Chapter Two - Aeschylus

McQueen woke up slowly. He knew where he was, what was happening, but, uncharacteristically, he had no idea how long he had been out. "God, Even my hair hurts." He had never had an injury this catastrophic, but he had had injuries he thought would kill him. Could have killed him. The docs had patched him up - he was stable or he wouldn't be on the transport, so he probably wasn't going to die.

He had been grounded before, and now he was off the battlefield as well. Off the Saratoga. He had no idea where it was going to send him but The Crotch would work that out. It always had. A hospital, rehab, then a desk job somewhere out in the back of beyond - counting paper clips.

"Don't go there," he whispered to himself. "It's too soon." He would think about that.... tomorrow. Simultaneously finishing that thought and remembering that he had spoken with Kylen.

He had, in some unguarded moments, wondered about her. She was the bottom line to everything West did. West's belief in her survival, in their relationship had become a major rhythm for the squadron. And he had accepted it just as easily as the Cards. It had always been there from the day he assumed command. It had grown in their subconscious from an incidental item to a central belief. It was as much of who they were as their squadron name. Three of them were gone - missing or dead - to give this belief flesh.

McQueen opened his eyes secure in the knowledge that the light would be dim. He knew the drill. He had been here before. She was sitting right next to him, asleep, leaning against the collar of the escape hatch. When he saw her, McQueen suddenly felt the same rage that Kylen had felt when she had watched him sleeping. Unlike Kylen, whose rage had flared, burned and passed without her needing to address it, McQueen had to beat his into submission with a whip and a chair. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her to the point of breaking her neck. Did she have any idea at all?

This was dangerous ground. He had to get control of his emotions. Maybe if she were somehow more real to him, more than a picture then he could put all this anger in a "compartment" and close the door on it. He reached out and touched her hair. He was surprised to find it cool and soft, silky to the touch. He would have thought that those curls would have felt dry, like wheat. McQueen withdrew his hand - anything else and he would risk waking her up. The brief touch had made her more real, no longer a symbol.

He readjusted himself to look at her more easily. Given what he knew of her life in the last months, her face was surprisingly serene. Her hands were a mess. Yes, she had been 'in the thick.' Maybe he wouldn't have to break her to get her to understand. That would be a small mercy. Hell, maybe he shouldn't bother at all.

Hope is what had fed West's survival. It's probably what had kept her alive too. Damn, there had been times in his life that hope had kept him breathing as well. Blown up and separated from Saratoga, he was having trouble mustering any hope at the moment.

"Men in exile feed on dreams of hope," he spoke softly, without realizing.

Kylen slowly opened her eyes not moving another muscle.

"Oh, yes," thought McQueen. "She's been in the thick of it all right."

The two regarded each other silently. For a long time they just looked. There was no challenge, no battle of the wills, but neither was there a whole lot revealed. They 'regarded' each other. Finally, her expression shifted, remembering something.

"Aeschylus"? She whispered. Then again "Aeschylus" with certainty. McQueen nodded.

They rested in companionable silence for a few minutes. McQueen calmly surveyed the area, and finally laid back down, apparently content to stare at the ceiling. Kylen eyed him through her hair.

"How many?" she asked, voice cracking. The effect on him was dramatic. His head snapped to look at her, mouth slightly open as if to speak, expression unreadable, intent.

Her voice had shaken McQueen to the core. He was shocked in equal measure that he had been caught so completely unaware - so unprepared. "I must be in pretty bad shape to get hit like that. To have let my guard down." The voice, the emotion, was so like the recording on the phototag. To hear it again was deeply unsettling.

The Wildcards, his kids, had given him the tag at Christmas. Not so much as a present, but as a token of their faith in him - their trust. He hadn't listened to the recording in way of honoring the trust given to him. Not that he didn't want to. Part of him was sorely tempted. He could have just as much curiosity as the next man. It was just somehow his end of the bargain. He would protect it but never own it. He would carry it in trust, but he would never listen. He had just now given it back to West.

He had not broken that trust to himself. Not when West had been so crazy and the rest of the kids were thought dead. That had been a struggle. He had held it in his hand (for it was always in one of his pockets). He had turned it over and over but he hadn't listened. Not anytime his squadron had been away from him, in harm's way had he broken this faith. He had always carried their trust - unopened - in his pocket. Not then, and not after they were found. He hadn't bailed when the fleet left Demios leaving the battalion stranded. Not even after the 1900 hour communications had stopped.

But he had started to weaken on the return to Demios. More every day and more again every night it grew heavier and added onto itself. He would take it out and stare at it. He had trouble putting it down. He fingered it in his pocket in idle moments. Inevitably, on the morning he was going back in to look for survivors his resolve had crumbled. "What if they were all gone?" It had been her voice McQueen had heard tearful and breaking. He heard it again now and he felt like she had caught him stealing. Like he had walked in while she and Nathan were making love.

One of the corpsmen came over and did a quick check of McQueen's vitals. "Colonel, sir, I'm giving you some thing to take the edge off the pain. It will help you to sleep, Sir" It was in the IV before McQueen could make a move of protest. "It's on your approved list, sir, so just relax. We should be at the Nightingale in about an hour. Don't keep him up too long ma'am. You should rest too. " He left them alone again.

"How many"? This time stronger, more assured. A different voice. Level. Insistent. She wanted to know.

He knew what she meant. "Why bother to screw around?" But he had trouble bringing himself to say these things to a civilian - to her. "I don't know." It wasn't a total lie.

"How many of the 58th? " she asked again in the same tone but her eyes would brook no nonsense.

"Two missing one presumed dead." Quietly and straight into her eyes.

"Nathan's friends?"

McQueen nodded.

"I'm sorry"

She was still, and McQueen searched her face. After a few seconds he saw her starting to get panicky. She leaned forward speaking with intensity: "But it wasn't just me, I mean, Nathan knew I was there, he told me, but it wasn't just me, there were 40 of us. I wouldn't ask them to do that. There was a transport full of survivors. I wouldn't ask Nathan to do that for me. To ask his friends to die. I wouldn't do that to people he loved. He knows that. I know he knows that. You have to know it. You. McQueen, you have to know too. And the other one, the big one. Someone has to tell him too. The really big guy. Like from another place."

"Cooper" he whispered.

"Yes, Cooper, Cooper. He He was ... It was ... It was as if we were his very reason for being, but we were somehow in his way. Not worth his time. He was like a Gabriel. Looking like an avenging angel. You could feel the fire inside of him."

She was running out of steam and they both knew it. Kylen paused and gathered herself together.

McQueen had been struck by the concept of Cooper Hawkes as an avenging angel, and his amusement, however ill conceived at this moment, was evident. The docs had been giving him soporifics. "Well, I'm really cocking this up," he thought to himself. This was taking on the hallmarks of a major disaster. She had been on the edge of hysteria and he couldn't control the situation. Worse, he wanted to laugh at the image of Cooper Hawkes, Avenging Angel. He took a deep breath. "Shit, at least two broken ribs there." But he took in another breath, let it out slowly and centered himself. What could he possibly say? Nothing. Nothing to say to make it any better for either of them.

"They would have done it if you hadn't been there, Kylen. Your safety, your life was a gift for us all. They would have done it anyway." As soon as the words were out if his mouth he knew them to be true.

Her eyes bored into him seeing the truth there. "How do I live with the weight?"

McQueen was clueless. What could he give this girl? What could he say? He hadn't been able to comfort Nathan when he had needed it and he knew Nathan. He said the only thing that came to his mind. "The Third Great Wonder of the Ancient World." "Shit, I am way too high to be doing this."

"What ???" She looked ready to smack him.

Out of his element, in over his head, and way way too high, McQueen could do nothing but repeat himself: "The Third Great Wonder of the Ancient World."

She drew a blank but she could see that he was drugged and not crazy.

He gave her more intelligence: "Mausolos' Tomb."

He saw the light dawn in her eyes. "The Tomb of Affection and Guilt."

"Anonymous," He whispered.

End Chapter Two

Literary Giants M.Wheels