When Love and Hate Collide
"Why am I always the clown?" The thought plagued him every waking moment of his life. He repeated this mantra as he pulled the scuffed, worn, boots from his feet each evening. He tossed them into the corner of his room onto the cheap, dollar store throw rug he had placed there. The flakes of dried mud covered the mat, and brown smears highlighted the institutionally green walls nearest it. "I need to clean," he said out loud before reaching down and pulling off his socks and tossing them into the overflowing laundry basket in his closet. One of them missed. "Story of my life." He slowly rose from his bed and unbuttoned another of his many light blue uniform shirts. That too ended up on the heap of dirty clothes. He stripped off the dark blue pants he wore and threw them onto a chair next to his boots, ready for tomorrow's wear. Clad in his standard issue white boxers, he made his way toward the private bathroom in his quarters, and stopped when he caught his reflection in the full length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. His posture straightened and his muscles tightened as he quipped, "all that, and a bag of chips." He blinked, and lowered his head, avoiding the mirror as he moved out of the room.
The water was hot, just how he liked it. It made him feel as if he was washing away more than just the day's activities. He felt the excessive heat helped to wipe away the stains on his soul. He shook the intruding thoughts from his head as he let the spray massage the tightness from his muscles. He languidly soaped himself and rinsed thoroughly. The small mirror he had hung on the wall of the coffin-like shower stall allowed him to accurately shave the unwanted hairs from his neck, while keeping his full, dark brown beard. He rinsed the loose hairs from his face and after another few moments of soaking, turned off the water. He opened the door, grabbed a towel and dried himself, doing each foot before placing it on the dark green bath mat in front of the shower stall. He saw himself in the mirrored medicine cabinet and uttered, "shut up." He turned on the faucet, loaded his toothbrush with Aquafresh, and stared himself down as he vigorously rubbed the paste against his teeth. Spit, brush some more, spit again. Rinse the brush. Brush again, spit again. Rinse, gargle, spit. Stare at yourself in the mirror…spit.
God he was tired. He moved from the bathroom, turned away from the bedroom mirror, clicked off the light, and slid naked into bed. The single quilt he slept under was the only reminder he had of his childhood, a tattered, torn, piece of his mother's craftsmanship that she made for him before he had enlisted many years ago. Well…she didn't really make it for him. He kind of took it, and made it his own. He wasn't surprised that she hadn't noticed it was gone. He pulled it over his shoulders and thought, as he had since he had been admitted to the Joe Team, how he could be labeled the 'fun one'.
His eyes flew open and he sat up quickly, the scream caught in his throat. As he frantically searched for his enemy, another sound began to pierce his subconscious. He reached in the direction of the nightstand and flicked on the small lamp. As soft light revealed his surroundings he slowly began to calm down and regain control of his mind. He focused on the loud buzzing of his alarm clock, and quickly pressed the off button, bringing an eerie silence over the room. 0500. He was due in the exercise yard in thirty minutes. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and cursed the people who had invented alarm clocks, physical training, and five o'clock in the morning.
After quickly going through his morning routine, he pulled on his pants, threw on his customary wife-beater undershirt, took another light blue shirt from a hanger in the closet, pulled it over his arms, and took a seat to pull on his boots. He went to the living area, took the box of granola bars from the top of the mini fridge he kept in the corner, removed one, and placed it in his pocket. Grabbing his white hat and stuffing it into his back pocket, he headed out the door to fulfill his punishment.
"You're early," Beach Head drawled as his appointment arrived, chewing up the last bit of his breakfast. "I'm glad to see you're taking this seriously."
"The only thing I'm taking seriously is my offense to your odor," he quipped.
Beach Head's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, "that's exactly the type of talk that earned you this extra PT to begin with! If you'd only keep your mouth shut once and awhile…" He noticed the heavy exhale and rolling eyes that accompanied his statement and decided to go 'above and beyond' Hawk's guidelines. "Ten miles, barnacle brain, starting NOW!" Shipwreck shook his head and broke into a light jog along the route he knew well. "Move it," Beach Head yelled from beside him as he forced the sailor to match his pace. "I've got other things to do today!"
A slight smirk accompanied his quick step as Shipwreck made his way to the mess hall for lunch. His week long solo PT sessions with Beach Head were fulfilled, and although he was glad it was over, he had to admit that he really enjoyed watching the Ranger get fired up every time he made fun of him. It pleased him to think that Beach Head was struggling with all his might to keep from strangling him. He paused when he reached the door to the cafeteria and peered through the glass to survey his surroundings. Seeing his "prey", he quietly entered and walked up to where she was standing, adamantly expressing her view on the subject at hand.
Slipping both his arms around her waist and leaning his head on her shoulder he said, "relax, doll, I'm on your side."
Cover Girl jumped as if she was just bitten on the ass by a snake and swung free of her suitor's grasp. "God Dammit, Shipwreck!" The group burst into laughter and she struggled to suppress the blush in her cheeks. "Why do you insist on always bothering me?"
He shrugged his shoulders and held out his hands innocently, "I was trying to help!" Her posture was rigid. "You seemed very passionate about your statement, and I just wanted to let you know how much your passion means to me." The group at the table snickered and the smirk reappeared on Shipwreck's face.
Cover Girl's nostrils flared as she took a step in his direction. "You know something, asshole," she poked a finger in his chest, "I've had about enough of your constant bullshit!" The mess hall quieted as it realized her demeanor had gone from playful to serious. "Every day you make it your sole purpose to harass me and do your best to charm your way into my pants!"
He quickly interrupted, innocently as ever. "How can you possibly blame me, sugar buns?"
"Shut up," she screamed. "Just shut the fuck up!" Shipwreck had to fight to keep the smile on his face. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, calming her nerves. When she continued, her tone was calculated and even. "I'm going to make it clear beyond a shadow of a doubt what I think of you." Everyone sat silent and waited. "You are the lowest form of scum on the planet. I question the Great Creator's need to even allow someone like you to exist." She paused and watched to see if what she was saying was sinking in. His expression never changed. The smirk that drove her to her wit's end was still proudly displayed. But there was something different in his eyes that she wouldn't notice until later. "Don't get me wrong, it's not simply a matter of me wishing that I had never met you, it's the anger I feel knowing that someone like you is alive and looking to reproduce!" She grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him close. She was an even six feet tall, and since he was one of the men on the Joe team that she didn't have to stand on her toes to look in the eye, she decided to throw in one other insult. "Besides, you're too short."
Without missing a beat his grin widened, "we're all the same height in bed, darlin'."
Her frustration boiled over once again as she pushed him away. "Shipwreck, there is not a chance in hell that I would ever have sex with you! Even if you were…"
He cut her off, "the last man on Earth and you were the last woman, and it was up to us to repopulate the planet. Yeah, yeah…heard it before." He waved his hand dismissively and turned to walk away. She started to say something but he beat her to the punch. "Girls like you are a dime a dozen. All looks, an inflated sense of self-importance, and used to getting things your own way. You're the kind of girl who uses her talents," he made those little finger quotation marks, "to make your life easier, then turns around and bitches about not being taken seriously as an intelligent human being." He glanced at his watch and then back at Cover Girl, "now if you'll excuse me, I'm on duty in ten minutes and I'd like to get some chow."
He turned and headed for the lunch line. Behind him he heard Cover Girl mumble a string of obscenities, and then the scrape of multiple chairs against the tile floor. As he loaded a heap of pasta onto his plate he smirked again at the sounds of his teammates restraining the feisty tank mechanic from kicking the living shit out of him. His smile faded when he realized what he had said to her, but managed to keep from apologizing. He closed his eyes and sighed before heading off to the nearest seat to scarf down his meal in peace…and solitude.
The rest of his day had passed in an almost surreal calm. Everywhere he went his teammates regarded him from the corners of their eyes, and seemed to be stepping on eggshells since tales of the lunchtime altercation had quickly spread. Very few words were spoken regarding the incident, but Shipwreck kept his outer façade intact, just in case someone would try to confront him about it. Deep down, though, he was torn. He liked to push people's buttons, but only in fun. What had transpired today cut him to the bone. She told him in not so many words that he would have done the world a great favor by not being born. He also felt terrible for insinuating that the only reason she was on the Joe team was because she looked good. He knew that wasn't true, and really hated himself for saying it. He preformed his duties in a haze, and put a dent in his reputation by not engaging in the witty banter by which his teammates defined his personality.
Despite the slacker mentality that he portrayed, he always took his service seriously, and even more so since he had become a member of GI Joe. This was the closest thing he had to family since he was a teenager. As unlikely as it sounds, he was a quiet, introverted child. It took the strict discipline and structure of the Navy to boost his confidence and bring him out of his shell. A psychiatrist would be able to make a million dollars off of publishing the depths of Shipwreck's mental eccentricities.
In addition to his afternoon duties, Shipwreck had pulled evening perimeter security. His walk took him past the motor pool, where a radio was pounding out the heavy power guitar riffs of Pantera. He smiled when he realized who it must be that was putting in the long hours. Just as quickly he fell into his feelings of anguished regret. He made his way over to the open garage door and peered into the opening. Even without the music playing he would have recognized those boots anywhere. He allowed himself a moment to reminisce, then caught himself, squeezed his eyes shut and walked away from the garage door. After a few paces he stopped and looked up at the sky. There was only a sliver of moon shining tonight, and the stars in the autumn sky shone brightly.
Cover Girl had never had such a problem with an oil filter before. She had changed them on almost all of the GI Joe vehicles in her tenure, and most of them fit like she was pulling on a pair of gloves. This particular VAMP was giving her troubles. She had checked the part number twice, and had already attempted three different filters. All had the same difficulty. She just wasn't able to complete the repairs, and her frustration had reached its peak. After what seemed like the hundredth time of trying to attach the part, she finally snapped and beat the bottom of the oil pan repeatedly with her wrench. She rolled herself out from under the vehicle and threw the offending filter across the garage. The wrench was soon to follow. She sat with her head in her hands and wondered if her inability to fix the VAMP was karma kicking her in the ass for being so mean to Shipwreck.
The clatter of metal pulled Shipwreck from his star gazing. He turned and instinctively pointed his M16 at the sound. He relaxed when he saw the figure who had been occupying his thoughts all day settle into a posture of frustration on her little wheeled cart. He took a few steps toward her before stopping himself just inside the reach of the shadows. He knew better than to approach her, even though he wanted to. The timing was wrong. Everyone who had spent more than a week with the Joe team knew to give Cover Girl a wide berth while she was working on the vehicles, especially if she was having difficulty. His mind immediately shifted to the way she had spoken to him earlier and his heart hardened. He refocused on his duties and continued into the darkness of the base.
She felt like someone was watching her. She snapped her head up and turned in the direction of the open garage door scanning the darkness for any sign of trouble. A lone figure was walking away, and although her instincts detected no threat, she felt the need to discover his identity. Rising to her feet she hurried to the open door, going no farther than the reach of the protecting light. "Who's out there?" The figure stopped, yet seemed reluctant to reveal himself. The overhead fluorescents provided her enough luminescence to notice the dark blue pea coat and white hat that undoubtedly identified her daily nemesis. "God dammit, Shipwreck, what are you doing here," she yelled.
He stopped his retreat and turned to face her. A million words flooded his mind, but he chose to simply walk toward her. When he once again reached the last line of shadow he responded, "I'm on perimeter tonight." An awkward silence hung in the air. He cleared his throat, "as long as everything is cool here, I'll be on my way." He met her eyes, noticing the streaks of grease that managed to act as make up, and highlight the best features of her flawless face.
When she didn't respond he started to walk away. "Wait," she called after him. He stopped, but refused to face her again. She was torn between her desires to apologize, while maintaining her earlier convictions. "I have something to say to you."
His defenses jumped to attention, "Part of me isn't surprised that you spent the entire day coming up with more insults for me!" She was taken aback by his sudden anger. He finally turned to face her, "let's hear it! Tell me what else about me you'd like to see erased from existence!" She could only stand in silence, her mouth slack, looking for a response. He stared her down, shook his head and said, "you know what…forget it."
She finally recognized the look in his eyes. Even though he was hidden in shadow, they shone the same as they had in the mess hall earlier. What she had said had really hurt him, and even though he remained business as usual on the outside, inside he was having trouble coping with her words. She watched him walk away. He slowed his pace and eventually stopped, hanging his head. Before she could think she called out to him. "I'm sorry!"
"I'm sorry," he yelled. Neither had realized that the apologies came simultaneously. "I had no right to say what I said."
"I feel like a bitch for what I said." They were both talking over each other. He began walking toward her until they were face to face. For a moment she was completely engrossed in him. He was half an inch shorter than she was, but her slim frame couldn't compare to his broad shoulders and muscular arms. She saw none of this since they were both staring directly into each other's eyes. A sort of dawning comprehension came over her, "you're not who you pretend to be."
His gaze never moved from her deep almond colored eyes, "you don't know anything about me." Her eyes stayed focused on the impending fight. He swallowed his pride and decided to expose himself, "regardless of what you think, I deserve to exist."
"And I'm more than just a pretty face!" She struggled to fight back her anger until she noticed his slight smile, and relaxed. What she had said had inadvertently broken all of their tension. "I know its cliché."
There were so many things he wanted to tell her. So many reasons to explain how he felt and why he was the way he was. Instead he put his index and middle fingers on her cheek and traced the grease smudge. Surprisingly, she stood still as he moved to the other cheek and repeated the motion. "I didn't mean anything I said," he started. "I was only saving face in front of the guys." He lowered his eyes, and removed his hand from her face. "I…I can't…"
Cover Girl decided later, after many hours of self reflection, that her next action was the most natural thing she had done since high school. "Hector," she firmly grabbed his chin and planted a deep, open-mouthed kiss on him. After it was finished she took satisfaction from the stunned look on his face. "You are still an asshole. But on those rare moments when you stop pretending, you actually become someone I would consider getting to know." For once, Shipwreck had noting to say. Cover Girl took a step back, smiled and said, "if you promise not to tell anyone about what just happened, I swear I won't tell the rest of the team that you're a real person." Her beaming smile paralyzed him, and he nodded his agreement. "Good. Now get back to work, squid brain."
He finally found his voice and responded, "you too, sweet cheeks." He grinned at her until she turned away and began to clean up the mess she had made during her earlier tirade. Slowly he turned away from the motor pool and continued his patrol with a new found spring in his step. He wasn't sure if it was due to the giddy after effects of Cover Girl's kiss or of finally getting the chance to apologize to her and cleanse his soul.
He threw his dirty, scuffed boots onto the dollar store mat he had placed in the corner, and replayed the evening's events. He once again was faced with the realization that despite the night's activity, he was alone. He glanced into the full length mirror that hung on the back of his door as he began to understand what Cover Girl had said to him. He let out a sigh knowing that in spite of their recent peace talks, nothing was really going to change. He would go on being the same smart-alleck, foul-mouthed, skirt chasing sailor that everyone had come to know. And she would go on being the hard assed, hot tempered tank jockey with a chip on her shoulder, who was constantly trying to prove herself in this "man's" Army.
He leaned back on his bed and crossed his arms over his chest. They wouldn't change. They each had their roles to play, and they would continue to play them. Regardless of her apology, there was still truth in some of the things she said this morning. She would never go for a man like Shipwreck. But maybe, just maybe, she could fall for a man like Hector.