Author's Note: I had someone ask about Mack and someone else make a comment about him. So I decided to write a fic about him and have been inspired. I'll have this story in POV and who's it is at the top of the page. Hope you all enjoy it.
Outside of Fort Griffith.
Sarah.
What had to be the hundredth car of the night passed me as I attempted to remove the lug-nuts from my Mustang's flat. They were not coming off and it was hotter then hell out, not to mention the heat rose in waves off the blacktop. It was like hell.
At first I had tried to use strength to loosen said bolts that held my flat tire oh-so-firmly in place.
Then I tried jumping on the tire iron.
While I was indeed in the best shape of my life after joining the Army, I wasn't heavy enough.
I then moved onto kicking said tire iron, swearing at said tool, and finally hitting it with the jack while swearing at it. All in uniform as cars passed one-by-one. I fought the urge to throw said jack through one of their windows. But that would have been conduct unbecoming, and Armando would not have approved.
Which left me to apply another nicotine patch.
After Armando's death, I had taken up smoking during the brief depression. Now I was trying to quit. Which also was killing me. Other then the sun beating down on my camo covered skinny ass, which since I was skinny and toned for the first time in my life, one would think the General of the Army would want his troops to show off said looks…no…no, no, no.
Anyway, I flipped off a car full of male civilian's that drove by looking right at me. Then slapped patch number five on for the day. Or maybe it was six.
I'd given up caffeine too.
That wasn't fun, even the drill sergeant could attest to that and the withdrawals I suffered.
A ciggy and Pepsi would be super at the moment. This whole bottle of water thing got old after a while. Instead I turned my attention back to the flat tire, on the side of the road, and considered shooting it.
Maybe that would work?
If not I'd feel much better.
Whoever said guns didn't solve problems was oh-so-wrong.
I checked my watch and determined I would be AWOL within the hour. I was a mere eight miles from base. I could so walk there, even jog. I could come back for the car later.
"Got a flat?"
My day was just getting better by the moment! I was going to need another patch. As I dug one from my pocket none other then Mack Gerhardt jogged on up. All red and sweaty from the sun and exercise. I found a non-covered part of skin on my stomach and glared at him, "No. I'm sunbathing you moron. Have you not looked at a thermometer today? It's a hundred and ten degree's, are you trying to give yourself a heat stroke?"
We were both enlisted. I could mouth off. Plus I had already made sergeant. People loved me. Soon I'd outrank Red.
He ignored my obviously witty remark and looked to my tire. "Run over children?"
"A gaggle of elderly nun's," I corrected, finding a spot, I smacked patch number six down and prayed the nicotine would enter my bloodstream soon. Shoved the trash in my pants and asked, "Do you have a cell phone?"
He glanced down at the short PT Shorts and no shirt he had on.
Smartass.
I crossed my arms and tried not to glisten too much under the sun. He was glistening quite a bit.
"No. Hold this."
He handed me his water bottle and Ipod. Then grabbed the tire iron I'd been doing battle with for hours, and with a few turns of his muscled arms, turned the lug-nuts like they were all oiled.
"We're you hitting this with the jack?"
"A rock too," I told him while wiping his glisten on my heavy pant leg. The last thing I needed or wanted was his glisten on my uniform.
Once the lug-nuts were loosened he set the jack under the appropriate spot, "Where's the metal bar that came with it?"
Oh…that…I walked across the empty road and looked around the grassy side. Eventually I found it, crossed the still empty road and handed it to Mack. Who took it without question. Inserted it into said jack, and then jacked up my beloved mustang.
The sun beat down on the idiot.
So I stepped in the way of the massive rock, giving him some sort of protection. He didn't strike me as a sun block sort of guy. While he made my pride and joy rise up from the ground, he commented, "Sarah, I didn't know you cared."
I snorted.
"Please…if you drop dead now of exposure, or heat exhaustion, I'll have to provide aide. And I don't have the time for that."
He looked up at me and inched over to the flat. He began to remove the lug-nuts. I followed him. I shadowed him. And I gave him a when hell freezes over look.
"Are you going to be at your sister's BBQ?"
A semi passed by. Providing us with a brief breeze, and flying dirt. "So what of it?"
Nothing but silence came as he pulled the flat off my car.
"Aren't you filing for divorce? Shouldn't you be hanging out at strip clubs? Screwing every piece of ass at the local bar you can? Why on God's Green Earth would you be attending a BBQ? Especially on the fourth? You're a soldier Mack, the opportunities to get laid are priceless today."
Upon handing me the flat, he informed me, "You have quite a mouth on you."
For what had to be the third time that week I shouted, "Then quit stalking me!"
He shoved the doughnut on.
My beloved car shook and my heart skipped a beat. I could so picture my car rolling off the road.
I hurried and rolled my flat to the back and tossed it in the open trunk.
"Why don't you quit smoking," he countered.
He was grinding my nerves.
So I spat, "Does Tiffy know you're having the fourth at my sister's house? Does she know you're taking your daughter's? She doesn't like my sister." I slammed the trunk for added emphasis. Which was stupid cause I'd have to pop it again to put the tools back.
But there was no turning back now.
I was making a point.
He was putting the lug-nuts on all humanitarian like, "Do I need to bring anything?"