Chapter Nine

Cruiser had to admit it; Face could work an angle like nobody's business. The Ala Moana Hotel was five stars all the way. Vaulted ceilings, crown molding, full length drapes, and that lovely ever so white it made your fucking eyes hurt everywhere you looked… it made the swank of his Pittsford New York upbringing look docile and mundane in comparison. The difference between a luxurious escape and the everyday glad handing that came with living in yuppy-ville. Cruiser dumped his bag onto the bed. The weight of it sinking into the cushy mattress and over stuffed comforter until half the duffel had been swallowed thousand count Egyptian cotton.

It had been six years since he'd taken that last step out of mainstream life on the fast road to U Penn Medical School and onto a plane to basic. He'd said adios to all the facades and the social graces, and use this fork not that one, and wear a tie, don't unbutton your shirt and all of that phony crap that had been shoved down his throat to make him upper crust and never looked back.

However, three connecting suites with jacuzzi tubs, chandeliers, and balconies were a welcome change from rain, mud, and worn out cots. And those beaches. Deep blue ocean water peppered with very little clothing and so very much skin instead of floating bodies and crimson blood. It made Cruiser want to jump straight from the balcony onto the beach and grab a few of those beauties to tote back to the room and have his way with until the sun came back up - in a weeks time.

Opening the door that connected his and BA's suite to Face and Murdock's, he could hear the shower running. Face tossed a bottle at him from the wet bar before he'd made it three steps in. "Jose, my long lost friend," He smiled at the bottle fondly, "it's been too long." He cracked the seal of the lid and tossed it in the general direction of the garbage, and tipping the bottle towards Face. "If you insist."

From under the bar of wonders Face pulled out his own bottle . Brandy for him. He was still scowling, hanging on to the pissed off from the airport. "Who in the hell do they think they are?" The only thing that stopped his talking was a long pull from the bottle. "I've heard about people doing shit like that, but spitting on us? What the fuck?"

Righteous indignation. Cruiser leaned his shoulder on the wall, eyes on Face as he took a long welcoming pull from the tequila and let it roll around his mouth, savoring the burn before swallowing it it down. "Don't get your panties in bunch, man. Who cares?" He shrugged the whole thing off, letting it go for the both of them. "Whores want to cut your dick off, the VC want to kill you. Uncle Sam wants to give you a medal, and hippy fucks hate our guts. Welcome home."

"They're not the VC. That's the whole point. They're Americans, they're not supposed to fucking hate us."

"Fine, maybe men in uniform just aren't their type. We can always go back and ask them if you want."

"They spit on us! How the hell do you just let that go?"

"I didn't. Hannibal put a stop to it." Cruiser reminded the younger man and pushed himself off the wall. "Besides, why should I care what they think? Hell, if they knew what I thought of them they'd really spit in my face." Hawaii was not about some philosophical debate he couldn't anything about. "You gotta loosen up, man." Hand dropping on Face's shoulder, he moved them towards the door. "It's R and R. Sand and relaxation. There's a beach full of scantily clad women, empty beds, and full bottles of booze. Forget the fucks. There's a whole island to tear up."

"Forget them, huh?" Face was giving him that bullshit smile the whole world seemed to buy into. "Right, well that's where the brandy comes in." Face took a second, longer swig. Looked like he was ready to have some good old Remy Martin help him with some short term memory loss.

Smiling, Cruiser let himself plop down in one of the lounge chairs. It was not a used tire, covered in mud, or on foreign soil. It felt odd. Tipping his own bottle towards Face he called bullshit on the younger man. "Few more of those and you might start believing that shit."

Face tipped the bottle at him in a little mock salute. "If you find something more effective than tequila for forgetting let me know." Face fumbled around the precision work it took to light his smoke and dropped into the chair next to Cruiser. It wasn't until after he managed to lite a smoke that his smile dropped.

"There's always narcs to get that job done."

"Did you see the look on his face?" Face shook his head, "I've come to expect fucked up shit over there. But this..." Who was he kidding, there was nothing he could do anyway. "Like you said Cruiser. Fuck 'em. They don't matter."

XXXXX

Hannibal's hotel was very nice. Clean, well maintained, and full of bustling tourists and staff. And Hannibal would bet every dime he had to his name that it was no where near as opulent as the rooms Face had managed to scam for the rest of the team. There was no doubt in Hannibal's mind that the kid had gone all out. Part of Hannibal wished he could see exactly what Face could do when turned loose in a playground of luxury. But the rules were clear. Officers and enlisted were not to fraternize. And while Hannibal was willing to overlook that in a war zone, here on base was a different story. There was no war here taking the attention of the upper brass like there was in Vietnam. Given the crap his team was supposed to do over there, they simply didn't have time to worry about whether or not Hannibal could have a drink with them.

What he and the the rest of his A-team were doing and how they were doing it was so far out of the normal military box of thinking that the rules had to bend. And since there was so much unknown, classified, and frankly out right lied about over there, most of the higher ups were more than willing to turn a blind eye to just about anything. And when they weren't, most of the time as long as you had a half way decent argument, you could get some slack. Back in the real world though, where the paper pushers ruled, it was a different matter.

Slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder Hannibal frowned to himself. If the little scene at the airport proved anything, it was that navigating the political bullshit state side required a lot more restraint than it did in Southeast Asia. It was complete bullshit. A bunch of crap spewed by an elite and spoiled few who had no idea what it was like to fight for your life and the lives of your friends, or of the horrors of just what humans could become. It was a cold, hard reminder that there were different rules to follow back in the good ole US of A. And they were rules that already had him wanting a scotch and a shower.

Stopping in front of a very tan man behind the front desk, Hannibal reached in his breast pocket for a cigar. "Lt. Col. John Smith. I have a reservation." Cigar in hand he waited for the usual smiles and comments about checking in as "Mr. Smith".

"Oh yes, Lieutenant Colonel Smith. Mrs. Smith arrived a few hours ago and straightened out the mistake in the booking. Your reservation was changed to the honeymoon suit."

"Oh really?" Mrs. Smith. That was new. There was only one person he could think of that would be that presumptuous, and he hadn't told her about his upcoming R and R. But before he could ask any questions, a familiar voice had him turning and looking over his shoulder.

"Jonathan!" The voice was as excited and proper as he'd ever heard Bunny Schrowder. Walking over to him, dressed like she was going to an afternoon tea, elbow length white gloves, pill box hat and all, he couldn't help but cock his head just a bit. The woman had… he wouldn't call it style, but it was something alright. Moxie? No that wasn't it either.

"Bunny." He took a few steps away from the desk as she clicked towards him on very classic and sensible pumps. What ever "Mrs. Smith" had in mind was best discussed away from others. "Well now isn't this a surprise."

"Is it?" It wasn't a question. He should have expected her to show up. It's what long time couples did and Bunny would not lose face on his behalf. In her mind he should have invited her, and inviting herself in place of that was nothing but an act of love. Arms open, she leaned in for a very appropriate hug and a kiss. Not on the lips. No, people might stop and stare at that. On the corner of his mouth for the allotted amount of time.

It was all very prim and proper and for some reason it made his skin itch, and not in the way it should when a beautiful young woman was in his arms. "Yes, it is." Giving up on his cigar for the moment, Hannibal dropped it back into his pocket and slipped his arm through her waiting one. All the rules of etiquette must be practiced. Even when one was checking into a hotel room under an assumed name to have premarital sex.

The rules were different for some. "Why don't you show me the way to the room and we can discuss things in private, over a drink."

"Darling, such a wonderful idea." Shoulders back and head held high, she let Hannibal take the lead on the way to the elevator. "I had champagne sent to the room. To celebrate your return to the civilized world."

"Champagne." Hannibal hit the button for up and managed a smile. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?" Right now civilization had him yearning for a shower even more than a five click march in the mud.

Waiting for the elevator he looked over at Bunny. Petite, perfectly groomed and dressed, she was attractive and intelligent. Her father was a retired general and her mother came from a fine old family in Massachusetts that could trace its roots back to the Mayflower. She was, in short, the perfect companion for a quickly rising Army officer like him.

He'd met her at a dinner party in Washington two years ago. Bunny was a charming, and yes, perfect date. They'd hit it off and it hadn't taken long for Hannibal to end up at family gatherings and in her bed. Her pink, lacy, frilly bed. It was a little like having sex in a doll factory. But it was good and it worked for them. And it was natural to keep in contact when he went back to South East Asia. The letters from her were lilac scented reminders of a world where everything wasn't trying to kill him. Lately though, the letters had spent more time on future houses and political ambitions then memories of caresses and smiles. He'd figured she was impatient and looking for more, but he'd made it very clear that his focus now was on his unit and survival. He wasn't about to promise himself to a wife and family when his everyday included the very real possibility of death. The only question left was had Bunny listened?

"I've had a few hours to get things ready for your arrival, Darling." And boy had she, the honeymoon suite had started out over the top, but now it had an addition of what had to be her best dresses hanging in the closet, candles all nice and lit, and even the elegance of Mozart playing on the record player. "I thought you'd like to relax while I fill you in on everything."

"Correct you were." Hannibal pulled the bottle of champagne out of the ice bucket. Ice? What they wouldn't have given for just a few of those wonderful frozen cubes in the middle of the jungle heat? He ignored the urge to dip his hand in the bucket just to feel the bite of the cold as the ice melted around his fingers. Right now he had more pressing issues.

"How about you start explaining while I pour?" Hannibal followed that up with the pop of the cork and some ever careful and expert pouring. Funny the things you learned at West Point. Like how to open and pour champagne balanced out with how to kill with your bare hands.

Bunny was off and running, walking around the room like she owned the place and was showing it to some friends who happened to drop by. "Well, like I had mentioned in my letters, there has just been so much going on. Kristen O'Hatfield's father passed away a few months ago, left her the whole estate. Course first thing she did was fire the help. She had a whole new staff brought in. Said her father had gotten lax in his old age. The estate is looking wonderful now. Made me start thinking about what we are going to do. You know, after your done with this military thing." It was nice the way she waved her hand at his "military thing".

During her little speech, Hannibal handed her a full glass, all too aware of a dull ache behind his eyes the had him fighting to keep his teeth from grinding.

Hannibal tilted his glass and gave hers a gentle clink. "Here's to thinking." He took a large sip, doubting that the irony had any effect on Bunny. He was correct. She smiled, pausing long enough to take a breath, giggle just ever so properly, and take a dainty sip of her drink.

"Now Bunny, assuming that this "military thing" doesn't get me blown into a few thousand bloody pieces and sprinkled all over Vietnam, just what plans did you make for me?"

"Oh that's the best part of it all, Jonathan. My Father has it all set up for us. There's a modest estate not too far outside of Washington. It's perfect. Great neighborhood and the schools are wonderful for when we have children. Daddy said that he would buy the estate and once you were back home, you could finance it through his bank. Which won't be a problem at all once you get appointed or elected into political office."

"An estate and children, how charming. And I'm assuming your Father and you have planned for a wedding before hand, just to prevent the unseemly bastard stigma for the children?" Hannibal had learned the art of holding anger in, well below the surface. It was a tool for life and leadership, it was only to be seen when someone needed to learn. But Bunny was challenging all of his well honed skills. She clearly had no idea just how much he hated the idea of his life being planned, without consulting him, without listening to him. Without any Goddamned clue of just how much he and his men were risking every damn day.

"Well, of course. That's why I'm here."

"To fill me in on your plans?"

"For you to propose." She had the decency to leave off the "Silly" at the end of it. "And of course, I say yes!"

"And you decided this after I told you point blank, no marriage until after the war? Until after I'm done killing and trying to keep my men alive and whole?"

"Darling," the sweetness in it was dripping, "that's why I took care of everything."

Hannibal had finished the last of his champagne as she spoke, still looking at her, he hurled the glass into the far wall. The resounding explosion of glass was nothing compared to a good old Vietnam shelling, but it still had her jumping.

"Oh!" A startled little gasp and her gloved hand coming up to her mouth.

"You forgot a few things sweetheart." He let the anger surface. He didn't care. He'd had enough of this. This was no longer a game.

She took a step back, eyes large, running up and down him like she was trying to figure out what was going on. He didn't let her get any further away. Hands on her upper arms he held her still, forcing her to look at him, right in his eyes. Letting her see all of the demons he'd collected – everything she had no fucking clue about – everything that had afforded him the ability to kill more than his fare share of men.

"John!" It was the only real thing she had said the whole time he'd been here, and the reason why he didn't shake her, why he didn't close his hands tighter and force her to finally see.

"No one tells me what my life will be. That's my call." No one. Not her, not her father, not even Hannibal's father had the Goddamned right to tell him what he was. "My team lives in a world where people rig Goddamned two year olds with bombs, just in the hope that the exploding bones of a child might kill one of us." He held his gaze, cold and steady, on her. "I don't give a damn about the estate help or what the neighbors think. I care about one thing right now and one thing only. Keeping my men safe."

It was as basic as breathing. Simple and clear, and something he'd said more than once. And something she would never understand. She'd never know what it was like, how much it took to stay in control, to live with the fallout, to have to write a letter home to grieving parents and send someone who was yours to lead home in a bag.

Bunny had been pampered and loved and indulged her whole life. War would never be her reality, and she was too full of her own ambition and plans to find room for empathy or support. And it was written all over her face, in a tight frown of confusion.

"But, John… Daddy said you have a black man on your team. And the rest of them are… are in and out of jail and crazy." She was shaking her head, still pulled back a bit further than she should have been from him. "They can't mean more to you than your life back home. With me. When all of this nonsense is over with."

His grip did tighten on her arms with that. Forcing her to realize how serious he was when he spoke. "Every last one of them; the black man, the criminal, the crook, the crazy man, each of them means more to me then you will ever mean to anyone besides yourself." He let go of her, stepping back, no longer trusting or wanting to be too close. He picked his duffel bag up and head towards the door, not bothering to look back. He was done. In that moment, their worlds were irreconcilable. And he wasn't willing to play the game for another second longer.

"The room's yours, I'll take care of the bill. I hope to God I never see you again."

"You can't be serious, this is absurd!" She hadn't moved, standing there like a shocked little proper figurine. "You have everything waiting for you back home, why can't you see that!"

Hannibal pause at the door, shaking his head at her inability to understand this turn of events. She was everything he should have wanted, and not one damn thing that he needed. The rules, the promotions the absurdity of fighting for body counts and walking away from grounds littered with bodies, it was all just useless. Lighting his cigar, he let the deep satisfying rush of smoke hit his lungs. And in that moment he saw the reality of the situation of his life. He wasn't born to be a General or President. He was born to lead. To do that his men had to matter more than anything. More than a wife and family, more than rank and privilege, more than career. Once upon a time he'd lost a team. He would never do that again. Clamping the cigar in his teeth Hannibal embraced the truth of who he was and what his life was about. Not medals or rules or glory, just his men.

"I'm dead serious, sweetheart." He grinned and matter of factly pointed at her with his cigar "Oh and by the way Bunny, you're a spoiled, self centered, manipulative, prejudiced, ignorant elitist with not a care or clue about anything of real value. But don't take it so bad, you'll bounce right back. In fact, I'll tell you what, look up Commander Mifflin You two truly deserve each other." He had the door open and was halfway through it. "Goodbye, darling."

Rules be damned.

XXXX

A wistful sigh to himself, Ray watched the sunlight filter in through the curtains. He wouldn't have minded keeping the blinds open and watching his first peaceful sunrise in more than a year, but Trish was modest and had blushed at the thought of someone being able to see into the room, and he respected that. She was absolutely perfect in every way that he remembered. From her adorable smile to the freckles that spilled down her shoulders, to the way she managed to get shy even when it was just the two of them behind closed doors. He loved it all.

It had felt so good to hold her in his arms again. That first embrace, like they were school kids again, too many nerves and not enough coordination. Only this time Trish had silently wept, her head pressed tightly into his chest as he held her, making sure he was real and it wasn't one of the dreams that she had written him about. It was too good to be true, as though one wrong move and the entire experience would burst into the neverland. It was timid touches and breathless moments lost to too much time away and heated passion.

He'd spent every spare second he had picturing this moment. Every remembered caress and curve of her body - the mole at the top of her butt cheek, a light scar she'd gotten on her thigh from riding her bike when she was eight, the way her hips turned into him and spoke to his body. He needed to remember them all again. Refresh the imagery he had of her. Those trusting and faithful blue eyes, waiting for him, just like she would be in another few weeks when he landed at the airport in the states for good. He wouldn't be going back to Vietnam. As much as he loved the guys and had prepared and accepted dying for any one of them in a heartbeat, he had too much to lose with Trish.

They were going to start a family, buy some property, and just be together. Now, still sleeping against him, after a night of getting to know each other again, the softness of her skin and the heat coming off of her was all he needed. Ray pulled her in a bit tighter to him, letting his eyes slip closed and enjoying the first moments of absolute and true peace that he had experienced his whole life.