was.

Curran never remembered anything else about the sub. Captain Dunne, who met them as they were brought aboard, ordered an immediate rendezvous with the Coral Sea where this had started. It wasn't that far away, and on board that ship was Dr. Lydia Mercy, an internist out of Bethesda who was always assigned to SEALs. Curran needed her; Hawkins too. The problem was that Dr. Lydia Mercy had plans for Curran. Whether she had plans to save his life, sink his career, or both, nobody knew for sure.

Chapter 1

It wasn't the insistent voice that hounded him so much. It wasn't the sounds of the machinery around him, the bandages, the tubes in his arm and hand, or the pressure of another tube lower down. It wasn't even the pain, or the nausea, for the moment. It was the sunshine. How did they get sunshine inside a submarine? They had been waiting for the sub... the Nyack... hadn't they?... but when? He pushed at the hand holding the syringe.

"Light. Guards coming!!" Leary understood that after the trauma of the last two missions, after the surgeries on the Coral Sea, and the laparoscopy here, his lieutenant's mind had gone back to a prison in Beirut. Curran was waking now, but his mind was somewhere in the recent past in Al Shudadah's hell.

"No, Lieutenant... Bethesda... Home."

"Guards coming. Quiet! No infirmary! Don't let them take me back! Hurt."

"Nobody's going to take you back there, sir. We're home."

"Franklin? Shot Franklin? Shot him. Just a kid..."

"No. Nobody shot him. He's here too, sir. He's just fine..."

"Water today?"

"We're home. Here's water." Leary held a cup to his lips and helped him to drink.

"Hurt. Thirsty."

"From losing so much blood. The blood's stopped... all the blood's stopped, understand? It's all stopped now, Lieutenant."

"Too much light... guards coming? Don't let them... hurt."

"Yes, sir, I know it hurt. No more guards. You made it though. Want more water?"

"No. Burns. Hurts. Failed. Find Martinez? Where's Hawkins? Leary? Help me."

"It's me... Leary, sir... I'm here. Martinez is safe. Hawkins is safe. You'll be better soon."

"Leary?"

"Sir?"

"Didn't tell Skipper, didn't tell Dunne... did you tell?"

"Tell him what, Lieutenant?"

"Hurt. Didn't tell?"

"Didn't have to tell. Everybody knew. Everybody could see you were hurt bad."

"God. Don't tell... Hurt me. Hurt me."

"I know they hurt you. We all know. Rest."

"FAILED!! WORTHLESS! KILLED TEAM!"

"Sir?"

"Sorry... so sorry. Failed, Skipper! Failed. D.O.R. maggot!!! Broke cover, sir. Wrong decision. Failed! It's a trap!... Behind me!... HOSTILES ON MY SIX!!... FALL BACK!! FALL BACK!!!"

"Easy, Lieutenant... .easy. You're home now... we're safe. No hostiles here."

"HAWKINS!! GET THEM OUT! GET THEM OUT! SOMEBODY BLOW THIS THING! Dead... all dead... failed... ."

The needle slipped into his IV tubing. Leary stood by him, shaken and trembling himself, as he sent his leader back to his tormenting dreams.

Chapter 2

The small, softly lighted examination room, located in Bethesda Naval Medical Center, was finally quiet. The thin man on the padded table had struggled for a long time to endure it, but finally, he had given up and screamed. Then, he had passed out. Leary, the tall, always-vigilant corpsman from the man's SEAL team, had been reduced to silence as he watched the man accept the full examination that had been ordered in spite of his weakness and pain. The hell he had suffered in Beirut, now combined with the hell of the infection and surgeries, had his leader teetering on the brink of total mental and physical exhaustion.

"Can I at least remove the restraints?"

"No. If he comes to and moves, he'll break all these stitches open. I've finished most of the exploratory work, but I've got to finish the last part when he wakes up again."

"Can't it be done while he's out? I think he's still in Beirut, at least in his head."

"He probably is, and I don't think it's this last trip either. I think he's still in Al Shudadah's prison. And no... this part has to be done while he's awake. I need to judge reaction on this next one, as much as I need to finish the examination itself. You, Tyner, and Mack stand by. I'll need help with him."

"Yes, sir."

Dr. Walter Digit, a Bethesda doctor specializing in internal medicine and psychiatry, drew a stool close beside the examination table, beside the seat of Dr. Lydia Mercy. Mercy was the Navy doctor who had brought the man home so quickly, fearing that any delay this time would mean his life. They expected him to wake soon. Digit regretted the fact that he had hurt him and would hurt him again, but Dr. Mercy had insisted that he quickly finish any physical examinations connected with injuries from the missions to Beirut.

They could see most of the injuries... the stitched bullet wounds to shoulder and thigh, the long scars from the bullet wound to his abdomen and the operation he had undergone the day before to stop a nasty case of peritonitis. Those were from the most recent mission... the one he never should have tried to complete. He had completed it; but that hadn't helped him any.

The mission before that had ended in failure and in torture. That time, the ones sent to 'do the deed' had needed rescue, and none more than their leader, Lieutenant James Curran. She could still see or feel the welts, bruises and deeper lacerations from clubs and wires that had landed too hard and too often. He still carried burns from an electric stun gun, and remnants of blackened eyes, fractured ribs, and more minor injuries from numerous fists and boots.

Digit had finished most of the exploration of his body, and in doing so had sent him back into every bit of the misery he had felt when they first brought him back. Neither doctor was certain that this one would ever fully come home again.

What hadn't been checked remained a serious concern. The man was no weakling, not one to ask quarter or beg sympathy. He had been a hostage for no more than two days, but after the examination of his battered body, they realized that he continued to endure something far worse than his flesh would easily disclose or his mind would willingly admit. And there remained the question of the dark blood that continued to slowly seep from inside him.

"GRAHAM... .CAN'T, GRAHAM. CAN'T!! PLEASE!!!"

Tears came as he woke. Unbidden and unacceptable, the two glistening drops tore at his senses.

"No!"

SEALs just didn't cry, not like this, but he had obviously learned how. The first time he woke on the Coral Sea, before he had gone back to Beirut, all those days ago, he had understood the disgrace of it and forced himself to bury it. He had let no one see. Understanding that he still hadn't forgotten the lesson was something he now seemed unable to accept or to forgive in himself.

His fever raged from the peritonitis in his body. The last wound, a fragment of grenade and the accompanying debris from the ground around him, had embedded itself in his abdomen and produced a virulent infection. The infection and the resulting surgery to repair it had left him as he was. She touched his forehead with a hand that was far cooler than his own skin. She gave him a sip of cold water. He began to shiver, then he was sick. When the nausea passed, it was replaced with fear. The green eyes he opened plead with her. A weak voice soon followed.

"Don't hurt me. Please. I won't fight any more. Please. No more."

"Easy. Not too much left now," the male voice he heard had promised relief before, but there had been none.

He didn't recognized the voice, but he talked to him anyway... pleading again "... Can't be anything left. Please, God... pain..."

"There's just one procedure left." She tried to soothe him.

He was so tired, his brain at first failed to register her words, much less understand. Then somehow, he remembered what the man had saved for last.

"NO!!! GOD, NO... .PLEASE. DON'T DO THAT. DON'T HURT ME ANYMORE."

"Sh-h-h-h. This shouldn't hurt, Lieutenant, and it'll be over quickly, I promise. Dr. Digit's ready to finish it."

"NO... NO... PLEASE!!" He tried to pull his wrists from the restraints.

"Mr. Leary, get Mack and Tyner. We need to get this over with."

"NO, PLEASE!!!" He looked for his corpsman. Leary would help put a stop to the torture. Leary had made it stop before, he knew how to make it stop now.

But this time, the man couldn't stop it.

"Lieutenant... easy... we're only going to turn you over. You've done this one before... all us guys have. It's all just the old bend over, grab your knees, and cough... right. You just be real still for about two minutes, and it'll all be over. Come on Tyner, Mack... help me..."

"No... Leary... please... don't understand..."

Three sets of hands pressed his body down into the thin cushion, removed the restraints, then forced him onto his face, onto the rows of angry stitches. There were hands everywhere; insistent, demanding hands that reminded him of others that had demanded even more. As with the other hands, when they were done with him he was helpless and unable to move, much less win the fight. He groaned, then jerked once at the bindings. "LEARY, DON'T..."

Digit sought to reassure him. "Come on, Lieutenant. You're more than capable of taking this. Pressure... sure, there will be pressure and some discomfort, but just a few minutes really. I know you're strong enough."

"Refasten the restraints, Mr. Leary, and you'd better make them fairly tight. We don't want him hurting himself." She smoothed her cool hand across his back, hoping to give reassurance and comfort. She hoped he would remember that he had felt her touch before, that he was safe and in no danger.

"PLEASE, DON'T DO THIS... PLEASE." The man could find no peace in any touch... only more misery... more humiliation... .more loss of himself and his soul. "PLEASE NO MORE. I CAN'T TAKE ANY MORE."

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. Last one... got to be done." Leary secured the final strap, leaving his body exposed, vulnerable, helpless.

He forgot that Leary was his friend, his fellow SEAL, a man who more than once had protected him and given back his life. He forgot the years of training, how to face whatever was demanded. He only felt the hands, the hopelessness, and the horror. "YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH! NO!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!" The anger was a thing alive, feasting on him mind. He struggled.

"That's why we can't leave him unrestrained. He'll injure himself, or he'll injure one or all of you."

"He wouldn't do that, Doc... not the lieutenant."

"He wouldn't even know. He hurts now, and he's about to hurt a lot more."

"Lieutenant, I told you what this would be. Lie still. I won't be long." It was only a covered, lubricated transducer that was eased into him. A simple procedure, really. Digit had called it a transrectal ultrasound, but he didn't remember that. The tip was eased slowly into him, pressed forward, then tilted first in one direction, then another, constantly changing... but hurting as it provided images of his agonized insides.

Curran prayed it would end, but Digit continued, turning the probe, insisting that he accept the unrelenting, too-personal inspection. Digit continued quickly, repeatedly pushing deeper until the work was done. He began to fight, crying out once at the terrifying hurt as the pressure built inside him. Mercy remained, watching the ultrasound screen, answering Digit's questions to help guide the doctor's hand and end the examination as quickly as possible. He hurt... agony deep inside his body... just like before, and there was nobody who would make it stop.

After the initial examination was done, while Curran lay fighting for breath from physical pain and seeking solace from unwanted memory, Digit reached into the cabinet for a large tube of medication and removed its cap.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, I truly didn't think this would hurt that much. You have a little internal bleeding here, but I see no other major problems. I've taken several biopsies to be certain. There does appear to be some scarring and at least one tear to the wall of your rectum... I cauterized that one. I'm going to insert some medication now that will encourage the healing. Take a deep breath for me and be very still. You're going to feel this tube go deep past the muscles, and the medicine is going to sting. I'm sorry if it's uncomfortable, just try to relax."

Curran jerked as he felt strong hands press firmly into his already bruised sides and buttocks, stopping any attempt at movement. His knuckles were white as he dug his fingers into the mattress and tried not to cry out again.

The invasion of the applicator brought more pain. Without further explanation, Digit squeezed a large amount of a thick unguent deep inside him. The fire that erupted and quickly spread downward through his anus burned, with sudden pain spreading up into his body, through his back and abdomen as well. He cried out as he tried to break free. He remembered nothing in Beirut that had been worse than this.

"NO... PLEASE!" He tried desperately to escape the hands and straps that held him. The fight and his rapidly approaching exhaustion stopped the struggle, but not his desperation. "STOP!! MERCY... MAKE IT STOP!! PLEASE!!!"

Responding to his need, Digit ended the torment and slowly eased the tube from his body, noticing the smear of fresh blood and one small, quiet sob he could no longer avoid.

"We're done, Lieutenant... that's all... no more."

Mercy gently rubbed his back, trying to ease the spasms that coursed through his spine and intestines.

Exhausted but still conscious enough to feel both humiliation and anger, he attacked his tormentor the only way he could. "NEVER DO THAT TO ME AGAIN. NEVER... DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU BASTARD!! LET ME GO!!!" He vomited over the edge of the bed, bringing up more blood with the small watery contents of his stomach.

They allowed him time to regain a modicum of control. Mercy continued her attempts to soothe him. "Sh-h-h-h. Quiet now. Do you know what caused the injury, why you're in such pain or why we're finding blood?"

"NO. LEAVE ME ALONE."

Digit removed his own gloves. "Gentlemen. I'm done here. You can turn him back over and secure the restraints. Lydia, check his thigh... I think he may have broken something open." When the throbbing ache of being turned was over, and Curran was settled again, she offered him another cup of cool water. He refused. "Come on, now. Drink this... it will help a little, I promise."

He drank a small sip. Then, recognizing the medicinal taste of the fluid, he willingly took in more.

"That's good. Now, let yourself relax... I'm going to give you a shot to help you sleep."

Another softer plea reached her, "No, Mercy, don't... please! No shot... please. Don't make me..."

"Sleep will help. Just let me give you something." "Didn't help. Doesn't help. Please."

"You're bound to be tired."

"Don't sleep... just dream. Please don't send me back..."

"Back where?"

"To the light. Please, don't make me go back."

But the needle entered his arm anyway. The room stood quiet as he drifted into dream-tortured sleep.

Chapter 3

"I'm afraid that one might have serious trouble."

Digit sipped the cup of coffee he badly needed. As many times as he had done an ultrasound like that, it was hard to accept that this time he had caused a SEAL so much excruciating pain.

"What type of trouble, Walter?"

"All types. What in the hell has he been through?"

"Torture. He was hostage for a really bad session of torture that lasted about two days. But I thought he was healing now. He's been on total bed rest for several days."

"He's been abused, that's clear. He's still feeling pain, inside and out."

"When we just got him back after he was hostage, he went back on mission way too soon. His team corpsman said the pain never let up, and he spent the entire time being sick to his stomach. He wound up getting hurt again, too."

"I wish you had filled me in on that."

"When he decided to go, I tried to stop him. Then I had to send along special medications just to keep him moving for a couple of days, and he tried to avoid even that help. When he came out, he took peritonitis from a bullet wound that shouldn't have been that bad."

"No wonder it took a lot out of him to just get through the physical. Neck down, he's in one hell of a mess, and I'm not too sure about neck up either."

"That's why I wanted you to take the internal for this man. I know you've seen torture victims before, and I think he needs both your skills right now."

"He feels a lot of pain, but I expect that, with the damage he has inside, the ultrasound probably made everything worse. You say he went through a great deal of torture..."

"And to that you can add the bullet wounds, the abdominal surgery, and the infection. "

"Jesus. Did you ask him about what they did to him?"

"We talked about it the first time around. He took some of everything... electric shock, beatings with wire and club, mental abuse..."

"Such as..."

"They threatened to shoot his team in front of him, starting with the youngest one, if he didn't talk... had the gun to the man's head... everything. If they'd had him much more than 48 hours, I don't think we'd be examining him, I think the Navy would have buried him."

"You ask him about anything else... any possibility he was abused any other way?"

"He didn't mention anything like that. I believe he would have told me."

"Maybe. The thing about his physical condition and his pain is, he's actually healing quite well. The bruises, burns and such aren't that prominent now. I can tell he's been injured, can see what happened recently, but with the top condition his body was obviously in, he shouldn't hurt so much now. He's too thin... Entry chart says 150. For his height, that's lean, but he must be down to 145 and still dropping. He's not eating, is he?"

"No. He tried before he went out the second time, but since he's come back, the only times he's tried, he just lost it all. I've got the IV with enough dextrose in it to help him keep going, but he's not getting much nourishment."

"And if I had to guess, if you don't knock him out with pretty strong sedatives, he's not sleeping. And if he does sleep, he's in hell anyway. It's not unusual, you know, for hostages to be raped in situations like that. I should have known about the torture. I'd have gone about that ultrasound today a lot differently, especially if I thought he'd been raped. I'd have done that test first, before he was so wrung out, and I'd have talked to him about it at length before I started. It probably seemed like I was just doing it to him all over again."

"He talked easily enough about most of what they did to him when he first got back. I know he went through different torture sessions. I felt sure he'd told me all of it, and he didn't mention rape."

"If they did it to him, odds are he couldn't talk about it... and he probably went on that second mission as much to keep from thinking about it as to be in the thick of things. But he may not admit that it ever happened to him... not yet anyway. If they did it, we'll need to do an HIV screen. And I'll probably need to repeat that ultrasound in a day or two to check the damage."

"Couldn't the blood have been from something else. You said internal injuries."

"Sure, it could be that. Hell, the blood could have just restarted from moving around too much during the last mission or from what I was doing today. Political prisoners get hammered in the gut and mid- section all the time, and internal organs aren't meant to take that. Electric shock can cause it sometimes if the spasms are strong enough. He's certainly bruised enough for it to have been the beatings. He's still in pain, but a SEAL shouldn't be in this physical or mental condition just from being held prisoner... two days just isn't that long."

"But he's had surgery and he's fighting peritonitis. His gut's on fire most of times. A full exam like that, so soon, had to hurt. I'm going back to check on him, see how bad he is?"

"Good. He sure wasn't seeing me as much of a friend. At the last he was hurting so bad, I thought, restraints or no restraints, he was going to come off that table and punch me. He's not normally like that is he?"

"No, bull-headed and argumentative, hates being pinned down, but I've never seen him try to hit."

"That's something else that makes me wonder what he hasn't told anyone. Who's his corpsman?"

"Tyner."

"Good. He knows what to watch for. If he's still losing blood in the morning, I'll talk to him about what we're going to have to do. If you can get another one as good as Tyner to divide the time, I'd like to see him watched by a corpsman around the clock for awhile."

"Around the clock?"

"If he's been through what I suspect he's been through, he's got a long road back, if he can come back. I want him watched for mental changes as well as physical ones. Lydia, until we know the truth, I'm putting him on suicide watch."

"James Curran? He's too strong... ."

"If he was raped in addition to other torture, it won't matter what his name is... and the fact that he's a SEAL might make things worse. Have you dealt with a case like this before?"

"No... but I've worked with Curran."

"That's good. You know what a normal Curran is like."

"Certainly. What are you expecting?"

"If his trouble is related to being held hostage and beaten, he could come up with a case of PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder. If we have to deal with a rape issue, too? We might not even see anything coming for a months, but if we can help him now, we might help him deal with it early and keep him from facing a full-blown breakdown. You say he's a strong man... well, I hope you're right... but sometimes it's worse on the ones who are strong."

"I'll get the team corpsman... Leary back to work with us. Curran seems to work well with him, and Leary's been really concerned about him."

"That's good, if he'll tolerate him being around. It may be hard for him, especially if he suspects Leary knows 'the truth'. And keep an eye on Leary, too. Seeing his boss like this... I don't know. In the early stage after a rape, lots of guys don't want family and friends to suspect a thing. When and if he starts talking, he'll probably be upset if we've told anyone anything. Just tell the corpsmen the pain is still pretty bad inside, and he's a little depressed from the beatings. They need to be supportive, but not too smothering."

"You don't have to worry about either of them being unsupportive... they're the top at taking care of SEALs during and after combat. I won't have to tell them why... just to do it."

"Good. Let's let him rest, and we'll meet with the corpsmen at five."

Chapter 4

When she walked back into the room, she thought he had fallen into exhausted sleep, but when she reached his side she realized that he wasn't sleeping at all. He was still on his back, eyes shut, restrained hands holding like claws onto the mattress. He was obviously in agony. For each breath he needed, he drew in only a shallow sip of air, trying not to re-ignite the spasms. Each exhale was accompanied by a small, barely audible moan. She reached out a hand to touch his forehead and then his chest, feeling for fever but also trying to soothe his ravaged nerves. The muscles in his body were knotted. Her touch made him jump, and he seemed to vibrate with fear as he felt the contact.

"Lieutenant, are you okay?"

He opened eyes that were no longer bright, just tired and filled with need. "I don't think so." He seemed oblivious to her question for the next few minutes, even to her presence near him. Then he seemed to rouse a bit. "Can you make this stop? I... It... hurt."

"Yes. That's something I can do." She walked to the cabinet near the bed, quietly slipped on gloves, and took out one long-needled syringe, already prepared, with a bright red cover.

"No!! Mercy... please..." His trembling increased.

"Easy. It's just a red cover, it's not the same medication I gave you in Beirut. I'm not going to make you hurt any worse... this is to stop the pain. Trust me."

"Is he really a doctor? Thought he was going to shove that thing up through my throat." He gagged, but managed to contain the nausea.

She quickly eased him slightly to the side and slipped the needle into his hip. He drew in a sharper breath as she pushed the plunger. "There... give it a little time to work. It should ease that nausea, too." She picked up a large plastic cup that had been filled with ice when his ordeal began and placed its straw between his dry lips. "Drink some of this." Curran thankfully drew the still-cold water into his body. "Good... I'll give you some more in a minute or two."

"Untie me. Take this catheter out? It burns and my back..."

"If you promise no tricks?" She gently released the balloon valve and removed the offending tubing, then began to unfasten the restraints. After a few minutes, and more water, she asked, "Is that better? Still burning?"

The man nodded weakly. "Promise me that son-of-a-bitch is not coming back."

"Not today anyway."

"Not ever. If he comes back in here, I just might kill him. God, I hurt." He rolled to his side and tucked tight into a ball, his arms wrapped across his abdomen.

As he talked, she stepped back to the cabinet, turning with something he couldn't see in her hand. "He knows he was really rough on you. I'm sorry it hurt so much. Will you turn over on your back and let me..."

"No! Leave me alone."

"Easy. You just turn a little more to the left then." Raising his hospital gown as she went, she put a hand against his right shoulder blade to help him turn into position.

"No... don't..." He tried to push her hand away and pulled self-consciously at the gown.

"Easy, Lieutenant. I'm just going to rub some of this into you. Digit says you're bound to be a pretty big case of pain right now."

"Son-of-a-bitch ought to know." When she started by touching a boot-fractured rib, he jerked sharply away, "ENOUGH! Damn, Mercy, isn't it ever enough?!! I don't want anything else... leave me alone."

"Easy. By the time the medicine from the shot takes hold, this should help make you more comfortable."

She opened the tube and concentrated on gently but firmly rubbing the unguent first into his shoulders, then continuing down past his ribs into his lower back. When she reached his hips, he jumped and fought the touch of her hands.

"No. Don't. I don't need... .I don't want this. Not again."

"Why not? You're in pain, I know, but that's nothing new for you. When you came out of Beirut, you were hurt all over. You just didn't let yourself heal, so you bought yourself a double dose now. Is there anything you need to tell me about how this got so bad?"

"No."

"Then I'm going to finish. You just be still."

She started again with his hips, and soon realized he was holding himself rigid, trying desperately not to move. She stopped at one point and reached into the cabinet for a different tube of medicine, removed its cap, and attached a plastic applicator.

When he saw what she planned to do, he lost all strength of will. "No... God, No... Mercy, please not again... NO!!"

A small cry burst from him. He bolted from the bed, crumpling quickly to his knees, gasping at the pain from all the stitches and his brutalized body. Unable to move fast enough to escape, he used his small reserve of energy to crawl into the nearest corner of the room. He lay there, back to the cold gray wall, hugging his knees to his chest, and began to shake pitifully, sick to his stomach, and paralyzed in fear.

She lay the medicine aside and came to him, kneeling close beside him, raising his head in her hands until she could see into his eyes.

"It's okay. It wasn't the same thing, and I thought this one would help you. I won't do it. I promise. Sh-h-h-h-h." She stroked his hair, sitting quietly beside him, until the terror passed.

One tear slide down his cheek. "HURTS... I can't... not again... PLEASE, LYDIA... NO MORE."

"Sh-h-h-h-h-"

"DON'T LET ANYBODY HURT ME LIKE THAT. LEAVE ME ALONE." He became withdrawn then, fear unbearable but the humiliation at his own perceived cowardice beyond endurance. He closed his eyes, retreating into a well of silence.

She went to the door, motioning for Tyner and Mack. "Let's put him back on the bed, but don't restrain him."

She picked up the original tube, and beginning again at his shoulders, rubbed the warming unguent as gently as she could, going no further down than the small of his back. Then she stopped and left him alone. It took a long time for him to bring himself back into control... to calm the trembling.

The discomfort began to lessen as the soothing warmth of the salve finally penetrated the pain inside him. Calmer now, and thankful for the relief he was beginning to feel, he rolled onto his back. She accepted the move as his willingness to accept more help. She moved quietly to his side and rubbed more of the unguent into the knotted muscles from his shoulders to his chest, spending precious time on his rib cage. She moved to his abdomen, using extreme tenderness in the area closest to the incision. At long last, as the trembling truly stopped, she lowered the gown to cover him. For a few minutes, she watched him. He lay so silent and so still, again she thought that he slept. He didn't sleep.

"Mercy?" The voice belonged to a different man, a man who now knew what total defeat was like.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

His eyes were no clearer, still lifeless with fatigue. "I just couldn't take any more. Sorry I'm such a damn coward."

"You're no coward."

"No SEAL either."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. A beating this bad can even make a SEAL admit that he hurts."

"When did you come back?"

"I didn't leave. We just stepped outside to let you rest. Digit and I thought you just might need a little help. It was obvious you were hurting, but you didn't complain too much."

"What good would complaining have done? Couldn't stop a damn thing. Couldn't stop the beating then. Hell, I couldn't stop anything then, can't stop anything now."

"Well, you just remember, Lieutenant, you're one of my boys... even if you are a very fine mess to keep in line. When it gets this bad, you can always ask me for help."

"And get an 'unfit' for my efforts? It's may be what I deserve, but no thanks."

"Asking me for help is not what will make me sign an 'unfit'." She offered him more water, satisfied when he drank again. "And nobody deserves an 'unfit' because of what you're going through." Then she gently brushed his damp hair from his forehead with fingertips made cool by the cup she had held for him. He pulled away from her touch.

"Sh-h-h... relax... no more now."

"Don't let them hurt me any more. Please. I just can't take anymore." Silent for a few minutes, he raised his head. There was unimaginable sadness in his eyes as he look at her, "But you're not surprised, are you?"

"Surprised?"

"Yeah... you know what I am... just a real coward, a damn coward, but you know that."

"Okay, now... that's enough, Lieutenant. I've heard enough of that from you. You're not a coward."

"I don't think my skipper or my team would agree with you on that."

"Hush! Things will get better before long. As soon as possible, I want us to start planning to get you back in condition. We'll work out a plan together. Once you start moving, and have a little freedom, things won't look so bad."

"You make that sound almost promising... .is it really?"

"Yes, it is. Trust me. Tyner will help you start stretching. Even that is going to be hard at first, but you can do it. Just don't push it until they tell you to push it. Okay?

"Anything to help me get out of here... on my feet. You tell me what that is, I'll do it. When can we start?"

"Tomorrow... legs and feet, but with you in bed. In a little while, walking... but Lieutenant, you might as well hear it from me... Digit's ordered an MRI for tomorrow."

"Why?" He was instantly on guard, but much too tired to put force behind the words.

"He's promised you'll be out when he does it... I don't know if you'll be totally out or just tranquilized... either way it shouldn't be so hard, and you'll be through early, I promise."

"Son-of-a-bitch!"

"What is it about MRIs that really bothers you so much?" She had done one herself. It wasn't that big a deal... but for this man, even the thought of it was a big problem.

"First time I had one, inside went dark. Damn tech refused to let me out. My dad beat my butt black and blue, then gave me hell for over a week because I let it scare me so much. He was regular Navy, and he didn't want any coward in his house. I still hate the damn things."

"SO... You're afraid of the dark?!!" She began to giggle, trying to keep it from becoming a true insult. "A SEAL... and you're afraid of the dark?" She giggled again. "I'm sorry... .I shouldn't laugh. But nobody would ever guess anything like that about you!!! What a little cowardly lion you were back then."

"Just SHUT UP! I was only eight, damn it! Didn't like the dark before that son-of-a-bitch got hold of me. After it, I didn't mind dark near as much as I hated MRIs. I STILL HATE MRIs, AND I'M NOT GOING TO DO IT AGAIN." The ferocity of his anger surprised her. He came up from the bed fast enough to be fully in her face. She wondered what it must be like to have him as an enemy.

She flinched when she saw the look in his crystal green eyes, and she determined to give him a small concession. "Look... .I don't think I'm going to be as invasive as I was last time. But we will have to deal with your old wounds and work on the latest ones. Digit's not doing the same test. That last one was a transrectal ultrasound... I did an abdominal ultrasound before your surgery... no tubes, nothing in or up anything. To get the pictures he needs now, Digit's going to use the MRI."

"NO! NO HE'S NOT! OR DO YOU WANT TO MAKE A BET HE'LL BE ALIVE TO FINISH IT?"

"Curran... .I'm not going to fight with you. Understand. You just suck it up and cooperate. Mister, this attitude goes!"

He was silent momentarily due entirely to the fear, and to the pain that attacked his abdomen. Then, out of breath and very pale, he seemed to think better of the situation. "When do I have to do it?"

"That's better. Good boy."

"Hell. You promised no MRI. Why does he insist now, when I hurt like hell?"

"Are you surprised, on top of all the damage you took from Al Shudadah? All you went through the last few days? He's found problems inside you that need to be checked further. It won't hurt. You do want to get well... right?"

"Yeah... and I would if the bunch of you would ever leave me alone. I suppose if I don't do this, I'm insubordinate and uncooperative again. Hell, Mercy. You said no..." The trembling was back.

"Don't get so upset. Relax as much as you can. Breath slow and easy."

"God, Mercy... can't you convince him?" She could clearly see the panic rising.

"Easy. No, I can't and I won't. Knowing what he knows now, I really agree it needs to be done. Just be still, let yourself rest." She reached into the cabinet again for a vial of strong sedative.

"Rest? That's a laugh." He spotted the coming syringe. "Leave me alone, Mercy. I can't sleep."

"Right now... the very best thing you can do is sleep." He followed her movements as she loaded the needle. "You need sleep. Tyner and Leary will be taking very good care of you tonight... just ask if you need something. They should be able to keep you comfortable, and when you wake up, I'll be right here again to get you through the MRI." Another needle disappeared into his hip. He held his breath as the stinging contents entered his body.

"Is that supposed to be good news?" The look held a very sad, very disheartened gaze.

She thought her heart would break for him. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, if you're half as good as you were today, we'll try to remove some of these tubes for good." She settled the man gently, curled again on his side. She found coverings in the cabinets near the bed. She first lay a sheet over his body, added a thin blue coverlet and then a soft, warm blanket for good measure. She reached down one last time, cool fingers brushing too warm brow. She realized suddenly that he had finally given in to the drugs and gone to sleep. She turned out most of the lights in the room and, as she walked away from him, softly whispered, "You rest well, James Curran, nothing and nobody is going to hurt you this much tomorrow."

"You will talk or your men will die!"

"No more... don't hurt me... .no more... Leary, make it stop!!"

"Trisha? Don't go... ."

He didn't rest well for long. In the small morning hours, with fever high again, he wrestled with the dreams. Fearing he would fall, the corpsman again restrained him to the bed, and in doing so, sent him deeper into hell.

Chapter 5

For the remainder of the watch he shivered in his bed. He was still racked with pain and fever, but now he also heard voices nobody else heard. Sometimes he begged, sometimes he fought, sometimes he just cried out in response to those who peopled the dark dreams he was stuck in..the dreams that circled over and over again in his mind...

"You will answer or your men will die"

"Leave him alone, you son-of-a-bitch."

The corpsman tried diligently to cool his fever. "Leary says he kept yelling that when the terrorist put the pistol to Franklin's head."

"You will answer or your men will die"

"Don't, you son-of-a-bitch. Don't hurt..."

"He's just dreaming, Tyner. Too many injuries, the surgery, the infection, all the injections. But even dreaming, he's a SEAL. Afraid someone's going to prove he's not good enough... make him give up..."

"Yes, sir, Dr. Mercy. Should I increase the sedative?"

"Can't... hurts... don't hurt me. Dark, Leary, so dark."

"No. Not now. Cool him down as much as you can, and push the IV fluids into him. Increase the antibiotics, but watch him. You better restart the catheter. I'll check back in a few hours. The meeting is at six. Get someone to stay with him."

"Yes, sir."

"Where's Dunne?"

"Don't send me back... no light... no light..."

"At Norfolk headquarters... said to call if we needed him or any information. Otherwise, he'll be back to check on him later."

"Do you have his number?"

"Yes, sir."

"You will answer or your men will die" "No!!! Help Franklin... help Franklin!!! Please... No more!!! GET THEM OUT!!!"

Chapter 6

"What's this all about? He's dreaming in spite of the shots... I don't want to leave him for long." Tyner, new to this type of meeting, knew from his dealings with the Lieutenant that Curran was developing serious mood swings, and now there were the nightmares, but he didn't begin to understand why.

"Gentlemen," Digit began, "we were reluctant to bring the two of you into this discussion, but you are the two who are going to deal with Lieutenant Curran most. You will be in a position to observe him, and that will be key to his recovery."

"Recovery from the beating? I thought he was recovering pretty well. Seems like the bruises are fading. Is the infection coming back?"

"No, Mr. Leary. The infection seems to be leaving his system slowly. What I'm referring to is more a mental problem than a physical one."

"Mental? Lieutenant Curran?" Leary found it unbelievable.

"Remember, Mr. Leary, I do not know that he currently has a disorder, but I believe we may be seeing it developing quickly, and we must be ready to help him get past it. If we're not prepared, we stand a good chance of making things worse."

"What is it?"

"Tyner, I'm sure you've heard of post-traumatic stress disorder."

"From what? Curran's been through too much to be getting PTSD now. He's always on top of the situation..."

"Mr. Leary. Has he ever been seriously beaten before? Or held hostage?"

"No, sir. He's been wounded, been in mean hand-to-hand combat, killed people close up before, but as far as the kind of beating he took in Beirut, not to my knowledge."

"Has he ever been injured as many times, on as many consecutive missions, as he has lately?"

"No, sir. He does the deed. He may get a little beat up, but he walks away the winner."

"He hasn't walked away clean many times in the last two years. I believe the accumulated shocks to his body, along with the serious physical and mental abuse in Beirut, may be leaving him open for a serious bout with PTSD. I'm asking for your help in observing him for possible signs, in reporting any such findings to me or Dr. Mercy, and in implementing a preemptory plan of action to help him overcome any difficulties."

"How do you know he's got this PTSD?"

"I don't know... not yet. Sometimes it doesn't show up for months or even years after abuse cases. However, in many instances it will manifest itself within thirty days of the incident. The sooner it manifests, I believe, the sooner he can overcome any problems."

"Are you planning to keep him in here another thirty days. He's going to go ape. The last time Dunne sent him home to stand down, our team had to sit on him."

"And you may very well have to monitor all of his activities again. We will just have to see."

"Dr. Mercy? Do you think he really has this?"

"To me he is acting out of the normal. Have you seen any signs?"

"No. In fact, for a guy who's getting over a bad beating, I thought he was coming along fine. You think he's in for real problems? The lieutenant?"

"Yes, the Lieutenant. Walter what do we need to do?"

"In my experience patients with PTSD go through four stages of dealing with the experience. They're not self-contained stages; they're interrelated, and components are interchangeable. I believe I am observing Curran in stage two."

"Stage two? What the hell happened to stage one?"

"Leary, I believe, with Lt. Curran, he has been in a prolonged stage one. He was in stage one when he returned from his captivity in Beirut. He was unwilling to face the fact that anything happened to him that was truly upsetting. Now, his emotional state is constantly changing. Stage one has been prolonged by his rapid return to a mission status, and by the wounds he took during the last mission. He has been forced to endure more pain and to accept medical procedures which he probably sees as being very close to what he went through during the actual torture. Now, I sense he is becoming angry, fearful, and he's blaming himself for getting his team into trouble. Even the pain is part real and part emotional baggage. This is stage two for him."

"What exactly do you think happened to him. He's been hurt in combat before. What's so different about this time?"

"I'm not certain. He won't admit anything to us yet. What actually happened may have just been what we know. My concern is that he may have been raped. He has classic symptoms of a man who has that kind of trauma."

Lydia quickly interrupted, "We're not sure of that. He denied any unusual mistreatment the first time he was on the Coral Sea."

"But Lydia, the denial itself could have been part of the disorder."

"Damned if he was, damned if he wasn't. Just what are we supposed to do?"

"Mr. Leary, for now, he needs support. In my opinion, he's lost control of himself, he got seriously hurt, his team got taken... they got to him, and he lost the fight. Everything he's been trained to expect of himself went to hell, very, very quickly. He's used to being in control, and he's used to winning. He has to get some type of control back. In as many situations as possible we need to let him take control... even partial control.

"Any procedures we perform from now on should be explained, and, if there is an alternative, less invasive, procedure available... let's try to use it. If he reaches a stage of total non-compliance with what he needs to do, we need to consider ways to bring him back. But, even with his weight dropping and the pain, we don't need to doubt his strength and ability to move. He is in pain and weak, but not, and I repeat not an invalid. And people, right now, he sees me as his enemy. On other days, for any number of reasons, each of us will become his enemy. And always, he will be his own worst enemy."

"Are we finished, Dr. Mercy?"

"Yes, Tyner. I know you need to get back to him. Let's meet tomorrow evening to see how it's going."

"He did this all night?"

"I thought after the last few days, the infection and fever would ease off, but he was so weak to start with. What has Leary told you about the last mission?"

"No light... Pain... Hurt. Leary? Make it stop, please."

"You will answer or your men will die"

"Said Curran ordered him to give one 'red' to Hawkins, whatever that is. Wouldn't take the last one... Said he had to wait until Curran passed out before he could get the Chief to make a command decision out of putting that needle into him."

"You promised you'd be here. My little girl's gone!!!"

"Trish... I tried... please... ."

"Where were you?"

"Training... you knew where..."

"Liar. You bastard... You're never here!!!"

"Can't tell... Didn't know... Mine, too..."

"I never want to see you again."

"Trisha, please... don't go..."

"Do you know who this Trish... Trisha... is? What this is about?"

"No, sir. He talks to her a lot though."

"Change to the antibiotic cocktail I was telling you about, and let me know if he gets worse."

"HAWKINS! GET THEM OUT... GET THEM OUT!!!"

Chapter 7

"Billy... hell, Billy... 's dark."

"No shit, sir. So it's dark."

"No... no DOR... dark."

"So you tell me... just move, Pale Face."

"Graham... make good team..."

"some day, you'll have to get used to doing all this without me.."

"No."(silence) Graham?... Graham?... GRAHAM!!!!!!"

He woke with a start, bringing with the waking two memories of the face of his friend, the first face laughing as he dragged a young, greenhorn lieutenant JG out of punishment detail they called The Hole and then suddenly locked in death on a street in Beirut. Almost two years, and his mind still couldn't let him go.

"GRAHAM!!!?"

He brought with him, too, all of the pain he felt, but not the memory of why there was so much of it. Trying to bolt upright in bed reminded him of how bad it had been and still was... acceptable pain in the shoulder and thigh... but intense pain in his abdomen and lower body caused a serious wave of nausea. There was still the pain deep inside.

The covers came off. The woman in yellow scrubs looked all of maybe twenty, and she dispatched the warmth of the coverings he had retreated into during the night with no thought for his possible embarrassment.

"'Morning. You are Curran, right? Might as well get this over with."

Half hung over from drugs and dreams, he tried to sort it all out. "Who are you? Get what over with?" Then he remembered. "Hell! Now? What time is it?"

"It's already oh-five-hundred. This can be done on an empty stomach, and I tend to think that's best. So, don't dawdle... just slide onto this stretcher for me."

"Slide? You do know I've got about a million stitches, and a couple of tubes to take care of."

"I'll take care of that." Suddenly, burning as it went, the IV tubing disappeared from the back of his already tender hand, leaving a thick trickle of blood in its wake. "Oh, hell." She reached into the cabinet, grabbing a cotton ball and a spool of tape. She quickly had the leaking vein subdued. "Don't mess with that. One to go." She cut the tubing to the catheter, draining the fluid from his bladder. With a determined pull, she brought the catheter out.

"Damn, lady. Take it easy. I've had one of those a pretty long time to just get it ripped out."

"Don't be such a baby. You SEALs are such babies when it comes to a little discomfort. Okay, you're not encumbered with any tubes anymore, so just slide yourself over here."

With a gasp to accompany the effort, digging his screaming feet into the mattress, he eventually managed to slide his extremely stiff, miserable body across the small distance between bed and stretcher. She at least provided a thin sheet to cover him. It offered a little modesty, but it provided no warmth.

"Where's Mercy? Or is this Digit's idea of hell for today."

"They're not here... probably still home in bed. Here we go."

She pushed the stretcher rapidly out of the room, out the pod door and down the hall. After a moment or two, she slammed to a stop and pushed the button to signal the elevator. His head spun and his stomach threatened rebellion.

"Where are we going?"

"Sixth floor, west side, Radiology." The elevator arrived, and as quickly as she could shove his ride inside the car, they began to descend. His stomach protested the initial drop. The fire in his abdomen was coming back to life.

"Is Tyner coming... or Leary?"

"Who are they?"

He knew he was probably in trouble. "They're my corpsmen. Thought they'd be going along for this... at least one of them."

"Nope. You're all mine for the next hour or so. My orders say to get you finished early. Guess they've got something else planned for later, poor baby."

When the elevator stopped and the doors swished open, she shoved his gurney out, made a sharp right, and rapidly pushed him past dark, unfilled waiting areas, and through several sections of automated glass doors, until they slid to a stop in a very small, dimly lighted room. If anything, the room they stopped in was colder than the ride to it. He had serious goose bumps under the too thin sheet.

The machine occupied the majority of the area. He could feel the blood drain from his face and his stomach begin to churn in earnest. The machine was obviously ready, the rim glowing a faint green color, not unlike the way he felt. He thought he was going to puke before he even got into the thing.

"All right, now. Stand up and hop up here."

"I'm not supposed to stand up or hop anywhere."

"Don't' give me attitude, Curran, or I'll call my own corpsman to take care of you."

"Look..."

"Look, nothing. Move." When he obstinately failed to obey, she glared at him. "Mack!" she called to the room behind him, "you better get in here. I have a problem on my hands."

He recognized Mack, but when the hulk of a man unexpectedly appeared in the field of vision over and above his head, it scared him for a second. Memories of the Rag who had beaten him nearly to death came to his mind.

He began what he hoped were sound negotiations. "Look... Mack?.. I'm no problem, okay? Honest. I'd move if I could... but Dr. Mercy says if I try to use my feet to get anywhere without her approval, much less break open even one of these damn stitches, she's going to sign an 'insubordinate'. If you'll help, I'm more than willing to move."

He wasn't 'willing' to move... not where he was going. That much was a lie. He had lied to the Rag. The Rag had known it was a lie and that had been when the real pain began. He breathed slowly as he waited. But Mack, to Curran's immediate relief, seemed to accept the explanation.

"Okay, Lieutenant. I'll move you."

For a big man, he was quite gentle, placing his prey quickly onto the long narrow bed that would soon transport him into the machine. Curran looked up at the man,

"Thanks, I think."

Mack just laughed, a small, mocking sound. "Weasel all you want, but you aren't getting out of it; and you're crazy if you think she'll go easy on one of you guys. No problem though, I'll move you back... if you live through it." His face quickly disappeared and was replaced by the face of the one he now thought of as the 'baby bitch.'

"Okay, Curran. Have you had one of these before..."

"Yes."

"Good, then you know to cross your arms across your abdomen." She pushed his hands into place, pressing them down and tight across the incision, and put a small cylindrical object in his hands. The position created pain in his shoulder, back, and abdomen. His groan failed to impress her. "That's a call button to hold, just in case you need anything, but I don't believe you will. The first section of the MRI is going to take from forty-five minutes to an hour. If I need to tell you anything, I'll talk to you through the speaker. You better be still, or we'll have to start over. Here goes..."

"Wait!"

"What?"

"They said you'd put me out before you put me in this thing."

"Oh, come on! We don't give sedatives for an MRI."

"Maybe not a sedative... Dr. Mercy said it might just be a tranquilizer??"

"I don't have time for this. You just take a deep breath and close your eyes... this will be over before you know it."

"But..."

"But nothing. Here goes..."

He was suddenly face to face with the inside of a brightly-lit white tube. The tube gave him less than the three-inch clearance he had had in the cell in Beirut. He lifted his head and bumped his nose. He shifted his arms and encountered the cold, curved walls. He instantly felt buried alive, and this time, there was no Hawkins to talk to. There was no Graham to tell him he'd be out of the hole soon... that he could do this thing. And there was no Leary. And then he remembered why dark was better than such bright light. Bright light meant pain, intense pain and horrible suffering, hurt, and it meant death. He felt his heart lurch and his pulse quicken, and the noise became deafening.

It was just when he thought he would disgrace himself by puking or screaming that his mind found Graham's voice...

"Get used to doing this without me. You can you know."

He thought about that, holding to it, hard.

"Do the deed, Pale Face."

He muttered it to himself, forcing his breathing to slow in spite of his fear. He began to chant it. "Do the deed, Pale Face... You can you know," thinking of another place where the terror had been far worse, and others where he and Graham and all of his SEALs had done their deed anyway. "You can you know."

He continued to croon this mantra to himself as he closed his eyes and listened to the noise, letting the clanks and pings and the memory of Graham's rich voice become a drum in sync with the song inside his head. As he quieted, he realized that he wasn't terrified anymore, but he was very, very cold. He pushed the button... and he pushed it again.

"Lieutenant. Lieutenant?" She could raise no response from him. She glared at the woman beside the controls. "You end this session now, and you get him out of there.""

"But..."

"You get him out of there, or you go pick up your paycheck and I'll get him out. Corpsman... Mack... I need you."

He felt the bed move. Had it been forty-five minutes? His teeth were chattering hard, and he felt light-headed... nauseous and dizzy... as the table slid out into the room, then lurched to a stop.

"James? Are you okay?"

"C-c-an you k-k-now." His face was either very blue or very green, or maybe a mixture of both. "deed, Pale Face."

"Mack!!... Get me blankets, and see if you can find something warm for him to drink... and maybe a can of food supplement. Get back here on the double."

"Do the deed, Pale Face." It took a minute to realize he was really out and someone was talking to him. "M-Mercy? That you?"

"You weren't supposed to come here until six. Leary said he went to get a cup of coffee, and you were gone when he got back. When did it start?"

"Ask the bitch. C-c-cold."

"Corpsman!! Where are those blankets!!"

"T-this r-room's damn c-c-cold, or I'm j-just a r-r-really b-big c-c-coward?" She covered him with a thick blanket, rubbing his arms to increase circulation.

"No... You of all people are nobody's coward. Where's your IV? You should have had some kind of nourishment this morning. You're in shock... or nearly there. No food, no dextrose, with so many shocks you've gone through... your blood sugar's probably low. She should have certainly offered you a blanket, and you needed food and juice before she gave you the tranquilizer."

"W-what tranquilizer... didn't g-g-ive any--thing."

"Her orders were to either sedate you or, if you agreed, to just use a tranquilizer."

"Didn't have t-time... be-ing a p-problem. Wasn't c-co- operating... So c-cold."

"Here drink some of this." She held a cup of warm weak tea to his lips. "Go slow; is it too hot?"

"Nothing's t-too hot." He sipped a little more. "Oh..."

"We'll find you some kind of food."

"NO! At least no GREEN Jell-O."

"If you can joke about this, you must not be feeling too bad."

"Need a B-BIG shot of whiskey."

"Corpsman, bring that stretcher over here, and raise the head a little. When Mack had done as he was told, he picked Curran up and placed him on the gurney, being sure to place the blankets around him again.

"Here, James, drink this."

Mack took the cup of juice and held it for his patient to drink.

Mercy drew a tall stool beside him and reached out to take his hand. At first she held his wrist, checking his pulse, but then, she simply held his hand in her own. She held it until his teeth stopped chattering. "I can't believe she stripped your IV! Now wonder you were low. I'm sorry, James. First I have to renege on the MRI, then you get greeted with this mess first thing this morning. Are you feeling better?"

"I'm okay."

"Of course you're okay. You never admit you're not okay. Do you want to try to finish it this morning, or do you want to come back tomorrow when we can start over with a tranquilizer."

"I survived the first case of hysterics. Hell, today... tomorrow... just get it over with, but leave me the blanket. Can you hear me from out here?"

"Yes."

"Then we need to talk... that's not 'unfit' is it?"

""No, it's not. What do you want to talk about?"

"Just how long you're going to keep me in this damn place, and why you think I deserve so much of this shit."

He finished it. He felt just a little cocky when he'd done it. Success had been too illusive of late, and he savored the small victory as if it were from a major battle.

"Well, done, Lieutenant. Now how about a nice liquid lunch and a little nap. "

"There's nothing in this damn world you could make me eat. And don't put me out, either. I'm so tired of being sick and feeling jabs... just stop it, okay."

"Oh, I can make you eat. If you're going to start something smart with me, you just let the games begin."

"Lady, this isn't a damn game to me, and the last time I heard those words, somebody beat the crap out of me."

"That's enough. After you rest, I plan to ask you something for Walter."

"Not a chance in hell. After what he put me through, even as bad as I feel right now, if I see him, I'm liable to deck him."

"I wouldn't suggest you try anything. He's tall and he's skinny, but he's no wimp. Now, I want you to have some food, rest, and then we'll talk."

"Hell, guess I'm the wimp, but I don't like the sound of this talk."

"And I don't care. Hang on, Mack's going to push this time."

"Okay, Mack. Try to avoid sudden moves and the walls, or I'm liable to puke on your shoes."

The ride back was leisurely; the tiny drink Mack procured from somewhere wasn't delicious, but he managed to hold down the whole three ounces. He was suddenly sleepier than he realized. He eased back on his bed and had a very short nap. He felt a little better when he woke.

Chapter 8

She was sitting there next to him, waiting for him. "Did you have a good rest?"

"I'm okay... unless you brought Digit back here with you."

She ignored him... seeing the mood he was currently in. "Hold that leg up... I want to put on your compression stockings today. Get the circulation going better in your legs and feet. This doesn't mean you can get up and move around." She worked and bothered with them for quite some time, making sure they were exactly in place.

"Damn. Give it a rest, Mercy... I feel ninety with these damn things. This Digit's torture or yours?"

"Okay, so you brought him up." She dragged the stool back beside him, seeing the hostile look developing in his eyes. "He needs to know something more about you, and we figured I'd better be the one to ask."

"He ought to know everything there is. He poked around on me enough to know what everything looks and feels like... inside and out."

"This question is a really personal one. He wants to know if you were raped... when you were hostage in Beirut."

"Shit, Mercy!"

"Come on... no sense ducking the question now, is there?"

"BY ALL MEANS, ASK ANY DAMN QUESTION YOU WANT!!! JUST ASK A MAN ANY DAMN THING!!! SHIT!!! DON'T YOU TWO KNOW WHEN TO QUIT!!! JUST LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE." He tried to come off the bed, clearly agitated, bordering on rage at the audacity of the question.

"Now... take it easy."

"NO, I WASN'T! DAMN NOSY SON-OF-A..."

"Lieutenant... It wouldn't be anything against you. Do you realize it's not uncommon in that kind of situation..."

"HELL, YES, I REALIZE. BUT IT DIDN'T HAPPEN TO ME!"

"You can tell me if it did happen to you. The reason we ask is that you're bleeding. Digit's afraid, if you did get hurt like that, then we need to check you for HIV... or he might need to do some exploratory work to see if you need repairs to make it stop. If it's serious, it could have an effect on your long-term health..."

"My career, you mean. Hell, Digit's been all up inside me, couldn't he tell? I wasn't HIV when I left for Beirut, and I'm damn sure not HIV now, not unless one of your boneheads loused up a transfusion or shot me with a bad needle. "

"I can promise you that hasn't happened. You can talk to me about what did."

"Look... I got beaten... bad... that's all."

"Digit's exam obviously shows him there was evidence of more than that."

"IF YOU'RE CALLING ME A LIAR... LADY, YOU CAN GO SLAM TO HELL!"

"No... but most guys don't want to talk about it if it happens."

"I WONDER WHY! But I'm not 'most'. Is that why he did the whole damn physical over? He's not planning a damn repeat performance, is he? If he's got to have the full gory details, I'll give you the straight of it... just to make absolutely sure you and Digit are extremely happy, and so you know I'm 'cooperating' fully. The son-of-a-bitch spent a long time shocking me, then beating me, cane and wire. I was on a cement floor, clothes off, taking it on the butt, legs, chest, stomach... everywhere he could aim. You better believe it hurt like hell. I called it a beating... you two just call it what you want to call it. But call it, then forget about it. I have."

"Well... that wouldn't be rape."

"Whatever you two say. I wasn't surprised when I tasted blood, my middle hurt like hell from the blows, but it stopped fairly fast. There wasn't any other kind of blood showing when the rescue team found us, or the corpsman would have asked me about it. I didn't think there was any point in talking about it when you got started with your damn little chamber of horrors the first time. I hurt enough as it was."

"But you should have said something. Talking about it would have maybe made it less humiliating, less of a trauma."

"Humiliating? Hell, puking isn't humiliating. In fact, I'm pretty damn good at it. But yeah, taking it and not being able to do anything to stop it... that was damn humiliating. That's why he did it to me in the first place; but it didn't hurt much more than my ego."

"You're body looks like it was all ego. But you don't seem particularly bothered by it. Are you sure you're okay about this?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. There's been a hell of a lot more to deal with lately, not just a bruised opinion of myself."

"That's true. A lot to deal with..."

"You've got to understand. SEALs train to survive, mostly so we can help our survivors when they finally get free. I've seen a lot worse than what I went through. I didn't come out of training with many illusions about how tough I was, but I came out a very prepared SEAL."

"But you didn't mention all that you had to handle. You should have said something. You don't have to be an iron man all the time."

"Iron man? Iron man? Hell, Mercy! I wasn't holding back because of something like that. Wasn't anything more than a beating, and you knew about that. If I had kept bleeding, I would have told you."

"What other reason did you have for holding back?"

"I didn't want you doing any more after you finished that first set, so I kept my mouth shut. When it came time to move out again, hell, I knew one word about blood would make you push the unfit through in about a minute. You were threatening me with shrinks already. You would have signed it, and Dunne would have backed you up. Wasn't any point in keeping me down for that. I just decided to keep it to myself and go."

"I can't understand how you were able to work. You must have been hurting the whole time."

"I'd had a little rest before we pulled out. Yeah, the beating was why I hurt so much and had to stop so often. I knew what it was. The puking? Now that I blamed on you and that dagger of a needle you shoved into my gut on the way in. Between your needle and the shit from that brute in Beirut, I thought I'd never quit puking."

"I actually thought you handled the situation in Beirut well... You got your team out."

"I don't know who you're talking about, but it sure wasn't me. Martinez got us out. I'm the little prick that got us caught."

"Digit's treated hostages before, and he noticed the signs. He's just trying to determine exactly how badly you were hurt."

"Not as bad as he wants to think. You tell him I said to just back off and let me deal with it in my own way! And you... You just remember, I took everything Digit did to me yesterday. There's no 'insubordinate' here, and don't you go using this as an excuse to sign an 'unfit'. The minute the Captain tells me to move, I will move."

"I have no doubt you'll try. You're sure that's all there was in Beirut?"

He actually laughed, an odd, bitter laugh. "Yeah, Mercy, that was all there was. No worries. No crybaby SEAL here. Not me!"

"You know what I mean. Digit--"

"Shit You know the hell of it?"

"What?"

"If Digit keeps thinking this way, my career could wind up in the toilet, if it doesn't anyway. If he put it in my chart, I'm done for."

"You wouldn't be done for."

"If it gets out that that's in my chart, I'm not sure my team, any team, would be willing to follow me. And nothing could keep it all quiet? "

"Probably not."

"Damn right! You just make sure Digit keeps his damn mouth shut about this."

"Digit's probably your best friend right now. He came to me; he didn't go to Dunne. If you were hurt enough inside to be bleeding still, for any reason, after more than a week, he needed to do some serious exploration."

"Leary said it's all stopped."

"What all stopped? I thought you said..."

"Nothing. Just that I was okay. That s.o.b. Digit must have started a new 'old injury' himself, about two seconds after he got inside me. What he did when he was poking around on me the rest of the time, let's just say I owe him more than one. Keep that miserable piece of shit away from me."

"Be nice. He was just doing what had to be done. He's really a nice man, you know."

"You can maybe convince me of that in the next century."

"All right. Enough. Rest again. And tonight, eat something."

"Yeah... .I hear you. Tell Digit I said he better keep his damn mouth shut."

Chapter 9

He rested, but he didn't sleep... just coasted a little, trying to enjoy the little quiet he could find. Mostly he worried about what he should have done, what was going to happen, why Digit had determined he deserved more hell.

In late afternoon, he opened his eyes to the welcomed touch of a cool, comforting hand on his forehead. It felt soft and gentle... a good way for her to ease him into the last of this day. It hadn't been so bad after all... especially when Mercy stayed by him.

"Lie still." Blue eyes looked into his own as her delicate, tender hands continued to touch him.

"Mercy?"

"Shhhh., Jimmy. You just be still, honey." The blue eyes held his, the tender hand caressed him, touching lips, touching and stoking his face as they had so many years before. She kissed him softly, lingering on the lips, his forehead, back to his lips. Then she pulled a stool close to his bedside and sat there, tenderly rubbing his chest, lowering her hand to stroke his fingers with her own.

He thought for a minute that he had gone back to sleep and was dreaming again. Then he realized she was real; she just wasn't Mercy. "Trish? Where'd you come?"

"Captain Dunne called me. He said you'd been hurt pretty bad. Thought I'd want to know."

"He shouldn't have bothered you about it... I'll be okay."

"Just like always... you'll be okay... even if you obviously feel like hell. What happened to you?"

"Same old, same old."

"Training accidents? Again? You must be the most 'accident prone' man they've got."

"Yeah." He didn't elaborate, fearing that he might cause an argument, just like the last time he saw her. That one had definitely been his fault.

"You ever going to give up this stuff?" Looked like she might get it started all on her own.

"Thought we finally had that out the last time."

"We thought we had that one out a lot of times." There was silence enough to fill every corner of the entire room. "What have you been up to?" She wasn't going to leave it alone.

"Training."

"Oh, hell, Jimmy! You know that's a lie, and I damn well know that's a lie, too."

"Then don't ask me, Trish! You know I can't talk about what I do. Oh-h-h-" He pushed up slightly in the bed, then grimaced as a wave of unexpected pain flowed though his body. It had been getting somewhat easier... until now. She didn't miss anything.

"Is it your back?"

"Shoulder."

"Is that all?"

"Thigh. Abdomen."

"Oh, Jimmy!! Why don't you give yourself a break... Live a normal life. For heaven's sake, you've got a masters' in poli sci. You can teach high school right now. Or finish your Ph.D. and go with a university. Work on political campaigns. Any damn thing but this!"

"Go crazy. Give my job to someone else. Miss my team. Drop it, Trisha. You know I won't do it... you know I can't do it."

She just sighed.

"How's yours?"

"My what, Jimmy?" He heard the old anger again in the way she spit out his name. He'd spent a great deal of time dealing with that anger, and never seemed to win.

"Life. Work. Lover. Whatever."

"Life's fine. Work's good. No lover... Not now, anyway. Not a lot of 'whatever'. Still miss having you with me too much."

"Yeah. Maybe. You could have me with you tomorrow, or as soon as they cut me loose, if you could accept me as I've always been... if that's what you really want."

"You know I've always wanted you."

"I wasn't the one who changed. I just don't believe that I'm what you ever really wanted." This was very old, very dangerous ground... and he needed to turn it loose, just like he had finally done before. "So, you didn't hold on to the little ferret?" Fighting words... he knew how to use them, too.

"Harmon? His name was Harmon. No... I didn't try to hold on to him after long. He's been out of my life for over a year, Jimmy. Why do you insist on calling him a ferret?"

"I don't know. Just a damn sneaky little thief... reminded me of a ferret. Wanted to get next to you while you were vulnerable. Just didn't like the little bastard. Even if you weren't exactly mine anymore, he damn sure wasn't good enough for you."

"But you wouldn't ever consider changing to keep me, would you? Even after getting hurt again now, you still wouldn't change, not for anyone, but especially not for me."

He closed his eyes. "I'm still who I was when I met you... you knew full well where I was headed after college. We talked about it all the time... exactly what it meant. I didn't want any surprises. I'm who I was when I met you, when I married you, and I'm the exact same man you decided you couldn't stand. Look. Do we have to have this fight again now? I'm not really up to it."

"No. We don't have to have this fight again. I shouldn't have brought it up... and I probably won't ever bring it up again." She rose and moved toward the door. "If you could just change, we wouldn't have to fight. We could have a good life together."

"If I just changed, I wouldn't be who you knew you were marrying in the first place, Trisha. If I changed like you want me to, you still wouldn't be able to stand me, but I couldn't stand me either."

"Who you were, what you were... that's what was tearing us apart. Then, when you wouldn't come home..."

"Couldn't... Trisha... Couldn't come home. I don't know! God." He felt the anger reach his eyes. "Can't you stop beating me up for something I couldn't control? Can't you ever believe that I wanted her, too?"

"I think you just cared about being a SEAL more than you cared about our baby or me." She left, taking with her all the old anger, taking no moment to pause or to look back. She left him alone, again, dealing with all the sorrow, the guilt, and the loss.