Interlude:TheMechanicsofThought

"God damned useless hunk of mechanical junk!"

Courtney dragged a greasy hand across her sweating forehead, ignoring the dark streak it would leave on her skin as she kicked the empty oil pan halfway across the garage floor. It didn't entirely relieve all of her anger, so she kicked it again. And then once more, just for good measure.

It skidded across the garage floor with a satisfactorily noisy, clanking rattle; but a hand scooped it up before it could hit the wall. She looked up, intending to cuss out the person who was interrupting her quiet time, then swallowed what she'd been about to say when she saw who it was. "Oh. It's you."

"Yeah. It's me. Who else would it be? Nobody else would have the balls to walk in here with you this pissed." Beach Head strolled across the garage, bringing the battered oil pan with him, then dropped it on the floor—a safe distance away from Courtney's foot.

"Nah. Bring it over here so I can kick it some more."

"Why? It didn't do anything to you." Beach Head kept his tone light, although his eyes were serious as he looked at Courtney. "You know, you might feel better if you talked to someone about it rather than kicking around the oil pans in the garage."

"The oil pans don't talk back." Courtney selected a wrench from the toolbox and leaned over the side wall of the Joes' ATV engine compartment. "And they won't laugh at me for being girly."

"Neither will I." Beach Head sighed and strolled around to the other side of the vehicle so he could look at Courtney across the engine. "Come on, Court, we've known each other longer than you've been a Joe. It was your poster on my wall that first brought you to Hawk's attention. I am absolutely the last person who would ever think you were 'girly'." And, softer, "I saw Alex when she came in. While I didn't throw up like Scarlett did, I certainly understand her inclination to do so. Jesus," he shuddered, "I didn't know anyone could lose that much blood and still be alive."

"It was worse when we first got to her." Courtney's voice was so low he had a problem hearing her. Her hands stopped moving first before he was aware that she had spoken. "They hauled Dash and Alex into the back of one of the militia members' trucks and we met them in the helicopter halfway. We were too busy at the time trying to provide cover fire for Lady Jaye's team to escape, but when we landed at the forward operations base we established at Nzoka, I saw her lying in the back of the truck. They hauled Dash and Alex in the back of the truck while they made their escape, and Dash was howling with the pain of being jolted around in the truck bed, but Alex…she was quiet. I don't think she felt a minute of their escape. Gung Ho was in the front passenger seat while Lady Jaye drove, and he took the wheel after she was shot. When we got to our FOB Lifeline was helping Gung Ho get Lady Jaye out, and he just went immediately to work. He told me to rig an IV to get Dash some pain meds and start him on antibiotics, and when I turned around Gung Ho had climbed into the back of the truck and was just sitting there, holding her." She shuddered. "I don't know how he did it. God help me, but I didn't even want touch her…"she drew a deep shuddering breath.

"Hey. It's okay," Beach Head reached out to touch her hand. "It's okay, Court. you can let go. It's just me, right? Your old pal Wayne."

Courtney dropped her wrench, slid around the front of the ATV, and melted into his arms. She'd been trying to put a brave face on it, to put on a mask of impassivity so that no one would know the Joes' resident rebel and tomboy was hurting over this. But Beach Head—he was different. A rebel like herself, though he hadn't chosen such a drastic career change as she had—in order to prove to the world she wasn't just a pretty face, she'd gone from internationally-recognized fashion model and cover girl—hence her code name—to a military grunt with an intuitive magic touch with vehicles of all kinds. And she worked hard at maintaining that tough girl image.

But there were times when she was forcibly reminded that she wasn't as tough as she wished she was. Like now. She'd heard Scarlett getting sick when the redhead had seen Alex come in; she'd wished she'd had that luxury when she'd first seen Alex. Courtney had discovered just how strong her stomach was on the nightmarishly-long trip back from Africa, when they had run out of painkillers and there was nothing else they could do for her. Courtney had wished she could cry, then; now, in Beach Head's arms, knowing that with him, she didn't have to have the masks in place, she allowed herself to cry.

Beach Head just held her. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do to make this any better for Courtney; he'd known her long enough to know when she was happy, when she was sad, when she was hurting. He knew when she just needed a shoulder to cry on, and this was one of those times.

"It was the worst thing I've ever seen," she sobbed now. "I never knew people could be this cruel to another human being. She was doing her job, for fuck's sake, and I'll bet half the men in camp who raped her and did all those things to her didn't even know her, didn't even care. How can you do that? How can you not care whether the woman you're screwing actually wants it?

"You're asking me as a man?" Wayne shook his head. "Courtney, I don't know how to answer that. I have no idea. I'm disgusted by the very idea of forcing a woman to have sex when she doesn't want it; it's completely alien to me. And to want to…have sex with…a woman who looked as bad as Alex did when she came in…I'm not that sick." He hugged her tightly. "And Jesus, the thought of you alone in that African hospital—Christ on a crutch, Court, what if they'd gotten you?"

She hugged him back just as tightly, her tears starting to abate. She didn't cry often, and when she did it didn't last long. "I asked Doc…in the helicopter…if the worst happened, would he give me coup de grace, because I was positive that I wouldn't survive if they did to me what they did to Alex. And Wild Bill said that it was a moot point because they wouldn't get me." A sudden snippet of memory sharpened her tone as she said, "He said you threatened him before we left—his exact words were 'that crazy boyfriend of yours will peel my hide and use it for a scrubbing rag'."

"Yes, I told him that. If anything happened to you, Court, if anyone ever hurts you like that…I will tear Heaven and Earth and Hell apart to get whoever did it. There will be nowhere in the universe where they can run far enough to get away from me." His tone was entirely serious.

"Like I can't take care of myself." But there was no anger in Courtney's tone; she sounded oddly…comforted? She gave him another hug. "Thanks, Wayne."

"You're welcome, Court."

Silence for a moment. Then, "Wayne—are you going into the City for anything anytime soon?"

"Planning a trip this afternoon. Why?"

"It just occurred to me…there's this skin cream that actors and models use to minimize the appearance of scars after plastic surgery. I want to get some for Alex. She's a really pretty woman—it would be a shame if Zimurinda took that away from her as well as everything else she's lost. "

Wayne laughed. "Trust you to think of that. Okay. I'll come find you when I'm ready to go." Courtney gave him a quick kiss, then picked up the wrench again as he headed for the garage door. Just as he reached it, he heard her quiet, "…Wayne?"

"Yeah?" He paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"Thanks."

"No problem, Court." He left the garage grinning.