Summary: Michael is drafted to fight in the US war against Iraq.
Author's Notes: This is an entirely AU fic exploring the idea of a young man being called off to fight a war he doesn't even understand. I am not an American but I think this war will unfortunately affect the entire world. It is based on and inspired by the Dixie Chicks' "Travelin' Soldier". I changed some of the lyrics to make it fit the story.
Travelin' Soldier
Michael shifted the heavy pack slung over his shoulder and adjusted the uncomfortable hat he had been sentenced to wear. He was no longer Michael Guerin, teenager of Roswell, New Mexico, yesterday afternoon he had been decreed Private Michael Guerin, United States Army, destination: Iraq.
The sun attacked his
shoulders mercilessly, forcing him to drop the bag containing every item he
possessed in his suddenly rigidly defined life.
He glanced up to see the bus stop sign looming over him, sending a small
prayer up to a God that he was torn over still believing in that he didn't have
to walk another step.
Two days past eighteen
He was waiting for the bus in his army greens
He hadn't asked to defend the freedom of his country, rather been coerced, or as the official term read—drafted, into fighting a war he didn't understand the reasons for. He had always lived a solitary life, shying away from the kindness of the few strangers that gave him a second glance, waiting for the day that he would turn eighteen and begin the life he had always thought himself destined to lead. Just two short days ago that day had arrived and he had celebrated with a gift to himself; finally able to welcome the freedom he had waited his whole life for. He had walked out of his foster home that morning, straight to the dingiest apartment he'd ever seen, and the most beautiful place he could imagine in that moment.
Freedom—it certainly had a different meaning two days later.
Michael looked around at the area of his hometown that housed the bus station. He hadn't spent much time here before, his life confined to the "wrong side of the tracks" section, just a few miles away in distance and a world apart in appearance. Glancing behind him, he saw the Crashdown Café beckoning to him enticingly from the noonday sun and made the decision to eat one more meal of his own choosing before his bus arrived in 35 minutes. Hefting the over laden bag onto his back once more, he pushed open the glass door to the restaurant and stepped inside as a jingling bell announced his presence to the two waitresses lounging in the otherwise empty room.
Sat down in a booth in a cafe there
Gave his order to a girl with a bow in her hair
Both smiled congenially in his direction, but it was the blonde with bouncing antennas and a bow holding her hair into a high ponytail that approached his table.
"Welcome to the Crashdown, I'm Maria. Do you need a menu?"
Her voice was pleasant and courteous, and Michael suddenly felt a surge inside of him to have more than nourishment before leaving, he wanted real human contact before he submerged himself into a hell he could barely imagine.
"I… uh…" he stammered, unable to utter the words to ask her to just talk to him, treat him like a human before he became nothing but a dog tag number to the rest of the world
She smiled at his shyness, leaning against the table gently as her eyes prodded the words he obviously wanted to say from his mouth.
He's a little shy so she gives him a
smile
And he said would you mind sittin' down for a while
And talking to me, I'm feeling a little low
She said I'm off in an hour and I know where we can go
"Can you just… sit?" he mumbled quietly, a blush creeping across his cheeks as he bowed his head away from the stranger before him.
"Why don't I do one better?" she replied softly, bringing his eyes back to hers as her voice calmed his nervousness. "I'm off in an hour anyway." Maria turned her head back towards Liz standing behind the counter. The other girl just smiled and nodded at Maria's penchant for befriending anyone who looked as though they needed it, signaling her approval for the girl to leave early.
Turning back to the boy sitting in the booth expectantly, she removed the alien headband from her head, tossing it on the table as she reached down to clasp his hand tightly. "Come on, I know where we can go."
So they went down and
they sat on the pier
He said I bet you got a boyfriend but I don't care
I got no one to send a letter to
Would you mind if I sent one back here to you
Sitting on the pier adorning the man-made lake that served as a pitiful excuse for an ocean view, Maria pulled her knees into her chest and turned her head to rest on her legs. Staring at the pensive soldier beside her, she could feel waves of tension radiating off him as he skipped rocks along the velvet smooth surface of the water, the tiny ripples from his disturbance spreading out languidly until they faded into nothingness again.
"Are you going far?" she asked quietly.
"The furthest," he replied.
"Did you choose?"
"No."
His stomach seized with an unspoken fear as she asked her innocent questions, every horror he had imagined suddenly taking shape before his eyes. He was alone in this world and would be alone in the next, traveling to an incomprehensible destination where terror reigned and his survival was anything but certain. All he wanted was the life he had earned, the freedom he had waited through years of abuse to attain, and yet here he was… two days into the life he longed for and giving it up for possible death.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked suddenly.
"I…" she started.
"No don't," he interrupted. "I bet you do, you have to. But would you… would you mind…"
"It's okay," she gently supported him, laying her hand atop his quivering arm as he clenched his fist and squeezed his eyes shut against the damn of tears threatening to break across his face.
"I just… it's just that I don't have anyone here, anyone to write to. Would you mind…"
Her face lit with the light of a thousand angels as she straightened her body and leaned in closer to his trembling form. "I would be honored," she whispered against his tortured skin, laying a tentative kiss against his cheek as the tears he fought to suppress leaked across his face.
He pulled away suddenly, jumping to his feet as he tugged her up with him. Staring into her wondering eyes for a moment, he crushed his lips to hers passionately, pouring the last strains of his beloved freedom into the effort before twisting away in a run. He pushed his legs faster and further than he ever had before, the ground pounding beneath him as he propelled himself away from the temptation to forsake his duty as an American citizen and just lose himself in a girl he barely knew. The bus to his destined destruction was waiting at the curb when he arrived, and he barely had time to grab his bag from the booth inside the still empty restaurant before the last call was announced. Pulling away from the only home he had ever known, Michael pressed his face to the window and wondered if the girl named Maria would wait for a letter from a boy she barely knew… the only reason he had in the world to remember Roswell fondly.
On the tiny pier where her life had melded with that of a complete stranger, Maria Deluca let the tears falling from her eyes join the water resting at her feet. She hadn't known why she needed to offer comfort to the boy that walked into her life, only that she had no choice. She was sure that it was his eyes, the soulful expression expanding from them to touch every object in its path, turning her soul to shivering emotion when she stared directly at him. It was almost as if… almost like…
Suddenly she believed in love at first sight.
I cried
Never gonna hold the hand of another guy
Too young for him they told her
Waitin' for the love of a travelin'
soldier
Our love will never end
Waitin' for the soldier to come back again
Never more to be alone when the letter said
A soldier's coming home
~~~~~
So the letters came
from an army camp
In California then near Iraq
And he told her of his heart
It might be love and all of the things he was so scared of
She barely managed to wait until she was alone in the back room before tearing into the envelope clutched tightly in her hands. The postmark read San Diego, California and it was addressed to:
Maria
c/o The Crashdown Café
Roswell, New Mexico
USA
88201
Nothing more than her name and place of work had seen the letter safely from his hands to hers. She poured over the words written in a lanky scrawl, barely decipherable at first as she took a journey into his world.
Maria,
I want to thank you for taking time out of your life to grace a stranger with
your presence. I feel as though I am
supposed to know you, like the brief moments we spent together were not a
good-bye, but rather a hello—a beginning to what I hope can be a friendship… or
more…
I promise to come back to you someday, somehow… I want to know the girl you
introduced me too.
Sincerely,
Michael
It was the first of numerous letters, one arriving each day in
the beginning, then a week apart, then a month, until
finally she tore open the last envelope he would send.
He said when it's getting kinda rough over here
I think of that day sittin' down at the pier
And I close my eyes and see your pretty smile
Don't worry but I won't be able to write for awhile
The tears started falling from her eyes at his first words…
Maria,
I love you.
Thank you for reading my words through all of these months. The war surges closer to my base every day
and the captain tells us that within a week we should
be in the middle of the conflict. I want
you to promise me that you will always smile as you did on that day. Your eyes have the power to light a room and
you should never lose that.
I cannot write to you any longer. The
job I have been asked to do calls and I must respond—don't cry for me love, I
will hold the faint memory of you close to my heart while I defend the freedom
you deserve to know. If I can ever come
home, it will hopefully be to your waiting arms.
My heart is yours,
Michael
The sobs wracking her chest were unheard by her ears, deaf to the life that went on around her, she could only feel the potential loss of the love she had never known. He was a stranger to her on all accounts except for the heart he had deemed her worthy of knowing. She felt as though he sent a little of himself back to her with each of his letters—his words traversing the distance separating them as if it were miniscule, his memory keeping her warm at night as she gave her heart to a boy she barely knew.
I cried
Never gonna hold the hand of another guy
Too young for him they told her
Waitin' for the love of a travelin'
soldier
Over love will never end
Waitin' for the soldier to come back again
Never more to be alone when the letter said
A soldier's coming home
~~~~~
Life went on in the tiny town of Roswell after she received his last letter. The first week was torture, the next agony, the six long months that followed a living hell with every mention of a war she knew too intimately. She had no news of him, of his survival or his death, just the reports that camp after camp of soldiers rose up against the opposition, many sacrificing their lives every day for the freedom of their families back home. At least once a week there was a report of an injured or killed comrade and she would glue herself to CNN until all next-of-kin were notified and the names of the fallen were revealed. It was never him, not in all the time she waited, but as each day turned into another week, and each week into another month, the hope that he still lived in the war torn country faded within her.
Then one day, the war ended as quickly as it had began; Saddam Hussein supposedly killed when a bunker he was hiding in was hit by American missiles. She could care less about whether the monster lived or died, just that the retreat by his troops meant a return of the fighting soldiers from his country. Replacements were being called, new regiments sent in to access the damage a six-month battle had caused, causalities counted, survivors returned to loved ones.
One Friday night at a
football game
The Lord's Prayer said and the Anthem sang
A man said folks would you bow your heads
For a list of local United States' dead
Maria was suited up in her band uniform, taking her place on the field with her classmates as they prepared to march solemnly into place for an impromptu memorial to fallen soldiers. Her heart seized in her chest as she heard the principle begin his speech, giving praise to the brave men that had fought for their country, requesting a few minutes of silence while he read the names of those who had given the greatest sacrifice.
She ran, stumbling across the field towards the bleachers, scrambling beneath them as the names fell viciously from the man's mouth, A's, B's, on and on he read, approaching the fateful letter that would either see him returned to her safely or confined to her memory forever.
Crying all alone under
the stands
Was a piccolo player in the marching band
Albert Green
Marcus Hutchings
His name not read and
nobody really cared
But a pretty little girl with a bow in her hair
The realization that he was not among the dead took a full five minutes to sink in, her brain unable to process the alphabetical order that had spared his life. When the speech finished, the crowd rose in a singing of the national anthem and Maria collapsed against the unyielding ground, her heart breaking with the knowledge that she had just been given to chance to know him again.
I cried
Never gonna hold the hand of another guy
Too young for him they told her
Waitin' for the love of a travelin'
soldier
Over love will never end
Waitin' for the soldier to come back again
Never more to be alone when the letter said
A soldier's coming home
Another month passed before word of returning heroes reached her ears. She walked into work on a balmy October afternoon, Liz meeting her in the middle of the back room with a letter held tightly in her hands. Faltering as she grasped it to her chest, Maria failed to notice the absence of a postmark on the envelope, only her name scratched in his trademark illegibility.
Maria,
I am home.
Michael
She raised her head in confusion as she stared blankly at the now crying friend before her. "Wha…" she mumbled, looking back at the near empty piece of paper in her hand. Hearing the sharp creak of a door opening, she turned to look at the unwelcome intrusion, staggering backwards when she saw his familiar form step slowly into the room.
"I told you I'd come back," he offered softly.
With uncertain steps, she stumbled towards him, the letter falling to the floor slowly as she wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, pressing her lips to ones she kissed in her dreams every night. She was never supposed to know him, a brief twist of fate sending him into her life on that day so many months ago. Sobbing as she hid her face in gentle folds of his neck, she felt his own tears drip into her shoulder and shuddered at the emotions racing through her body. They knew each other only through letters, a bond formed through words that came directly from their hearts—everything else could come later, right now she just wanted to enjoy the feel of a soldier in her arms.
I cried
Never gonna hold the hand of another guy
Too young for him they told her
Waitin' for the love of a travelin'
soldier
Over love will never end
Waitin' for the soldier to come back again
Never more to be alone when the letter said
A soldier's coming home