Chapter Thirty - Akhenaton

McQueen stood outside of Kylen's door, pausing momentarily. "I feel absolutely ridiculous, " he thought. Apologies were like good-byes to him. He didn't like them and rarely made them. You didn't apologize in the Marine Corps. Not usually. Rarely. You said 'Aye Aye' or 'Yes, Sir,' ' No, Sir' or 'No Excuse, Sir.' But you rarely, if ever, said 'I'm sorry.' "Besides, I'm not even sure what I'm sorry for...What I did.... She was the one who came after me.... No, that's not the truth. She isn't one of your Marines. She isn't in boot camp. You stupid tank, you tried to walk all over her." McQueen knocked gently on the door, unsure of what waited for him on the other side.

"Come in."

McQueen opened the door. He did not enter, but stood in the doorway. "Thank God she isn't packing her bag. She isn't going to leave." He only just realized that he had been afraid of that. Afraid that she would leave. Kylen was sitting cross-legged on the bed. She looked at him impassively, which was not what McQueen had expected. He wasn't sure what such an expression from her meant, and she had learned it from him. "Kylen, may I speak with you?" She gave him the once-over and he knew he was being "read." She was looking for something. Whatever it was she must have found it because she spoke.

"Listening," was all she said, but it gave him a sense of relief.

"Could we go downstairs, please? " he suggested. His training was ingrained and totally unconscious. He was an InVitro, Kylen a Natural-Born. He wouldn't enter the bedroom of a Natural-Born woman unless invited and preferably in front of witnesses. Kylen was dimly aware of his racial discomfort, and it hurt her for herself and for him. And yet, the kitchen was neutral ground and a better place for this conversation. She put on her slippers and a robe. Her appearance bewildered the Marine. Kylen was wearing thermal pajamas. Green - a shade that Ty had never seen in nature. The robe was one that Dale had loaned to Kylen the first night she had spent in the house. An ancient "Indian Blanket" woolen number. Dale was almost a foot taller than Kylen. The robe dragged the ground and was large enough to fit two of her. The sleeves had been rolled up and held with safety pins. It was huge and ridiculous - and although Ty didn't know - Kylen loved it. Her slippers were beyond his ken altogether. They were big, fluffy, and pink. They looked like stuffed animals, and the right one squeaked when she took a step. It was so fantastic that he couldn't even laugh. He'd never seen anything like it in his entire life.

Kylen swept past him and down the stairs. McQueen had a feeling that things weren't going well. He whispered to himself: "Every lion cometh forth from his den." He hadn't intended for her to hear him - at least not consciously - but Kylen, three or four steps ahead of him, had heard.

"All serpents, they sting, " she snapped, finishing the couplet without looking back. McQueen didn't respond. He was unsure if her response was a warning or an accusation.

They regrouped in the kitchen. McQueen held out a chair for Kylen and she sat. He sat across from her. Both had their hands folded in front of them on the table. She remained impassive and waited for him to speak - and waited.

McQueen thought he knew how he would start if one of the 58th was sitting in front of him, but he was balancing what to say to Kylen. He was struck again by the lack of clear rules outside The Corps. She probably needed the same guidance that his 'Kids' did, but he didn't know how to say it. He had seen - but had no real understanding - of the life she had lived.

Kylen continued to wait. This time was different. Before she had always broken - had spoken first. This time it was different: She would not be moved. McQueen could feel himself begin to fidget. This was unbelievable. He was going to crack first and he knew it. McQueen did not want to look Kylen in the eyes so he looked at her hands folded on the table in front of him. Kylen followed his gaze and immediately removed her hands from the table.

"Oh, shit. Good move, McQueen. Focus on what makes her uncomfortable. Way to go Ace." he cursed himself.

Strangely enough, McQueen had inadvertently tipped the scales in his own favor. He had succeeded in breaking her concentration. Kylen's will had been shaken, and now she could wait no longer. She fell back on the tried and true - sarcasm. "So, McQueen? How about them Patriots, huh?"

McQueen's train of thought was destroyed. "How does she do that? Wang would have loved her." And for the first time the memory of Paul didn't hurt.

Kylen spoke: "It is my fondest wish that someday...someday I'll get to hear you really laugh - really laugh out loud."

"And someday you will do as I tell you," McQueen shot back before he could think better of it. But she hadn't listened to him. He had repeatedly told her to get away from these people as soon as she could. To get away from him as well.

"Shit, don't push his buttons," Kylen thought. "McQueen still thinks enough of you to make peace... or I think that's why.... I hope that's why he brought me down here.

"Hot chocolate?" she asked quickly. She stood up and crossed behind McQueen to make the drink. She was unconsciously playing a power card by forcing him to turn in his chair.

"Coffee. Please," he responded without thinking, and realized that she wasn't going to bring up the sore subject. She would dance around it forever. It was up to him.

"Kylen, I hate to tell you this, but a PFC gets more respect than a Second Lieutenant, particularly at assimilated rank. It's well known that a 'Butter Bar' can't pour piss out of a boot." It irritated him that she would not sit still.

"I don't intend to stay a 'Butter Bar.'" She tossed the remark over her shoulder like she had used the term for years when in fact this was the first time she had heard it. McQueen's statement had thrown her a bit but also increased her determination.

"Kylen, I know about this. I'm afraid you've been sold a bill of goods. It's a highly disciplined life. You can't have those in the Corps," he said, pointing at her bunny slippers. "Marines don't wear pink." He was actually a bit concerned that The Corps would stifle her. He enjoyed her independent spirit. But what McQueen was really trying desperately not to admit to himself - what did not fit with his self-image - what he was only just barely conscious of - was that he was jealous. The Corps wanted Kylen.

"They are Bridee's. She gave them to me. She thought that she was too old for them so she gave them to me. Go figure. Be glad that you bypassed thirteen, Bird. It's no picnic. "

McQueen could not contain himself. "But what are they?" he asked.

"Bunny slippers. No, I don't imagine that Amy ever wore Bunny slippers, did she? We may have a problem with Bridee by the way, McQueen."

"What are you talking about, Kylen? I can't keep up," he admitted for the first time in his life. He knew that Bridee was one of the sisters - other than that he was lost. It didn't occur to him that he had correctly interpreted the "we" in Kylen's statement to mean him and Kylen - not Kylen and her family.

"Bridee. She is in love with Cooper Hawkes."

"She doesn't know Cooper Hawkes," McQueen said. His lack of understanding was complete.

"Like I said, she is thirteen. Bridee thinks Coop is incredible. She's heard the stories. She's seen his picture, which she now keeps beside her bed, by the way. That's enough when you're thirteen." Kylen realized that the point of her conversation was too far outside of his realm. McQueen was beyond lost, and there really wasn't anything he could do about it in any case. Such things often took care of themselves. The overt tension between them was dissolving.

"Never mind," she said. "I'll try to handle it. But we aren't here to talk about Bridee and Coop, are we? And you didn't call me down here to discuss footwear."

Kylen had managed to regain control of herself. McQueen's thinking had been correct. Kylen had been reading him as he had stood outside her door. Kylen knew she could have avoided the argument - could have headed it off any number of times. McQueen had only given as good as he had gotten: This she knew. She had read him not so much for an apology as for a sign that he had not rejected her. A willingness to go on.

"I still forget sometimes," Kylen said and busied herself. "Here. Help me." She gestured to the cups and dishes she had removed from the cupboard and to the dessert, pie left from dinner. Eating together - breaking bread - was something one did with friends. To Kylen it signaled more than a truce: It was a way to come together again.

"When I see you every day...,"she said softly. Almost all of their real conversations took place in hushed tones and half whispers, even when they were alone. They only used conversational tones to communicate the unimportant - the everyday. Neither Kylen nor McQueen was aware of the astonishing impression of intimacy this gave to other people. This was just who they were with - and for each other. "When I see you here, like this - with us ... With me - I forget."

"What do you forget?" McQueen had opted to follow her detour for the moment. He wasn't looking forward to apologizing and he had learned that a winding path is often the easiest way to get to the top. He rose and helped her transfer the items to the table.

"I forget what General Radford told me about you," Kylen admitted.

"What was that?" he asked tenuously.

"I asked him about you once. 'Is McQueen as good as I think he is?" (That was exactly how she had worded the question - they had been talking about McQueen's abilities as a pilot, but Radford had captured the many layers of her question.) "He gave me two words.... Well, three." She turned to look at McQueen.

"Radford said: 'No, he's better.'"

The words hung in the air, floating like contrails near the ceiling. McQueen and Kylen were silent while the imagined vapor dissipated in the air. McQueen finally wheeled around on his cane, went to the butler's pantry and returned with a bottle of scotch. It was going to be a long night.

End Chapter Thirty