A/N: Characters aren't mine. Written for the challenge Lights. Written by LSMunch.

Some info:

Gwen was Munch's first wife.

I, LSM, have an AU of sorts where I sent Munch to Vietnam. This did not actually happen in the shows. To see more of Munch in Vietnam read Tear Stained Letters by LSMunch and Collide by LSMunch.

Some terms:

RTO- Radio Telephone Operator

arty- artillery

C-rats- C-rations

gook - derogatory term for an Oriental; also "dink" and "slope"

FO- forward observer (coordinated direct or indirect fire from ground air or naval forces

LZ- landing zone

humping- walking with a pack, or while carrying something

LT- lieutenant

M-16- standard rifle used by soldiers

tracers- a round of ammunition that had been chemically treated to glow or give off smoke so that its flight can be followed

I stumbled from my bed and into the bathroom, turning on the shower and sticking my head beneath the cold, pounding water. Clenching my eyes shut, I forced myself to stay there until the images of the dream disappeared from the backs of my eyelids. My hand slipped off the faucet and I fumbled for a moment to turn off the water. I came spluttering, eyes blinking rapidly, groping for the towel. Its scratchy fuzziness felt good on my face and I vigorously rubbed my hair, drying it. Satisfied, I threw the towel back to the rack and sat down hard on the toilet. I leaned back and stared at the dark ceiling.

The jungle didn't appear again... not yet anyway. It would later, of that I was sure. It always did.

I heard some movement and turned my head towards the door, afraid I had awoken Gwen. A light came down the hallway and I cursed as padding feet announced that Gwen was indeed awake. Her body was illuminated from behind, her silhouette looking sleepy. "John?"

"Go back to bed."

"Something wrong?"

"Everything's fine. Go back to bed."

Usually, she did. But tonight she didn't. Instead, she leaned against the door frame. "You had a bad dream."

I turned away from her. Not being able to see her eyes looking at me was unnerving and made the jungle threaten to return. "Yeah."

"You wanna... talk about it?" She was hesitant, the words foreign to her lips. Not once had she asked me about my dreams when I awoke in a cold sweat from them. This sudden caring attitude she was showing at once made me suspicious and calmed me, luring me into talking.

"Not really." I let my head fall back and looked at the ceiling.

She was quiet for a minute. "Why don't you ever tell me about things?"

"What things?" I was tired. I had pulled a long shift and now I was awake when all I wanted to do was sleep.

"Well, you wake up with these dreams and you never tell me what they're about."

"This is the first time you've asked."

"Because I was wondering why you couldn't tell me."

"I don't tell you because it's not something you want in your head."

"Like what?"

"If I told you, it would be in your head, now wouldn't it? And that would defeat the whole purpose of me not telling you."

"Why do you have to twist everything into an argument?"

"I'm not. You started this conversation, not me."

"There you go. Putting the blame on me."

I sighed. Another fight. Just what I needed. She turned to go. "Wait, Gwen," I called softly.

She paused and turned back. "What?"

I sat up straight, then stood. I walked over to her. I took her hand. "Come." I took a step towards the bedroom, then decided against it. I didn't want the jungle in there. No, that wouldn't be right.

I led her to the living room, to the couch. I left the lights off. I held both her hands in mine, wondering exactly how I would start, how I would tell her. "I never told you because I didn't think it was that important, not when it came to us, I mean." I took a deep breath. "I was drafted in '66, sent off to Vietnam in '67, came home in '68."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Like I said, I didn't think it was pertinent to us." I looked own at our hands. "Maybe I should have. But it didn't feel right, telling you. I guess... maybe it's too close to me, y'know? I saw so many things there, Gwen..." My voice trailed off and I shook my head. "My best friend died there, and countless others. I just... I didn't want you to know that."

Her small, warm hand lifted my chin until I was looking into her eyes. "It's okay, Johnny." She gave my legs a gentle push and I took the hint and removed one from the couch, straightening the other out as she scooted up until her head was lying on my chest, her sleep mussed hair tickling my neck. "Tell me," she said softly.

I wrapped my right arm around her and took her hand in mine. I kissed the top of her head. "All right, I'll tell you."

We were out humping, as usual. The night before we had been mortared and one guy, who worked with arty and was in camp for one thing or another, figured out where the mortars had come from. So our platoon was the lucky one who got to drag our asses through the jungle to check it out. We get to the coordinates and there's nothing there. Nothing at all. So we sat down as the lieutenant radioed back and to tell them that we found jack shit. We're all sitting there, complaining about the stupidity and most guys had broke out a can of C-rats. I was sitting with David and Mark, our RTO when all of a sudden this round hits Marks radio. And then all these rounds start cutting through the trees.

All of us hit our stomachs, those of us who hadn't been hit. Dave and I pulled the radio off Mark's back, but he hadn't been hit. The battery had saved his fricken life. The damn thing that had caused him to be hit first had saved his life. We couldn't believe it.

So the rounds were flying over our heads and the medic is crawling around, patching up the few guys who got hit. LT's on the horn, calling back to base and yelling into the radio. Apparently, whatever gook was in charge of shooting LT's RTO was a sore shot. Missed him by a mile, I heard later. Anyway, Dave and I spread out a bit and Mark joined us in setting up a perimeter on our side. My M-16 pressed against my cheek, I sprayed the area directly in front of us, same as Dave and Mark. Mark was visibly shaken, understandably, but he didn't let it stop him. He was right there with us.

Then this gook pops up maybe ten feet away. Just pops up right in front of us. Me and Dave start firing like crazy at him, but he gets back down in his hole. And Mark... he goes nuts. He gets up yelling and runs out to where this gook pops up and he just opens up on the guy. Just shoots up the hole, and then you know what the crazy fucker does? He bends down and pulls up the gook, who's bleeding like a faucet and more than dead. Mark takes him and throws him on the ground. And he starts shooting again. Dave and me, we're scared to shoot, but the tracers are still coming from the rest of the gooks. We're scared shitless that Mark is gonna get wasted out there, but we know callin' his name won't help.

Dave, he comes a bit closer and tells me, you won't believe this, he tells me to shoot Mark. Now I'm laying here thinking everyone's gone off their rocker. But he says it again, tells me to shoot him in the leg. It'll bring him down and maybe he'll even get sent home, at least to the rear, maybe even Japan to one of the hospitals. I realize what he's saying, that he's got a damned good idea.

I look out and somehow, Mark still hasn't been hit. So I calm myself and I squint a bit and take aim. I've decided to shoot him in the ass. Sure to be a million dollar wound.

I'm about to pull the trigger when WHAM. He's down. And Dave's next to me yelling, "You killed him, you fucking moron! You fucking wasted him, you asshole!"

And I'm yelling back "It wasn't me! It was them damn gooks! I swear!"

Then Doc's next to us because he happened to be looking our way and saw Mark go down. And this, this is why I love medics. They're crazy fuckers, I swear, but they get the job done, no matter what. Anyway, Doc turns to me, says, "Cover me," and then he's off crawling out to Mark.

This whole time, the firefight is still going on and gooks have popped up on our sides. Only thing left is our rear. LT's still on the horn, screaming he needs people, he needs arty, he needs some fucking cooperation because his boys are getting shot to hell out here. Our FO, which I guess we brought in case we found anything 'cause he's not usually with us unless we're out humping for a few days. Well, he's waiting to get on the horn because we normally have two, but Mark's was a casualty. Then, I guess the FO got the radio away from LT and he starts calling in arty. He starts walking the rounds in towards us, first on our left so we'll only have to fight off an L shaped ambush, instead of a U shaped ambush, which is what we currently had.

Dave and I are still firing away, covering Doc. He's got some balls, Doc, because he's kneeling to bandage Mark. I'd seen him do it a hundred times, but every time it's a shocker to see him all prone trying to save some bastard who probably did the same thing. You know, stuck their head up or some crazy shit.

And Doc, God bless his soul, he grabs Mark's arms and, all bent over, starts dragging Mark back to us. Dave and I adjust our fire so as not to hit them, and you know, they made it back to us. Mark had a gaping hole in his side, definitely a million dollar wound and I'm glad, laying there in the dirt, that I didn't have to put it there. I don't think I could've lived with myself, if I'd've done it. Shooting someone who's trying to kill you is one thing, but shooting the guy you've been out humping with for five months... that's something I don't think I could've lived with.

It took a while, and a resupply drop, to push the gooks back enough for us to move towards our front and the bombed out area that then served as an LZ. They took out the wounded first, then came back for the rest of us. As we pulled up, the chopper blades thwacking above us, I looked out over the now dark jungle. Tracers came up from the darkness at us, trying to down the choppers. These little speeding lights, that's all they looked like. Never would think that those little speeding lights could turn out your lights permanently. Unbelievable.

Her hands were clenching mine in a vice like grip. I didn't know she possessed such strength, but I didn't make her let go. Instead, I pulled her closer, my forearm under her breasts, her hair still tickling me. Those two things combined pulled me back out of the jungle because those were two things I never experienced out in the jungle.

"Gwen," I said softly. I kissed the top of her head again. "Gwen."

"You went through all that." She sounded amazed.

"I didn't want to."

"David... he was your best friend. He died."

"Yeah, a couple months later. Another ambush."

She was quiet.

"Gwen, I'm still here, though. I made it out. And you know, Dave and Mark and Doc, they made it, too. We all made it back. All the guys in my squad made it home. David and a few others came out in boxes, but they made it out of hell." I paused. "Sometimes I wonder if they're the lucky ones."

Releasing my hands, she turned her head so that she was looking up at my face. I smiled sadly, trying to show her that I was all right. She turned her whole body around, so that she was lying on her stomach. And she kissed me. I let her draw me into it because I knew she was just comforting me. It worked as we lay on our lumpy couch and she placed sad kisses all over my face. I closed my eyes and let her. And then she was running her fingers through my hair and her next kiss was salty and I was crying quietly and my arms were around her and there were small speeding lights illuminating the jungle.