Fortunate Son
Disclaimer: I do not own "G.I. Joe." That and all the characters belong to Hasbro.
They sat outside under a blood red sky, watching the sun fall behind the mountains as the twinkling lights of the Vegas strip came on one by one.
Emma Rudat sat by her son on the porch swing, swinging back and forth, holding his hand. Occasionally she would look up at Dusty, who would look down and smile. She knew she was clenching his hand a little harder than necessary, like she would never let go. If she could, she would never let go again but she had just gotten him back.
The day a few months back when the Army men came to her door was the worst day of her life, worse than losing her husband. They had told her her son was dead. Her strong, handsome son, her legacy, was gone. Even worse was they couldn't find any trace of him.
Her housekeeper, Mrs. Vasquez, who was more family than hired help, had helped her through the first few days, had told her that maybe they had made a mistake if they couldn't find him.
And she held onto that shred of hope even though the rest of the family told her she was crazy to hold onto something so impossible, so crazy.
She had even gone through with a memorial service even though her heart wasn't in it.
Emma shook her head to break her reverie. She didn't want to think about it anymore.
Dusty noticed the look on her face, an expression somewhere between tears and joy.
"What're you thinking, Mom?" he asked, squeezing her hand.
"Trying to put the past few months to rest," she said. "I just want you to know that I never gave up hope that I would see you again. That's what I was thinking."
"That's all?" he said, letting go of her hand and putting his arm around her.
Emma nodded, looking up at Dusty, whose expression belied the humor in his voice. She elbowed him gently.
"All?" Emma said. "That boy, is everything."
The look on her face was fierce, like he'd better believe her or else. And Dusty started to laugh. Emma was shocked for a split second then joined him. More than three months of fear, anger, grief and uncertainty were erased in that moment.
She'd been treating him like glass since he came back and now he was showing her that he was going to be fine, that everything was going to be all right, that they were fine. -----
Later that night. . .
Dusty sat out on the porch step, staring at the stars. It was good to be home, to finally have a bit of normalcy back. He knew the entire situation had been hard on his mother but she at least had had her faith.
No one knew what it had been like for him. He hadn't talked much about what had happened, except to the shrinks. They'd been easy to talk to and with their clinical detachment, didn't look at him like he was going to break.
His friends had, the few he'd seen since coming back.
Out of everyone, he had been dreading seeing his mother the most, mainly out of guilt at putting her through an ordeal worse than anything he had ever dished out.
But surprisingly, she had been the most understanding and supportive. He knew as his mother, it was her job. And that made him the most fortunate son of all.