Chapter 19: Uninvited Worries
Emily fidgeted with the cloth napkin wrapped around the silverware as she waited for her guest to arrive. He wasn't late, she was early, so as the waiter asked again if she wanted to order something while she waited. Another polite decline left her lips as a man in an impressive white uniform stepped up to the hostess. Casting a wave, he made his way over as nervousness gave her clammy hands.
"Emily," the Admiral started with a surprisingly soft voice, "thank you for meeting with me."
"Jack," she greeted warily, her hand dwarfed in his palm as he settled for a handshake before the two sat at the table.
An awkward silence hung in the air, Emily wanting to demand why he'd asked her to join him for breakfast, but as she studied his frame she spotted a few new things: a slump to his shoulders and more grey hairs than when she'd last seen him.
"What's on your mind, Jack? It must be something big for you to call me instead of your daughter."
"Our daughter," he corrected, his blue eyes finally meeting hers.
Emily chuckled and focused on her empty plate for the moment. "What do you need from me?"
"I need you to give this to Sydney." From his coat, he produced a tattered, creased, and crumpled letter that she instantly recognized. It had been mailed to the house six times in the past four and a half months, Sydney sending it back unopened each time.
"Maybe you should read it," Emily said quietly, knowing the answer.
"No," she would always respond before going back to whatever she was doing. This time, the mother pressed.
"Why don't you rip it up and throw it away? Why mail it back?"
"Because if I throw it away he'll never know I didn't read it."
Emily had to admit that she was beyond curious about the contents, but the young woman had been adamant that she didn't want anything to do with her father, and rejected whatever peace he was attempting to solicit.
"Jack," she paused, the man seeing the recognition hit her face.
"She doesn't know what this says, or else she wouldn't mail it back."
"She doesn't care what it says, I think that's the point."
The conversation ended for a moment as the waiter arrived and took their order. "Sydney's biggest hurdle in life has been her mother's death. I'm not sure if you know any of the details," he paused waiting for her to confirm or deny.
"I only know how it's affected her. Despite our closeness, she's only shared that with one other person." She waved a hand in his direction, Jack feeling superior despite the fact that they were both wrong about that fact.
"That letter details everything about the accident and the following days. She...doesn't know the truth and should. I've always loved my daughter, but I've never been...forward with it enough."
Food arrived, the two lost in thought as they ate the first few bites in silence. Emily was picking her words carefully, her eyes looking from her meal to the rumpled envelope, then to the admiral and back again in a circle.
"Why is this so important to you? What words could you say that will change anything between you two?" He saw in her eyes a fierce protectiveness. "And to add to that, why is there such a divide right now? It's never been this bad."
Jack sighed. "Go ahead," he gestured to the item on the table.
Emily wanted to open it immediately and selfishly read through the contents, but a sense of betrayal resulted in her staring wide-eyed at the Admiral.
"No."
Jack frowned. "What?"
"It's meant for your daughter."
"She's mailed it back six times. Yes," he paused, "it's meant for her. But if she won't read it, she'll never learn the truth. It took me months to write it and months to get up the courage to send it, but she should know the truth."
"What truth is that?"
He leaned his head down speaking in a harsh, hushed whisper, "that she didn't kill her mother, I did."
Emily was stunned and confused, and her instincts were screaming at her to grab the letter and read it from top to bottom as fast as possible.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
He composed himself, squaring his shoulders and sitting tall as his eyes looked out the window at nothing. "It's all here, and all I ask is that if she won't take it from you, tell her what it says."
"I don't understand," she admitted.
Jack nodded. "I...wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important, I think you know that."
They continued eating, Jack taking a moment to push the letter closer to her almost empty plate.
"You're not a subtle man."
"They don't allow subtle in the Navy," the soldier said smartly, a ghostly hint of a smile tilting his lips.
Heaving a sigh and feeling the crumpled paper under her fingertips, Emily pulled it close and opened the lightly glued flap. Unfolding it with her left hand as her right sought out the reading glasses from her purse, she found it to be three pages long and handwritten, and met his eyes asking once more for permission.
He gave it mid-bite into a piece of toast. The next few minutes were nerve-wracking, though he studied the mother's face and saw her go through the gamut of emotions. In the end, he saw wetness on her cheeks, the woman removing her glasses and using her napkin to wipe at her face.
She folded the letter back into the envelope and set it back on the table before meeting his eyes. "I don't know what to say, Jack."
"She deserves to know that."
"I can't believe...I mean," she tried to find the right words knowing full well he'd likely already heard them since this was a ten-year-old event.
"Can you give that to her? And...if she won't take it, at least tell her what it says?"
"That was an impossible decision, Jack."
The man sipped his coffee, his eyes focusing on her sympathetic stare. "Would you have done anything differently?"
"No," she instantly spoke in a soft but final tone.
Jack nodded. "That night...the accident...Sydney fell asleep. Yes...she...bears some responsibility and she'll forever hold that in her heart. But...she didn't kill her mother. There was a chance, however small, that Laura could have pulled through. Sydney had both...everything and nothing to do with that decision. It wasn't her fault, Emily. She deserves to know that."
More silence between them as Jack's normally steady hands shook while setting the napkin atop his clean plate.
"If...if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting. Whatever happens," the father said, his voice unusually thick with emotion, "don't tell me. Rip it up, throw it away, but...don't let her mail it back. I don't want to see it again." Jack started to stand, Emily's hand patting his bringing their eyes together as he realized he'd been avoiding her sympathetic stare.
"She bought a house," she said quietly.
"She...did?"
Emily nodded, "about a block from mine; Tony and Dave helped her move in last week."
"How is," he cleared his throat before settling back into the chair. "How is Tony doing?"
"Thanks to Sydney's manic pushing of his meds, exercise and healthy eating, which he hates, he's doing quite well; thank you for asking. Jack, can I ask you something?"
The admiral nodded, a sudden wariness to his steel-blue eyes. "Why are you comfortable with me being the only parental figure she has?"
"She hates me, Emily. And I've given her good reason, but...you're better for her than I could ever be." It hurt to admit, and he was surprised at how easily he was sharing personal details with the woman that had adopted his daughter over the last two years.
"You're her father. She'll always need you, Jack."
He smiled sadly and shook his head. "I never fully appreciated what it meant to have her in my life. I...spent so much time expecting things from her, or being mad because she constantly defied what I expected, that I didn't do anything with our relationship."
Emily laughed, "that's having children, Jack. You don't want to miss everything from here on out. She's 27 years old...she has a lot of life left."
The mother took the letter and slipped it into her purse. "I'll see what I can do. I promise," she said and rose. "Thank you for breakfast," she patted his shoulder as she left, Jack following a few minutes of reflection later.
…
"Tippin!" The screeching voice cut through the active din of the office, Will collapsing into his hands at his desk with a worried sigh.
"I...I don't have it quite yet," he started, his boss cutting him off.
"Of that I am acutely aware."
Will turned in his chair and leaned back. "I just have to do one more interview."
Litvac pulled her glasses off with one hand and tossed the thick file folder onto Will's lap with a whump.
"You have a dozen interviews in here and enough information on three major operations to write a novel. It's one article about one person for a once a year piece on a local hero. It's fluff at best, not front page news. Who the hell else would you need to interview that would add anything to this damn pile?" Her voice was still a shrill, nasally shout.
"Just one more day, I'll get it done tomorrow and type it up and get it on your desk by Monday."
"The article is due tomorrow for print on Monday, Will!"
"I know. I'm sorry, I got held up waiting for the military to redact some papers before releasing them and-"
"I don't care. You have two other pieces due to me by tomorrow and I haven't even seen drafts. I'm sorry, but-"
"No. C'mon! No! Not this story...anything but this one." Will jumped out of his chair, fumbling the folder but keeping the contents from spilling on the floor of his cubicle.
The editor in chief held her hand up and silenced his outburst, the pleading reporter standing with his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish knocked from its bowl.
"I'm giving it to Noah to finish up. He's done military stories before, and-"
"Ugh," he growled in his throat. "Anyone but Noah. Dear god; give it to Annie."
Litvak tossed her hands into the air, "she's a secretary!"
"She'll write a better story than that jackass."
A masculine voice laced with sarcasm spoke from the adjacent cube, "I thought we were friends, Tippin."
"Fuck you, Hick."
"It's Hicks, asshole."
"Knock it off, both of you!" The boss silenced the squabbling adults, the typically bustling and noisy office silent save a ringing phone in this distance.
"Noah went to Iraq and knows the subject of the article."
"He was a journalist that tagged along with an Army unit and spent a month in Afghanistan. Their breakup wasn't exactly nice. She's not gonna talk to him!"
"Are you still pissed I dated your crush, Tippin?"
Blue fire flared in Will's eyes as the boss held both hands up to silence them yet again.
"Hicks will take over the piece. Will has editorial rights before it goes to print." Turning to Noah, the cocky smile he wore making her regret a part of her decision, "you will get an interview with Sydney Bristow this afternoon. You will have a copy of your article for Tippin to read tomorrow, and-" pausing to turn on Will, "you will read and make editorial suggestions to Noah by midnight tomorrow. It's on my desk Saturday morning where I will get it ready for print. Period. End of discussion."
Turning and storming off, she spun on her heel, "and I want those other two pieces by the end of the day, Will!"
The newsroom went back to normal once Litvac's office door closed with a slam. Noah slapped his hand against the top of the wobbling cube.
"Hand it over," Noah held his hand out and wiggled his fingers for the transfer of the file folder stuffed with the work Will had been doing for the last year.
While he wanted to toss it in his face and force the asshole to spend the next ten minutes picking the mess up, Will handed it over with a sad sigh.
"Don't screw it up. I don't care if you're holding a grudge, but she deserves this piece and I've put too much blood, sweat, and tears into getting this shit for you to write a revenge article on your ex."
Noah rolled his eyes and tucked the folder into his shoulder bag.
"And do the interview tomorrow, not today." Will ordered.
"I hear you loud and clear, Tippin." Walking from the cubicles, he turned in the doorway and hollered, "is later this afternoon still today? I'll tell her you say hi."
Will fell back into his chair with a heavy sigh, though he had a small smirk on his lips. Abby, the office secretary, poking her head in giving him sympathetic eyes.
"I'm sorry, Will, I know how hard you were working on that story and how close it was to home. I just-" her lilting British accent stopped mid-sentence, "why are you smiling."
"Sydney's having a housewarming party today. That's why I was going to wait until tomorrow."
"So?"
Will chuckled. "There's no less than five Marines there at this very moment, and Sydney will be less than thrilled when her ex shows up. He's gonna say something insanely inappropriate at some point, he can't not, so if she doesn't punch him in the face, one of the other's absolutely will. I'll get the juicy details when I get there after work."
"Will she do the interview?"
"If he tells her it's for me? Yeah."
"Will she do it for him?"
"No way in hell."
…
Emily shooed Molly out of the kitchen as she carried a plate of marinated chicken breasts and wings out to the backyard.
"Mom, you could have just given me your barbecue sauce recipe," Sydney tried again, Emily rolling her eyes with a cackle.
"You'll get it in the will like everyone else," the mother promised.
The doorbell rang, Emily offering to answer as Dave added the new additions to the grill. It was all chicken, turkey, and vegetables as Sydney was forcing them all to follow Tony's diet to a tee.
Wiping her hands on a dishtowel she made her way from the newly broken-in kitchen through the living room and the folding chairs that served as temporary furniture until delivery of new couches, and opened the door.
A confident young man with shining blue eyes and crookedness to his mouth greeted her with a smile. "Hi! I'm hoping I have the right house. Is Syd here?"
Emily relaxed seeing that he wasn't there to try and sell the new homeowner anything.
"You're at the right place. Come on in, everyone's out back." Stepping aside, the mother extended the invitation.
"Everyone?"
"Yeah. Sydney's back there as well."
Noah looked around seeing stark, freshly painted walls bouncing warm colors around a nearly empty space, and he laughed at the lawn chairs as he passed.
"She just move in?"
"That's why it's a housewarming party," Emily chided, though her smile turned to a sly grin at the surprise on the man's face. "You...weren't aware of that? How do you know Sydney again?"
"I'm an old friend, plus I work with Will. I mean, it's been years so she definitely wasn't expecting me, but I'm here to do that interview for him. He didn't mention a party, would I be intruding?" Noah asked, cursing that he fell for Will's 'don't go over today' order that he'd let play off his ego. The other reporter had to have known what was going on and knew that he would go against whatever he suggested.
"This is for Will's story? Oh good! He interviewed me months ago and honestly, I figured he would never get it done on time. People aren't going to begin arriving for another hour or so, just the family is out back."
"Family, that doesn't sound too bad. What was your name?"
"I'm Emily."
Leading him through the house, his heart beating a bit faster with each step, she pointed to the open sliding glass door before turning right and stepping back into the kitchen.
"Go ahead, I've more to do here. It was nice meeting you…" she left off, and he realized he hadn't given his name.
"Uh, Noah."
Someone he recognized turned from where she was stirring at the stove.
"Oh...my...god. Tell me you are not standing in the middle of her kitchen right now, Noah Hicks." Francie's voice was instant aggression, the smile leaving Emily's lips at the hostile familiarity and obvious history between the two.
"Look, I'm just here to do an interview."
"Will's interview?"
Noah realized the other reporter may have ratted him out. "Yeah. Litvac gave it to me because he's behind, I know Syd, and have other military stories under my belt. I didn't want it any more than she's gonna wanna give it, but it's Will's work at stake here."
Francie's eyes narrowed. "Since when did you grow a conscience?"
The man adjusted the book bag digging into his neck and answered with a cocky grin.
"By all means, join the party. We'll watch from here." Swinging her arm in a dramatic arc toward the door, Molly looking up from her spot under the kitchen table, Francie hit him with a smarmy grin.
The man stepped through, Emily moving to Francie's side.
"Who did I let in? He said they were friends."
"Oh, just a cheating jerk of an ex. It'll be fine," Francie assuaged the mother's surprised face, "I've always wanted to watch a group of Marines beat the crap out of that dude."
In a shocking display of language that Francie didn't think Emily would dare utter, "oh shit."
…
"Damnit," Tony growled as the washer clanged against the carpeted edge of the board and bounced into the grass instead of the intended target of the five-point hole.
"You're washed up, old man," Sydney laughed behind the mouth of the beer in her hand.
"Bristow, if you toss out another pun-"
"He's right," Michael said in a harsh, audible whisper, leaning his arm into Sydney's shoulder. "We should aim to be better."
Tony growled as he tossed the last metal ring, throwing his hands in the air when it skidded over the hole and into the grass to join the other three missed throws.
"That's another in the bag," Michael whooped as he and Sydney shared a high five.
"You two cheat," Tony growled and turned to sulk back to the patio.
"Oh come on, Tony, it's just three in a row. Wanna swit-"?"
The younger Vaughn saw the smile leave his partner's face and followed her eyes across the yard to see a man he didn't know standing awkwardly on the patio.
Sydney saw the girls watching with curiosity on their faces from the kitchen window and pieced together Emily letting him since as Francie would have slammed the door in his face.
"You have...a lot of balls, I'll give you that." She said loudly and moved toward him, Noah taking a second to give her a once over.
Her light brown hair was in a loose ponytail, the chocolate ends swaying around her shoulders as a few errant strands hung around her face. The blue v-neck short-sleeved shirt clung to her chest and tapered down her waist before bunching at her hips over a pair of tattered jean shorts. Further, his eyes were drawn to her legs, or rather what was left of them. The metal of the prosthetic glinted in the light, the lower of the left leg disappearing just below the knee.
'How on the wrong foot do we wanna start off?' Noah thought for a moment, but couldn't help himself as the snarky comment flew through his lips.
"That's a shame, Syd. Your legs were always my favorite feature."
The men in the yard froze and if they were dogs she was sure their hackles would be raised as growls spilled from their throats.
"Who the f-" Dave started, the metal fork fisted in his hand. Sydney hit the patio and lifted her hand to wave him off.
"Strike one," was all she said and set her drink on the table before slipping her hands in her pockets exuding relaxation backed by bright, challenging brown eyes.
"How many strikes do I get?" The brave man stepped farther out to stand a few feet away from the person he assumed was going to punch him in the face, though it was a greater distance from the angry man with the meat fork. Being punched was better than being stabbed.
Michael and Tony stalked over, the frowns bringing out identical wrinkles on both foreheads.
"How many do you feel you deserve?" Her voice was cold but calm, none of the Vaughn's having heard that tone before.
"Touche. Mind if I sit?" Noah gestured toward the table. The two green-eyed men, one older and one younger, flanked her on both sides. Definitely Marines, and they definitely wanted to pummel him into the ground.
While he was thankful that Sydney probably wouldn't let them, he assumed it was because she'd just do the job herself. If he was going to get his ass kicked, he figured it should be earned.
"I dunno, are you going to be here long enough?"
"I'm here for Will. Litvac gave me one of his stories to finish up because he's behind on a deadline. That's it. I don't want to be here any more than you want me here."
Sydney scoffed and lifted the bottle, taking a swig. "You're still perceptive as ever."
"You gonna do this or not?"
She sighed, and every other person there held their breath. They all wanted to know what the man was there for, but more than that, who he was. There was very real and deep animosity between the two, which was unusual for Sydney as far as they knew.
"Tell me what you want, and I'll tell you what I'll do."
"Will was putting together an article on you for the yearly local hero piece. He took his sweet ass time, and now I have to get this interview done today. Help a guy out?"
Sydney rolled her eyes at the semi-pleading tone he was faking. "If I do an interview am I helping Will or am I helping you?"
Noah sighed impatiently, his ire rising at her words and composure. "Syd, c'mon."
"If it'll help Will, I'll do it."
"Great." Yanking the strap over his head, the bag hit the sturdy plastic table covered in a bright tablecloth with a thump. Extracting the thick file, Sydney's eyes widened and recognized Will's handwriting all over articles, redacted reports, and at least half a dozen sticky notes and note cards attached and scattered between probably a hundred pieces of copy paper. He sat across from where she stood and held his hand out for her to join him.
She acquiesced, elbows resting on the table as she waited impatiently for the reporter to ask his questions. Michael and Tony sat to either side of her, suspicion not leaving their faces as they followed her lead.
Noah flipped page after page looking for something he'd found earlier and feeling the pressure of eyes watching his every move.
"It's probably easier when you do the work, huh?" Sydney's quiet judge made him pause and glare a second before resuming his flipping.
He found what he was looking for, shut and pushed the folder aside, and set the clipped pages in front of him before looking up with a tilt to his lips.
"I was beginning to forget the reason we broke up, but two minutes with you and it all comes rushing back."
Sydney let the dig land by taking a drink from her beer before replying. "It was the cheating if you actually forgot."
Michael shared a surprised look with Tony and Dave as the man was revealed to be an ex-boyfriend. That knowledge made him want to punch the cocky jerk even more.
"I'm not the only one that cheated," Noah countered.
Sydney shrugged, "You should probably get to some of your questions before you have to leave."
"We're interested in three operations: Camp Michelin, the helicopter crash, and Shaykh. Can you give me details on those?"
It had been a while since she'd seen business-boy Noah, and it was just as annoying as every other time he'd tried to pull it on her.
"You're telling me that in that stack of files you don't have anything on all three of my tours?"
"There's plenty. I need quotes in your words so I can add it to the info Will already dug up."
Michael was kind of excited to finally hear her war stories despite the crummy way they were going to be shared. Not that they hadn't talked here and there about tour experiences, but they'd sort of left each other alone about the harder missions. When he thought about reliving his time as a POW it made his stomach twist, so he at least knew how she'd felt when holding back some things.
"Michelin wasn't an operation, it was a F.O.B.." She stopped seeing his confused look, "a forward operating base. It was about three klicks from this village in Afghanistan, I can't remember the name. It was my second combat assignment and in three months the most we'd had to deal with was blown sand in someone's eye."
The reporter stayed silent.
"I was stationed with a senior medical officer and one unit which added up to two squads - around 20 soldiers. One squad was in town looking for an informant and they got ambushed."
Noah nodded and his hand motioned for her to continue, the pen between his fingers unmoving as he deemed what she was saying apparently unimportant background he already knew. Sydney took a swig of beer and let it rush over her tongue for a moment as she sorted through what she wanted to say versus what she wanted to keep from coming up.
"They came back to the FOB with two humvees loaded with wounded soldiers and civilians."
"What types of injuries and how many?"
"Lots of bullets and shrapnel, one lost limb. They had grenades but no IEDs, not that our guys had found. It was seven casualties, three Marines and four civilians."
"That's a lot for two medical staff to handle."
"That was the first wave," she clarified, Noah's eyebrows raising. "The humvees went back out because half of the first squad had taken cover in a bombed-out building. An hour or so later they came back with a few more they'd managed to pull out of the firefight, though it was all-out war from the sound of things. By that time they were being bombarded by mortar fire from just outside the village."
"How many is a few?" He pushed her for details. He wanted to know everything about this operation and had a vested interest in extracting every juicy detail. When she'd admitted everything to him she claimed that it was a thoughtless decision made while being emotionally exhausted, and he just had to know what that entailed.
"One humvee, five casualties. Another Marine and four civilians: two adults, and two children."
"How old were the kids?"
"All under ten."
Noah did some quick math. "So you had twelve patients. You and this...other medic."
Sydney heard his pause and actually appreciated that he was holding back what he really wanted to say. Sure, by the time she'd fessed up to cheating he'd been banging every chick that gave him the time of day, but she learned that later. Still, she'd screwed up and he had a right to be angry. At least until she found out about the eight women that had been in her bed while she was out of the country.
"For the first half of the day, yeah. Seven hours and three trips later we had eighteen. That's when the rest of the unit pulled all the way back to the F.O.B.."
"Do you wanna give me details or do you want me to keep reminding you that I need them?"
'And I was just starting to feel like you weren't being a jerk.' she thought. "Seven Marines and eleven civilians."
Noah nodded. "Just bullets and shrapnel?"
She frowned, her memory flashing back to the crazy amount of blood that had soaked into the dirt floor of the underprepared medical tent. She could recall the sharp panic in her voice as she recruited three of the unwounded soldiers and forced them to assist as she and Shep had triaged the casualties. The mess tent was a biohazard nightmare by the end as they'd commandeered it along with medical, the shining metal cafeteria-style tables and seats splattered with blood. That's where the toddler had died, the wounds she couldn't treat pulsing blood from his tiny body. She shook her head out of the memories and redirected a narrowed glare in his direction.
"We pulled 15 bullets and 27 pieces of fragmented metal out of eighteen people. We put tourniquets on seven arms and legs, three of them blown off and one the arm of a six-year-old. Do you know how hard it is to put a tourniquet on the arm of a little kid?"
Noah frowned at the sudden emotion in her voice and realized that he'd said something wrong, but wasn't sure what it had been. "No," was all he could answer. "Did the kid make it?"
"No. So, be careful when you say just bullets and shrapnel. Don't ever trivialize that shit with me again."
There was a prolonged moment of silence, but she was rock steady. Her eyes never left his face while his looked down to the piece of paper to read what he had so far written. "How long did this whole thing last?" Though his tone softened, he didn't hide the annoyance at her correcting him when he didn't think it was necessary, and he didn't apologize.
She took a breath and continued. "The extraction was four waves over eight hours. The stabilization and waiting took longer."
"Did anyone radio for relief?"
Sydney nodded. "They said they would be able to provide additional support at the FOB after gaining control of the village. I mean, three clicks is like, just under two miles. We weren't close, but close enough to hear the explosions and gunfire. The only available road went through the village. They were worried about IEDs despite the fact that our vehicles had driven the road almost ten times that day."
Noah jotted down a few notes. "How long did that take?"
"Eight hours."
"Why?"
"Because that's how things happened. There weren't any available helicopters, and the nearest units that could be diverted were a few hours away. We weren't under siege, the F.O.B. wasn't being attacked, and we had nearly a ten guys watching every angle. They would reassess if the Taliban made a move, but until then we had to wait for them to gather a unit and clear a path."
Noah stopped writing and looked up, "so what did you do while you waited?"
Sydney rolled her eyes behind another drink of the nearly empty bottle. "I'm not trying to justify what happened, I'm just giving you details."
"In your own statement," he started and looked through the folder for a moment, his words broken between his thoughts and his searching, "you said," another pause, "ah."
Sliding the piece across the table she picked it up and recognized it as her own report to higher command about sleeping with Shep. Better to put in a report yourself than have someone else do it for you.
"You said that the incident at the F.O.B. put you into a period of 'emotional exhaustion'. Would you...elaborate on that?"
"I'm not apologizing again, so if that's all you came to get..." she left it up to him.
"I'm here for whatever you'll give me on Michelin," he said. 'I wanna know what the excuse stemmed from,' he thought.
Sydney nodded, tossing the report down. "You know that I can't give you any details that you can actually put into print. Everything I've said is as deep as you'll be able to go."
"Humor me."
For the first time since he arrived, she felt like she wasn't in charge. "Fine," she growled. "The first thing we had to do was triage. Two Marines were shot in non-vital locations so they went to the bottom of the list. I had one of them hold pressure against the bullet hole in his thigh for six hours until I could get to him. He understood."
She thought for a couple of seconds, "we moved the least serious to the cafeteria tent because medical ran out of space."
Noah broke in, "why were so many injured do you think?"
Sydney frowned thinking of the best way to answer that question. "There was one family that came in together in the last humvee. Mom, dad, toddler. Shep had one of the Marines helping him remove this civilian's arm because the bullet had shattered the lower part of the humerus and we couldn't stop the bleeding. So, I went to triage their kid. He was...covered in blood."
Her eyes stayed on the bottle, thumbnail picking at the label stuck to the brown glass.
"The bullet had gone into the side of his head," she dragged her finger from the front left of her forehead to just above her temple, "and I could probably get it out if I could see it, but the father pointed at me and said one of the only Arabic words every U.S. soldier that served over there knew: kafir. He added 'alnisa' and spit on my shoes."
Noah looked expectantly for the translation.
"Infidel," Michael said quietly. "It was a Taliban village."
Noah looked between the two, "what's the other word mean?"
"Woman," Sydney nodded. "That's why it took hours for them to get through. And when they did, they brought more wounded with them, but a larger medical staff, so it worked out. It was a small village, maybe a hundred people. But...when the majority is against you, you get outnumbered pretty quick. The ambush caught everyone by surprise, and they were in the market early in the morning, hence the civilian casualties."
Noah continued to write so she kept speaking. At this point, she was assuming he was able to keep up and if not, that was his loss. She was only going to say this once.
"I tried to have a corporal stand-in for me. We didn't have a flat spot in the tent so we went to the mess and put a sheet over the serving line. He'd taken two bullets. A through and through in the chest puncturing the left lung, and the one in his head. That corporal tried to do everything he could with thirty seconds of training and me just...giving orders over his shoulder, but his hands were too big. We just...watched as the kid died. I can still hear his mother as she screamed and hit her husband for not letting me help." She paused taking a breath. "Three months later that corporal killed himself, but that's...that's a different article."
"Yeah, we can't print any of that," Noah said as he finished a sentence on the paper.
"You wanted to know what emotional exhaustion meant. That was one ten-minute slice of that whole day. Now you know." Leaning back in the chair she flopped her hands in her lap, her eyes letting him know that she wasn't done fighting if he was game to keep going.
The reporter kept his eyes on his notes as a minute or so went by, Sydney feeling Michael's fingers brush hers. Turning her head she peeked at the side of his face and saw tightness in his jaw as he glared daggers at her ex across the table, but his hand was loose and gentle as he rubbed his thumb over the back of her knuckles.
Noah picked back up as he pointed at his notes, unreadable from where she sat. "Wait. The ambush happened, and in eight hours you stabilized 18 people, then four hours later reinforcements came? Clear up the timeline for me."
Sydney scoffed and they could hear some bitterness behind her lips. "The timer didn't start until after the first eight hours."
Noah set the pen down calling her out. "You're telling me that two doctors stabilized 18 people for nearly 20 hours?"
Sydney shook her head sadly. "We stabilized ten people for 20 hours. By the time the unit arrived we'd lost two Marines and six civilians, three of them children."
"What was the name of the senior medical officer?" Noah asked and looked up to meet her cynical eyes, his giving away that he already knew the answer.
Sydney let out another laugh. "You just can't let it go, can you?"
"I just asked for a name, Syd."
"Shephard. Captain Chris Shephard. He was a medical surgeon. At that time I was going to go into surgical instead of combat medicine, so I was stationed there for real-world training. Which I got. Between tours, I switched to a combat position, despite the fact that I wasn't going to rank as quickly as if I stayed with surgical."
"Why?"
"Because three months of nothing and 20 hours of horror wasn't as much fun as the seven months flying rescue. At least that was more consistent and, honestly, I missed the action. Jumping out of a helicopter into insanity was something I could handle better than sitting in a surgical tent waiting for things to happen."
The sun had begun to set, Sydney checking her phone and seeing that the first of the guests would arrive soon. Not only did she need to kick out her ex, but she would need to spend a few minutes away from prying eyes to compartmentalize his visit before everything kicked off.
"How long after the nearly 20 hours of intense, life-saving medical procedures before you slept with him?"
"Strike two," Michael growled, Sydney casting a thankful sideways glance in his direction. She knew that she already owed him several explanations, but he was going with the flow which she appreciated.
Noah grinned and held his hands up relenting his attack. "Is it safe to say that Michelin got you to Lieutenant?"
She nodded. The reporter passed another piece of paper over, a typed letter with an unreadable signature scrawled on the bottom. He set it atop the first still in the center.
"That's a letter from Captain Shephard recommending your promotion, is it not?"
Sydney nodded.
"You know how that looks, right? When you put those side by side?"
Her eyes flew up to meet his, nearly black for a moment as he suggested what she thought he suggested. "I think you've more than worn out your welcome."
"Let's go to your second tour. You were in a helicopter crash about…" he paused while flipping through the folder looking for the information.
"No. I'm done." Sydney stood, the others following her lead, Noah the last still sitting at the table.
"Michelin got you to lieutenant, but your second tour got you the silver star. Give me a comment on that, and I'll leave." Rising, he picked up his bag and reached for the folder, coming up empty.
"You got a silver star?" Tony finally spoke, pulling the attention as he stood flipping through the papers in the folder looking over everything with wide eyes.
It was Sydney's turn to dig in her heels. "I'm not going to comment on that."
Noah kept side-eyeing the older Vaughn making sure he wasn't removing anything from the folder. "You stabilized the pilot, co-pilot, two other medics, removed the threat, and held your position alone until rescue showed up. We may hate each other, Syd, but even I think that's impressive. Give me something."
"Removed the threat," she repeated as if the words stung her worse than any of his aforementioned barbs. "A medic shouldn't get a medal when they kill people."
Noah laughed and nodded, "other than the insults, that's the most Sydney thing you've said so far."
Sydney took a threatening step forward, Michael's hand around her wrist grounding her. He wasn't sure why he was stopping her from knocking the asshole on his back, but he was.
Noah huffed through his nose and yanked the bag back over his shoulder before extending his hand toward Tony for the folder. The green-eyed man tucked it under his arm and shook his head. "I think I'll hold onto it. Will is going to be here soon and I'm sure he'll be happy to get it back."
Knowing when it was time to quit his arms flopped to his sides. Turning and putting a glare toward the young man holding his ex back, he felt he had one last dig in him before he left. "You Michael Vaughn?"
He nodded, happy that he'd turned his attention on him rather than the woman fuming in front of him.
"Let me know if you wanna hear more about Captain Shep. A cautionary tale from me to you."
Sydney yanked her arm free from Michael's light hold and pointed at her ex. "Oh, fuck you, Noah. How many girls were you with while I was in Afghanistan? You can't stand that you finally got to know how that felt."
The man laughed seeing he'd finally prodded her enough to get the fiery Sydney he'd been used to fighting with years ago to come out. "First Shephard, now Vaughn. Do you usually screw your commanding officers? Because it looks like you got your rank by fucking your Captains."
Dave's reached for the man set on dragging him out and tossing him on the sidewalk, but Sydney was both closer and faster. Her fist crunched into his face and sent him down hard onto his backside, the air escaping in a whistling hiss from his likely broken nose. Blood pulsed from his nostrils and down both sides of his face as he covered his face with a hand trying to staunch the flow.
Michael's arm wrapped around her waist literally lifting her away from the prone reporter thinking she was going to follow through and wail on his already crooked face, but she didn't struggle.
She did, however, have a dark fire in her brown eyes as she panted a snarling, "get him...the fuck...out of my house."
Dave stepped over the bleeding man and hefted him up into a stand. Turning and pushing him across the yard with a hand clutching the collar of the stained button-up shirt to keeping the stumbling man from falling. Escorting him to the side gate and into the front yard, Dave tossed him with a push onto the grass, Noah finding himself back on the ground as blood trickled down into the back of his throat.
"If you bother my niece again, I'll be seeing you." Slamming the fence closed behind him, he left the broken man in the yard.
Michael set her down nearly as quick as he'd grabbed her, but wasn't prepared for her to yank free and hurry inside. Emily tried to speak up but failed as Sydney briskly walked to the back of the house ending up in the master bedroom. He followed whispering, "I got it," to his mother, a crash at the far end making him quicken his step.
She stood panting with one hand balled into a fist as the other flexed her sore fingers in the middle of the unpacked boxes they'd shoved into the bedroom to make room for the party. She'd kicked over a small stack releasing her anger and it had spilled the remainder of unpacked silverware onto the hardwood floor, hence the crash.
He closed the door behind them and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. After a few moments, her breathing calmed and he looked up at her tear-streaked cheeks.
"You got a hell of a right hook," he grinned, trying to break into the icy emotional wall he could see her constructing.
"You've probably got...a million questions." Her voice was thick with emotion.
He shook his head. "Is your hand okay?"
She tisked through her teeth and looked angrily down at the swollen middle and ring knuckles of her right hand. She wiggled the fingers and knew they weren't broken, they just wouldn't be pretty for a few days.
Sighing she flopped down next to him soaking up the calm he exuded. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
He chuckled, "I'm only mad that I didn't get to hit him first."
She dropped her head and focused on her lap.
"You don't owe anyone an explanation, Sydney. For him or for anything he said."
"I know, but," she paused looking up at him for a fleeting moment, his features completely relaxed and supportive. "I think I should explain a few things," she started, her eyes dropping back to her lap. "I mean, I just want you to know that...yes, I cheated on Noah. But it...that...it was a really specific circumstance."
Vaughn grinned as she fumbled her words, something very unlike her. "I'm not worried."
"I just don't want you to think-"
"I don't." He interrupted
"You have to know that I would never-"
"I do." He interrupted again.
Sydney exhaled in frustration at his nonchalance at what she was saying or at least trying to say. "Will you at least talk with me about this?" She stood and slowly paced around the boxes. "I still feel like I should explain. I don't want you to think of me as that kind of person. I don't think I can handle having that effect us." she whispered.
"I can prove how much I don't care if you want, Syd, but...it'll ruin a lot of plans," he said, and she turned to look at him wearing a mask of confusion on her already worried features.
"It...it's not a thing with me in relationships, I promise."
"Why is this bothering you so much?" There was something under the surface and he was determined to find it.
Sydney loosed a watery sigh. "This family is all I've got. If...if that asshole put just one seed of doubt that makes you trust me less...I could lose all of you. And I," she paused with a sniffle thinking of how to convey the fear of being alone again to someone that's always had an amazing support structure.
Vaughn stood and moved over to a stack of boxes, lifting the flaps and poking around.
"What are you doing?" She sounded exasperated and frustrated.
"Looking for something. Go get an ice pack for your hand," he ordered, pointing toward the bathroom.
"Vaughn, I don't want to have this hanging over the whole night," she started, her hands wringing with a wince as she prodded a swelling knuckle. He turned with gentleness on his face and pointed toward the bathroom.
"You're a doctor, which means you immediately unpacked the first aid kit, I know you. Go get the ice pack and we'll talk." He assumed she would follow his instructions and went back to rifling through an open box with his one good hand.
She obeyed and found the kit under the sink, the breakable inside the pack popping and cooling instantly. Setting it to the back of her hand she returned slowly as he patiently waited on the edge of the bed with a comforting smile.
Settling beside him she focused her eyes on the cold pack, unable to look anywhere else.
"I'm sorry," she repeated.
"Why?"
As soon as she started, she had to stop.
"You're apologizing for something that you haven't done, and won't ever do. So why are you apologizing?"
"Because now it's there."
Michael chuckled. "So?"
"So now it's just...looming."
"Not for me. Why for you?"
Sydney sighed, "because once a cheater."
"Ppft," he buzzed his lips but softened his voice. "Sweetie, Noah was a prick. Is a prick. He didn't deserve you then, and sure as shit isn't getting a piece of you now. He can say whatever he wants, but nothing I heard today changed how I feel or think about you."
"But-" she mumbled, still unconvinced.
"You're gonna make me prove it, aren't you?"
She turned grumpy brown eyes in his direction seeing him already studying her with the tilted grin she'd learned to love. "Prove what?"
Michael grumbled with fake annoyance bumping her shoulder with his. "Please believe me when I say that I had a plan. Because I did, and everyone was in on it."
Sydney looked more confused than ever. She felt him take the ice pack off her hand and toss it to the bed behind them. "What are you-", her gaze followed the arc of the pack but jumped back when the back of his hand landed softly on her thigh.
A small black velvet box sat against his fingers with the lid open, and the air sucked from her chest. Embedded in dark purple silk was the silver band and glinting diamond of a delicate engagement ring.
…