Work Text:
“First tour's international. Minesweeping in Cambodia.”
3x20 Killer (NCIS: Sydney)
Trigger stared down at his hands and willed them to stop shaking.
The days-old dirt covering his skin was thick in patches and his nails underneath were little more than stubs, ragged and torn along the edges, some to the point of bleeding. He should be thankful he still had them – without them, the task laid out in front of him would be infinitely harder if not entirely impossible.
The sun high above beat down upon him, causing sweat to run down his neck and beneath the collar of his shirt in rivulets. For days on end the heat had been relentless. All it did was make him wish for cool water to soothe his parched throat.
It made him think of stepping into the lukewarm waves at Bondi Beach on a summer's day. Cranking up the air con in the Hilux, on his way to the pub for a bevvo with the mates after a long week at work.
Pulling an icy pole out of the freezer and devouring it before it could begin to melt.
But there was no air conditioning here.
There was no comfort to be found at all.
“Hurry up!”
The telltale feeling of the barrel of a long-armed rifle nudging him between the shoulder blades reminded him of that.
“Alright,” he responded, trying his best not to choke on the words. “Okay!”
He wiped his hands down the vomit and blood stained fabric covering his thighs and tried to refocus. It shouldn't be difficult – this wasn't the first landmine they'd demanded he'd set for them.
The first time they'd asked him, he'd point blank refused and the resulting beating had left him unconscious long enough for the bruises to have already turned various shades of blue by the time he woke up. The second time they'd kept him awake, threatening him with words in broken English followed by rounds and rounds of–
That.
No use to anybody, they'd left him lying in the corner of the room for who knows how many days with only a bucket of water and a gap in the roof just large enough to count the stars when darkness would spread.
Ever since then the same seven words had been swirling around his brain, repeating themselves in the moments of quiet when he was left with nothing to do except catalogue his injuries and dream of having a mattress or even just a small pillow to protect him from the unrelenting, almost punishing, ground beneath him.
“No one is coming to save you.”
At first he'd scoffed. In the moments when he felt himself on the brink of insanity he'd even laughed. It was a ridiculous notion, a member of the Australian Federal Police's Special Operations Unit going missing while on assignment in Cambodia and no-one coming to find him.
But the hours had turned into days and the days had turned into weeks… and he was starting to believe them.
And so he was doing everything he could, waiting, biding his time until an opportunity came along and he could attempt to save himself.
On one particular overcast day, when his eyes were swollen shut and the water in his lungs had him struggling to catch a single breath, he'd found himself opening up to the idea of death – specifically his – as a practical alternative to what they were asking him to do.
But he couldn't die here.
He didn't even know where here was, only that the people no longer spoke Khmer and the surrounding mountainous terrain was unfamiliar on every side.
Scared of what they might do with his remains, that his friends and family back home might never know what happened to him… that they might think he had made the choice to leave them… No, he wouldn't give the bastards the satisfaction.
He was going to get out of here.
And then he was going to come back and burn this place to the ground.
His first real opportunity came late one day as the setting sun was casting an iridescent glow across the clouds in the west.
He'd been sitting at a makeshift table under a poorly repaired tarp, poking at the bowl of gruel that had been thrust his way with barely more than a grunt of acknowledgment, when the tell-tale rumbling of heavy vehicles in the distance had caught his attention.
It wasn't unusual for vehicles to travel to and from the area but they were usually motorcycles or smaller four wheel drives.
This time it was a large convoy approaching and he watched as they appeared one by one at the top of the hill and wound their way down to the camp. People started appearing to greet the newcomers and very quickly the main area in front of the warehouse was bustling with people moving to and fro.
From what Trigger had gathered during his time here so far, the land was being used as some sort of management or transit hub for the manufacturing or smuggling of illegal narcotics and the devices he'd been tasked with setting around the property were their archaic version of security, a rather poor deterrent to anyone attempting to travel in via foot. In his opinion they'd be better off with a solid fence and a pack of dogs. Those, at least, could be seen from a distance and give those stupid enough to stumble upon the place the opportunity to change their mind and turn around before risking life and limb to arrive at a place he would pay to leave.
The rattle and thud of a rolling shutter closing brought him back to the present and he realised – with increasing clarity – if he was so distracted watching what was going on, everyone else likely would be too.
A quick look around confirmed his theory and he slipped his spoon into his pocket. With soft movements he got to his feet and made his way to the makeshift outdoor lavatory. He made use of the facility, purposefully ignoring the way his heartbeat was thumping in his ears.
Now was his chance.
One, two, three steps and he slipped away down behind the tents, across the foot worn path and into the brush.
He didn't really know where he was going, only where he wasn't. Behind him there was a shout and he broke into a sprint, not caring for the way branches scratched at his arms and face, focusing only on not rolling his ankle as he wove his way–
Smack bang into one of the guards.
The look of shock on the guard's face quickly morphed into one of anger as he reached for the semi-automatic weapon slung over his chest and Trigger reacted without thinking. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the spoon. Gripping the round end, he brought it up over his head and thrust the handle down into the man's eye before he could do anything more than place his hand on the barrel.
The man let out a horrifying, agonising scream that echoed further than Trigger would have liked and, as guard lay clutching at his face, Trigger leaped over the man and continued to run even as more shouting joined the fray.
Gunshots rang out behind him and he booked it to the left, doing his best to zig and to zag between the trees. Chips of wood exploded from one of the trunks right in front of him and he lost his balance. He slid in the dirt and ended up down on one knee. Using his hands he scrambled back to feet and–
He found himself face down in the dirt, pain radiating from his left shoulder all the way down to his fingertips.
Rolling over, he struggled to keep his balance as the ground tilted and his right leg buckled beneath him. Hearing the pounding of footsteps getting closer and being unable to get back up, he scrambled, dragging himself until his back came into contact with one of the thick tree trunks.
He clutched at his left bicep and groaned. Pulling his hand away he discovered it was wet with the bright red of his blood. “Fuck!”
Seeing he had no other option, he reached behind him and scrabbled against the bark for purchase, enough to drag himself upright to meet his fate but before he could get even halfway there was a gun pointed at his face.
Behind it came two other men who rounded on him and he held up his bloodied hand– “Wait!”
A hand grabbed him by the hair and threw him back down to the ground, this time out in the open where he could be fully surrounded.
“Hang on!” He said, desperately. “I'm sorry– Stop!”
His words were no use. They didn't care about his excuses or his lies. They only cared that he lived long enough to finish their work.
And even then he wasn't really sure.
Maybe they only cared about causing him pain.
About making him cry out and beg and beg and beg for them to stop.
The last thing he remembered beyond the searing pain in his left shoulder was the snap of his ribs and an immense amount of pain radiating through his chest before everything went black.
They moved him into one of the main buildings after that.
Time ceased to exist as he laid there in the windowless room like a sack of spuds unceremoniously dumped onto the floor drowning, suffocating, overwhelmed with pain radiating from each and every possible direction.
Any attempts to find comfort only resulted in more air being stolen from his lungs. Willing himself to calm down, he focused on his breathing, waiting until the beat of his heart no longer overshadowed every other possible sound.
The bare light bulb located above the closed door burned bright spots into his vision and, as he blinked in an attempt to clear them away, a bucket of water caught his eye. Next to it was a cup and a small pile of dirty blood stained rags.
The part of his brain still functioning told him they wanted him alive.
That it bode well for his future.
Unfortunately, while positive, that knowledge did very little to make him feel better.
Because at the end of the day he had not only failed to escape but somehow wound up in an even worse position than he was in before.
The room that he was in was small, something akin to an empty storage room with only a couple of overturned plastic milk crates haphazardly stacked in the corner. His first thought upon seeing them was to consider all the ways in which he could use them to his advantage. The second was them beinf left there meant they didn't see him as a threat.
And that was fair.
Because when he summoned up the energy to slowly and methodically assess his ailments the list was long.
Fractured cheekbone.
Severe bruising to his torso.
Sprained knee.
Not forgetting the cracked ribs and the gunshot wound to his shoulder, there wasn't any part of his body that wasn't injured in some way shape or form but there was nothing terribly pressing, nothing that told him dragging himself over to the door and attempting to break through it would be worth it.
Instead, incrementally and ever so slowly, he shuffled backwards until he felt the wall behind his back. He curled in on himself and zoned out.
They plied him with the most basic rations of food, water and first aid supplies.
Each time someone opened the door he kept his head down and his increasing compliance was rewarded with an old camp bed and occasional semi-aided trips to a bathroom further down the hall.
Biding his time, he focused on healing and spending his waking hours observing and tracking all that he could.
Security cameras.
Armed guards.
Line production activities.
Regular schedules.
With increased awareness and improving health came the instruction to return to work.
While they would, on occasion, drag him outside under the cover of darkness to continue what he had already started, for the most part they had him in a makeshift gallery turned workshop dismantling decommissioned war relics, stripping them for whatever parts he could salvage.
Limited to only one hand, each time they would assign him a helper, most often a young boy he guessed to be ten or eleven years old and possibly the son of one of the men in charge of keeping him in line.
He couldn't help but think it strange that a production worth millions was wasting so much time bothering with this junk but he supposed it helped them stay under the radar, not to mention ensure they didn't leave too much of a trail by sourcing only some items they required rather than all.
Pondering the thought, he eventually concluded it was far more likely someone was using his skills to their advantage and pocketing the difference.
Awesome.
A number of weeks later and Trigger had officially lost his mind.
Whether it was the lack of exposure to the outside elements, consistently poor diet, constant synthetic fumes filling his senses or the overreliance on himself to keep him company that had led to this… he had damn well gone and lost his mind.
Most days, of all the things in the world, he found himself wishing for a wristwatch. For any time-keeping piece, really. Just anything that would let him keep track with reality without having to wonder if he was being misled or outright lied to.
Not that very many people spoke to him directly.
His attempts to communicate with other low level workers would at best result in short one word or non-verbal answers. More often than not, though, everyone was hesitant to interact with him and a quick shake of the head was more likely an indication of their refusal – or inability – to speak with him rather than answers to his questions.
And so it was just his luck that his loss of already very limited freedom had coincided with a slow but steady decline in his sense of self, where he had to spend all of his spare time trying to remember who he was when he wasn't here. Imagine who he might be should he ever have another chance to leave. Maybe – by some miracle – even make it all the way home.
He couldn't remember his favourite colour.
It was things like that that bothered him the most. The basic details, the kind that you obsessed over as a kid and then never really thought about again.
Favourite Saturday morning cartoon, favourite flavour of Samboy chips, favourite lolly from a bag of Allen's.
Whether you were a Ford or Holden kind of guy.
Whether you preferred NRL over AFL and, if so, whether you barracked for Queensland or New South Wales during the State of Origin series.
In the grand scheme of things, none of it probably mattered. Except that it did. Because now he was doubting every single thought, every single question that crossed his mind.
Like why he, of all people, was selected to do the cartel's bidding?
Or why some people felt the need to tour the warehouse like it was a piece of real estate that had just come up for sale, three bedrooms and two car garage in an up-and-coming neighbourhood?
And why, today of all days, did he feel compelled to watch the group doing exactly that?
There was nothing unusual about them, still wearing their headwear and their neutral coloured neck gaiters pulled up over their mouth and nose… but for a brief moment, the smallest flicker of time, he locked eyes with one of the men across the room and suddenly – so, so suddenly – he was transported all the way back to his first full day at NCIS HQ, welcoming Sergeant Jim “JD” Dempsey through the front doors.
No matter the time or distance, there were certain things about each of his former team members that stuck with him.
Rosie's gruff nature.
Evie's sharp tongue and even sharper dress sense.
JD's piercing blue eyes.
Afraid thinking about his previous team would lead to yet another bout of despair, he returned his attention to the tools currently at his disposal and willed himself to think of literally anything else.
Such as…
How much longer might he be able to use being shot in the shoulder as an excuse to drag out any given task before his captors became suspicious and felt the need to intervene?
Or, much more interestingly, how he might be able to convince them to let him have something sharp enough to shave the hair off his chin? The itching was becoming so excessive it – quite possibly – was the real reason he was slowly but surely crawling closer to the brink of insanity.
The man across the room coughed loudly and Trigger could swear–
No.
Surely not.
What would they even be doing? Looking to enter the market? Start a new distribution line back home?
Yeah, right.
If anything, Trigger was in desperate need of a reality check because if he really thought about it… it was a hell of a lot easier to believe that he was going crazy than any of his ex-colleagues – based in Sydney, Australia – were here right now.
Evie might have once been a member of the AFP's drug squad but she'd never been part of an international operation on foreign soil. So unless a member of the US Navy had been injured or killed either here or by a member of this cartel and the team had magically been granted permission to investigate, there was no reason for them to be here.
So why, then, did he feel compelled to look over at them again?
From what he could see, the man with blue eyes was of average height compared to the rest of the group. Neither the shortest nor the tallest, there was nothing else distinct about him. Trigger studied the others. With all of their coverings all he could glean was that two of them were likely female and, most significantly, not a single one of them looked Trigger's way again.
Apparently his rationality has disappeared along with his sanity, because he actually felt disappointed. He felt let down, so incredibly let down that he felt like his slab beneath his feet was rising up to meet him and…
He needed to get over it.
Because no matter what scenario his mind made up, no matter what came to him while he was daydreaming, no one was going to walk in and save him.
And so he did what any reasonable person would do and went back to work.
Piece by piece his poorly crafted makeshift sling he was using to support his shoulder turned host to his own personal improvised explosive device.
The work was tedious and fraught with danger not just from it being on his person but the possibility of being caught in his tracks. The blast radius, should the final pieces be put together and detonated, was small – not enough to take out the entire building but certainly enough to create a distraction.
A very well timed, well placed, distraction that he could use to his advantage as soon as the opportunity arose.
Constantly on high alert that someone might cotton on, accidentally interfere or otherwise find out, he’d stopped sleeping. He'd resorted to arranging his collection of makeshift blankets into something of a nest that prevented him from unintentionally moving around and resting in short bursts like he was a Maremma sheepdog who always had at least one eye open.
More often than not he dreamed of Bennie keeping him company, distracting him from the thoughts that threatened to consume him even in his waking moments.
On days when his anxiety threatened to overwhelm him and the pain got too much to bear, having the wherewithal to remember he had left the Blue Heeler in Rosie's experienced hands was the only saving grace.
Just as night and day had blended a long time ago, so too had wakefulness and dreaming and he spent most days in a haze focused only on his immediate surroundings.
Waiting.
Trigger woke up suddenly.
His heart was thudding in his chest and he had no idea as to why. He sucked in a breath as he laid still, listening for any indication–
A loud thud radiated down the hallway and a rush of adrenaline coursed throughout his body from the middle of his chest to each of his extremities.
On high alert, he sat up and waited. When no other sound was forthcoming he got up and slipped his feet into his increasingly dilapidated boots. As he was crossing the room there was another sound, both quieter and much closer this time.
He took up position by the door with his back to the wall ready for…
Ready for what?
Not knowing what was coming, only knowing for certain that there was likely nothing he could do about it had him on edge.
He had no way of getting out.
No way of defending himself or calling out for help.
A loud sound rumbled in the distance and soon after a series of footsteps followed… which was why he was caught off guard when the lock on his door clicked.
“Trigger.”
He blinked.
Certain now that he was dreaming, he took a step back.
Instead of waking up, all he could do was stand there and watch as the door swung open and Evie materialised in front of him. Dressed head to toe in black, the minimal light streaming in behind her gave her almost an ethereal glow.
It didn't matter.
He'd recognise her anywhere and in any lighting.
She grinned at him, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Long time no see.”
He said the first thing that came to mind. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. What else?” Two gun shots rang out and they both looked over her shoulder. “I'd offer you a hug but– that's our cue.”
Intrigued to see where this dream would take him, he followed her out into the hallway. “Who else is here?”
“We're rendezvousing with JD.”
Trigger smiled. Of course.
While Evie was partnered with DeShawn back in Sydney, her and JD were a force beyond anything else. Spending so many years together in the AFP would do that to you.
He should know.
Not that anyone from his old squad was still around…
He focused his attention back on Evie, far more interested in the positive association than reflecting on the things that pulled towards melancholy, he did his best to mimic her light footsteps as they crossed the dimly lit floor weaving through the workstations and stacks of crates filled with things he didn't even want to acknowledge.
Just as they reached their nearest exit, Evie threw up an arm, signalling for him to stop. At the same time he sucked in a breath and was overwhelmed with the scent of…
Clarity that he was not dreaming hit him hard in the face.
“Okay, let's go.”
It electrified his senses and left him even more confused.
“Hey.”
How was this possible?
“Trigger.”
Her being here, it was unconscionable…
“Travis!”
He sucked in a breath, focusing on the way air struggled to fill his lungs beneath still fractured ribs. With more than a little hesitancy he replied, “Yeah?”
“Where do you think you are right now?”
He looked around, eyes roaming until they landed back on Evie's face, something akin to horror blooming in his gut. “What do you mean?”
“Where are we? Right now?”
“I thought– I mean…”
Evie understood quickly enough. “What's happening right now isn't a dream. I promise this is real, very real. If we're going to have any chance of getting out of here, we need to move.”
When he didn't follow, Evie grabbed him by the sleeve and Trigger pulled away instantly.
“Don't!”
Evie ignored his warning and reached for him again, “We don't have time for this. We have to go–”
“No!” Trigger attempted to dodge her grip and tugged at the knot tied around his neck at the same time. All he managed to do was pull it tighter and panic began to swell in his throat.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
This wasn't what he had planned.
Somehow by some miracle the time had come where escape from this hell was more than a recurring dream, where someone – two someones, in fact – had finally come to his aid and he was damn well going to kill them all because he had – at some point – decided turning his body into a living weapon was a good bloody idea.
He continued scrabbling at his neck, his nails raking against his tender skin as he fought to pull the fabric apart. If he had a knife he could just slice– If he could just–
JD appeared at the end of the corridor, dressed from head to toe in black, eyebrows furrowed on his pale face. “What's the hold up? Let's go!”
Evie's outstretched hands reached for him yet again. “Let me–”
“Dont touch me!”
He drew his bad arm closer to his chest, willing all the pieces tucked between his arm and chest to stay in place. The last thing he needed was for any of them to shift–
New plan–
He needed a new plan.
“I'll follow you,” he said. “Just– Just don't touch me. Don't come near me, okay?”
Evie held up her hands even as she stared at him worriedly. “Okay, I won't. I won't. Let's just go, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
They wanted him to be in the middle with JD up front and Evie at their six and again he wanted to refuse. It made no sense for them to protect the one person putting them in immediate danger but it wasn't a fight he was going to win and – visibly unhappy – they gave into the pressure of urgency and continued as they were.
One room and two corridors later Trigger looked back at the door they had just passed through and decided this was it.
Their best bet.
Their best chance at using a distraction to aid their escape.
A thought crossed his mind to wait until they were outside and use the device to obstruct the roadway but it was fleeting. He had to gamble that they would prioritise protecting their entire stock from contamination – or, with any luck, flat out incineration – over following three people who had no true interest in their production.
Behind him, Evie lost her temper.
“Trigger! What the fuck are you doing?!” She let out a low growl. “Come. On!”
He ignored her.
“Do you even want to get out of here?!”
He crouched down and, holding the contents of the sling tight, he pulled the fabric around his neck up and over his head. Very carefully he began collecting the loose items he had stashed between layers of the fabric.
Ignoring the way chronic pain radiating down his bad arm was building in intensity, he used his teeth to rip the sling until it became one long piece of fabric.
Feeling something close to a semblance of control, he began to move more quickly, more instinctively, and piece by piece he constructed his long planned explosive device.
“Oh my God,” Evie said behind him. “You seriously had that on you the entire time? What the actual fuck?!”
He said a silent prayer and ignited the end. Confident the slow burning accelerate wouldn't prematurely die out, he got back to his feet and they resumed their journey at a faster rate.
Even as they ran he listened, ear turned in the direction of the device he'd set behind them.
Time pressed on and the further they got away from it… his hope fizzled.
All that work. All that worry. All those sleepless nights. They were all for noth–
An explosion rocked the ground beneath their feet and he stumbled into the wall. Biting down on the inside of his cheek, he did his best to hold back the groan that was building in his throat. To his left Evie was getting to her feet and when he turned he found JD was frantically waving at them to get a move on. As a group, they pushed their way through a set of double doors and broke into a full sprint, crossing the driveway and through the now familiar brush.
Struggling to keep up, JD and Evie were already sitting atop matching dirt bikes by the time he caught up with him. JD raised his weapon and Trigger ducked to the side just before he pulled the trigger. Trusting JD to address whatever was happening behind him, he waited only for Evie to kick start the bike before taking a seat behind her. Before his feet could even leave the ground they departed, the roar of the bikes drowning out the chaos they left in their wake.
They had hardly made it a couple of hundred metres before the trees around them were being illuminated. Instinctively – albeit awkwardly – he reached for the handgun strapped to Evie's belt. He attempted to twist his body far enough to use the pistol but all he got was a glimpse of headlights bouncing in their wake before the pain in his shoulder nearly had him lose his balance completely.
With no other options, Trigger yelled into her ear. “Stop!”
Her face tilted back towards him. “What? No!”
“Trust me!”
A few heartbeats went by as Evie wavered. Once again she growled. “I better not regret this!”
In one swift move she pulled on the break, spinning them to a halt under a line of trees. He used the momentum to stumble off the bike and with his good hand he lifted the sidearm and aimed for the approaching ATVs. All it took was half a dozen bullets for a four wheeler to veer off course – he watched dazedly as it hit a pothole and careened sideways right into the path of a landmine.
Flashes of orange and yellow lit up the sky as it set off a chain reaction, a small cluster of mines exploding in succession.
“Wha– Huh–” Evie sputtered. She looked at him, eyes wide. “Did you know they were there?!”
“Yeah,” Trigger rasped as he resumed his position on the back of the bike. “I knew they were there.”
The shack they took refuge in looked like it had weathered far more than the typical four seasons but the derelict building provided them with four walls and a roof to protect them from the rising sun.
Having spent the majority of the early hours continuing driving through the forest before ditching their bikes beneath a copse and continuing their trek on foot, by the time they scoped the property and finally stepped foot inside Trigger was ready to drop.
The first chance he got, he slid down the wall to a sitting position and stretched out his legs. JD handed him a canteen filled with water and he accepted it eagerly.
“We can't stay here long.”
Summoning all the energy he had left he unscrewed the top and took a sip. The water was warm and had a faintly metallic quality to it but it was easily the best thing he had consumed since before this entire nightmare had started.
Goosebumps ran along his bare skin and he sought a way to distract himself from just how poorly he was feeling.
“So, ah…” he started. Struggling to think clearly he blurted out what was on his mind. “How'd you know?”
It was JD that answered, his attention locked on the west-facing window. “We got word of an Aussie being held captive up in the hills.”
“Specifically an Aussie, “ Evie added, “experienced with handling explosives, who had a give-em-Hell attitude and a death-wish so solid even the local runners down along the border were talking about it.”
Trigger barked out a laugh and nearly choked. “I got cleared, remember.”
“Never was convinced – can't trust a shrink as far as you can throw them. One of them once said I had trouble respecting other people's boundaries. Can you believe that?”
“Yes.” Trigger and JD replied instinctively.
Evie scoffed. “Remind me again why I spend time helping either of you bozos? I could be at a resort down in Phuket right now, lounging by the beach side drinking SangSom out of a plastic beach bucket instead of– Ah!” She slapped a hand over the opposite forearm and growled. “Fighting off mosquitoes carrying something like bloody Zika or Dengue fever.”
“Dengue Fever is typically transmitted by day-biting mosquitoes,” Trigger said helpfully. “If that makes you feel any better.”
“Thanks. I'll remember when I'm laying comatose in a hospital bed sick with malaria.”
Trigger laughed again but, for some reason, this time he felt a sharp pain and his laugh quickly morphed into a groan.
“Speaking of hospitals,” JD said. “We should probably go and find one.”
Yeah, Trigger agreed. Ideally one far, far away from here.
Evie left and returned 30 minutes later with an old 4 door Jeep Wrangler that looked like it had been through the mill more than once.
Before JD could even call shotgun, Trigger was crawling into the backseat. Perhaps he had been too hasty, however, as the road they took was full of so many twists and turns and bumps that, very quickly, he began to wish he'd crawled into the back cargo area instead.
At least that way he could have a proper lie down.
Maybe even have a nap without the risk of cramp or his head thwacking the window one too many times.
“Choco or peanut?”
The foliage they traversed through was green and lush. Something in the back of his mind told him it was something worth appreciating but, as he stared unblinkingly, all it did was blur together.
“Trigger.”
He turned his head towards the front and found JD holding two small brightly coloured packages.
“Hmm?”
“Choco or peanut?”
Choco or peanut? “Um…”
Evie snatched the yellow one and ripped it open using her teeth while she drove one handed. She took a large bite and let out a mumbled “Thanks!”
“Right-o, looks like the choco one's yours.” JD passed it to him. “Sorry about that, mate.”
“Sorry?” Evie echoed. “Don't be sorry! Choco's the best one in the pack if you ask me. I mean, they all taste like chalk but at least that one tastes like a combination of cocoa and chalk.”
Trigger looked down at the brown and white packet in his hands. Following Evie's lead he ripped it open with his teeth and took a bite. Two more and it occurred to him that he probably ought to be more worried. There was every chance that they might come upon a roadblock or be surprised by company from behind. He wished desperately for a blade or something else he could defend himself with even though it would be absolutely useless should they become embroiled in a firefight. Eyes roaming over the car interior there was nothing to be found.
“You right, mate?”
Not really. Twisting around to look in the back was out of the question and he was left with pretty much no options other than to slouch in his seat and hope for the best. Two seconds later and he was readjusting his position again. He rubbed a hand down his tired face.
What he was really wondering was how much longer was he going to be stuck in this car but, afraid he would sound too much like a small child asking ‘Are we there yet?’, he said instead, “Just wondering how you knew I was… gone?”
“Rosie,” JD said simply. “Bloke's got a sixth sense, mate. Remember when Bluebird resigned and he was convinced something was wrong? I don't know how he does it but, when he hadn't heard from you in a few weeks he demanded we look into it and, when the AFP pushed back claiming the information was classified, we decided it was time to use some of our annual leave.”
“They didn't see right through that?”
“Yeah, I'm sure they did but Blue threw the rule book at them arguing that having Mackey and DeShawn on duty met operational requirements meaning they couldn’t reasonably deny our request. Might be at risk of them suspecting we're in a relationship, though. Holidaying in Cambodia is not really a normal thing for co-workers to do together.”
“Eh,” Evie waved JD's concerns away. “I'll just tell them you needed help staying on the straight and narrow.”
“Ha!” JD scoffed. “Once they get wind we've gone to Thailand and back they won't believe a thing you say ever again. We'll be lucky if we're not both bloody black listed.”
As the two continued to bicker and the road began to level out, Trigger felt himself relaxing and he didn’t fight it when his eyes closed on their own accord.
Rather than going to a hospital as he expected, they met with a doctor at a third location where he suffered through a rudimentary physical examination, responding only with variations of ‘No’, ‘Yeah’ and ‘Mm’.
“So what do you think, Doc?” JD asked, having observed all the poking and prodding with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. “Is it safe for us to travel?”
The doctor stepped back and stared at Trigger from behind his wire-framed glasses. He'd never felt more like a bug under the microscope than he did right now.
“Via ground only, no air travel.” The doctor frowned. “And as I stated before, I highly recommended–”
Trigger opened his mouth to argue once again that attending the nearest hospital was putting them and everyone else there at unnecessary risk but Evie beat him to it with a flat, “No can do, Doc.”
“Hmm,” was all the doctor said.
“We really appreciate your discretion on this,” JD tried to smooth things over. “I will personally make sure Trigger gets seen by a doctor as soon as we get to the capital.”
Trigger chimed in, “Wouldn't say no to some painkillers.”
Again, all the doctor said was “Hmm” but this time it came with a bottle of prescription pills that instantly made Trigger's life that much easier.
After parting ways, they changed vehicles again and he spent the majority of the following ten-hour drive in a haze.
The closer they got to Bangkok, the harder it was to stay comfortable and eventually not even the medication could mask how he was feeling, his 6 foot plus frame scrunched inside the dented and rusty Honda CR-V the way it was, and they made the decision to stop at a roadside motel off the beaten track for a break.
It was heaven.
The mattress was lumpy in parts and, being on wheels, shifted far too much with every move he made yet it felt like luxury beneath his tired body.
The ceiling fan rotated above him lazily, producing enough white noise to drown out the sound of travellers winding their way around the busy streets.
And yet, despite all of this, he found himself awake, listening – but not really paying attention – to JD's voice floating through the wall next door. Unable to switch his mind off he choked down two more pills, uncaring for whatever instructions were written down the container's side.
Before long a soft knock on his door had him opening his eyes just enough to watch JD walk though from the adjoining room occupied by Evie and slur a rather pathetic, "Wha's happ’nin’, boss?”
“Thought I'd see how you were doing.” JD dropped his phone on the small table and sat down on the twin bed opposite him. “See if you need anything?"
Need anything?
The words rolled around in his mind and off his tongue.
“Yeah, mate. Food? Water? Evie went and got you a fresh set of clothes, in case you want to take a shower and freshen up? No pressure though. We're happy to work to your timetable.”
Food?
Water?
Freshen up?
It was ridiculous. Because yes, he did want to freshen up, but more than that, more than anything he wanted…
He wanted…
What did he want?
Well, for starters… he wanted to pretend nothing of this had happened.
He wanted to go back in time and ensure it never happened.
He wanted all the days and weeks and months he had lost – that had been taken from him – given back to him.
He wanted to take all the pain, bruises and broken bones and pay them back tenfold to the people who caused them in the first place. He wanted–
He had made a promise.
A commitment.
At the very beginning he had declared that he was going to go back–
Go back and burn the place to the ground–
“Go back? There's no need, mate. I've called it in and been assured the local authorities are taking it in hand.”
“Local–?” Trigger found himself sitting half upright and the very next thing JD was placing a hand on his shoulder gently. He knocked JD's hand away. “No. That's not– I need to be there. I need to be–”
“You don't need to do anything other than rest.”
Rest? What good was resting? The way things worked around here… All things he had witnessed… And even if everyone was arrested and ‘justice’ was eventually ‘served’, it would never be enough. “The cartel– I need to–”
“No, you don't.”
“I do– You don't understand, they… they–”
He stumbled over his words to describe everything that had happened, the ways in which he had suffered, how he had tried to escape, had tried his best to tell them no–
“Hey, you need to calm down.”
When he didn't stop trying to wrestle his way upright JD gripped him by the shoulder and gave him a shake.
“Hey! Look at me! I get it, alright? I get it! We will make them pay… but not now.”
Not now…
Alright.
But some time soon.
Despite JD's promises, he never did get the opportunity to return.
And several days later he was still irrationally, irrevocably, angry about it.
Stuck laying in a bed in Bangkok's Bumrungrad International Hospital waiting to see the post-surgery specialist, he had no other option than to marinate in it.
“Hey.”
The sound of Evie's voice was reminiscent of another time when he was lying in the hospital, bedridden and feeling sorry for himself.
Trigger opened his eyes and looked at her through blurry eyes. “Hey.”
She held up her phone, “Someone wants to say hi to you.”
“Okay,” he agreed easily, happy for the distraction. He had no idea who would be wanting to speak to him, other than law enforcement who – despite talking with him at least seventeen times – had not once taken the time and space to actually say hello. "Let me just…”
Attempting to gain a better vantage point, he tugged at the pillows behind his head with his good hand and slowly shifted himself up higher. He probably only managed a couple of centimetres before Evie took pity on him.
“Lean forward.”
He did as he was told and quickly found himself sitting comfortably somewhat semi-upright.
“Thanks.”
“Don't mention it.” She handed him the phone. “Here.”
The corner of his lips pulled up into the first true smile to appear on his face in a long time. There on the small screen was… “Bennie, mate!”
The Blue Heeler came closer until Trigger could see nothing more than nose and whiskers. The dog booped the screen and everything went black as the phone on the other end of the call clattered to the ground. Trigger laughed.
“Oh, for the love of…”
A heft and a grunt later, Rosie appeared on screen with Bennie on one side and Buster on the other.
“He's not been giving you too much trouble has he?” Trigger asked. “I know having two can be a lot.”
“Nah,” Rosie shook his head. “They've been keeping themselves busy. Bluebird's been helping.”
“Hi!”
“She says hello.”
“And to get well soon!”
“And to get well soon.”
“And that we miss him!”
“And– I'm not a bloody parrot! Here, just take the damn thing!”
It was Bluebird's turn to appear on screen, her smile almost as wide as his own. Trigger took his time soaking in all her visible features. She looked just as he remembered, short dark hair and brightly coloured eye-liner lining her lashes.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “I upgraded Rosie's phone but I really should have thought to put you on the big screen so that we could say hello all at once.” She spun the camera around quickly and he thought he caught a glimpse of DeShawn waving at them. “They all say hello, by the way. Mackey and DeShawn, I mean. Ally's here too, somewhere. I'm not sure– I thought… Anyway! We've been busy, haven't we boys? Yes, we have! I've been trying to teach them both how to wave on command but–” Blue looked around before lowering her voice to a whisper, “Buster's really not interested in anything other than eating treats.”
“Hey! He's too distinguished for the likes of all that nonsense.”
Blue rolled her eyes and resumed speaking in her normal tone, “Either way, we've been having fun…”
In his own hospital room there was movement by the open doorway and Trigger looked up. JD had walked in, tapping away at the iPad in his hands. Trigger watched as he came over to his bedside and paused whatever he was doing long enough to lean over Trigger's shoulder. No such thing as privacy, he guessed.
Not that he was complaining.
“Hey Blue!”
“Hey, Boss!”
“Since you're here, can you please send a copy of the pack DeShawn put together over to Janine down at the Embassy–”
“Already done.”
“Thank you, hopefully that's everything they need to get the paperwork signed. I'll be feeling a lot better once that's done and dusted.”
“That's what I'm here for! That and doggie cuddles, come here… mmmph!”
Trigger could hear both dogs barking and, while it used to drive him crazy, all it did was make him smile again.
Once they quietened down he took the opportunity to say, “Thanks again, Blue. I really appreciate you helping Rosie look after Bennie. I never, ah, intended on being away this long.”
“It's no problem, we love having him.” Blue re-adjusted the camera so that Bennie was once again within frame. “Take your time.”
She ruffled Bennie's fur and rested her head on top of his. She smiled at the camera softly.
“We'll be here waiting for you.”