Bass lets the baseball go through his hands as he sat on his bed, back against the wall. He is still in his uniform. A green shirt covering his chest. He does not care. Outside his window he could hear boots hitting the concrete as a loud voice was shouting orders. His boys out there too. The room empty, the colours blank and at the same time all consuming as he lets the room take him.
It is a Sunday afternoon. The sun is casting through the room, turning the room slowly into deeper shadows as the day wears on.
Out there, everything moves on with routine. Structure. Rhythm.
Not for him.
Charlie let the hinges of her bag fall heavy into her fingers.
She is being escorted onto base.
A cab to the airport. She had plans to go hiking, tracking, hair loose in the wind, being outside but those plans don't matter anymore. The gates of the base now in sight as she is greeted with a stern nod and moved into the facility. The pavement under her heels grey under the sun.
SHe is here to get him. To bring him home.
She pushes her fingers into her palms.
Another hallway. An empty trash can in a darker corner of a room where the door is open A Xerox machine, a water bottle. Blue paint on the wood of the door stations. Paintings and pictures in glass frames on the walls. Uniforms, badges. Short greeting with contained faces. She tries to read the names on the doors, Colonel Farber, Sergeant Drexel but they are moving too fast.
The private that escorted her, moves to the right.
'If you would wait here, Miss Matheson.' She looks up at him, he is not much older than her. A boyish face.
She just nods back, a small almost shy smile that she cannot help here in this world she only knows from the stories from her uncle, as she sits on one of the black chairs that is placed with another in front of a small low table and against a wall. Her bag on the her lap, touching the other chair. She moves her feet around her heels, as the tip of her other boot subtlety is guided inwards towards the other.
She waits, and then she is escorted again, as she hears the voice she has heard before on the phone. He reaches out his hand and his face changes, finally giving him some softer more features she can respond to in the middle of all this protocol.
'Sergeant Folker, ma'm. My deepest condolences to you and your family.' He extends his hand. 'We spoke on the phone. Please follow me.'
A light brown door in a small hallway. An office with daylight streaming in.
He gestures to an empty chair in front a big desk.
She expects him in the room. As the door opens she realises, of course he isn't.
There is a knock. His first instinct, his training deep inside, is still telling him to get up. But he does not give a fuck. Or maybe he just cannot manage to give a fuck anymore.
The door opens as he looked past green and boots. And there, he sees her. A part of Miles that is all of sudden in the room with him. Wide blue eyes, as her shoulders are tensed but yet, a calm energy around her. She steps into the room, her heels on the floor of the room.
'Ma'm.' The sergeant nods at her and closes the door behind her.
'Bass, I am so sorry.' She almost moves over to him, but sees his eyes close off. He looks at her, as he pressed his lips together, making his face older, more worn, as a frown appears in his forehead. Stubble that indicates he has not bother to shave. She remembers Bass as clean shaven, all ego, a softer layer under that. But now , he is darker. Stubble on smooth skin.
The room is silent, too silent. Pens are laying still in a small square container on the window sill. The venetian blinds in front of the window as stripes of grieve.
Hell, he is fucking glad she does not move closer. He can't open that shield around him. Not now. And her, her empathy, she could ruin that shield too soon.
'I am taking you to Jasper now, Bass. Our plane leaves in two.' Her voice is determined but soft and touching at the same time.
Charlie chooses her words carefully as her mind was going to choose home instead of Jasper. It still is his home, but she knows it won't be the same anymore.
He huffed. He looked at the back in front of him as he bitterly darkly shakes his head a bit. Jasper, home. Whatever. When he left he had them all.
Charlie looked at the runway just out there, placed in the landscape of green and blue skies around the many building of the facility. She looks around in the room. She sees his bag is still open, as she moves over to him and gently pulls on the zipper until it is closed.
Charlie reaches for his wide arm with her arm. Her fingers warm on the bare skin right under the short sleeve of his green t shirt.
He looks at the bed in front of him, pulling big breaths of air in, his jaws locked. She pulls back.
He turns, swings the bag over his shoulder and walks out of the room. She follows his wide steps as she closes her jacket that fell open. Charlie is slowly following him, as she is just there. It is all she can do as she walks next to Bass, another hallway, but now, his long body, black boots and a bag over his wide shoulder next to hers.
Somewhere on the other way of the ocean, Miles looks out the large windows.
Bass.
Gail, talking, laughing, smiling talking about new recipes, moping in a friendly way because William has left his slippers somewhere in the room. William, explaining them with patience and a smile on his face about woman, movies, or music they learned to appreciate while asking Cynthia how late she will be home. Cynthia who finishes her homework fast and then sneaks out, stays out late and puts too much make up on a face that does not need make up. Cynthia who giggles with Angela, making him blush when she got older.
When he arrived here, he got the news. And somehow between home and here, Bass had lost his home. And he had been all the hell over here.
Get me a phone. Now. He had barked as his face had twisted in impatience and frustration, helplessness and the dark pain that was about to take him. Fuck, he sure as hell needed a cigarette and some whiskey.
The phone connected to another on the other side of the world.
Pick the hell up. Come on. He begged roughly in his head.
The clear voice on the other side of the line reached him as he closed his eyes.
Hey kid, it's me.
The people who grew up with him, that were always there as home.
He was realistic enough to know that nothing lasted for ever. But somehow in his home town, the town of summer, and nights in the dark trying a first cigarette, or a girl, or bullshitting each other about tattoos they wanted to get, his guitar in his room, Bass' room and the posters against his wall, and their first beers, their first hangovers and school and Emma, time stood still. Things were good.
Always would never be anymore.
Time had moved on. As the world grew a bit darker.
Lights had faded as his feet would touch down on his home ground, his country.
And the good in that world, diminished. As their stories had ended now.
Bass, who will never be the same. His eyes turn in the distance as he is home as he sits there, on stupid plastic chairs in an airport, his stubble on his face, as he will leave soon. All those miles back with a heavy heart and a whiskey in his hands. His friend too far, out of reach.
In another airport on the other side of the ocean Bass sits down on stupid meaningless plastic chairs. Soon. Soon he would have to get up again.
Charlie had gotten some coffee, but never let him out of her sight. Legs wide, blue eyes, lips in a thin line. His shoulders against the backseat of the chair. His hands fiddling with his passport. The loss deepened in him, as he sat there.
Charlie moved next to him as she did not speak. He was silent, nothing like the kind of macho but still completely okay guy. It had been months since she had seen him but he was changed. She knew that for sure. Her knee touched his, her smaller leg against his stern leg and boot. She could feel the laces. She could feel the misery next to her. Their bodies locked close through their legs, as Bass was miles away. The coffee he did not wanted but she still got for him getting cold in her hands. And it broke a piece of her heart, right there in the middle of the waiting room in the busy airport.
As I am watching season one again, I get new ideas and the story melts with my writing. I wanted to let her walk, literally, into the base and into that part of the story. That scene was in my head first. This one was in my notebook for a while. You probably recognise the scene where Miles and Bass are at base. But this time, Miles was overseas. It is fun ( the writing, not the place in time she walks into) to place Charlie there, on base, at that moment in time. Instead of hearing about it from Bass or maybe Miles or anybody else, she is there in the dynamics. Let her be there, now with Miles and Bass. I am currently also working on two other stories: you will see more of them soon. Thank you for reading, and as always, if you have time, I would love to hear from you! Love from Love