CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
1968
Murdock didn't have the slightest idea how Alan, hundreds of miles away, had heard about the altercation he'd had with his gunner. People talked; he knew that. But it seemed like a hell of a long way for the information to travel and without any real purpose. More serious fights broke out all over the country every single day. How this one had gotten relayed back to his brother, he'd never know.
Alan was drunk, and surrounded by his buddies. He would ridicule even if they didn't seem all that interested in the show. He thought he was funny, and they humored him with their chuckling.
"One of these days, someone's gonna hand you your ass for all this bullshit you pull. Actin' like you're so much better than the rest of us grunts."
Murdock sighed. Alan was the one who had problems with his rank, not him. It was just one more time that his brother was looking for a fight, for a place to lay his problems. But Murdock had played this game with him long enough to know the only chance he had of coming out on top was to not give Alan the reaction he was looking for. Head to head, anger to anger, Murdock would lose every time.
"Aw, gee, Alan. I didn't know you cared."
"I don't."
Murdock smiled. "Come on, let me buy you a beer."
He had no interest in keeping his brother drunk. But a beer was a peace offering, something that soldiers did with other soldiers. A respectful way to bury the hatchet without fists. More than anything, Murdock needed to reach his brother. Everything else in his life had become transient. He needed it enough that he was willing to let his brother use him to vent on if that was what it took.
"What are you drinking?" he offered.
Alan snorted with laughter. "No thanks. I don't drink with fags."
Murdock froze. Alan thought that was funny, but the feigned laughter from his two friends stopped. They eyed Murdock warily, not entirely sure how to take that. Damn it... He couldn't let that go unanswered. Too many people had heard it. But if he got too pissed, not only would it feed Alan, it would make a scene and set off gossip that would spread all over the base. That was something he couldn't afford.
Careful to keep any shock or hurt out of his expression, Murdock shrugged. "Alright, then how 'bout I buy us a couple of whores instead?" He was grinning as if it sounded like a damn fine idea, in spite of the fact that his stomach turned at the thought. His only comfort was the fact that he knew his brother wouldn't take him up on it. "We can have some fun, then we can get that drink."
Alan looked at him as if he'd just grown a second head. As if he was trying, for a few seconds, to figure out if he was serious. Finally, his mocking laughter resumed. "You wouldn't fuckin' even know what to fuckin' do with a fuckin' whore."
Funny how his vocabulary suffered even worse when he was drunk. Murdock kept his sigh purely internal as he shrugged and gave an easy laugh. "Okay, Alan, if you ain't up for some fun. But don't say I didn't offer."
It was time to get moving, and let Alan get back to his buddies and his drinking. Whatever it was he felt he needed to prove, it could damn well end up getting Murdock jumped, or even killed. No matter how much of a hurry he was in to makes some kind of bond with Alan, it wasn't going to work if Murdock got hit by friendly fire 'cause his brother was trying to prove a point.
Nodding to the guys around him, he turned and oh so calmly headed for the door. He was almost there when he caught Alan's low-key words to his buddies. "Nah, he ain't gay. Just fuckin' square. Twenty-four years old and never had a woman."
He shouldn't have stopped, he shouldn't have flinched, but it was just like Alan to land a good solid punch to his gut. The statement was followed by a round of humiliating, mocking laughter that took Murdock's breath clean away. In a way, it was worse – more personal – than the first accusation. He knew he wasn't gay. But this one was true. How in the hell did Alan know that? Was he wearing some kind of sign? Was there something in him that they could see? If there was, how in the hell was he ever going to get any type of respect?
Closing his eyes tight, he tried to ignore the laughter ringing out behind him. He forced himself to keep walking, to push his way out the door. He was a man; he knew that. A man took care of the woman he was with and didn't just fuck anything he could pay for. The laughter stung not because he really gave a damn what those guys thought of him – he'd stopped caring about the laughter of strangers long ago – but because it was his brother was leading the pack. The only person left alive in the world who had any idea how far Murdock had really come, the only person from his past, thought everything about him was a joke, not even worth enough to hate.
For once, he was relieved to find that it was raining. Stepping out into the warm, heavy shower, he made no effort to hide his face from the rain. Instead, he tilted his head up to the sky and let the rain wash away the tears from his eyes. Damned if he would cry for that asshole. At least not when he was able to feel the tears on his cheeks. Thank God, all he felt now was the rain.
1985
There were tears on Kelly's cheeks – warm and salty on his lips. "You okay?"
"Don't stop…"
She moaned softly as Murdock pulled her body up, tighter against his. Rocking with her, braced with one hand on the mattress and the other supporting her weight, he dropped his head to kiss her exposed throat. The taste of her skin fired off pleasure sensors in his mind that he hadn't even known existed.
"What do you need?" he whispered as he gently lowered her back down and raised his head to look at her face.
Her eyes were closed, and she squeezed them tighter. "I don't know."
His hand now freed, he touched her lips gently, then trailed his fingertips lightly along her jaw. "Just relax, Kelly," he whispered. "Don't try so hard. Look at me."
She opened her eyes slowly, and watched him as he smiled down at her.
"Just take it easy…"
She relaxed gradually as his mouth closed over hers, and moaned again, sliding her hands up his back, clinging to him as he rocked their bodies together in slow, steady rhythm. The pressure built, clenching the two of them tighter and tighter as he whispered into her ear – soft words to keep her focused on what she was feeling, what he was doing to her until he finally felt her tense beneath him.
"Kelly, you feel so good…"
A high, quiet sound in the back of her throat, and she locked her ankles behind his back, writhing as she came. He slowed, let her ride out her pleasure, and smiled as he watched her face. Her pleasure and passion and contentment were written there, even in spite of the tears. He wiped them away gently. If she wanted to talk, she would. But with as stressed as she'd been lately, the tears were probably a good thing, unless she said otherwise.
Finally, she opened her eyes and looked back up at him. "Are you okay?" Her voice, like the voice of an angel, was soft and concerned. "You didn't…"
She trailed off, biting her lip. He smiled reassuringly as he brushed her hair back from her face. "It's okay. As long as you're satisfied." He traced her lips lightly with the tip of his finger. "Are you satisfied?"
She nodded, and he smiled as he nuzzled her gently. He wasn't half as surprised as she was by his lack of stamina tonight. It was the meds. This particular set they had him on now - the ones that he hadn't quite gotten completely out of his system - wreaked havoc on his sex drive. He was glad he'd been able to last as long as he had. Especially after the motel, earlier. But she didn't need to know that. She didn't need to think about it. If she was satisfied, that was all that mattered.
He spent long moments kissing her, hands exploring, soothing, easing her tense muscles until they slowly relaxed. Finally, he moved to her side, pulling her in close, smoothing his hand over her hair as he kissed her, over and over, and finally stilled with a quiet, whispered, "I love you."
Looking up at him, she smiled. "I love you, too."
Her hand was running over his chest, fingertips raking through the hair there. For a few moments, there was only still and quiet contentment. He sighed as he stroked her warm, soft skin. There was no place in the world he'd rather be. Every night he spent alone, he eased himself to sleep with the memory of moments like this. Every morning, he drove himself out of bed with the knowledge that he was one night closer to being with her again. He loved being with her. He loved everything about her.
"Can I ask you something, Murdock?" Her voice sounded strange in the hush that had settled in the darkness. "It's kinda personal."
He opened his eyes and glanced at her, but didn't have a chance to respond before she continued. "I would understand if you say no."
He laughed softly at the rush in her words, and the worried expression on her face, shadowed by the single candle on the bedside table. He turned onto his back and tucked his arm under his head. The other circled her, keeping her close. "Ask me anything, sweetheart. I got nothing to hide from you."
She gave a shy smile at his response, relief and embarrassment in her expression. He smiled comfortably back at her, stroking his hand up and down her spine. He was relaxed and comfortable. He knew he'd gladly tell her anything she wanted to know right now, even if she didn't know how to ask. "It's just that… I feel safe with you. Like I could say anything."
"You can," he assured her.
"Yeah, but…" She trailed off, licking her lips, fumbling with her words. "Okay, here goes."
He laughed softly. "I thought this was a question, not a confession."
She blushed slightly. "Well, it is. I mean, it's both, but… Well, you already know…"
She stopped as he stroked her hair gently, fingers trailing down the side of her face. She leaned into the touch, and he smiled softly. Seeing that vulnerable, exposed look on her face made him want to make love to her all over again.
"It's just that… Well, you know I haven't…" She took a deep breath, and shut her eyes, gathering her thoughts. "I haven't been with a lot of guys."
"None, if I remember correctly," he said softly, offering her a bridge to the conversation. "Before me."
"I just wonder…" She licked her lips and looked back up at him again. "Have you, um…?"
"Been with a lot of women?"
It was an intimate question, and she was still entirely new to the idea of being able to ask such things. He wasn't surprised by her inability to find words, or the blush that crept into her cheeks when he offered them for her. "Yeah," she whispered softly.
He tipped his head slightly, curious. He wasn't offended or upset by the question in the least, but it seemed strange. Nobody had ever asked him that before. "Five, including you. Two of those were single encounters, not relationships." He moved his hand slowly to her shoulder and rubbed gently. "Why do you ask?"
Her hand on his chest stilled, as she tried to figure out how to answer his question. She was uncomfortable, that much was clear - as was the conflicting emotions, discomfort, need, worry, and maybe fear. All of them conspired to make her words difficult to find. "It's just that I'm not sure," she finally whispered.
"About what?"
She paused, biting her lip. "How much are you supposed to share with someone you love? I mean, you know better than I do…"
"I'm not sure about that," he admitted quietly. "The relationships that I've had… They were very different from this. More complicated."
She stared at him in blatant disbelief. "You mean this isn't complicated?"
He laughed softly. "I said more complicated."
"This seems pretty complicated to me." She touched the side of his face softly. "You're the sanest man I know and you live in a psych ward."
"If I'm the sanest man you know, that's not saying much, sweetheart."
"And your friends are on the run from the military. And then there is my family." She looked down. "Sometimes I think all of them should be in a psych ward. Or maybe I should."
He pulled the blanket up around her shoulders as their bodies slowly cooled. "This may not be normal, but it's not..." He paused for a long moment, considering his words. "Those two other relationships I mentioned? They were both right smack in the middle of a war. And neither one of them were ever..."
He trailed off, shaking his head. Normally, he made it a point not to talk, or even think, about those days. It was a short list of people who even knew they had existed as a part of his life. Richter knew, and knew not to talk about it. Alan knew, but he was long gone. Face knew bits and pieces. But it was one of the few secrets he still maintained, even from the team. It was too personal. Too painful.
"It was just complicated," he continued quietly. "That sort of thing... sure, it happened. I know a couple guys who married their Vietnamese girlfriends. But it was usually because they were pregnant or something like that. It was never intended to be like... what we are."
He glanced at Kelly, and read her worried expression. "There were cultural taboos," he finished, barely audible. "We were the enemy. That sort of thing wasn't just swept under the rug because you fell in love."
Kelly dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry Murdock," she whispered, sincerely. "I wasn't thinking. You don't owe me an explanation."
He smiled softly at her, and moved his arm out from under his head, finding her hand and raising it to his lips. "It's alright, Kelly. You don't need to apologize."
Her hand went back to his chest, tracing one of many long, thin scars. They were hidden by his hair, but the hard scar tissue was easy to feel out. "It's just that you're so kind and good and gentle. I forget that you were in a war. You're nothing like I was raised to believe soldiers are."
The look on her face as she realized she'd brought it right back up, along with the realization of the wounds her fingers were tracing, was one of pure horror. "Oh, geez, I'm so sorry, Murdock."
He smiled, lifting her and pulling her over top of him before he put his arm back under his head, rubbing up and down her back again with his other. "It's okay, Kelly," he said softly. "If I didn't want to talk about it, I wouldn't. But I can't think of many things," there were a few, but for entirely different reasons, "that I wouldn't be comfortable telling you."
She stared down at him, her eyes full of shadows from the flickering candle light. He couldn't keep the smile off of his face. Every time he looked at her, she was more and more beautiful. "You've got all of me, sweetheart," he whispered. "Even the parts that hurt are yours."
"Really?"
He smiled faintly as he leaned up and kissed her lips lightly. "Maybe even especially the parts that hurt. They're the parts you make feel better when you share them."
She smiled softly, and lay her head down on his chest, her ear against his heartbeat. Sliding her fingers across his collarbone, down his arm and back, she relaxed slowly. And he smiled as he cradled her close and waited for her weight to rest on him, and for the sound of her deeper breathing as she fell asleep.