Always

Rating: G

Pairing: Mondie/Mush

Author's Notes: Written in honor of Mondie, for Mondie - do you forgive me now?

+

"Face it, pal. You got burned. Badly."

Aaron kept his face over the coffee mug. He liked it when the steam rose up from the liquid, the gentle clouds would fill his nose and swirl around his face, warming ruddy cheeks. Outside the rain poured, sometimes changing to sleet, sometimes to hail, but always there to pound relentlessly on cobblestone and face.

The coffee shop on Broadway Street glowed in bright contrast to the rest of the night. Inside, couples gathered to huddle together and close out the cold, and a few loners sprawled around with crossed legs and open newspapers.

Aaron's gaze finally turned to his friend Christopher, who was toying with the whipped cream on top of his hot chocolate. Aaron cupped his hands around his own drink and took a tentative sip. Too hot.

"You gotta deal," Christopher continued, oblivious to the fact that he was talking to empty air. "Just put it behind you and find someone else, for crying out loud. So she ran off with another guy. You can take it, you're a man. Your hairdresser doesn't stick a bowl on your head to do your hair."

Aaron snorted in spite of himself, creating a ripple in the coffee.

"Today is our anniversary," he said somberly.

"Aaron. AARON. People don't have anniversaries when they aren't together!"

"We'd always come here," Aaron went on, almost thoughtfully. "No matter what, we'd always make it. Once she cut work." He smiled. "And I left in the middle of a golf tournament. Or a big office shindig, another time. She'll make it," he finished confidently.

"Well I hope you don't expect me to stay until Hell freezes over," Joe muttered. Aaron's only response was to take another sip of his coffee.

"I think I burned my tongue," he said.

"Honestly. Aaron." Christopher's voice was sharp enough to catch his friend's attention at last. He stood up and began to shoulder on his coat. "She's not coming," he said again, as his farewell. Aaron silently watched him leave, then glanced to his right and saw an old man looking at him with a pitying expression.

"She always comes," Aaron told him with a shrug.

+

"Soup shouldn't be this hot," Dean Portman grumbled to the empty chair across from him. "My tongue has melted away."

"I agree," said the voice that filled the chair. "By the time it stops boiling, we're back on duty."

Dean tried his luck on a rock hard breadstick. Joining the Army had been one thing, that had been easy enough - almost too easy. A free chance to get away from his nagging parents and prying neighbors, a free ticket out west to see the country (and perhaps the world) and a free meal card to never worry about cooking anything for years to come. Except the meal card had been the drawback. For the fifth time that week Dean caught himself daydreaming about his mother's own breadsticks, hot and flaky, with garlic and butter and… he stopped and peered out through half-lidded eyes to his newly arrived friend, who was looking to him expectantly.

"Afternoon, Rome," he managed between mouth fulls. "Where we you last night, liberatin' Germany again?"

"Hitler has nothing to this good lookin' soldier," Rome told him, indicating himself with a cocky smile. "It's only a matter a' time before they send me over, and then we can all go home for good."

"I'm sure," Dean said with a snort.

"Listen, Portman, you up for some ball during break? Sid found us a new catcher, and I hear he's mi-i-ighty good."

"Nah," Dean said, brushing some crumbs off his uniform. "I need to be somewhere. Besides, it looks like it's going to rain."

"Hope not." Rome frowned and gnawed on a breadstick. "Where you off to?"

"Well… Jone's Port."

"Why would you want to g-oh, no, no, no, no, not this again." Rome put down his break. "I can't let this happen again."

"Well what do you want me to do?" Dean asked angrily. "Just, what, not show up for our anniversary?"

"Well it's not like anyone was there to celebrate it with you last year! Or the year before that! Come on, Portman, she was shipped off-"

"Not that far…"

"Not that far?! A thousand miles at least! The odds are better that she just hooked up with some other guy down wherever she is."

"Hawaii," Dean said, looking disgusted. An uncomfortable silence descended on the two.

"I can't miss it," he said finally. "I can't miss her. You don't get it, do you?"

Rome just stared in a mixture of disbelief and pity.

"She always comes."

+

"Skitts, not in here!" Jonathon "Mush" Meyers whined. "I don't want my clothes to smell like smoke!"

Skittery scoffed. "How hoity-toity is this girl you're stuck on? Even you smoke, Mush."

Mush glared. "Shove off," he grumbled.

"Fine, fine, I'll put it out," Skittery mumbled something incoherently and tossed his cigarette into the sink, effectively dousing it. Mush straightened out his shirt and set his cap at a jaunty angle.

"Beautiful," Skittery said dryly. "Now, if you'd just move so I can get my things…"

"Hush," Mush muttered. "One more minute."

He took off his hat to re-comb his hair with a sigh,

"As if ya weren't lookin' doggy enough. That's about the hundredth time you'se done that!" Skittery reminded him.

"What, is it a crime to want ta look nice?"

"Well… when you'se takin' up this much space, yes!"

"Go then," Mush said hotly and moved aside.

"No, explain this goil again?" Skittery had slid into position and was working on his own hair.

"I met her last year, ta'night."

"Right, right…"

"Lemme finish! I was alone at the park and she found me there." There was a lengthy silence which Skittery didn't dare break.

"The short story is, we wanted ta keep seein' each oddah, but she tol' me that she worked all day - and her parents hardly ever let her outside. I dunno if they were worried 'bout safety or what."

"Strange," Skittery murmured.

"She said she'd be stuck at home all week, workin', takin' care a' her bruddahs. I tol' her I'd be at the park anyway." Another silence.

"…well?" Skittery asked after a few moments.

"She came. Each an' every time, she showed up. I've no clue how she did it."

Skittery looked impressed. Mush's voice turned bitter.

"There's more. The last time I saw 'er, we were talking about this night, tonight - one year a' bein' tageddah."

"When was that?"

Mush hesitated. "Six months ago."

Skittery whistled.

"What happened, she run off wid some punk? Jake's been lookin' pretty smug lately."

Mush scowled. "No. Her parents died."

"Oh," Skittery said in a small voice.

"She split right away, didn't even get a chance ta talk to me."

"So how'd ya find out?"

"Papes, the obits. And the smarts I'm famous fer."

"If she's gone… what're you… what're you doin', gettin' ready to go out an', well, meet 'er?"

"This was the last place, last thing, we talked about. She'll remember, she'll come!" Mush insisted.

"Not in this rain she won't!" A passing voice called. Mush shrugged.

"From the sounds a' this, Mush, you'se workin' yerself up fer a failyah."

"Nah," Mush said, and re-set his hat.

"You'se a lost cause."

"Wrong again - jus' a good lookin' fella."

Skittery laughed and made his way back to the bunkroom. Mush glanced up at the mirror and was surprised to see a worried expression on his face.

"She always comes," he told his reflection confidently, and the face broke into a grin.

+

Aaron stationed himself at a new table, this one right up against the window. He rested his forehead against the glass, feeling the cold moisture from outside bead on his forehead. He could barely see out now, but there wasn't much to see. A few dark shadows moving among the bigger, darker, shadows, briefly illuminated as they passed through the feeble glow of a street lamp. None gave the coffee shop a second glance; they had missions of their own.

Aaron ordered another coffee and sat quietly, drumming his fingers on the tiny table. Someone up front announced that the shop would be 'closing shortly,' and for the first time that night, Aaron felt his pulse quicken. He moved his drink away and looked intently outside.

+

Dean sat on the deck at Jone's Port, beer in hand, watching the clouds carefully. Down below people where securing their boats and helping to batten down others. A few waiters were starting to bring in the umbrellas and chairs on the deck, but Dean showed no sign of moving. When it started to sprinkle he simply covered his beer with a hand and shifted his position.

"Er… Sir?"

Dean waved his hand dismissively and let them take his umbrella away. The rain came down a bit harder.

"Sir, we have tables inside, if you-"

Dean shook his head, water droplets flying around. "Don't worry about it," he said softly. The waiter looked confused and leaned in. "I'm fine," he repeated. "Really… enjoy the rain, actually." The waiter nodded slowly and moved inside, presumably to tell his co-workers about the weirdo lounging out on the porch. Dean rose from his char and walked slowly to the railing at the edge of the deck. He looked out at the Californian coast, put his beer on the boards at his feet, and rested his elbows on the slick rail. Dusk was falling, and the darker it became, the faster his heart beat.

+

Mush wandered the outskirts of Central Park, wringing his hands behind his back. He shivered as he walked, freezing and drenched to the core, but determined none the less. Every once in awhile he would glance out to the street, then shake his head and return to a certain semi-covered bench and sit for awhile before becoming antsy and repeating the routine over again.

Darkness was starting to fall and he knew he had to get back into the Lodging House before it was locked up for the night. His steps came more rapidly, he paced back and forth with his arms crossed and his head bent to shield the rain. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a figure pass through the shelter of a streetlamp, and he missed a breath.

+ + +

"And through the rain she walked, wet hair framing a face of timeless beauty, steps measured and smile radiant. And she fled into the arms of the one she loved and wrapped her arms around him, afraid to let go for just a second, afraid that she would lose him again. And when the one form once more became two…

'I always come,' barely a whisper.

'I know.'

Mondie could never stay away."