Unexpected, Part 1 (by Nemo Blank)
"Damn, this line is moving fast." Jane rolled her eyes at the campy, obviously gay couple in front of them. She was bored with that sort of thing now.
Daria snorted in boredom. "It's a big city with a lot of tow trucks. If you hadn't parked the car on the sidewalk, we wouldn't be spending my precious weekend time trying to get it back."
Jane scowled. "I had to GO! There just wasn't time to find a spot and hike back. Do you want to buy me out?" They were sharing a car.
"Nah. I forgive you." Daria saw no need to have a car to herself. Public transportation was excellent in San Francisco.
They had unexpectedly moved to the same city after college, each finding a dream job. Daria was a cub reporter and Jane worked as a conservator in an art museum. It was only natural that they share their living space, and since Daria hated driving and almost always let Jane drive, it had been a no-brainer to share a car.
Besides, Jane knew how to fix the car. The internal combustion engine remained a mystery to Daria, who ignored all gauges with a fine impartiality and ran out of gas often.
A bailiff thrust a clipboard into Jane's hand. "It's already filled out. Just pen in your names, addresses and social security numbers. Hurry, because we're closing down in thirty minutes."
Jane scrawled in the information, then thrust the board at Daria, who signed by the X and put her social security number down.
"They sure close early. It's barely nine thirty." Daria decided to write her next freelance column on the evils of bureaucracy.
Jane shrugged. "They're fast though. I don't care so long as we get our car."
The clerk hurried by, collecting clipboards.
The line sped up even faster. When they reached the head of the line, they were issued a ticket and hustled to a large hall.
Daria looked around, frowning. "Look at all these people, Jane."
Jane looked. "What do you mean? They look- gay?"
A man on a podium watching the clock anxiously, opened a folder. "We have to do it now, folks, before the court order comes into effect. By the power vested in me by the city, I declare each couple with a valid license married. Please present the ticket to pick up your papers at the window when you leave."
Shocked, Daria blinked. "I don't think that was the line for impounded cars, Jane."
A gay man turned and looked at them incredulously.
Jane, playing it to the hilt, grinning, slipped her arm around a shocked Daria. "The little woman is just a bit overcome is all."
"Where is the line for annulments?" Daria felt faint.
The man laughed. "I'm a lawyer and girls, it could be months or years before anything is annulled. The whole issue of gay marriage has to be decided first."
"I'll tell your parents if you tell mine." Daria felt like laughing hysterically.
Jane shrugged. "Whatever. it's not like it matters outside of this city. Come on, Lane, let's go get our car."
"Lane?" Daria swallowed. This was real.
Jane laughed. "It's not like I'm going to change my name to Morgendorffer. Besides, it'll be a better name for you. Save on ink."
"She's right, you know. That's a very good idea if you ever want a byline."
Daria's heart froze as she turned. "David? What are you doing here?" It was one of her editors.
"This is news, Daria." He gestured at the crowd. "We're in the business of reporting it."
Jane saw Daria's near-paralysis and came to the rescue. "No comment."
David laughed, sympathetically. "Daria, your orientation won't be a negative in the newsroom. Not in this town. In fact, it will probably jump-start your career."
On the brink of blurting out the truth, Daria hesitated. Her ethical tripwires weren't as taut they once had been, and did this mean that she was already being reverse discriminated against? "In what way?"
David stroked his beard and lowered his voice slightly. "In this town and across the country there is the persistant myth that gay people are somehow more 'creative' than ordinary run of the mill straight people. It's all based on the fact that most gays are intelligent, well educated, have an upper class background and the time and money to experiment. That doesn't stop otherwise intelligent people from believing the myth, though. It is a widespread and powerful stereotype that can work well for you, Daria."
Jane made a little noise of agreement, moving to stand beside her friend. She had encountered that prejudice everywhere in the art world. It was all-pervasive, especially among the buyers. Only the fact that lesbians hit on her all the time and would soon wrinkle her out prevented her from posing. Looking at Daria, Jane smiled wickedly, realizing that this could be a *good* thing. At the least, it would be the perfect shield from the low level sexual harassment that she endured at work.
Daria smiled at him, professionally, a necessary prelude to a snow-job. Quinn, an aspiring soap opera actress, had taught her how to smile convincingly and drilled her at it until she could smile the correct smile for any occasion, on demand.
The photographer took a picture of the happy couple. He was creative himself, and Jane's smile made it look like she was mentally undressing Daria. "How about one more, with you two lovebirds a little closer together?"
Daria swallowed. "I don't want to *be* the news, David."
David laughed. "Don't worry, we won't use any of them. Consider it a wedding gift for you from the paper, Daria. After all, it's your wedding day. Now, smile and kiss the bride!"
"I can't believe that you actually socked me." Jane glanced at the passenger seat, saw Daria's set face and dissolved again into helpless giggles.
Daria crossed her arms. "Just drive the stupid car." She had held her anger bottled up inside until they had gotten to the impound yard. Then Jane had gotten a fist on the shoulder that she would be feeling for days.
"That was domestic battery, you know." Jane shook her head. "And right in front of that cop. Maybe we should go in for some marriage counseling. You know, help put the zing back in our relationship."
Daria squeezed her eyes shut. If only she could do the same with her ears. "You *kissed* me! You actually kissed me! On the lips! I mean... Yuck! I don't want any damn 'zing' in our relationship!"
"Hey, I brushed my teeth this morning. It wasn't all *that* bad. Loosen up, Daria. Besides, it's our wedding day. The nice photographer asked." Jane sighed. "He really was a *nice* photographer. Very muscular. Do you know him?"
"He's gay, Jane." Daria looked at Jane, enjoying the crestfallen look. Revenge was where one found it. "Cheating on me already?"
Jane smirked, recovering instantly. "I see ours as a very *open* sort of marriage, Daria, but you'll always be my sweetest little housewife."
"No way I'm the wife." Daria glared at her.
"Then you da man, Daria."
"Yer gonna die, Lane."
"Old, obscenely rich and in bed with two twenty-something studs."
"Car. Drive. Now."
"Yes, Dear."
"I hate you."
Quinn sighed in disgust. Here she was, a genuine actress, paid for her work and belonging to the Screen Actor's Guild, and what was she doing on a Saturday evening? Babysitting. Her social life was pathetic.
"What's that?" Lauri pointed at a newspaper on the coffee table.
Quinn glanced at it. "A picture, Lauri. Did you finish your book?"
"I found Waldo every time." The four year old pointed at the newspaper. "There!"
Quinn looked at the picture, saw the crowd and then laughed. It wasn't Waldo, but it could have been his sister. In fact, it was hers, almost lost in the crowd. "Oh, Daria. Still wearing that ridiculous old outfit." Her sister had an up-to-date professional wardrobe, but she still wore the same old style on weekends.
"Waldo." Lauri nodded with satisfaction.
"No, her name is Daria. She's always hiding in plain sight too, Lauri."
"I'll find her," promised Lauri.
Looking closer, Quinn noticed Jane nearby in the crowd. Then her eye found the caption.
Her jaw sagged open and she shook her head in denial. "Oh, God. This is just going to kill Daddy. On the spot."
She picked up the phone. "Hello, Ange? Can you get me on the Red Eye for San Francisco tonight? One way. I don't know how long I'll be. I have to go find out what the heck is going on with my sister."
"Honestly, Daria. A good wife would take the time to turn out a home cooked meal for her loving spouse." Jane prodded at the microwave lasagna to make sure it had heated all the way through and sighed. Dinner on a Saturday night should be more...fun. It was Daria's turn to cook.
Daria hung the apron and gave her friend a level look. "You're not getting to me, so you might as well just quit it, Jane."
Jane grinned smugly. Daria was much too conventional and purely incapable of taking things like this in stride. "You sure are cute when you're lying, Honeybunch."
Peach juice sloshed over onto Daria's hand as she slammed the covered dish onto the table. "All right! You win, Jane. It eats at me constantly. I married a *girl,* damn it! I should be married to a *guy* by now and here I am, almost twenty five years old without any man at all in my life and no prospects in sight. Worst of all, accident or not, I'm actually married to YOU and it makes no difference in my lifestyle." Angrily, Daria plunked down into her seat, arms crossed. "In short, life sucks and it looks like it's *always* going to suck."
"And just what's wrong with me? Who would you have in my place?" Jane's look of shattered betrayal would have won her an Oscar if it had been filmed.
Daria gritted her teeth. "A man." She pushed glumly at the food with a fork.
"So, it's come down to this. My darling bride doesn't love me any more." Jane gave a broken sob. "Oh, the tragedy of it all! Is there anything more terrible than young love gone astray? I guess I'll just have to pour out the contents of my shattered heart onto the canvas, becoming a legendary artist, but only a loveless shell of my former self."
Daria stared at her, mouth open.
"What?" Jane let her next tragic declaration die unborn.
Daria smirked. "The contents of your heart? Nothing but ham."
Jane frowned. "Ham? Canvas... Hey! Meat Art! How could I have forgotten? I'll get freeze dried cuts of meat, or even make them up out of-"
"What have I done?" Daria shuddered at the thought of the resurrection of Jane's vile Meat Art project. Amanda had thrown it all away back in Lawndale, sparing the world, but now there was no one to stop her.
"You've inspired me! I love being married to you! Thanks, Honey!" Happily, Jane dug in to her meal.
"No 'Meat Art' in the apartment." Daria's voice was dead serious.
"How about up on the roof?" Jane usually painted up on the roof.
"No." Daria was adamant. Jane would try to store her 'art supplies' nearby and Daria had no desire to have any kind of contact with a bucket of cow guts.
"I suppose that I have to take heed of the old ball and chain when she puts her foot down." Jane gave her a bright smile. "So, Sugarlips, what's for dessert?"
Daria's answer was surly, as befitted a heterosexual girl inadvertently married to another heterosexual girl Meat Artist. "I was considering frying up your liver with onions and a bit of Worcestershire sauce."
"You want to pour sauce all over me and eat me?" Jane put her fork down with a look of delight. "Honeymoon time, Baby! I'm all yours!"
Daria swallowed.
Jane looked through the peephole and frowned. What on earth was Quinn doing here? She usually visited once or twice a month, but since getting the job on "All My Problems", Daria had been taking the bus down to LA to visit Quinn instead. Jane hoped that it wasn't a family problem.
Unlocking the door, Jane started to greet Quinn, but her tongue froze as she gasped in surprise at the sight of the tall man standing behind her.
"Hey, Janey." Trent smiled uncertainly at his sister, half hiding a cane behind his leg.
Jane was so completely furious that she couldn't even speak. Her mouth worked, but no sound emerged.
Quinn waved a hand in front of Jane's unresponsive face. "Jane? Earth to Jane, can we come in?"
Jane stepped aside, pale and frowning.
Quinn looked at her and shrugged, taking it for an invitation. She grabbed Trent's hand and pulled him in after her. "Wow. I thought that you would be *glad* to see him when I ran into him at the airport, Jane."
"Glad? Don't you 'Hey Janey' me, Mister!" Jane stepped forward and punched Trent on the shoulder, just as hard as she possibly could. "Damn you, Trent! I went home one day and there was just no one there! You vanished like a goddamned... Lane! I thought that you were dead for sure! I haven't seen or heard from you in SIX YEARS, Trent. SIX YEARS!"
Trent sucked air through his teeth, put down his suitcase, cane and Quinn's small overnight bag. He rubbed his shoulder. "Ow."
"Ow? Is that all that you have to say for yourself?" Tears were rolling down her cheeks.
Trent suddenly enveloped her in a massive bear hug. "I missed you and thought about you every day, Janey, but I just couldn't find you."
Jane was stiff for a moment, before hugging him back, hard. "Don't you *ever,* *ever* do that to me again, Trent. I mean it."
"I won't. That's a promise." Kissing her on the cheek, he tasted her salty tears and rubbed her back, filled with remorse.
"Who was that at the door?" Daria emerged from the bathroom, wrapping a towel around her head, wearing a ratty old oversized terrycloth robe that she liked. A pair of joke bunny slippers that Jane had given her and that she had retained due to their amazing comfort peeked out from underneath the hem of her sturdy cotton nightgown.
Slipping on her glasses and looking up, she instantly recognized a much more solidly built version of Trent smirking back at her in amusement. He looked better than good in a well cut suit.
Daria flushed tomato red. "Eeeeeeeeep!"
"Hi, Daria." As Daria ran for her bedroom, Trent smirked at his sister. "Heh. She's exactly the way I remember her."
"Terminally embarrassed?" Quinn shook her head, setting off in pursuit of her wayward sister. She wasn't worried that Daria had suddenly turned lesbian anymore. If Daria was having sex with Jane, or even remotely considering Jane as a sexual being, there was absolutely no way that she would wear a frumpy outfit like that in front of her.
"Terminally cute." Trent reacted to Jane's surprised look. "Hey, I always liked Daria a lot. She was just too young for me back then." He stared thoughtfully down the hall. "Tell me, Janey, is she seeing anyone?"
Jane grinned.
Daria stepped into the living room, immaculately dressed and ever so slightly made up, with Quinn's expert help. Trent sat on the couch, staring straight ahead at nothing, his eyes impossibly wide.
Daria cleared her throat, hesitantly. "Um-"
"Sweetheart! You made yourself beautiful just for me!" Jane grabbed Daria and planted one on her lips. "Isn't it wonderful that the in-laws would come to visit us like this?"
"Gaah!" Daria swung clumsily at Jane and missed, Jane expertly dodging and spinning with Daria to turn the motion into an exaggerated hug. Jane liked boxercizing and had been doing it for so long that she taught a self-defense class at the Y on Fridays.
"Ooooh, I love the way that you just can't keep your hands off of me." Jane held Daria immobile so that from Trent's angle, it looked like Daria was the one doing the holding.
Quinn was laughing so hard that she staggered, watching from the hallway.
"Jane! I'll kill you!" Flaming red, Daria struggled uselessly and then finally calmed down enough to use a move that Jane had taught her, managing to break free. Red faced and heaving, she faced Trent, swallowing, knowing just how stupid she must look.
"Um, Hey, Trent." Daria frowned when he just stared at her with empty eyes. "Are you all right?"
Starting, he stood. "Oh, Sorry, Daria." He cleared his throat. "I was... thinking. Oh. Congratulations."
"What in the hell did she tell you?" Daria was angry now, all embarrassment forgotten.
Trent looked suspiciously at Jane and then grinned, shaking his head. "I can't believe that I actually fell for that." He looked at Daria, beseechingly. "You two didn't really get married, did you? I mean-
Daria flushed. "Well, yes, but it was an accident! A clerical error! We were just there to get the car back from the impound lot and Jane got us in the wrong line. It's not legal or anything."
Trent laughed, then walked over and kissed her cheek. "I've missed you, Daria."
"Likewise." Daria relaxed, finally. "So, where were you?"
Trent shrugged. "Bad places. Nowhere worth talking about."
"Really?" Jane was still monumentally pissed, and it briefly showed on her face. "Doing what?"
Trent shrugged self-consciously. "Bad things. I really, really don't like to talk about it, Janey."
Jane wasn't mollified. "Tough! Do you really think that you can just come waltzing in here without a word of explanation? I want to know where you've been! Talk, Lane."
Sighing, he sat down on the couch again, shrugging. "What do you want to know?"
Quinn was shocked. She had never seen Jane so angry. She had gone through security behind Trent though, and knew a way to shock Jane out of her rage. In a quiet voice, she asked, "Maybe you can tell us how you lost your leg, Trent."
"L-leg?" Jane swayed and was steadied by a none-too-steady Daria.
Trent winced. "Oh, crap. Janey, I..."
Jane fell to her knees and felt both of his shins. Swallowing, she pulled up his left pants leg. A gleaming length of titanium pipe reflected her shocked blue eyes. She spun and was out of the front door in an instant, running for all that she was worth.
Trent lunged up from the couch, pursued her for a few stumbling steps and fell, cursing the clumsy artificial limb. It had come loose at the airport while he had been going through the extra security and he had been too embarrassed to strap it back down properly. Rolling upright, he hopped up on his good leg and jerked at the artificial limb, trying to reseat it straight against the stump below his knee as he hopped along. As usual, he had no luck. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he had to give up. He looked anxiously after her, gripping the door jamb to keep from falling again.
Feeling eyes on him, he turned and saw Daria staring at him with an expression of pure anguish. Quinn's eyes brimmed with a truly debilitating pity.
"Damn." Trent sighed, feeling the urge to go find himself a hotel with a good bar.
Jane gathered her courage and finally knocked on the door. After a few moments, Quinn opened it.
"Is he still here?" Jane entered, looking around determinedly.
Quinn closed the door and followed her into the living room. "No. Daria drove him to a hotel."
Jane slumped in dejection and sat down on the couch, exhausted from her run. "Daria? Drove?"
Quinn shrugged, sitting next to her. "I guess that she decided to risk it." She sighed, patting a cushion experimentally. "It looks like I get to sleep on the couch."
"Why didn't you just go with Daria?" Jane was surprised. After her career had taken off Quinn had eschewed sleeping on the couch. She slept in a hotel when she visited.
"You left your keys." Quinn smiled at her. Someone had to be around to let her in. Besides, even a blind person could tell that Daria wanted to talk to Trent alone.
Jane nodded. "We got one of those foam cushioned air mattresses for visitors after the last time you were here. It's in Daria's closet."
"Oh, good. Thanks." Quinn shifted uncomfortably. "Why did you run?"
Jane hunched in her seat. "I made a total ass out of myself. All I could think of was how angry I was over him leaving, so I decided to play a nasty little joke on him, to give him a taste of regret over not being around. Then I saw that awful pipe and realized that he had already suffered more than I can imagine." She looked up, dull-eyed. "I was being really selfish."
Quinn shrugged again, not disagreeing. "He was in the army all these years. He lost his leg in a helicopter crash in Afghanistan. He just got out of the army hospital in Germany and was recently transferred to a Veterans Administration hospital in Long Beach."
Jane swallowed.
"He's medically retired, a hundred percent disabled." Quinn winced at Jane's expression. "He's sick and he's tired, Jane. Go easy on him tomorrow. He's totally ashamed of that leg. He didn't say much, but it really hurts. I don't think that he has any physical endurance to speak of."
"My God." Jane shuddered convulsively. "How could he even think of something like the Army?"
"You'll have to ask him." Quinn thought that they were lucky to get what they had gotten out of him. Trent had not exactly gushed over with information. "He did say that he missed being in the Army, so he must not have hated it there or anything."
"Well, I hate it." Jane, volitile at her best, was looking for someone or something to blame.
"I don't think that he blames anyone for losing his leg. It must have been an accident." Quinn looked at the clock, found the remote and turned on KTTV. She had a spot for Kroger Markets that would play during the hour.
Daria pulled up to the Heritage Inn and parked. "Let me help you with your bags."
Trent's jaw tightened. "I can do it."
"I know you can, but I want to catch up with you some more before you slip off into the night." Daria smiled at him, trying to get him to relax. He was obviously in pain and a little woozy. He had taken some pills back at the apartment and they were hitting him hard. There was no way that Daria was going to leave until he was settled in and she had a line on him. Jane would absolutely kill her if he vanished again. "So, can I please carry your bags?"
Trent scowled and then made an effort to smile back at her. "I guess so. Come on, then." He controlled his temper with an effort. He was tired and the phantom pain was bad tonight. His absent leg insisted that he was standing in lava. His smile became real and he chuckled when the fancy struck him that his leg had died and gone to hell and was now reporting back about the unpleasant climate.
Daria got his bags and carried them after Trent. She was somewhat surprised at how light he traveled. "So where do you live now, Trent?"
Trent shrugged, holding the door for her. "Lately, the VA Medical Center in Long Beach. I was stationed at Fort Rucker, Alabama before I rotated overseas to Afghanistan. My car and all of my stuff is still in Alabama, in storage. Before that I was in Georgia." He tried to spin on his prosthetic heel and stumbled.
Slinging the large soft sided suitcase around her shoulder and transferring the smaller bag to her left hand, she placed her right palm on the small of his back to steady him. Daria would have picked Alabama as the last place on Earth that Trent ended up, just after Georgia. "I guess you spent a lot of time in the south."
Trent's knees weakened and he felt an enormous hot flash over his entire body, the heat emanating like a warm sun from where she touched him. "Not Georgia in America," he babbled. "The one in the East. Tbilisi, the Pankisi Gorge and points south of that. I flew some recon missions in Chechnya-"
He clapped his jaws shut, managed to fight back from his increasingly detached state of consciousness and finally turned a concerned look on her. "I hope that you won't write any stories about anything I let slip, Daria. Almost everything that I ever did in the Army is still highly classified and I'm sort of flying on my meds right now. Quinn told me that you were an ace reporter, but I keep forgetting." He smiled at her again, hoping that he could change the subject. "She's really proud of you, you know?"
"I'm proud of her, too." She stayed close in case she had to catch him. He was gray faced and close to tottering. "What did you do in the army?"
He looked back at her, considering what to tell her. "I was an aviator; an instructor pilot. I flew helicopters."
Daria stood by silently as he got his room. Her experienced eyes had seen the lie. He may well have been a pilot, but she knew that there was a lot more that he wasn't telling her.
Following him back outside and around the walk to the building that had his room, she finally commented. "You don't have to be on your guard against me, Trent. I'm not going to pry. I'm not a political reporter or very ambitious to be one. I would never use what you told me in a story or write anything about you that you didn't specifically ask me to write."
Trent nodded. "You're one of my oldest friends. I trust you, Daria." He stopped at a door, swiped his keycard through the door slot and briefly struggled with the lock before it clicked open.
Reflecting on the fact that trust was a relative thing, Daria followed him in and put his suitcases on the dresser. Passing him, she turned on the lights and the room heater.
Trent collapsed into an arm chair with a groan. His face was drawn, set in a frown, pasty white. He stank of pain.
"Are you all right?" Concern colored Daria's voice and she moved to stand in front of him.
He grimaced. He hadn't been alright since the 12mm MG round had taken off his leg just below the knee. He wished that she would go away, so he could take the prosthesis off and writhe on the floor. "The stump is hurting again. It's strange how I can feel my whole leg burning and the stump aching at the same time."
Daria blinked back tears, using all of her control, knowing that any evidence of pity stung him like concentrated acid.
He flushed with embarrassment when he realized what he had mumbled. He had dropped his guard and let his mouth flap, something that he never did. Admitting any sort of weakness or calling attention to his leg came very hard.
Daria sat down on the edge of the bed. "What can you do to stop the pain?"
He shrugged. "Not much. It's all in my head, after all. Maybe I'll soak the stump in the tub. They had a whirlpool bath at the hospital. Rubbing it in that helped a little."
Daria smiled, hoping that he wouldn't notice the tears trembling on the brink in her eyes. "This hotel has a hot tub and my bathing suit should still be in the car. I can help you."
Trent swallowed, dropping his eyes, unable to meet her gaze. The thought of Daria looking at his mutilated body sent chills of absolute panic down his back. "No! No... I think I'll just turn in, Daria. A little shut-eye and I'll be as good as new."
He was lying to her again. Daria furrowed her brow, staring at him with total concentration. "What's really the matter, Trent?"
He sighed. Daria deserved the truth. He had never been able to lie to her anyway and it seemed that it was even worse now. "I just can't stand the idea of anyone looking at... it." He looked up, finally meeting her eyes. "Especially you."
The previous women in his life had taken one look and then never looked back. It was no great loss. Shelly, the closest thing he had to a steady girlfriend, had always wanted to 'keep it light.' That idea had suited him at the time, but no more. He had felt the cold winds of mortality and needed a safe harbor.
"Why? Do you think that I'll scream and run away at first sight of the yucky wounds?" Her eyes flashed with a quickly muted anger that was completely false. Trent had once been preternaturally adept at reading her, but now suffering and internal conflicts muddled his perception. He was very easy for her to manipulate.
Daria put hands to her hips, projecting a fine heat. "I'm not sixteen any more, Trent. To tell you the truth, I'm a little miffed that the possibility would even cross your mind." She felt considerable remorse for her bullying tactics, but it was all for the greater good.
He flinched and shrugged again, once more averting his eyes. She could see too much. He had no defense. "Sorry, Daria. I guess that I'll just go and bubble my butt in that bath after all."
He had faced worse than this. Al Queda terrorists and Taliban irregulars with machine guns, Sparrow and Blowpipe rockets. He had even flown briefly against Russian built SAM batteries inside Chechnya and on special ops missions in western Iraq. On the whole, he preferred the clean fear of combat to this unfathomable dread encompassed by cool brown eyes.
Trent awkwardly lowered himself, sighing with relief as the warm swirling water immediately quenched the ache in his stump. He had left his prosthesis lying on a bench next to the pool, hopping on one foot to get into the hot tub.
He snorted, and then giggled nervously, wondering what he would do if someone came along and stole it. Fortunately the pool and hot tub area was deserted, so it wasn't likely to come up. Trent was glad. His temper often frayed when he had to endure the inevitable rude comments and stares that he attracted as he unbuckled the straps that secured the mounting bracket for his leg. It was a good thing for them that the army had taken his pistol away.
Daria wouldn't show any sign of disgust, but then she could probably watch him cut off the other leg with a dull spoon and show little exterior reaction. It worried him. If her true motivation for all this smothering attention was pity, he needed to get out of Dodge fast. He wouldn't take pity, not from anyone, not for a second. It could destroy him.
Trent cut off another relieved sigh as his missing leg stopped its constant aching. Strangely enough, hydrotherapy seemed to work for him sometimes, extinguishing the phantom limb pain. Of course he wasn't really that bad off compared to some. He had only lost a foot and his lower shin. The truth was that once he had joined his fellow amputees in the ward, Trent had actually been very thankful to have lost as little as he had. There were a few basket cases, men with no arms or legs, in the VA rehab program. It still frightened and disgusted him that their comrades hadn't had the decency to give them a mercy bullet. He couldn't imagine serving in a unit that would make a man live like that.
Daria held the towel firmly around her shoulders, thankful that there was no one in the hallways. Using the second keycard that Trent had given her, she opened the door to the pool area.
Entering, Daria saw that Trent was sitting in the hot tub with his back to her. She was glad that he wasn't facing her. The bikini she wore had been a gift from Quinn, and it had lived in the trunk of the car ever since Jane had dared her to wear it to the beach. Daria had lost her nerve long before getting near the beach, but now it was crunch time. The bikini was the only swimwear that she had.
Hearing the door open behind him, Trent crossed the stump under his whole leg. Daria had let him go ahead, obviously sensing that he wasn't anxious for any help removing the prosthesis. She was just so bright. He had forgotten her intellect, the way her intelligence blazed in her eyes like a lamp.
Looking up, he gasped and stopped breathing, butterflies turning over in the pit of his stomach. Daria was wearing a skimpy white bikini, proving quite graphically that she was mammalian. He knew from the expression on her face that she had never worn it before. The implications of this act of hers played through his hindbrain, while his forebrain just stared.
"Beautiful," he husked. Swallowing, he met her eyes. "You're so beautiful, Daria."
Daria began to explain and then saw something that made her forget her embarrassment. He was so nervous that he was actually trembling. She met his dark blue eyes and had an epiphany, realizing that they had changed roles. He was the nervous one, the defensive one, the one that feared rejection. They were exactly a hundred and eighty degrees from their first meeting, when she had reacted to him so powerfully in the Lane basement.
Looking at his body, she suppressed a wince. No wonder he was afraid of rejection. If she didn't know him she would have to be repulsed. He was still well muscled, a little gaunt, but strong. He had scars though, from his wounds, from surgery and from burns. Fortunately for him, she was perceptive enough to look past the unimportant bits. He was still Trent.
Calmly, her tiny bikini forgotten, she slid into the tub, scooting around to sit next to him. "Why, thank you, Trent." Without hesitation, she reached under his leg and grasped his knee. Pulling, she brought the stump out and rested it in her lap.
She caught his eyes with hers. "I think that you're beautiful, too."
Trent was unable to muster enough breath to protest as she gently began to rub the ragged stump. It felt so good that he couldn't help himself, leaning back and groaning with relief. Daria had very gentle hands.
Jane swam part-way to consciousness, felt a sharp pain in her back and finally woke fully. Taking a deep breath as she stretched, she blinked and rubbed at her grainy eyes.
"You look terrible, Jane." Quinn stood, regarding Jane with carefully hidden amusement. "Why did you sleep on that torture rack?"
Jane sat up and perched zombie-like on the edge of the cushion. Her hair looked like Einstein's and her back hurt like hell. "I didn't want to miss Daria when she came in."
Quinn nodded. "She never came back. It looks like Daria finally fulfilled an old fantasy and got over her dry spell."
Jane groaned. Daria could have come and gone for all she knew and Jane felt like she had slept on a ladder. "God, but this whole thing is going to be a giant pain in the ass."
"Why do you say that?" Quinn sat down on the footstool.
"Every time Daria gets an emotional involvement it's like a slow motion car wreck. First comes the screeching, then the crush, followed by explosions, blood and tears." Jane shuddered. "And Trent. He was absolutely controlled. As cold as ice. I hardly know him anymore."
"You knew a boy. That was a man." Quinn had learned the difference and she had little use for boys anymore.
"That's seventy five percent of a man." Jane's eyes grew wet and she scrubbed at a tear. "Damn him! I'll bet you a thousand dollars that he hasn't told Mom a thing. Dad'll blow an artery when he sees that... that ... pipe."
Quinn shrugged. "Where is your mother?"
Jane scowled at her. "Who knows? The point is, I don't buy that crap about him not being able to find me for a second. He wasn't looking."
Trying to break Jane out of her bad mood, Quinn thought back to her aunts. "A lot of people disappear for a few years when they first get out on their own. My aunt Amy vanished for ten years after she graduated college. Grandma is still pissed about it."
Quinn wasn't convincing. She kept close tabs on Daria and both of them knew that the only reason that Daria had even looked casually for a job in San Francisco was to be near Quinn.
Jane snorted. "You Morgandorffers take the cake-"
The door opened and Daria walked in. "Hey."
"Where is my brother?" Jane winced as she leapt to her feet. Her back hurt and she had to pee.
Daria stopped, taken aback. "He's asleep. That medication he takes really knocks him out."
Quinn stood. "Want some breakfast? I put some cinnamon popovers in the oven." Quinn liked to cook, something that neither Daria or Jane bothered with.
"What happened? Did you sleep with him?" Jane winced as she said it.
"Jane!" Daria blushed. "I fell asleep laying on the bed with him, but we were just talking."
Jane reddened. "Sorry. So give, what's with him?"
Daria shrugged noncommittally. "He'll tell you what he wants you to know."
Jane's eyes narrowed. "He's my brother! I deserve-
"He deserves his privacy, Jane." Daria gave Jane a level look. Jane was so angry. She could be utterly relentless once she got going and Trent just wasn't up to being worked over by Soviet Prosecutor Jane right now.
"He had plenty of privacy! Six years worth." Jane was calming down. "What I ought to do is find Mom and watch her bring the whole sorry clan down on his neck."
Daria winced. Trent would run like a rabbit, and that would interfere with her plans. "Be angry with him later, Jane. He puts on a pretty good front but he's really not up to defending himself right now. He's maimed. The life that he made for himself is over. He lost absolutely everything and he has no idea of what to do now beyond getting his car out of storage. Trent needs to know that people care for him and that he's more than some broken little tin soldier in the bottom of life's garbage can."
Quinn stared raptly at her sister, mentally recording every nuance. Daria's eyes positively flashed with determination. Soon, Quinn would be able to do it on demand. Quinn studied human emotion like a scientist. Someday, she would be up for a role that required a display of these emotions. When the time came she would call up this memory, projecting this scene with the same raw power. It was all grist for the mill to Quinn. Jane, all wild anger, raging like a flood and Daria, taking it head-on, unyielding and impervious. Even Trent's gloomy, brooding, broken resignation had been worthwhile. Quinn estimated that her visit was worth at least six months of acting school.
Jane nodded, slowly anger draining out of her features. "Do you think he's... suicidal?"
"Oh, God, yes." Daria sat, looking depressed. "He got his leg blown off, his girlfriend left him and his army friends all think he's bad luck. Anyone would be suicidal by now. He's pretty much homeless and he doesn't even have a houseplant in his life."
"You don't have any plants either, Daria..." Jane blanched. "I thought he lost his leg in a crash."
Daria shook her head. "He was wounded in action. It was a bullet."
"Damn him!" Jane was angry again. Would she ever have found out if he had been killed?
"Homeless? Doesn't he get insurance or something?" Quinn was distressed by the thought. Where did army men live, anyway? In little tents?
Daria looked at her, smirked and shook her head. "He's medically retired. He has a pretty good pension and a settlement from his GI insurance, if memory serves. He won't starve or anything."
"Oh. Good." Quinn frowned irritably. Daria forgot that not everyone spent all day researching things like she did. It hadn't been a stupid question. More to the point, she hadn't really asked it. How the hell did Daria do that?
Jane was glad to hear it. "I'm going to take a shower now. Then I'm going to go take my brother to breakfast." She shot Daria a forbidding look. "Alone."
Daria started to protest and then nodded. Jane didn't care what she thought and wasn't about to listen anyway. "Okay. Fair enough, Jane. I guess that we can go eat somewhere today then, Quinn."
"Whatever." Jane strode angrily toward the bathroom.
Trent shaded his eyes, tracking a Kiowa as it flew low over the hotel, following a search pattern. The OH58-C was decked out in police colors and Trent wasn't at all impressed with the reckless way that the machine was being flown. The Kiowa was a notorious widowmaker. It was a machine that demanded far more respect than the operator was showing.
Jane parked the car, noting with a scowl that Daria had left the gas tank nearly empty again. Getting out of the car, she was startled by a low-flying helicopter swooping over the road and dropped her bag. She knelt to pick it up and saw Trent standing on the walkway, holding a plastic ice bucket and watching the helicopter with a rather unfriendly expression. Grimacing, she felt her stomach lurch. She couldn't tell by looking that he wasn't a whole man.
"Trent!" Jane put on a pleasant expression, waved and jogged over to him. "Good, morning, Brother Dear. I'm here to invite you out to breakfast."
"Hey, Janey. Will I be on the menu?" Trent smiled ruefully at her, taken aback at the overly sweet tones. Daria had told him to expect Jane in the morning and to expect her mad.
Jane grunted. "No, but you had better wear your fireproof underwear."
Trent laughed. "Why don't you just go ahead and let me have it now, so that I can enjoy my breakfast?"
"Nah. I'll get twice the results if I just let all it hang unspoken over your head." Jane looked at him for a moment, then hugged him hard, causing him to drop the ice bucket and hug her back.
"I'm really, really happy to see you, you jerk."
He chuckle-coughed, patting her back. "Likewise, Janey." She had been the only family member that he had ever been even remotely tempted to contact.
Jan stepped back, still holding his arms as if to steady him, her eyes dropping to his leg. "You could have been killed, Trent. Then where would I be?"
"Yeah, I'm a jerk." He threw an arm over her shoulder, urging her toward the car. "Come on, Janey, let's go eat."
Jane waited until the waitress had walked away with the menus. "Alright, Brother Dear, it's time for our little chat."
Trent braced himself. "I'm only required to give you my name, rank and serial number."
Jane smirked. "That's the enemy. I'm your sister, so it will go *much* harder."
Trent smiled. None of his sisters had ever felt the slightest restraint about interrogating him in detail. "That's true. But that's all you're getting out of me until you stop it with the 'Brother Dear' thing."
"Fair enough, Trent." Jane leaned forward, spinning her water glass around and around. "Why did you leave home like that, without a word?"
"Oh, right down to brass tacks, then. Well, I had to go." Trent hunched in his seat. "I got really depressed after you left, Janey. That house was just so empty that I felt like a living ghost. To make a long story short, Monique moved to New York, the band broke up and I couldn't find a new gig or any kind of decent job. All I did was watch cartoons. Things were getting desperate."
The waitress bustled over, smiling. "Can I get you some more coffee, sir?"
"Thanks." Trent returned her smile, letting her fill the cup.
She started to try and flirt, but one glance at Jane's set face sent her scurrying back to the kitchen.
Trent smirked. "You know, if you sneeze, your face might stick like that."
"All you have to do is fart and it un-sticks." Jane narrowed her eyes. "So if you were so lonely why in the hell didn't you just come up to Boston and sign up for college? I would have found you a place to sleep."
Trent was reluctant to say anything. Their parents had managed to save a little money for college expenses, but there simply hadn't been enough in the account for both of them. They had actually financed Jane's education by re-mortgaging the house in Lawndale. It had just covered her needs. Trent, not overly interested in school and not wanting to force Janey to borrow, had not asked.
"I was thinking about it, but something else happened." He sipped his coffee again, eyes turning inward. "I was at the mall looking for a McJob to pass the time and saw a help wanted sign. It was in the window of the local army recruiting office and things sort of snowballed from there. I was on the bus to Fort Jackson a week later." He looked at her, regret in his eyes. "I threw away my civilian clothes because I didn't have anywhere to send them. A few months later, I knew that I'd found a home, Janey. A place to be. I never once looked back."
Jane nodded. She could see him doing that. "You couldn't write?"
Trent shook his head. "No. I didn't have time to get lonely as a recruit and I knew that I didn't need the crap that would have come my way if I told anyone where I was. You know how Mom rails about the military. She would have probably written every politician she knows and then staged a sit-in in front of the base to get me out. By the time I was out of basic and to my first post, I just didn't want to face the music."
Jane snorted, darkly. "Soldiers are supposed to be brave."
Trent laughed. "Not *that* brave. Besides, I knew that you would be okay. You and Daria always looked after each other. You don't really need me around anymore. I needed some time to grow up a little. The Army taught me how to get up in the morning, how to make a plan and how to follow through." He met her eyes, tapping his temple with his forefinger. "I learned that victory starts here."
"They brainwashed you," Jane said, flatly. She felt like slapping him silly for saying that he wasn't needed.
"Sort of." He frowned, pensively. "In a good way. They cleaned out some of the crap. That slacker thinking doesn't cut it in the real world, Janey. If you want something, you have to make a plan and then go get it."
"So what do you want now?" Jane felt sort of bad as he deflated before her eyes. Daria was right. Now wasn't the time to bite.
Trent shrugged, looking away. That question had been haunting him, lately. He wanted his leg and his army career back, but that wasn't going to happen. He had drunkenly considered shooting himself, but that was a coward's way out. "Nothing really. I guess that I'm back to being a ghost."
Jane winced.
The waitress returned with their order, giving Trent the time to recover from his black mood.
"So where are you going to live?" Jane asked a moment later while watching him closely as she took a fork full of waffle.
Trent looked somberly up at her. "I thought about going back to Lawndale, but somehow I can't seem to make myself go near the place." He was truly without a home. One place was as good as another outside of the army.
"Why don't you just settle down here?" Jane took a drink of orange juice and caught his eye. "Get smart, Trent. Marry Daria, get yourself an education and have a bunch of kids. That'll give you a goal: not strangling one before sundown."
Trent barely managed to avoid spraying Jane as he tried to inhale his coffee. "What? Where did you get the idea that Daria was even-"
"Stop." Jane held up a palm, fixing her brother with a gimlet eye. "Daria is lonely and she hates being single. She wants what her mother had, but can't admit it to herself. Stop your whining, play your cards right and you'll be the one quicker than you can imagine."
Trent flushed heavily and looked down at the table. "Daria can take her pick of guys, Jane. She feels sorry for me now, but I doubt if she really wants Pegleg Pete the scarecrow hanging around for long."
Jane laughed. "Daria hasn't dated more than six men since her freshman year, Trent, and she's never dated one twice. She's just not interested in one night stands and no one wants to take the time to get past her shell and get to know her. You already did that. She knows you and has liked you since day one. Stay around and give her a chance. You'll never regret it."
Trent swallowed. "I- I don't need pity."
"Bullshit you don't." Jane's voice was harsh. "You need anything and everything that you can get and so does she. Now suck it in and eat your breakfast before it gets cold." Some people were born for the whole family thing. Jane had no intention of reproducing or tying herself to one person for life, but Trent would never be happy alone and neither would Daria.
Trent automatically took a bite, deep in thought.
"Did you tell Mom?" Jane watched him for a moment, then reached over and tapped his wrist. "Trent?"
"Huh?" Trent snapped out of his thoughts. "What?"
"Did you tell Mom and Dad about your... leg?"
Trent shook his head. "The army sent a notification letter, but I doubt if it's been opened. I haven't heard from them. They probably don't know yet."
"God, Mom's going to freak." Jane smirked at the thought. It would absolutely serve her right.
Trent nodded. "I was on my way to get my car when I met Quinn. I was hoping to swing by Lawndale, raid the house and pick up the letter before they saw it." There was no real reason for them to know. The prosthesis worked very well for walking and it would be indetectable some day, when he got more used to using it. No one could tell that it was missing after all, unless the damn thing came loose or he decided to show them.
Jane nodded. "They bought a farm in Oregon. The last I heard, Penny and Chiquito were living in the house in Lawndale."
"How is she doing? I can't believe that dammed bird of hers is still alive." Trent shook his head. The stupid thing couldn't get enough of him.
Jane smiled. "She's doing pretty well. She has a lot of money, anyway. She imports custom carved stonework from Mexico and distributes it all over the east coast. She could probably give you a pretty good job if you asked."
Trent laughed. "Well, good for her! I'm still afraid of the bird though, so that's out. Unless it dies soon."
Jane hadn't thought he would be interested. "Parrots can live for eighty years and Penny raised Chiquito from an egg that she found."
"He's got a beak like a hydraulic punch." Trent snorted. "It might even be worth going for a visit just to watch him freak when he tries to bite my toes again."
Jane didn't think that was funny at all. "Wind got another divorce."
"Uh-huh. How's Summer?" Some tales were best left unheard.
"Married to a very nice policeman." Jane smiled, reluctantly. "She got her kids back, and his, too. She had another one and they all live up in Chino. She manages a trailer park there and teaches school as a sub."
"Not bad." Trent was happy to hear that things had come together for his older sisters. "How are you doing, Janey?"
Jane shrugged. "I'm sure Daria told you a lot of it. I work in the Danforth Museum as a conservator. Mom got me the job. It really freaked me out to find out that she's that influential."
Trent nodded, unsurprised. "When they did my background check for Special Forces, I learned a lot about them that I never knew before. They have some heavy duty political connections."
"Who would have thought it?" Jane's tone was a little sad. She'd had to move out before getting any interest or help from her parents. She knew that she would never be able to entirely forgive her mother and father for this fiasco though. Decent parents would have know what he was facing and would have tried to find him a better place to go than a marching slaughterhouse like the army. She knew from watching Helen that a proper mother could always find the time to keep close tabs on her children.
Daria hummed as she scanned the breakfast menu, happy for once that she had been nagged and harassed into Jane's boxercizing class. It meant that she could eat what she liked.
Quinn watched her, fascinated. Daria was smiling. Happy. It was just too weird.
Daria looked up and caught Quinn staring. "What? Do I have something on my face?" She read several newspapers every morning, and often got ink all over her.
"A little smudge on the corner of your mouth." Quinn wasn't about to comment about the smile. If Daria noticed it, the phenomenon might not emerge again for years.
Daria took a napkin and wiped. "How's that?" The smile crept back, unnoticed.
"Perfect." Quinn returned the smile, wishing that she had brought a camera. "So, tell me."
"About what?" Daria looked puzzled, then a little wary.
"About Trent, Silly." Quinn laughed at her. "Does he still give you that rash?"
"No." Daria blushed, remembering the frat party that Quinn had rescued her from. She had actually gone to the party to check up on a newly arrived Quinn, but events had fallen out differently than she had imagined. A boy that she knew and sort of respected from class had slipped her a subtly spiked chocolate-flavored drink, assuring her that it was as harmless as it tasted. Everything had immediately gone pear-shaped.
Daria had been pulled into a closet by the boy, belatedly trying to fight him off after he had removed her shirt, when the more party-wise Quinn had jumped in the middle of things and raised havoc, routing the entire fraternity and reducing them to quaking terror. They had gotten off the hook by delivering a merciless beating to the treacherous boy and Quinn had spent the rest of the night getting her sister home and staying with her until Daria had metabolized the alcohol and finally fallen asleep.
Daria really wished that she remembered their conversation. Apparently she had told Quinn all about every embarrassing thing that she had ever done or thought about doing. After that grossly humiliating episode, she had given up on the traditional big sister role. Trying to protect Quinn was pointless. Quinn was better qualified than Daria at almost everything involving people, and once Daria had admitted it, she had found herself enjoying Quinn's company as an equal.
Seeing the blush, Quinn waggled a finger, smiling wickedly. "So what *does* he give you?"
Daria went from red to scarlet. "Nothing like that!" she grumbled. Looking up at Quinn, she took a breath. She respected Quinn's opinion on matters of the heart. "He's... shy." Meeting her sister's eyes, she frowned. "Trent is hurt in a lot of ways that don't meet the eye. He was putty in my hands, Quinn. I think that he would do anything that I asked."
"Oh." Quinn frowned. Daria was about to do something monumentally stupid and there was absolutely no way that Quinn could head it off. Maybe Daria could do it for herself, if she engaged that formidable brain. But how to make her think?
"Maybe you ought to just marry the guy, Daria. You're obviously falling for him and he really needs someone to watch over him every second and nurse him back to health. You two could be great together. He needs you." Watching Daria's stunned face, Quinn went for the coup de main. "Just like Dad needs Mom."
Daria's mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. Fortunately, the waitress arrived to take their orders.
"Is this complete, Colonel?" The man flipped through the abstract, pausing on one page and then closing the folder.
"Yes, as far as we know." The colonel wanted to ask questions, but he knew better. The records the civilian wanted were due to be transferred to the Veterans Administration after a final vetting for accuracy and completeness. He produced a clipboard. "You'll have to sign for access. It's the law now."
"Sure." Reading the Privacy Act notice, the man smiled agreeably and signed.
The colonel read the signature and frowned deeply in disapproval. He wished that these intelligence clowns would refrain from exercising their twisted humor on official documents. The blank for 'requesting agency' was filled in with the words, 'Peace Corps'.
"Is that all?" The intelligence officer stared boldly at the colonel, daring him to object. A uniformed paper shuffler with Bureau of Personnel had no business looking down his nose at a blooded warrior.
The colonel stared back, just as hard. He had seen the shambles that these thugs could leave in their wake. He intended to get a picture of this joker printed out from the building's surveillance cameras and include it in the file. These intelligence officers always disappeared like a fart in a tornado when the crap they stirred up with their antics started flying around and splattering all over other people's careers. "That's all, Mr. Smith."
Stopping at the security desk, Smith showed his ID and spoke with the building security manager. After several calls had been placed, the footage from his visit was erased from the surveillance server and he went on his way, smiling. He finally had the records. Now he needed to recruit a crew of ops.
Trent chewed glumly at his pork chop, wondering what had happened. Just that morning everything had been okay. Somehow though, in that short a time, it had all turned to crap. Now Jane seemed edgy again, Daria had closed up tighter than a clam and Quinn was filling the hideous silence by prattling on with insider stories of various actors and actresses, none of whom Trent had ever heard of.
"And so she goes back to her agent and finds out that this guy was also his client. She decides to get even and starts a rumor that he's gay, but it backfires when he just gets a whole bunch of parts from gay producers and so she decides to date him and tell everyone that he's a stud to break that up, but that just makes him even more of a catch and meanwhile her own career is going down the toilet so she decides that if she married him the press would-"
Trent cleared his throat, finally deciding that there just wouldn't be a gap in the barrage of annoying gossip in which to politely interrupt. Maybe Quinn had learned how to go on forever without taking a single breath in acting school. "Excuse me, Quinn. Daria, could you pass the salt over here?"
Daria complied, wordlessly.
"Thank you." Trent blinked, morosely wondering what had gotten in to her, completely missing the guilt written all over Quinn's face.
Jane was more observant. She narrowed her eyes at Quinn and then turned her head, subtly watching Daria. Every few seconds her 'wife' would glance at Trent and then look away, eyes dark with calculation. Jane could almost see the wheels turning. What in the hell had Quinn said to her?
Turning back to Trent, she saw him dumping salt on his potato. "Wow, that's really a lot of salt, Trent. Is your food alright?"
Trent cleared his throat. Jane had barbequed in his honor up on the roof of the apartment and he didn't want to insult her. It had been a thing they did together back in Lawndale when everyone else in the family had abandoned them and they were both feeling low. They would pull out the barbeque grill, spend the week's food budget on the finest of cuts and have a true feast, just for the two of them. It had meant a lot to both of them.
"It's fine, Janey. Really good, just like always. I just got used to salting everything in the Army. They don't use any salt or spices at all on the mess-hall food and you have to put it on there yourself." Not to mention the fact that the food in the field had been almost indistinguishable from the crap that it eventually ended up as.
"That much salt isn't good for the heart." Jane glanced at Daria, who was clearly zoning. "Right, Daria?"
Quinn rolled her eyes.
Daria didn't pay the slightest attention.
"Yes, folks, Daria has left the building." Jane smirked as Daria snapped out of it and blushed.
"Sorry, I was thinking." Daria sighed. "What did you say, Jane?"
"Salt. Not good for the heart. Right?"
Daria cocked her head. "I don't know. They've backed off on that anti-salt thing recently. Why do you ask?"
Jane shrugged. "Trent likes a lot of salt on his potatoes."
"I guess I do." Trent picked at the potato, bare and salty on his plate. "We didn't have ketchup or anything good like that to put on them, so salt was it. We dug up these big mushy potatoes from the abandoned villages we passed and baked them in a fire when we could light a fire. We ate them to bulk out our MRE's. Those MRE's are alright for a while, but they just aren't enough ballast to march all day on."
"I thought you were a helicopter pilot." Quinn wrinkled her brow. "Why would you have to march anywhere?"
Trent silently cursed his big stupid mouth. It was easy to dismiss Quinn as a ditz, but she was actually razor sharp behind that uber cute-girl act that she liked to put on. Here he was, with a reporter and the biggest gossip on the planet, and he was committing brain fart after brain fart, breaking operational security. He had been a helicopter pilot in the army, a flying chauffeur with an Instructor Pilot certification, right up until the day that his addiction to adrenaline had prodded him into volunteering for Special Forces. Then he had become a soldier, and later, a warrior.
Trent pulled it together, wishing that he wasn't so damned slow upstairs. The medication was fogging up his once-quick brain and he hated it. "Sometimes you just have to march, Quinn. It's part of soldiering."
The Afghan mountains weren't really anyplace you wanted to bring a chopper. Getting in was easy, but getting out could be a problem. Trent had gotten really good at dodging the Soviet era missiles fired by the mountaintop piquet's during his recon flights, but the truth was, the enemy employed heliographs, radios and the infra-red targeting units from man-portable rockets to track and lay ambushes for helicopters in the high mountain passes. The Muhajadeen had learned the tactic the hard way against the Russians, and Al-Queda had inherited enough veterans and mercenaries to pick up the move. Helicopters just weren't stealthy enough to use as troop transports in those mountains. A HALO jump from an invisibly high C130 was a much better insertion method. Once you got in past the front door unannounced, the enemy was fairly easy to pick off in detail. Trent had spent far more time on the ground carrying a rifle or a laser designator to control falling bombs than in the air, flying. Aviator was just another certification in the Special Forces, and didn't excuse one from the wet work.
Daria gave him a long, dark stare. "Trent, what did you really do in the Army?"
"That information is classified." He returned her stare, eyes hard. Would she break her word? "I can't talk about operational matters. Not ever."
Daria nodded. "You killed a whole bunch of people over there, didn't you?" She could see it, now that she had looked at him and not at her memories of him. This was still Trent, but not the one that she had once known. The lazy irresponsible slacker was long dead, discarded on a hot, dusty southern drill field. But what had risen to take his place?
Jane gasped, her face ashen. She put down her utensils and stared at her brother like she had never seen him before.
Trent's appetite vanished. "I did my duty." This was going to be bad. His voice hoarsened with stress. "Sometimes I didn't want to, God forgive me, but I did it. I zapped them whenever I could and one day, well, they managed to zap me back. Sherman was right. War is pure hell."
Quinn looked ill, but she would never again come across an opportunity like this. She had to learn his motivation. "Do... Do you hate them for it?"
Trent smiled, sadly. "No. Hate clouds the judgment. They are mostly brave men, doing what they think is right, following what they believe is the law of their prophet and fighting the only way that they can. How can I hate them? I kind of admire them, to tell the truth. I studied Islam and it is a religion deserving of respect. It doesn't really work in a modern setting, but it has a certain appeal. But radical Islam is the enemy, Quinn. They are reactionaries, trying to make their old religion relevant to the modern scientific-industrial world. Their solution is to destroy the modern world, crush it and put everyone back in their place. They started this war long before September eleventh and it won't end until they are killed, scattered and repressed. It's us or them, by their own decision."
Daria had gone back to staring, her eyes dark and judgemental. "I see."
Trent locked eyes with her. He hadn't hesitated to kill them, in great numbers, using an array of high-tech industrial killing tools that boggled the mind. The fact that they had finally gotten him wasn't a matter for hatred. It was just the way that things happened in war. "Do you think that I did something wrong, Daria?"
Daria shook her head. "I don't know, Trent. Right and wrong get kind of nebulous at a certain point. I do know that you don't think that you did anything wrong." He had killed, and killed often, but he obviously hadn't violated his own principles. She didn't think that he would be able to stay alive if he was just some lawless killer.
Jane got up from the small dining table and walked out of the apartment, her face perfectly blank.
Trent sighed. The only one more judgmental than Daria was Jane.
End Part 1.