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Felix groans inwardly as he limps down the concrete hall to his room. He had forgotten the odd smell that motels always seem to have. He passes one room, the sharp odor of weed making his headache throb mercilessly. He shakes his head, clearing the distraction and honing his focus towards his room. He sweeps his gaze around the parking lot and hall, ensuring he wasn't followed. Several drunk people are staggering towards the main entrance but the dimly lit parking lot is otherwise empty.
Room 205. He frowns in confusion, usually if the room number starts with a 2, it's on the second floor. He huffs in exasperation at himself, he is on the second floor. The pure agony shooting through his thigh should have been enough to remind him of his painful trek up the thirteen stairs but apparently the hit he took to his head has him more discombobulated than he thought.
He turns the key in the lock, rolling his eyes when the bronze doorknob turns with it. Damn, this motel has not been renovated in a couple decades. He finally manages to get the door open, the resounding squeak of the wooden door opening brings a grimace to his face as it echoes in his ears. His eyes quickly scan the room, searching for anything that might indicate that someone is waiting for him. He hears nothing but the soft wind and the gentle chirps of crickets. Also the downstairs occupants having a uh, well, someone is having a good time of it.
His duffel bag is starting to feel heavy on his shoulder, he takes a step forward into the room and sets it down on the double bed to his right. The room smells of old fabric and diluted bleach. The dark brown carpet has various stains that he finds himself avoiding. His boots leave wet footprints as he clears the one bedroom and bathroom. All clear, no one is waiting to finish him off. He grabs the desk chair and props it under the door. It isn’t much but it will buy him a few extra seconds if someone tries to barge in.
He keeps the main lights off, only using the lamp in the far corner of the room on the side table. The small black mini fridge is on, an electrical hum filling the room as it works to keep itself only a few degrees cooler than the actual room. He sighs heavily, his muscles releasing all the tension he has been holding for hours. He glances down at his thigh, his black cargo pants hiding the crimson blood running down his leg. He grabs his bag and shuffles to the small bathroom in the left side of the corner. The stained tub and cracked sink really add to the irony of the situation he has found himself in.
The single uncovered light bulb is both blinding and yet still not bright enough to see the current problem burning into him. He undoes his buckle, his fingers shaking as he fumbles with the clip. His shoulders protest the movement, sending small twinges of pain throughout his back. The duffel bag he has been carrying has meager supplies. A few bandages, some simple pain killers, a couple of alcohol wipes. The bandages will be useful but that doesn't solve the fact that he not only was shot but he is almost ninety-nine percent sure that there is a tracking device in his leg with it. He slides his pants off, stifling a groan as he gets it over the bleeding hole in the upper portion of his right thigh. God, how is he going to explain this?
He shakes that thought away, that is not his priority. There is too much blood surrounding the wound, he can’t really see how bad it is or how easy it will be to get the bullet/tracker out. Not that he has anything but his own fingers to get it out but he will cross that bridge when he gets to it. He turns the hot water on in the sink, putting several of the grey washcloths under the running water. His head buzzes, the edges of his vision hazy. Blood loss is going to become the biggest threat to him if he can’t deal with it soon. He grabs the soap and washes his hands, scrubbing the grime from under his nails. His mind wanders as he watches the clear water wash away the soap suds. Today did not go how he thought it was going to.
Flashes of the fight cross his vision, he never expected Nic to bring back up. Not when they were supposed to leave together, not when he made him believe that this was the only option. Anger burns in his chest at how foolish he had been. Nic hadn’t changed, not one little bit. He was still the guy who only looked out for himself.
Thank god he didn’t tell the team what he was planning on doing. They would have chewed him out and maybe even questioned if he was still fit for the team. He knew better. He really did. But it was Nic, and like always, he let him worm his ideas in his head and convince him that things were different. Well, that didn’t end well for any of them. After Nic had him jumped by his thugs, a full shootout ensued. He doesn’t really remember-
A knock on the door jolts him out of his memories.
Caution begs him not to respond. But who the fuck would be at the door? He grabs his gun from the bathroom counter and slides his pants back up. He keeps quiet, crossing the small room until he is positioned below the window. He tries to see who it is, frowning when he makes out the outline of multiple men.
Had they already found him? Had Nic sent more after him? He doesn’t have time to ponder it much more when a voice calls out, freezing him in his spiral.
“Felix? It’s just us. The front desk person said you were limping. Let us in.” The clear command of the statement would have told him who it was immediately. Hondo.
Now how the hell did they know he was here? It was his off day, he wasn’t supposed to hang out with them. He paid with cash so they couldn't track him, he had lost his phone back under the bridge. Huh, well, this is an interesting development. He bites his tongue as he gets up, leaning heavily on his left leg as he makes his way to the door. He pulls the chair away and unlocks it, swinging it open enough to see the three concerned faces in front of him. He hides his surprise, putting on a blank face.
“Evening, can’t a man hide at a motel in peace?” He quirks a grin but it falls flat as Hondo narrows his eyes at the growing blood stain on his pants. Street and Deacon are right behind him, raised eyebrows as they take in his battered appearance. Felix resists the urge to duck his head, not wanting their pity. He steps to the side and gestures to the room with his hand,
“Well? Come on in.” They fall in line, entering the space without hesitation. Street sees the chair beside the door and turns to Felix, he runs his hand over the back of the splintered wooden chair,
“You expecting someone else?” Felix bites his tongue before responding,
“Maybe. Maybe not. Why are y’all here?” Hondo stands in front of him, looking past him into the bathroom, seeing the materials laid out.
“What happened?” Felix sighs, he knows that the underpass didn't have cameras but the surrounding area did. They might not have seen what happened but they definitely saw the aftermath. He backs up a step and puts his gun on the short tv table to his right.
“I thought I was getting someone out of a bad situation. Turns out he didn’t want to get out of it at all. And then I refused to join and all hell broke loose because I had seen their faces.” Hondo nods seriously, dark brows pulled into a furrow,
“And why the hell didn't you call us or let us know what you were doing?” Deacon and Street both turn, waiting for his reply. He is exhausted, he is in pain, and he really does not want to be doing this right now.
“Can we maybe wait for the lecture until after I get the stupid tracker out of my leg?” Hondo’s face morphs into surprise,
“What do you mean tracker? What kind of technology do they have?” Felix slumps into the wall behind him, taking some of his weight off of his leg,
“I will explain everything, but this thing is going to send a rough estimate of my location in,” He pauses to look at his watch, “Twenty minutes. So again, give me a minute to get this thing destroyed and then I will answer all your questions.”
Deacon steps forward, Felix just now realizing he is wearing a backpack. He nods to the bed,
“We don't have enough time to get him to a hospital.” Hondo glances around the room thoughtfully,
“No, we don’t. Felix, get on the bed.” Felix hides his confusion but does what he says. He sits on the edge of the thin mattress and once again takes off his pants. The wound is throbbing relentlessly, sharp pain stabbing deep into him. Deacon and Hondo talk in hushed tones as they grab things from the bathroom. Street is regarding him suspiciously, but also like he has a question he doesn't know how to ask.
His head pounds behind his eyes, the pressure in his forehead mounting. This is such a mess.
Deacon is suddenly beside him, placing one of the towels on the bed. He catches on and swings his legs up onto the towel. He grits his teeth at the movement, even the smallest adjustment causing his leg to light in agony. Hondo eyes the wound critically,
“You were going to deal with this all by yourself?” Felix swallows hard,
“Yes?” His voice is defensive.
“Hmm.” Hondo's deep voice reverberates through his ears. Deacon is talking to Street, who is now moving to the other side of the bed. He feels the mattress dip and turns to see Street climbing into the bed beside him. Street’s hazel eyes are conflicted but reassuring all the same. He motions to Felix’s current position,
“You don’t need to move while he is digging in your leg.” Felix glances back at Hondo and connects the dots.
“Oh, right, here let me move.” Street shakes his head, brown hair carefully combed to the side becoming slightly undone.
“Don’t worry about it, I can maneuver you.” He realizes how that sounds, his ears and cheeks turning a bright red. Felix can’t help but poke fun,
“Well, of course you do.” He winks at him, grinning as Street somehow turns an even brighter red, mimicking a ripe tomato. Felix shakes his head,
“I’m just teasing, I trust you.” Street coughs slightly, muttering something under his breath. He doesn’t say anything else, moving on his knees across the bed until he has managed to sit behind Felix and has him in what can best be described as a bear hug. His left leg is on top of Felix’s keeping it still. Felix tenses in his arms, the closeness in proximity overstimulating him. Hondo pulls up the chair and places various items on it. Deacon is beside him with other things that Felix is too tired to figure out.
“Alright, this should be relatively quick but you might pass out. If you do, you will wake up in a hospital, okay?” His voice is as steady as always, flooding Felix with a trust he hadn’t realized was there. He nods mutely, not trusting himself to sound anything other than nervous. Deacon moves and is suddenly beside him, a washcloth in his hand. His ice blue eyes force Felix to meet them, nodding towards the cloth,
“We don't need the neighbors calling the police.” Felix doesn’t respond, opening his mouth and biting down on the oddly-colored cloth. The smell reminds him of a nursing home. Hondo begins to clean the area around the gunshot wound, the small movements sending tingling spikes into his muscles.
Warm water is poured onto it, Felix flinching as the water washes away the clotted blood. Then a cooler liquid is poured and it feels like someone has poured acid on it. He bites down on the washcloth to keep from groaning, his fingers digging into Street’s arm as he tries to breathe through the wave of pain.
“Easy Felix, that was the antiseptic.” He knows that. He also knows what is coming next and finds himself forcing his body to remain still, even though every part of him wants to run away.
Cold metal slides into him and he screams into the washcloth. Street tightens his hold, keeping him from escaping the hot poker burning a hole into him. His leg shakes violently as Hondo continues to look for the tracker. Deacon is holding a light for him, his other arm holding Felix’s leg above the knee. He chokes as he tries to get oxygen between his screams. Street is talking to him but he can barely understand him. “Easy, easy, easy Felix. It's almost over Felix.” He tries to believe him but the pain isn't stopping. There's a pause and he gasps, swallowing cold air as sweat trickles down his face.
“I found it, just a little bit more buddy.” He makes a small noise in the back of his throat and then the pain returns. He loses the battle with keeping still. His body doing anything to escape the excruciating pain devouring him whole. He fights against the hands holding him down, his limbs no longer obeying the rational commands of his brain. His screams are lost in the void of the wash cloth. God why won’t his body just pass out? Tears are streaming down his face as he begs to no one. His vision starts to go dark, the rooms blurring into a mess of dull colors.
All at once the pain in his leg lessens.
Someone is touching his face, fingers softly wiping away the tears from his cheeks. The hands that used to be restraining him have loosened, still wrapped around him but more of a hug and less like a cage.
His vision slowly returns, the figures in front of him coming into focus. Hondo is wrapping something around his leg, his whole thigh pulsing in residing agony. Deacon is the one beside him, grey brows pinched into a concerned expression as he asks him a question,
“Felix, can you hear me?” Felix tries to swallow, the washcloth drying his mouth. He spits it out and nods, his voice cracking as he replies,
“Ye-, yeah. I can, I can hear you.” The corners of Deacon’s mouth lift imperceptibly,
“Good, think you can take some meds?” Felix feels his eyes open a wider,
“We have meds? Yippee.” He grins lopsidedly, the adrenaline flooding his body as he processes the pain he was just in. Street looks from Felix to Hondo,
“Is that a normal reaction?” Hondo doesn't look up from what he is doing but nods his head,
“Given the amount of adrenaline probably going through him right now, yes.”
Felix lets Deacon put the medicine in his mouth, Street guiding the cool water to his lips. Hondo has finished with all the bandages and is cleaning everything up, motioning for Deacon to help him take stuff to the bathroom.
Felix feels the medicine begin to work, his body melting into the thin yellow blanket beneath him. He knows he should let Street move, but he feels more safe in his arms than he has in years. Street murmurs in his ear, warm breath tickling his skin,
“I’m not leaving, get comfortable Felix.” He sighs in relief and rests further into Street's sturdy chest. His eyes unfocus, blinking slowly as sleep starts to overtake him. Before he lets go completely he half-heartedly points at the duffel bag on the other side of the room,
“All the answers are in the bag, I didn’t know how bad it was until I got there. Tell Hondo and Deacon I’m sorry, I would have called for backup if I had known.” Street replies but he has already slipped into the dark, his weary body finally going slack in Street’s arms.