Lieutenant Jeffries, Dietfried's superior officer, seemed to be expecting his visit. He was standing in his office, the lights dimmed just so. He was looking out the window when Dietfried knocked and came inside. For a moment, he stood just silently, observing the Lieutenant's broad back, the white of the Navy uniform lent a special presence to the officer in the softly-lit room. When his superior didn't say a word, Dietfried decided he'd waited long enough for permission to speak. They both knew why he was here.
"It's been four years to the day, Lieutenant. My debt has been paid, my promise fulfilled. The war is long over, and you no longer desperately need men to sustain the Naval force." He placed his white uniform, Navy-dispensed gun, and his identification as a Navy Captain onto the Lieutenant's desk. "As you know, 180 days ago I completed my pre-separation counseling with the intention of resigning my post today." He paused, giving his superior officer time to speak if desired. When he said nothing, Dietfried saluted anyway, for one last time. "Your last assignment to me is completed. You'll find my report on the Commander's desk. Another copy was provided to the general who initially brought this task to my attention. It has been an honor serving Leidenschaftlich." He relaxed his salute, then turned to depart.
He'd almost made it through the door before Lieutanant Jeffries spoke. "….And what is next for you, Dietfried?," he asked, turning so slightly that he could only just barely cut his eyes to the side enough to see the new civilian's retreating back. When Dietfried didn't respond, but did stop walking, he continued. "….I will keep your items for you, for now." His cruel, clever eyes sharpened as he managed to get Dietfried to turn and look at him over his shoulder. "But should you return for it in a week, or a month, or a year… well, it will be yours again.
"After all…. What is a man like you, a man of the Bougainvillea lineage, going to do the rest of your life? You are a man married to his work, with no wife awaiting you at home. You don't even have an illegitimate love child to dote on. Your brother is gone – also prior to marriage and kids – so no nieces or nephews either. Yes, your mother lives, but with every day she fades…. You'll have nothing but your grief when she – your only remaining family member – is also gone." The last word stretched his lips into a grotesquely wicked smile, which widened when his gaze fell on Dietfried's closed and shaking fist, which hung tightly to Dietfried's side. "… Well, see you later," Jeffries said, turning away to observe the world through the window once more.
Dietfried stiffened, realizing he'd let Jeffries get under his skin, and then he strode down the hallway. As he passed the lounge, he looked up to see a familiar face, and he smiled. "Yo, Griff! How about that drink?"
…
The bar was packed with warm bodies. Some were wiggling drunkenly to the beat of the music, some hovered around, chatting while nursing a beer. Others were closer, and had a lustful air about their business that Dietfried was very adamant about ignoring. One of the men in the group had just finished telling a joke that sent a rumble of laughter across them, and in that distracted moment, a woman approached Dietfried from behind. She actually managed to startle a jerk out of him when she touched his shoulder, using it to twirl him around on the stool to face her.
His eyes widened as he took in the flushed face of Leela, who was leaning so close he could see the very faint freckles that dotted her skin just under her eyes and across her nose. She had the thick scent of alcohol wafting from her, stronger than the bar that was now behind Dietfried. Obviously, she'd been there for some time, and had taken more drinks than was best. "I've been watching you for hours, Mr. Captain of the Navy," she huffed, glaring. "Just palling around with your guy group, eh…? Wha' about… Mrs. Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea?," she snipped, golden eyes narrowing. "You shouldn't keep her up waiting so late!" She grabbed the unbuttoned collar of his shirt and dragged him closer. Dietfried thought maybe she was trying to look threatening, but she only pulled off pouting and dazed.
"Okay…. First step, single," he said flashing his lack of wedding band on his left hand. "Second, I retired from the Navy just before coming over here, so I'm neither keeping a woman up and guessing, nor am I Captain Bougainvillea." He tilted his head ever so slightly to the right, squinting just a touch. "Just how much have you been drinking tonight, Leela?"
"Ahhh, tha's not important here, Mister!," she exclaimed. "Yoooou are trying to change the subject! I was tryin' to.…" She faltered here, her cheeks flushing a deep scarlet. "I was…." She pulled back from him to do a small spazzy movement with her hands and legs, which was absolutely adorable. Dietfried couldn't help but chuckle, but his amusement was short lived as she turned, glared at his amused expression, then lunged at him.
He scooted back on the stool until he was just about to fall off the other side, his hands flying back to grip the bar's counter top and prevent an embarrassing meeting with the floor, leaving him with an unusually lax posture, leaning back against the counter while Leela had one knee on his stool, and was curved so that her chest was just touching his, her face leaning in just inches away from his. Her anger had drained away, and there was a soft wonder in her eyes as she examined his features up close. Confused and a little off-kilter, Dietfried froze, looking slightly up at her. "….Leela?," he asked, voice soft, like one would speak to a feral animal.
Her eyes fell to his mouth, and her lips parted a little, her breath easing out from them. She was wearing a pink lip gloss that smelled sweetly of strawberries. Dietfried's eyes flew back up to her eyes as she began to speak again. "Ya know… You kind of owe me, Dietfried," she said. "For taking Zilly from me…." She hadn't moved her attention from his mouth until just then, and she took a long moment to look him over from head to toe, hovering a long moment at the pale expanse of his chest that flashed from his partly-unbuttoned shirt, then back to his face. "I was thinkin'… maybe you should take the place she left behind." Her mouth descended, and Dietfried watched in numb shock. Her lips were getting closer and closer, until the last word was whispered against his own, and then she kissed him. It was a gentle kiss, exploring. Her lips were soft, and warm…. It'd been a long time since he'd been kissed like that.
One of the other men whistled, someone asked if he was next, and another laughed. "So that's why he's been visiting all those widows!"
Dietfried finally recovered and straightened, his hands reaching up to push her gently back away from him, smiling sadly at her. "Leela, you're in no state to be making decisions like this. Here…. I'll take you home." He was surprised to see her eyes glisten with tears, then she nodded and pulled back without speaking, heading toward the door. He said bye to the guys, who cat-called after them in a good-natured way.
Once outside, they walked side by side, but Leela's eyes were downcast to hide her emotions. Dietfried wasn't sure how to comfort her. "I don't think anyone could possibly fill the place Zilly left behind," he said, trying for nonchalant. "She was an amazing woman, and I am not an amazing guy. I remember seeing the two of you – do you remember Tully, and her dinner party? You two were helping Tully get everything ready, and something exploded in the oven, at the same time something caught fire in the microwave." He chuckled. "Tully was beside herself, but Zilly somehow had the situation handled and the whole group relaxed and laughing…." He shook his head.
Leela gave a soft bark of laughter. "Yeah… Tully was never much of a cook. That never stopped her from trying though." They shared an amused glance, then they both looked away, cheeks slightly flushed as they remembered the kiss. "So…," Leela asked, rubbing her arms as if cold. "Why isn't there a Mrs. Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea?"
Dietfried shrugged, watching the town around them buzz with the lazy life that quietly stirred after the sun had set. The stars above them glistened, and the gentle breeze smelled lightly of the waters in the bay, and hinted at the first freezing of winter. "I have only dated one woman with any ring of long-term dedication." There was a lengthy pause between that admission and the next, and Leela wondered if he would continue. He took a deep breath and sighed, the crisp wind giving life to his exhale by coloring it a bright white. "I was having a lot of trouble with PTSD," he said at last, as if the words were ripped from deep within him. "I'd take a bath, and something would trigger me. I'd start screaming, and she'd come running, only to find me in a shivering mess of a flashback, thinking the water was blood and I was drowning in it. Or we'd be sleeping at night and I'd wake up with a terrible nightmare…. Sometimes I'd just be walking down the street with her when I was triggered, and I'd spend the rest of the day in a disassociated depersonalized haze: I couldn't uphold decent conversations with her like that, and it could take days for me to really fall back into myself again.
"So, flashback after flashback; nightmares; hyper-vigilance; excessive feelings of shame, guilt, self-blame, and failure; random episodes of violent shivering; catatonic shut downs…. It was too much for her. I tried counseling, but nothing seemed to help much. The last straw was when she triggered me while we were… intimate."
Leela's eyes flew up to his face, but it was his turn to not meet that expectant golden gaze. "How…?," she asked, alarmed.
"She wanted to try… cuffs. On me. It didn't go well." He glanced at her horrified face, then away. "Worst flashback I'd ever had, and the only one I'd ever had of that sort. I screamed – something I never do, really. Screamed like someone was killing me slowly. Nearly pulled my arm out of its socket thrashing and trying to get out of it. She finally got me loose, and I stopped screaming, but we couldn't stop my shivering.
"We didn't sleep at all that night, and the next day, she asked me about what this one was about. When I told her, she packed her bags, and she hasn't spoken to me since. And I guess I don't blame her. But since then, I haven't been serious with anyone else. Haven't wanted to try again."
Leela was quiet a moment. "Do you still suffer so?"
"Not as much. My flashbacks are more rare now, some of the old triggers are gone. I found ways to focus my hyper-vigilance for the good of those around me. When it's really rough, I usually take the day off and stay home to work through it."
"Forgive me for asking, but what made the cuffs so much worse than the others?"
He thought about not answering that question. It was terribly personal, yet he hadn't had someone to talk to about it since that old girlfriend. Maybe he was feeling as lonely as Leela. Maybe he'd had one glass of wine too many, but he decided to answer with the truth. "You're aware of my family line, yes?"
She seemed confused a moment, the topic change throwing her slightly. "...Yes. Your family has been associated with the military for many generations."
"Exactly. Well, my father wasn't the gentle type. I wanted to join the Navy rather than the army, and had known this since a young age. I had thought about it carefully, and was resigned to make my own path. When I was eight, I made the mistake of telling Father… he went crazy. He beat me, cuffed me and started carving my rebellion out of the flesh from my back. I thought he was going to skin me alive.
"It seemed as if he cut on me for hours. I screamed… begged for mercy… cried from the agony. He didn't stop, only told me that real Bougainvillea men went into the army. Real Bougainvillea men didn't scream or beg for mercy, or show emotion. The maid came back from a grocery store trip, heard me, and came running. Father turned me over to her, then, and commanded her to keep her mouth shut. Mother was about to give birth to Gilbert, and was in the hospital. He didn't want her to know."
Leela was aghast. "Was that the first time he'd shown such violent tendencies?"
"No, he beat me frequently for no reason at all. That experience was just the worst one. He was always rough with his fists and words, but only for me. He never hit mother. And I didn't give him an option for my brother."
"How?"
"When Gilbert was born, Father was at the hospital throughout Mother's labor, which lasted through the night. I got to meet Gil, bandages underneath my shirt still from that incident. I was overwhelmed with love and protectiveness for that tiny boy, and I made a decision then that he would never know the suffering I had. Father made the mistake of falling asleep on the couch when we returned home, and he awoke with his own knife jabbing into his throat, and I told him that I would exchange his life for a promise that he would never lay a hand on Gilbert as he had me. He agreed, and I warned him that I would end him should he ever brake that promise. He never did. I would even say he managed to be a good father for Gil."
Leela was silent, absorbing. "...And what if I told you I was serious about you still taking Zilly's place?," she asked, smiling coyly at him.
He glanced at her, and snorted softly. "You're just being lazy. Not wanting to charm someone into your bed, so you use my guilt against me, eh?" They both had a laugh, then he sobered. "If you're serious about that, then we can talk about it when you bring it up sober. I don't take advantage of drunken impulses. Honestly, I'm betting you either won't remember that proposition or you won't want to discuss it again."
They arrived at Leela's house, and he ensured she was safely tucked away in bed with some asprin and water at her bedside, then he returned home. She watched him leave from her bedroom window, smiling. She touched her lips, remembering the feel of his. She hadn't been as drunk as she feigned, but he didn't need to know that. She hadn't been sure if she still liked men, and that had been the perfect experiment.
The result: she did.
…..
It rained late in the night and on through the next day. The wind continued to smell softly of winter's biting perfume, clean and clear, yet crisp with the promise of a frozen future. Dietfried had a rare day when he decided not to tie his hair back into a braid. This was the first day he'd have at home as a free man, and he needed to set himself up for productivity. He knew all too well what happened to people when they retired. Something about removing a person from ritual and routine combined with a general lack of problems to solve decays the mind's ability to function properly and reduces a person to little better than an invalid.
He organized his office, locked his guns into the safe in the corner of the room, and went through his old papers to remove unnecessary clutter. The maid checked on him from time to time: she always seemed to think him suicidal when he entered the office. He'd spent some rough days cleaning his guns and contemplating his existence, and he had suspected that she watched from the shadows, silently willing him to live. She was a wonderful lady, and he was glad to claim her as family. Her own son was gone, lost sixteen years hence in an accident.
With some reluctance, he began to sort through reports and documents from the various businesses his family owned. There were several scattered throughout the country, but none of them operated poorly, so that each one had revenues at the end of each quarter. Though Dietfried wouldn't directly manage any of them, he did meet with the management and provided suggestions based on the numbers he notated as significant. When they offered to allow him management rights, he refused. He had no intentions of getting eyeball deep in this stuff: he wasn't around the employees to make decisions such as who would be better suited for what job. He didn't know their individual strengths or passions. He hadn't even wanted to inherit the businesses: that was one of many duties the Head of Household for which Gilbert had been better suited. Alas, with no other alternatives, Dietfied dug into the world of Accounts Receivables, percentages, profits, and expenses.
A knock on the front door caught his attention. The maid had left on a grocery run an hour ago, so he was forced to pause and go to the front doors personally. He opened the grand entrance, and was surprised to see Violet standing there in her work clothes and typewriter case in hand. She greeted him, and he watched her eyes go to his hair, which fanned out around his neck and shoulders, flowing to about mid-back since it wasn't in a pony tail at the moment. A faint smile played at the corners of her eyes.
"A rare sighting, the prim and proper Dietfried Bougainvillea himself… caught with his hair down," she said, voice gentle to soften the accusation.
He gave a dramatic roll of his eyes, gestured for her to come inside while side stepping to allow her room to do so, then gave a half-mocking bow. "Your humble servant is just pleased that his pants were not the object caught out of proper alignment," he sniffed, crossing his arms after closing the door behind her. "I assume you've come to finish your work with Mother?," he asked, leading her toward the room his mother's parlor after her quiet nod.
He couldn't help but smile as he left the two ladies inside together, their pleasant dialogue soothing the awkwardness that he felt hovered between Violet and himself after their last encounter. He wondered if he was the only one who felt that slight sting from his unanswered question.