Disbanding.
The smoky haze of the barroom kept him obscured, but as he leaned at the bar facing the entryway, one elbow on the counter and a beer in hand, he watched. His corner position afforded him a glimpse of the full room, and though it wasn't entirely isolating, tonight he felt separate.
It was one of their last nights together as a team. Most of the Joes had some long overdue R & R coming to them while they contemplated open positions scattered across the globe. Some were leaving in the morning. Idly, he took a sip of beer, knowing that as a part of the command team, he'd be one of the last to leave. And he had no idea where he was going.
A sharp crack at the pool table followed by a few cheers drew his attention to where some teammates were passing the evening hours. Roadblock and Cover Girl were on the winning end of that sunken 8 ball. He watched as Beachhead grumbled and Mainframe slapped him on the back in a friendly gesture of "We'll get them next match."
Scanning the room, he smiled softly to himself at the friendly game of darts between two old comrades, Bazooka and Alpine. They seemed to be in some kind of argument about the trajectory of darts, and the force with which to throw them. Alpine was clearly on the winning end there.
Another table held Shipwreck, Ace, Clutch, and Grunt in a quickly deteriorating game of poker. But all throughout the barroom, his best teammates, and, if he was honest with himself, some of his best friends, were passing the evening hours in ways they knew best. With comrades.
He'd go through hell for these guys, and had. He took another sip of his beer, running his thumb across the label.
The opening of the bar's entrance caught his eye, and he stared intently at the woman who entered. He watched as she entered the bar, saying her 'hello's,' laughing cheerfully. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but he could make out the glint in her eyes as she exchanged words with their teammates. He watched her as she ambled her way from group to group, each word, each slight touch or gesture one of personable intent.
He swished the remnants of his beer around in its bottle before taking a final sip, watching silently as she finally slid up to the bar, seemingly oblivious to his presence. He heard her place her order, a muffled conversation amongst the clamor around them and the jukebox playing old 80s hits. He watched quietly as she glanced over her shoulder in laughter at something someone else had said. And he thanked the gods above, if there were any, for the smoky room and his position in the corner.
But it was shortlived, as the barkeep placed a fresh beer in front of him, indicating that it was from the woman.
He shifted his eyes up to the woman, tilting his beer in thanks.
She smiled demurely at him, before making her way to watch the poker game.
As he fiddled with the beer bottle in his hands, peeling away the label in idle concentration, he flinched slightly as a warm hand grazed across his back. He turned his head to see the woman slide in next to him.
"It's not becoming," she said quietly, nodding at the barkeep for another round.
He chuckled slightly. "What's that?" he offered in return, a slight smile forming across his lips.
"The brooding Warrant Officer," she answered, turning her back to the bar. "Don't get me wrong," she added, after a minute. "It has its place. But tonight?" she asked. "Dash," she said, admonishing his mood.
Flint nodded in thanks to the barkeep as he brought the fresh beers to the bar. His trademark lopsided grin threatened to emerge as he turned his attention to the woman, but he faltered. "Allie," he said thickly.
Lady Jaye nodded slightly, both in acceptance and understanding. "But tonight," she said quietly, "these men and women need you."
"And you?" he asked, uncertainty crossing his brow.
She reached out, lightly stroking his upper arm. It was a conversation they'd yet to have, and one she wasn't sure she wanted to have. The announcement of Duke and Scarlett's engagement made things a little more difficult than she wanted to admit. "Later," she said after a moment, deflecting her eyes. "But for now," she added, a slight twinkle in her eyes, "you need to go show Bazooka how a real game of darts is played."
Flint smiled fully and glanced down at his beer. He sobered for a moment, and turned his gaze back to the woman he was certain he loved. "Later, then?"
Lady Jaye smiled. "I promise."
With a smile, Flint straightened. He took another sip of his beer, then puffed his chest out, garnering a chuckle from the woman at his side.
The force at which Flint slammed Lady Jaye against the wall was almost enough to take her breath away, as if the passionate onslaught of kissing and roaming hands weren't enough. As it was, they'd barely made it inside his quarters, before groping their way to closing the door.
Neither of them was entirely sober, but the waning effects of alcohol mixed with the emotional toll of the evening led them to this place, feeling each other in search of some greater pull, some greater connection.
"Flint," Lady Jaye gasped, as he found a particularly sensitive spot along her neck. She could feel his arousal, and defying even her own emotions, she moved to still his motions. "Dash," she whispered again, forcing herself against all odds not to respond to the heat.
"What?" he asked breathlessly, finally bringing his hand up to caress her cheek. His eyes were clouded, lost in desire.
She held him close, slipping her hand down his pants and stroking him lightly. "We need to talk," she said quietly, almost a whisper in his ear.
"If this is your idea of talking," he stammered…
Lady Jaye chuckled, and, removing her hand from his pants, she drew him closer into a hug. "My leave begins tomorrow," she said softly, kissing him just below his ear.
Flint pulled away, an abrupt motion that belied his arousal just moments before. "Right," he said matter-of-factly, as if he hadn't been thinking about it for the past few weeks.
He walked over to his refrigerator, not turning his back to her. Pulling out a beer, he glanced at her. At her distracted nod, Flint pulled another beer out, uncapping them both.
As he walked back over to where she stood, he ran his hand through his hair distractedly. "Con and Red seem to have it all figured out," he said, stepping back to his couch, sitting unceremoniously on it. He placed the second beer on the coffee table.
Lady Jaye cautiously approached him, but rather than joining him on his couch, she chose the chair off to the side. She crossed her legs, picked up the bottle, and took a long pull on the beer. "Do they?" she asked, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb.
"This coming from the maid of honor?" Flint scoffed, his pride not letting his true feelings emerge.
Lady Jaye smiled softly, picking at the label on her beer. "Dash, if you want to marry me, just say so." She raised her eyes then, looking at him intently.
"That's not what I said," Flint said hurriedly.
With a nod and a slight smile of understanding, Lady Jaye diverted her eyes. "That's what I thought."
"It's not that I don't want to marry you," Flint said, almost apologetically. He leaned forward on the couch.
She quirked her eyebrow at his statement, letting him know that she was listening. "Do you?" she asked after a moment.
Flint looked at Lady Jaye, his face a mixture of desire and fear. "I don't know," he answered honestly.
Lady Jaye smiled, a slight breath of pent of relief escaping. "Me neither." As he turned his gaze up to her, she turned her whole body in the chair to fully engage him. But her courage failed her, and she turned her gaze back to the beer bottle in her hand. "At least we both know that we don't know."
He flashed her a grin, but sobered. "So what now?" he asked gently.
Lady Jaye shrugged, her eyes firmly locked on her beer bottle. "I don't know," she said softly.
Flint shifted closer to the edge of the couch, and closer to Lady Jaye. "Have you thought about what you want after the Joes?" he asked softly. At her hesitation to answer, he continued, shifting again at the edge of the couch. "You're the best at what you do. I know you could have your pick of any assignment."
Lady Jaye flashed him a slight smile, his eagerness and encouragement endearing. But the reality of the situation wore on her, and she answered honestly. "I've thought about just going home," she said after a moment.
"To Martha's Vineyard?" Flint asked incredulously, sitting back on the couch again.
She nodded, somewhat ashamed at her admission.
Shifting on the couch, again, Flint leaned forward. "Don't give this up," he said intently.
"And you, Dash?" she asked, deflecting his attention.
Flint shrugged, sitting back in the comfort of the couch. "This is my life," he said. "It's my career."
"And the brooding Warrant Officer?" Jaye asked pointedly.
Again, Flint shrugged. "This is the best it will ever be. I won't deny that. These guys," he said, leaning forward, "are the best of the best. But the Pentagon's made their choice, and we have to roll with the punches."
Quietly, Lady Jaye eyed Flint, digesting his position. She placed her nearly empty beer bottle on the coffee table and stood. "I guess your mind is made up," she said finally. A sinking feeling washed over her as she turned toward the door.
"Wait," Flint called, rising to cut off her path. He pulled up her hands, joining them together. "I want us to work," he said, hope filling his eyes.
With a resigned sadness surrounding her, Jaye brought her hand up to cup his cheek. "Me too," she said softly.
A firmness developed in Flint's demeanor. "Then you go on your leave, and I'll call you when I'm done here. We'll talk," he said, grasping her hand again. "And maybe I'll meet you wherever you are," he finished with a hopeful smile. He kissed her palm, intent washing over the both of them.
With a slight smile, Lady Jaye nodded. "Yeah," she said, her heart fluttering before entering an unexpected dull ache. "That sounds like the right thing to do," she said. She placed a soft kiss on his cheek before turning to leave.
Flint placed his hands on his hips as she walked out the door. He pursed his lips silently, wondering in his heart if this wouldn't be the last time he saw her. With a shake of his head and an ounce of denial, he turned back to the nearly empty beer bottle awaiting his return.
A/N: Very quick one-shot based on a review of another story, wondering why Flint and Lady Jaye aren't ever together in stories after the disbanding of the Joes. Not sure that's true, but it was a nice plot bunny. And, I need to get writing again. Truth be told, I wanted a geeky moment on a couch with the movie "Speed" playing, where Sandra Bullock says that relationships made in times of intense stress often don't last. But, I had already written a minor piece of this before and, thinking it fit, I decided to see where it took me. Shrug. Hearts do as hearts do, and often times, they just don't know. And that is the disbanding.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.