This here is my ficlet. It forced me to write it at 4 am, since it wouldn't let me sleep otherwise. Since then it's been preened and corrected, but if you find anything wrong, I'd like it if you told me.
Unlike "Hawk and Phoenix" this one is canon. Original Universe. No new characters or anything like that… It may seem like I'm re-writing the canon storyline, but keep reading, I promise I'm not.
Reviews are welcome, as always.
-*--*-
Caska was making a last round before going to bed, looking over the night guards and making sure all unattended fires were properly put out.
It was a pleasant, warm summer night, with bright, twinkling stars on the sky above and a vague scent of flowers drifting lazily through the air from the nearby castle's garden. All in all, it was an ideal night for camping out.
Not that they'd had a choice about camping out or not, but still… it felt relaxing, as if nothing bad could happen tonight. Almost as if there wasn't a war going on.
But there was, she grimly reminded herself as she kicked dirt over the dying embers of a cooking fire, and tomorrow they would be moving on to a new front, a new battle, to fight, kill and die.
She turned around and glimpsed another fire through the tents, a little bit off from the rest, which was still burning brightly. She sighed and went to check it out.
As she stepped out from between the tents, she saw that a man was sitting by the fire with his back turned to her. She frowned; everyone except the night guards should be sleeping by now, tomorrow was going to be a busy day and they needed every able body alert and rested.
She walked up to the slightly hunched figure and found to her surprise that it was Judeau, the very commander of the reconnaissance troops, who was sitting there, staring absently into the fire with a wine-skin in his hand.
"Judeau? What are you doing up this late?"
He was startled out of whatever reverie he was having at the sound of her voice, but when he looked up at her he smiled warmly.
"Caska! Aren't you a sore for… sight for sore eyes!" he slurred the words slightly, and she crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a reprimanding glare.
"You're drunk."
"Am I?" Confused, he looked from her to the wineskin in his hand, then carefully pulled out the cork and slowly turned it upside-down. A few red drops fell to the ground. "Oops…" He seemed genuinely surprised and pointed, a little bit unsteadily, at the skin.
"I… did not intend… for this to happen."
Caska shook her head and sighed, before sitting down beside him.
"This is irresponsible of you, Judeau." She chided and he nodded with a small, self-conscious smile, still looking at the overturned wineskin.
"What were you doing, anyway?" She asked, "sitting all by yourself and drinking like this? It's not like you."
He put the skin down and wearily rubbed his face with his hands.
"Been thinking."
"About what?"
He let his face remain supported in his palms, "Nothing important."
"Oh, come on, don't give me that. You don't drink like this usually. Something's up, I can tell."
"Yeah, well, it's nothing important."
She sighed. "Judeau, you're always the guy who people come to when they need to talk, and you always listen to their problems and give them some encouragement, but whom do you go to when you feel down? Who listens to your problems?" She didn't wait for him to reply, "Your friends, that's who. And I know you have your problems, you're only human, just like the rest of us. I'm here for you now, so talk to me. Or am I not your friend?"
"You are." He whispered in a strange, unusual voice. Caska gave him a worried glance.
"Are you ill or something? You seem a bit weird tonight…"
He chuckled in that same, strange way, and let his hands slip down from his face. He had a humourless, unreadable smile on his face, and kept his gaze locked on the fire. "I suppose that's one way of putting it…"
Caska was getting really worried now, he was acting in a way she'd never seen him before. Maybe he was coming down with something serious.
"What's wrong, Judeau? What's the matter with you?"
The strange smile on his lips died and gave way to an equally unreadable frown, but he said nothing.
"Judeau, look at me!" slowly, almost unwillingly, he turned his gaze from the fire and looked her in the eyes. "Now tell me what the problem is. I am your friend, I want to know."
He still said nothing. In fact, he didn't move at all. Caska wondered for a moment if he was even breathing, but then he whispered, almost inaudibly:
"I… can't tell you…"
She felt a little hurt. "Why not?"
There had come something almost pleading into his eyes, but his voice didn't rise from its hushed tone. "I just… can't tell you… not you…"
"Why not me? Is it something I've said?"
"No, no… it's because… you are my problem." He didn't seem to realise what he had said until Caska frowned confusedly.
"Me? What have I done?"
His eyes widened slightly before he looked away. "Nothing. It's… just forget it, OK?"
"Forget it? No way! What have I done that would cause you to feel like this?"
"Absolutely nothing. Now let it go."
"But you just said I was your problem!"
He rubbed his eyes with one hand, "You shouldn't listen to me, I'm drunk. I'm just talking. It doesn't mean anything." The hand remained by his forehead, as if he was shading his eyes from the light of the fire.
"But… I need to know! Have I hurt you or something?" She was getting angry and frustrated, and felt on the verge of yelling at him. The small, peculiar smile had returned to his face, and he whispered, once again barely audible:
"More than you'll ever know…"
That did it. She yelled.
"What is it, Judeau? What have I done? Why can't you tell me?"
The smile died on his face, but he said nothing. He didn't even flinch.
"Fine!" She stood, about to stomp off in righteous indignation, when suddenly an unexpected spark from the fire glittered in something on his face. She hesitated for a second, and looked closer. With some surprise she realised that the sparkle was a lone tear, peeking out from under his hand and slowly rolling down his cheek. Her anger instantly faded into concern.
"Judeau…"
She squatted down next to him and placed her hand on his arm.
"Why are you crying?" She pulled his hand down and away from his eyes. He resisted weakly for a moment, but soon gave up. She was slightly unnerved to find his usually so happy, calm and carefree eyes suddenly red and shimmering with unshed tears. One pooled over in his other eye, and left a thin, glittering track down his cheek. "Is it because of me? Are you crying because of me?"
He didn't look at her, only continued to stare into the fire as he replied, with a surprisingly steady voice:
"I'm just drunk and overly emotional, that's all. Don't worry about it."
"'Don't worry about it'? Judeau, how can I not be worried? You're acting so strange! …Please, Judeau, I care about you! You're my friend, and if I've hurt you, if I'm the one who's caused you to cry like this, then why won't you tell me what it is I've done?"
Two more tears spilled out of his eyes as he blinked at the fire.
"It's nothing you've done… it's nothing… don't worry about it."
The anger flared up in her again. Why did he have to be so frustratingly stubborn? She placed herself between him and the fire and locked his gaze with a serious scowl.
"Tell me… I want you to look into my eyes and tell me… that I am not the cause for these tears. Tell me that, and I'll leave you alone, if that's what you want."
He held her gaze for a while, and she could see the struggle in his eyes. He wanted to say it, tried to say it, but finally had to look away, with more tears spilling over his embarrassed, sorrowful face.
"It is me…" she whispered sadly, and took one of his hands in both of hers, "…this is because of me. Why can't you tell me what I've done? Is it something I've said? Come on, I don't want you to be like this."
He closed his eyes, causing the pooled tears to fall, and frowned, scratching at his eyebrow with his free hand.
"It's nothing you've done. I promise. Just let it go."
For the second time tonight she lost her temper, and grabbed his face with both hands, forcing him to look at her.
"You let it go. First you tell me that I am your problem, then you say that I've hurt you and start crying, and then you try to convince me to forget about it and let it go?" She pulled his face closer and glowered at him, "Stop shitting me around like this! What's the problem? I want the truth!"
"I love you."
The whisper had been so soft, so gentle. She wouldn't have heard it if his face hadn't been so close to hers - and if she hadn't seen his lips move - and she would have doubted ever hearing it if it hadn't been for the look that lingered in his eyes. So sincere, so honest, it was filled with warmth, adoration, admiration and desire. It was love. Real, heart-wrenching love.
And beneath that, just below the surface, were the pain and the sadness. The sadness that she didn't love him back, that she didn't see him the way he saw her, and the pain that she wouldn't be his, but that he couldn't let her go.
She stared into his eyes, completely taken by surprise. They shimmered with the flickering light of the fire, and glowed with the emotions so blatantly obvious now. They deepened, pulling her in, as if she could see all the way into his heart, his soul…
It felt so unreal. Here was good old Judeau, happy, reliable, tell-me-your-troubles-Judeau, with tears and pain, love and lust in his eyes, telling her that it was all for her. All because of her. Was this really happening? What was she supposed to do? What was she supposed to say? For how long had she been so blind?
Unable to sort out her thoughts and feelings, she rose, dazed, and walked away. She didn't even realise she'd done it until she found herself in her tent, undressing to go to bed.
But she didn't get much sleep that night.
*
The next morning she decided to find Judeau and first of all apologise to him for just walking away like that - she felt awful about it. She found him loading a wagon with supplies, along with Corkus and Pippin, and to her surprise, she heard him laughing. That same easy, good-natured laugh that he had always had.
Did I dream it, last night? No. She shook her head. She had lost too much sleep for the encounter to have been a dream, no matter how strange it seemed in the light of day. She walked up to the boys just as Corkus cracked a perverse joke, and cleared her throat to alert them of her presence. Corkus jumped like a child caught with his hand in a cookie-jar.
"Si-sister! Good morning!"
"'Morning, boys. How's it going?"
"Fine," Judeau replied with a smile, "We're making good time! Of course, it's mostly thanks to Pippin." He pointed over his shoulder at the giant man, who was effortlessly piling ammo crates on top of each other inside the wagon.
She nodded appreciatively, and felt even more uncertain about the reality of the events of last night. With the way Judeau was talking to her… it was as though nothing had happened at all. Frowning in confusion, she decided to go ahead anyway, and find out for sure. "Can I… talk to you in private for a minute, Judeau?"
He looked surprised, "Sure… Corkus, Pippin, take five, we've earned it."
Caska didn't object, so the two men walked off to find something to drink, leaving her alone with Judeau.
He leaned against the wagon next to her, concern showing in his face, but nothing of the powerful emotions she'd seen the night before.
"What's up?"
"About last night…" –it had happened, damnit!- "…I just… wanted to say that I'm sorry."
Nothing about his features changed. "Uh… for what?"
"For… just walking away."
He frowned and questioned, carefully, as if afraid to hurt her, "Um… what… are you talking about?"
She frowned back at him, confusion slowly turning into frustrated exasperation.
"Last night. We talked. You were drunk."
An embarrassed look crossed his face.
"Oh… we talked…" he scratched the back of his neck and avoided her eyes "…See… the thing is… I don't remember a thing about yesterday, from the point when I sat down by the fire…" he cleared his throat "…With a wineskin…"
He looked back at her with a sheepish smile, "I'm sorry if I said something that upset you or anything. I'm guessing I wasn't really myself."
For a brief moment, the thought occurred to her that he might be trying to fool her, though she didn't understand why he would do that. She narrowed her eyes and asked suspiciously:
"Why did you drink so much? Why did you even have a wineskin with you?"
"Uh… well…" he shrugged, "I wasn't alone. I figured I'd bring a little something to the guys around the fire, but it turned out they already had two. For some reason I just kept drinking… I guess I was a little bit nervous about today… again, I'm sorry. It was irresponsible of me."
Maybe he was telling the truth after all. His voice was calm and his expression seemed earnest. Caska still felt a little confused; could he just forget something so emotional? She looked at his face again.
Apparently.
Or she had just dreamt it, in spite of everything.
"That's… OK. You seem rested enough. Just don't let it happen again."
He saluted with a smile, "Yes, ma'am!" then he leaned closer to her and spoke, softly and inquisitive:
"Just out of curiosity; what did we talk about, and why did you feel the need to apologise?"
"Well, um…" She found that it was somehow hard to say it, and felt herself blush slightly as she looked away, "You… um… you told me… that you… loved me… and I just stood up and left. That's what I'm sorry for."
"Oh," he said, as if he finally understood, but before he could say anything else, she asked the question she had meant to ask since she woke up that morning:
"Do you? Do you love me?" she couldn't look at him. For some reason, she just couldn't.
"Of course I do," he answered softly, and she snapped her eyes up to look at him, once again almost overwhelmed by the turbulent, confusing feelings that pulled her in every direction at once. He smiled genuinely and continued:
"We all do. Every last Hawk. You're our sister, our Major and our angel. We all love you."
"Oh…" she found nothing else to say, and he tilted his head to the side in sudden concern.
"But maybe that's not what you meant…" He heaved a little sigh and smiled sheepishly again, "Caska, you should know… that I am a very emotional drunk. I don't get drunk often, and there's a reason for that: Just ask Corkus about how his last attempt at making a bar round with me ended in my crying my eyes out all over his shoulder, telling him he was my best friend ever and how much I loved him…" He froze, frowned and held up a stalling finger "…or, on second thought, don't ask him. It's embarrassing enough that you've heard it from me."
She found herself giggling at the thought of what the look on Corkus' face must have been like, and couldn't help but feel a little relieved; it seemed like she wouldn't have to worry about Judeau after all.
"Well, as long as we're OK…" she smiled a little awkwardly, and pointed back the way she had come with her thumb, "I need to go and pack up now."
He gave her a dismissive wave and smiled brilliantly. "Of course we're OK. Get going."
As she walked away, she turned around to look at him. Unsure of what she would feel if he'd still be looking at her, she felt relieved to find that he wasn't. He was checking the canvas over the wagon, apparently having all but forgotten about their conversation. It was easy to imagine him humming some happy tune as he worked.
He really was telling the truth, then…Somewhere, deep inside her, something felt almost… disappointed…She quickly turned and walked away.
Judeau kept himself in check until he felt certain that she'd gone, and then climbed into the wagon. Only there did he let go of the control he'd exerted on himself, and flopped down in a sitting position among the crates. He pressed one trembling hand against the pain in his chest and tried to breathe slowly as his heart pounded furiously in his ears. Well, now he knew. It hadn't been planned, but it was good nonetheless. No more wondering, no more uncertainty. No more 'what if…'
He'd always suspected that Caska wasn't meant for him, and that she would never be able to feel the way about him that he felt for her, but now he finally knew for sure.
Inside his eyelids, the image of her face burned. The way she had looked at him last night, and then again today, just now. Shock, disbelief …and regret.
It hurt, but it was better this way.
Now he knew.
-*--*-
And the moral of this story is: Don't finish an entire skin of wine all by yourself while brooding.
Hope you liked it, and if you didn't you can tell me so… I'm always open to feedback and suggestions.
Peace out.