A/N: HUGE thank you to the people who reviewed the last chap! (I'm glad the heart-to-heart was well liked by a lot of you guys :) And to the people who didn't review - what will it take? You've got this on story alert, I've got over 500 hits for last chap...gah, well. I won't name names since that seems kind of corny, but at least I know it's being read/clicked on an insane amount of times. And that was the end of The Rant, all, I promise!

Now on to chapter ten, with a starry-eyed Kid and a little more insight in to what's going on in Reaper's head...

Blackbird
Chapter 10

"LA Air," Reaper announced without enthusiasm, putting their car into park after he maneuvered into an illegal curbside space at the drop-off/pick-up station. He sat back in his seat and glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. "We're a little early."

"Even with your gimp driving," Nat arched an eyebrow, turning her head as it rested on the head cushion to look at Reaper. "Who'd've known?"

Reaper copped a weak smirk at the comment.

Nat most likely would have found time standing still again, if the subtle throb at the base of her neck hadn't gotten steadily worse on the drive over to the airport. Gently, she rubbed the base of her neck in tiny circles, letting her eyes flutter shut.

"What's wrong?" Reaper asked immediately.

"Nothing," Nat tried to dismiss the worry she heard in his voice.

"A headache is not nothing, especially when you're recovering from a concussion," Reaper said.

"I'm just tired, it's not a relapse, my brain isn't filling with fluid..." Nat trailed off as she broke into a jaw-cracking yawn, covering it with an open palm.

"Yawn for effect," Reaper said skeptically.

Nat still had her eyes closed, but even with the knowledge that Reaper's gaze was focused on her set her on edge a little.

"Yawn for loss of sleep, stoic gunman," Nat snapped without gusto, and without thinking.

Her eye's shot open at the slip of words.

"What did you call me?" Now Reaper sounded vaguely amused.

She avoided his gaze and searched the sidewalk for any sign of the new recruit; and thanked which ever God her brother prayed to when she spotted the squirrelly-looking soldier just a few yards off walk out onto the sidewalk.

"Look there's our new PFC. Fetch and play nice," Nat instructed, letting her eyes close again to avoid Reaper's gaze.

- - -

"Ahw, shit!" Portman sneered as he took in the appearance of RRTS newest recruit.

"Why does that seem to be the phrase of choice around here?" Nat mused aloud as she trotted down the metal staircase, past Portman and collapsed onto a couch.

The young PFC looked like he hadn't hit puberty yet, Nat admitted, but he seemed like a good kid. Even if he had been sporting star-eyes ever since he saw Nat at LA Air.

Reaper was a few steps behind the young soldier and only managed a weak glare at Portman's comment. Reaper walked past the recruit and leaned up against his table in the corner where he kept an arsenal of guns. He crossed his arms, and waited as Sarge walked down the stairs and stopped at the young soldier's side, measuring the man with his eyes.

"I mean, first we pick up a blond chic," Portman continued his complaints. Destroyer, Duke, Mac and Goat all remained silent, knowing not to act like a donkey ass in front of Sarge. Portman, however, had no tact when it came to preserving his own well-being.

"And despite all previous attempts at improving the gene pool," Portman shot a glance at Goat, "She actually looks good."

Nat arched an eyebrow at Portman's suggestive tone. Without thinking, she cast a glance in Reaper's direction, but found he had his gaze steadily trained on the floor in front of him.

"Portman," Destroyer said, the warning in his tone.

Sarge only rolled his eyes and waited for Portman to finish his verbal escapades, tired of yelling at him three times that week already for his stupidity.

"And now we're on babysitting call?" Portman asked with a wide sweep of his hands to everyone in the room.

Nat let out a frustrated sigh, plastered on a fake sweet smile, and walked over to Portman.

She patted him on the back. "Why don't you pull the mag out of your ass and introduce yourself," Nat commented, tilting her head to one side in a gesture of faux politeness.

Destroyer, Duke and Mac all chuckled. Nat was happy to see Goat crack a smile, too; Portman only pouted.

Satisfied she'd shut him up - at least for now - Nat turned to the young recruit, and said, "Welcome to RRTS." Then, she walked past Portman and into the living quarters, collapsing onto her bunk with a deep sigh.

A brief silence after Nat left before the young PFC spoke up.

"Who is she?" He asked with wide eyes.

Reaper's head lifted slightly at the kid's tone of voice; only Sarge and Goat noticed.

Duke chuckled at the kid. "Our little blackbird. Her name's Nat," and looking the PFC straight in the eye, he said, "And if you mess with her, you mess with us." Then he straightened up and put on a big smile. "I'm Duke, and I think I've already got a nickname for your scrawny little ass."

Despite the comment about his ass, the kid smiled tried to hide his nervousness about Duke's warning with a weak smile of his own.

"Like she even needs a bodyguard with the way she schooled me," Destroyer grunted in a good-natured tone.

- - -

A week later, Nat found herself eaten up with anticipation. By 6 o'clock tomorrow, all of RRTS would be on leave for six months. It was the biggest leave Sarge had ever given his men, but with a matching six months of nothing but hard-core, high-risk jobs, he knew his team deserved it. Not that his team wasn't also aware of the fact that they'd get their asses whipped back into shape and worked into the ground as soon as they returned, but they were fine with that so long as they got their leave.

Nat was in the simulation room, running a solo practice session with a pair of old M1911 handguns. She had found them stuffed in the back of one of the storage cabinets. Nat's field of expertise was hand-to-hand combat, not arms, but she knew that M1911's had been out of commission for several decades. Newer models had replaced it, but Nat thought a gun was a gun; if it hit the mark, it worked.

"I'll promote you if you can still shoot like that after you return from leave."

Nat turned at the sound of Sarge's voice. She holstered her guns, and flipped off the machine that projected the simulation across the room's four walls.

"Yes, sir," Nat answered, turning to stand at attention as Sarge walked into the room.

"At ease, Blackbird," Sarge waved away the formality.

Nat nodded and relaxed her stance.

Sarge clasped his hands behind his back, and spoke in his normal, rather stern, tone.

"I wanted to let you know I'm giving the extra three weeks of leave to both you and Reaper," Sarge said.

Nat was confused. "Sir?"

"You put on a good show, and you're a hell of a fighter," Sarge complimented with a smile that looked more like a grimace to Nat. "Sergeant Blake was right about you."

"Thank you, sir," Nat replied, a little unsure.

Sarge nodded once, then left.

- - -

The next day, Nat rose early. She hadn't had the nightmare since she had talked with her brother about the trial and everything that had happened, and she had gotten all the more hours of peaceful sleep for it.

The living quarters were peacefully silent as Nat pulled back the covers, and swung her feet over the side of her bunk. In boxers and a large T-shirt, she walked out into the main barracks, cracking a deep yawn. The metal shades on the large wall windows were drawn, fuzzy sunlight streaking into the room. Nat could even see the little dust motes floating in the air where the sunlight shone.

The barracks, aside from her quiet presence, seemed completely deserted.

When she felt a hand on her shoulder, Nat nearly jumped when she spun around to face her surprise.

"Reaper?" Nat said, confused.

He was wearing his standard issue black cargo pants and a white tank top. And as always, his hair was dark and wild as ever, his eyes matched.

"Hi," he said.

In a flash, he raised his hand and slid it around the base of her neck, and brought her face close enough to his so their lips just barely touched...

"Hey, Blackbird!"

Nat's eyes shot open at the sound of her name being called. She was staring up at the metal roof of the bunk above hers, out of breath. Turning her head, she saw Destroyer standing next to her bunk, a hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake.

"You all right?" Destroyer asked, his eyes glancing over her face, searching for an invisible injury. "You have a fever or something?"

Not that kind of fever, Nat thought.

She let out a shaky breath, and pushed herself up, swinging her legs out over the side of her bunk. Destroyer took a step back, and leaned up against his bunk across the aisle way, arms crossed.

Nat wondered if the dream was a result of the concussion.

With my luck, Nat thought, it most likely was.

"I'm all right," Nat replied after taking a few deep breaths. Her hands were gripping the edge of the bunk on either side of her; she had gone to bed the night before in black sweats and a grey tank.

Destroyer didn't look convinced, but he remained quiet on the subject anyway.

Pushing aside the dream, for now, Nat remembered something that made her grin.

"It's start of vacation today, isn't it?" She asked.

Destroyer matched her grin. "Get your skinny white ass showered and dressed. The transporters'll be by at 11:00."

"Sure thing," Nat said, smirking at Destroyer's comment. She'd been given worse nicknames than that.

Swinging her towel over her shoulder, Nat walked out into RRTS main barracks. She had to forcer herself not to roll her eyes when she saw Portman walking towards her, a malicious grin on his face - the complete opposite of Destroyer's good-natured one before.

He was wearing a bright blue Hawaiian shirt and shiny white shoes. Nat shook her head at his eccentricity; but what worried her was that he had his hands clasped behind his back.

Nat glanced around the barracks and saw, un to her surprise, Reaper in his usual corner, cleaning his guns. She saw her brother, Duke and Mac preparing food, Destroyer walking over in to join them. Nat was pleased to see the Kid, as everyone now called him, was diligently mopping up some invisible mess on the floors.

"Now," Portman began, and Nat could hear the dark intent in his tone, "what I would like to know is..." he trailed off as he brought a small blue box out from behind his back.

Nat's eyes widened, and then they narrowed as she glared at him. "You're sick, Portman."

She heard the familiar clicking and unhooking of guns stop behind her as Reaper paused his cleaning ministrations.

"If it says ultra thin, does that mean Goat's little sister hasn't met the Big Bad Wolf yet?" Portman asked, shaking the box back and forth.

Nat contemplated how much damage she could inflict on him before someone had to pull her away. She was up to a broken wrist, dislocated shoulder and shattered ankle before she finally realized something. She wasn't a virgin, but that wasn't the point, either. This was classic Portman behavior. And kicking his ass would be exactly the reaction Portman expected. So, she'd given him something he wouldn't expect.

Nat could feel Reaper's gaze burning into her back. But pushing that aside for the moment - including the minor public humiliation - she walked up to him, and cocked her head to one side, taking the blue box from Portman's hands and looking over it.

When she returned her gaze to Portman's, she had to fight the urge not to wipe the smirk off his face with her fist.

"You ever do time, Portman?" Nat asked in a completely calm tone.

"What?" Portman said, confused.

"Jail time. Ever serve any?" Nat wondered.

"No," Portman replied, unsure.

"These come in handy for guys like you: the newbie, the greenie." Nat paused. "The fish," she added, smiling a dangerous smile. "Give me a call if you're ever running low."

Nat patted him the shoulder, then turned and headed down the hall towards the bathroom stations, letting out a deep, inaudible sigh as she did.

Portman stared after Nat liked she'd sprouted a fifth appendage.

"What the fuck will it take?" Portman asked, incredulous. He turned to Reaper. "You've seen her naked, haven't you? Did that at least rattle her?"

Reaper glared at Portman. He didn't like Portman talking about Nat that way, but pounding the guy into the ground where he stood would most likely give him away, so he simply ignored him.

Denied an answer, Portman's expression sullied and he stalked off without another word.

Reaper realized after a moment that he didn't answer Portman because he didn't want to; he knew what would rattle Natalie, at least one thing that would rattle her - talking about her past with Goat's charges. He just didn't give an answer because he wanted to protect her from Portman's antics.

He cared about her, and that realization worried him.

Reaper had been trying to convince himself that it was purely a physical attraction he felt towards Natalie. Now, he knew he was wrong.

- - -

"Damn girl, you look fine," Duke whistled as he walked into the living quarters and spotted Nat.

She had finished her shower about an hour ago, and had changed into faded jean capris, dark red halter top with a tan leather jacket over it with white flip flops, a California girl through and through.

"After not wearing street clothes for six months, I was afraid I'd forgotten how to be a lady," Nat shrugged with a smile. She much preferred Duke's complimenting humor to Portman's sadistic idea of a joke.

"Oh, trust me, girl, you didn't forget a thing," Duke grinned, looking her up and down. He himself was sporting a plain black sweatshirt and dark jeans.

Nat stuffed the last of her things into her black duffel and swung it over her shoulder like a soldier.

"Though some things'll never change," Duke clapped Nat around the shoulder and led her out into the main barracks.

Nat watched him walk over to a couch and plop down, pulling out a hand-held video game.

"If you give a boy a video game," Nat muttered, amused.

Dropping her duffel off onto the couch next to Duke, Nat saw her brother on the far side of the barracks; Destroyer and Mac were currently locked in an intense game of orangeball; the Kid was back to mopping again; Portman was twitching like a fish out of water, and when Nat's gaze settled on Reaper in his gun corner, she felt the rush of embarrassment from an hour before hit her full force.

"You dead, man! Dead, ya hear me?" Duke muttered at the video game, drawing Nat's attention away from Reaper for the moment.

"Having fun?" Nat asked, amused.

"Dead, man. Dead..." Duke's attention was rapt on the video game. "What're you bringing? You wanna bring your boys? You bringin' em?"

Nat could only chuckle to herself. Reaper glanced over at the sound of her laughing, and when Nat met his gaze, the embarrassment washed away, replaced with that same, alien feeling in the pit of her chest again. The radio music was white noise to her ears, along with the rest of the world. She saw the same wild look in Reaper's eyes as she did the day he had been "misdirected" to her bathroom station, and she gulped.

Her dream resurfaced vividly, though instead of blushing she kept on staring into Reaper's dark eyes.

- - -

A/N: I have to stop there, but I promise the next update will be soon! We're talking a week this time, though, possibly a week and a half. I've got a big Spanish presentation coming up and I've got to memorize it all (argh!). I'm adding in bits of dialogue here and there with the first scene in the movie, I hope the minor alterations will be all right - for now, don't forget to review and give some constructive crit if you've got any. 'Til next time! -Karys