DISCLAIMER
The characters and situations of Space: Above and Beyond depicted in this story are the legal property of Glen Morgan and James Wong, Hard Eight Productions, and 20th Century Fox Television and have been used without permission. The basic character sketches for Amy Langston and Dale Steinbeck were borrowed from Rayhne and the gang at S:AaB Virtual TV, and are used with permission. Any other new characters - blame me alone. Quotations from Annie Hamilton's delightful children's fantasy 'Tumbl'Tower' were used with her gracious permission. All Authors quoted are listed as chapter titles. No copyright infringement is intended - only admiration.
Rating: R - for language
Literary Giants
By: M.Wheels
Chapter One - Mitchell
Kylen remembered first watching him sleep - or maybe he was unconscious. It was a 50/50 thing. She felt old. She felt tired. She felt newly born. She felt adrift and without anchor. So, she watched him 'sleep.' She found herself counting his respirations. Sometimes he would dream - the breathing would change first, and then she would see the eyes flicking beneath the lids, and then his fingers would twitch - then he would rest again. Never long - only moments really. "Who the Hell is he, to control his dreams," she thought, envying the possibility. When she looked back, she thought that she probably had picked him out on a subconscious level. Even out cold this man created a bubble around himself. She hoped that it would expand and include her.
She had been the last one to enter the transport. It was crowded with the refugees and wounded. Most seats were taken. People would have to share. "Some things just don't change," she thought to herself. She had seen the man, had almost seen the bubble surrounding him, and had gone to find a place there. Situating herself in a quiet and surprisingly roomy space to the right at the foot of his cot, she could lean against the wall. She even had room to stretch out if she wanted too. His wounds didn't bother her. She had seen worse. He was at the back of the vehicle or what she thought of as the back, almost behind the escape hatch - she remembered climbing through one like it a few hours earlier. What better place to be?
Nathan, like a Viking, come to carry her off ... to save her, and now they were separated again. "It's just another choice," she told herself. She had survived by being able to identify choices when they arose, and by making smart ones. This reaction - her actions now were just another choice. She could choose to survive, to keep looking ahead. She could eke out of the air and circumstances a measure of control or she could cave. Several of the group had caved - months of stress and pain and fear spilling over. They were quiet really, almost silent, no exaltation, no wailing no gnashing of teeth, but they had caved. You could see it in their faces. "God help us if something goes wrong now," she murmured.
She wanted to be anywhere but in the caldron of traumas: physical - emotional - spiritual. Leaving Nathan. He was so different, but, then again, so was she. But they were both alive. He was changed, harder, grown up and somehow splendid. It was frightening and yet a comfort. In her heart of hearts, she had been afraid that she had seen too much, lost too much and made too many damn choices to ever really connect with Nathan again. But she could see it in him as well. He had been slaying some formidable dragons while she had been gone. "Good, Damn it! " It made her somehow feel comforted and confident - that he had been moving; that he had suffered. They had a chance to be together and they had a chance to connect again. She was both thrilled and repelled by the strength and toughness she had gained.
There were three med techs, 'corpsmen' they called themselves. There were thirty-six survivors and wounded on board. She had counted. "Some things never change." Habits die hard. The rest had to be on another transport. She had seen Nathan talking to the injured man before they had taken him aboard. Nathan had been worried for him. The corpsmen treated this man somehow differently. One with a respect bordering on reverence, another with a brusqueness which bordered on contempt, the third with professionalism, but with a little something extra. What?
"Give me time and I'll figure it out. Details are important. Details can mean survival. " This man was an officer or someone important.
An hour into the three-hour 'hop' to the Nightingale, she pumped some info out of the diffident corpsman. The man was a colonel (no surprise). An In Vitro (big surprise). Colonel McQueen, commanding officer of the 58th squadron. Nathan's group. Yes, it followed. Nathan would look to such a man. She was momentarily furious. This man McQueen had been there - had probably been instrumental to the changes she had seen in Nathan. He probably knew him better than she did now. It made her want to scream. She felt like doing damage to something.
She was so tired of staying in control, of watching everything, of trying to plan, of missing her life. She felt herself on the edge. *"Not yet. Can't let go yet. Still too far from home."* She had a thought and made herself chuckle. She repeated the thought out loud.
"Tomorrow, I'll think about that tomorrow."
A dry whisper immediately countered: "After all tomorrow is another day," and a sardonic snort.
Months in captivity had schooled her responses so that she did not jump but slowly turned her head towards McQueen. "Margaret Mitchell" she whispered.
"Gone with the Wind," the response.
"The book was better," she whispered.
"No shit."
They made eye contact. Neither smiling but both of their features softened.
"You're Kylen," he whispered and almost smiled.
"You're McQueen."
He took a deep breath. She thought for a split second it was pain, but no, it was something different.
"We need to talk," he said.
"No shit," she replied.
He snorted again, amused, gave her the half-mast smile, closed his eyes and was shortly asleep. She started to count his respirations.
End Chapter One
Literary Giants M.Wheels
