This is a post war crossover story and does not fit into the story line.
Leave of Absence
It had been a particularly grueling month. There had been an explosion in a downtown building and Chief and I were assigned to the search and rescue and then the investigation. As the only Guardian team it meant we spent from sun up until long after dark crawling through the wreckage with Chief scanning for sounds of survivors, the scent of bloody bodies and their parts. When that had been exhausted we turned our attention to finding out the cause. The long hours had exhausted me and I knew Chief had to be feeling it even more than I was. He had started zoning more frequently, but he never complained.
When the investigation was complete and all the information was turned over to the DA, I requested and was granted a leave of absence. A request was put in from another department to have Chief transferred to work for them but I fought it. I told the Director how hard he had worked and how tired he was. I had to point out to him how when a person gets tired they make mistakes. They still do not consider him human and prone to human weaknesses. I had to insist. I had to tell them he was catting, that he needed to get away just like I did. I did have to be careful because a Guardian who cannot do his job is returned to G-CAT for reassessment and training. I Will Not let that happen. Finally approval was granted so we are officially on leave. I called in some favors and got us a flight to a small Caribbean island.
It is a sad state of affairs when a man, and yes I call him a man, cannot go out among people who have never seen him before and after this week will never see him again, without being afraid. It is not that he is an empath and feels their emotions, I think he fears his ostracism. He has been called an abomination for so long, he believes it. During the war he thought he was going to die so it did not matter. It matters now. This is such a shame. He is the same as you and I, he just sees and hears better.
It is only at dusk when no one else is about that he goes to walk on the beach. He is so alone. Will he ever have someone to call his own? I stand up among the palm trees. He must know I am here, he knows my heartbeat. He walks to the water's edge and stands as the water washes over his feet. Maybe he enjoys the sensation. He wades in a little deeper and the waves wet his pant legs though he seems unconcerned. What is he thinking?
The moon is not quite full but it is still bright, reflecting off the white sand. Even the waves glitter as they rush the shore. Chief dressed in his usual black seems to absorb the light. Is this a reflection of his life? He does not shine, he does not reflect, he absorbs all that goes on around him but he is never a part of it.
After a minute he steps in deeper and I try not to worry. He knows how to swim, he has had to, to escape from some of the situations we encountered during the war. I worry because I have heard of people walking into the water and disappearing. After the life he has had to live, the experiences he has endured and will have to continue facing, I understand why he might but I care about him and I don't want to lose his friendship. I watch.
He wades deeper being pushed back by some of the bigger waves. If he hears my heartbeat increase he gives no notice. If he decides to keep walking what will I do? I respect him enough to honor his wishes but do I just let him go? Is it selfish to want him to continue living as my friend? I will never find a more loyal and true friend than Chief.
After all he has gone through in his short life, all the rejections, the betrayals, the beatings, he granted me his trust and his respect. There were times when he had every right to refuse, when I asked him to face his worst nightmares, he did it as long as I was at his side. I don't know if this has happened before he has never said.
I wouldn't say he loves me like a father or as an older brother but I thing that is close to what we share. I know I love him like a brother. He has been there for me, he has done willingly, even offered to do what he previously had to be drugged and forced to do. He has stood up for me, he has taken lives to protect mine and he has endured great pain for me. If not love then what else would compel a man to do these things? I hope he knows how I feel about him even if he is uncomfortable with the expressing of them.
He is now out waist deep, pausing as the larger waves buffet him, but pushing on between them. The water is up to his arm pits and a big wave lifts him and then he disappears. I experience a moment of fear but then his head reappears. Another wave and he is gone again but when it passes he has turned and is coming back.
I watch his movements and when he reaches the shore he walks dripping up onto the soft sand. He is looking at me and though his face is in shadows I think he is smiling. He begins the trek across the sand looking more relaxed. If a dip in the ocean can do that then maybe I should try it.
As he approaches I return the smile that is there. I am pleased he has lost that haunted look. Together we walk through the sand back to the house.
Chief was exhausted. Craig had warned him that there was always a possibility that something like this could happen. Yes and if it did he would deal with it. Then it had happened, a massive explosion in a crowded building so he had dealt with it and had done what he had to do. At first the reward of finding a survivor made it worthwhile. Then there were bodies. Day after day, laying in the dust and dirt, breathing it in began to wear him down. He was having dreams of suffocating under dusty bodies.
Finally it had ended. At least the actual site work was completed. The following three days was spent at the office conferring with the other rescue groups, sharing information, asking and answering each other's questions. Few of them had worked with a Guardian before so there were the usual misconceptions. They talked only to Craig and referred to him in the third person like he was not there. One man even asked Craig how his dog had fared. Another asked Craig to ask him a question. Craig had tried to explain but they didn't seem to believe him. Chief was used to this attitude but it still grated on him that they needed him, relied on his abilities but refused to acknowledge him. A thank you would have embarrassed him but it would have been nice.
Craig had turned in his final report and they went home to pack. Craig had arranged for a little time off. There was something about the way he had said it that told him that there was more to it than that. There was a hint of triumph as if he had won. What had that victory cost him?
Chief had packed his bag and they had boarded a plane. Two changes later they had disembarked at a small airport, taken a taxi and been delivered to a small house on a tropical island. An old Army buddy had lent it to Craig for a week.
The day was hot, a bit humid but the house was cooler. Craig went out to explore and talk to the neighbor who looked after the place. I stayed in and slept fitfully, still dreaming of dust and dirt and dead bodies. There is food in the icebox but I'm not interested. Everything tastes like dust and I can't shake the feeling that everything around me is dead.
Finally the sun is setting. I can hear Craig out on the porch. He is resting. I am sure he is worried, he cares for me, not like a Handler but as a friend, maybe more, like a brother. I hate that he has to look after me. I hate being thought of as less, unable, not competent. I hate it. I hate that I can't change it. I Hate!
He must care or he would have given up long ago. There have been others, Handlers and they took out their hatred on me. They made sure I knew how much trouble I was and what they were missing out on because I needed looking after.
Craig has never said I was in the way. I found out a long time ago that he lost his Captain's bars because of me but I had to hear it from someone else. He never ever said it to me and he could have, I screwed up enough times.
It's dusk and I hear what sounds like crickets. I go out onto the porch and stand listening. Craig had asked me if I wanted to go to the neighbor's for dinner but I told him I wasn't hungry. I hear the ocean without trying. I guess I had pulled in my hearing earlier so I wouldn't hear anything but his heart. That is the only sound that helps.
Craig is watching me from the trees as I step down barefoot onto the sand. It is only a short walk on the soft sand to the beach so I set off. The sound of the waves gets louder as I approach. I like the sound. When I reach the water I stand and look, watching the water approach and retreat, again and retreat. The water near the edge is brown and I see the sand particles being carried in the moving water. Farther out the water is blue.
I step closer and feel the water flow, cold, over my feet. Then it retreats and I feel the sand being sucked out from beneath my heels. It is a strange sensation but maybe one I should be familiar with. I never had solid ground under me before I was given to Craig. I don't remember my parents, I was adopted, or so I was told. My new Mother died a few years later leaving me alone. Indian School and prison are no place to learn how to stand tall. Then there was G-CAT. Craig accepted me as a man. That was all I ever was to him. Maybe to some that is not a big deal but to me it was the first time I was accepted for me, just as I was. That has not changed through the war or after. I have never had to measure up or pretend. He is my solid ground.
When the water returns it swirls sand over my feet then retreats again. I thought more sand would be pulled away and I would sink but it doesn't. More water flows in and out and I am still here. There is sand on the tops of my feet but I am still here.
I walk farther out and the white caps splash up to my knees soaking me. I keep walking, stopping as a large wave tries to push me back. The water is now chest deep and the waves are stronger but I push on. A little farther and the wave pulls me off my feet but I keep my head above the water watching as the next wave gathers. Then my feet touch the bottom briefly before the next wave hits and I rise with it. I am being lifted by the water as Craig has lifted me. Rather than leaving me to drown, Craig has lifted me then set me down again when the danger has passed.
I smile at the thought and get a taste of salt. It is not pleasant but it washes the taste of dust and death and hate out of my mouth. All I taste is salt.
Salt used to be used in the old days to keep food from spoiling. I am up to my neck in salt. Can it stop the rot that has been eating my soul? I close my eyes and sink under the water. The sound of the water has blocked all other sounds even the heartbeat that sustains me but I know it is there. It will always be there. It was be endless like the waves. No matter what he will be there, just like the ocean.
I stand and turn. The waves push me to the shore where he waits. We walk back together.
He could not articulate the thought but in his heart he knew there was another analogy. Though the water would support and transport him like Craig would help and support him, if he allowed himself to become submerged in that support, if he released all control then he would die. The salt was like Craig's insistence that he make decisions and speak for himself as much as possible. Once the Handler took all control, the man inside began to die.