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Gone to the Pigs

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"Don't worry," Murdock said, rummaging around in a backpack. "I'm a doctor."

They'd crashed in some sort of barn - there was a heavy smell of hay and animal in the air and given the way this mission had been going up, any moment now, one of them would probably start sneezing due to some previously unknown allergy.

"No, you're not," Face said, because he'd been here, seen this and had no desire to end up with a cute little scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his arm. (Although, you know, if he had to get a scar, he'd take 'shaped like a lightning bolt' over 'shaped like a typical scar'. He supposed it was his inner Harry Potter fan talking, even if he'd prefer 'painful death' over 'facial scarring'. Theoretically.)

Murdock held up a bottle of shaving cream. "Look at it relatively," he said.

"That's shaving cream," Face said. "Relatively, how?"

"I know it's shaving cream," Murdock said, looking slightly annoyed. "It's for the next team barbecue. Do you know how hard it is to find a store stocking that particular brand? They stopped making it, like, ten years ago."

Face made a mental note to skip the salad with the creamy white substance next time Murdock'd be roasting some burgers. Of course, after ten years, it might have turned into creamy green.

"You need a doctor," Murdock went on. "Now. Your choices are me, or that pig over there."

Face looked over at the pig. It seemed nice enough, for a pig. Reasonably intelligent. Probably not very handy with a needle - opposable thumbs were really a bit of a requirement for that sort of thing.

A chicken came running out of from under the ruins of what had once been a no doubt very neatly arranged stack of bales of hay. It, too, did not look like a likely prospect to be rendering some first aid.

"You got anything to drink?"

Murdock held up a bottle of ketchup, which might come in handy if they'd need to fake their own deaths, but otherwise, not so much. "I think I saw a well out back. And there's a cow over there."

Cow, Face thought. Right. Milk. He supposed it was good to know they weren't going to starve, provided he could manage not to bleed to death.

On the other hand, he wasn't sure which one of them Murdock imagined to be capable of milking a cow. Speaking Swahili was one thing; milking a cow was an entirely different beastie.

Perhaps Murdock spoke cow, too. That would probably help, even if Murdock wasn't quite sure how that particular conversation would go. 'Please hold still so I can squeeze your breasts'?

"I was thinking more of something a bit stronger. To, you know, numb the pain."

This being Murdock, he probably didn't know. Murdock seemed to experience injuries as something inconvenient and occasionally mildly interesting and/or irksome, and while it was nice to know that taking a bullet wasn't going to interfere with Murdock's ability to fly a plane (or a helicopter or a zeppelin), it was a bit of a handicap in the sympathy department.

"Something with alcohol in it," Face said, by way of clarification.

"I didn't think to bring my anti-freeze," Murdock said, by way of muddification. "Got some disinfectant here, though." Another bottle, this one glass.

"You brought the good whiskey?" Face asked and then, because he had an excellent memory for these sorts of things: "Hey, isn't that the bottle - ?"

"Disinfectant," Murdock said, finally pulling out the first-aid kit. "Only for medicinal purposes." There might be a hint of a grin on his face. Might also be just a trick of the light, though.

"Absolutely," Face said, reaching. "So gimme."

Murdock handed it over willingly enough - 100% proof whiskey probably wasn't any good for barbecuing with.

That's the good stuff, all right. More than worth a couple of small favors. Or not so small ones, for that matter - not that Face was counting.

He liked owing people favors almost as much as he liked people owing him favors. In both cases, you had a connection, a relationship to use.

Unlike, say, he and Murdock. They were friends, sure - and more than friends, if you wanted to look at it that way, which Face didn't, as a rule, because sex was sex: more fun with someone you liked and knew well, sure, but not in any way an indication of a greater depth of affection or anything.

"No lighting bolts," he told Murdock.

"I'll make yours a smiley," Murdock said. "Unless you'd like an airplane instead?"