The grains of sand shifted and flowed with a gritty whisper as the jungle cat crept cautiously towards the dying fire and the fresh prey that slept beside it. Her ears twitched forwards as the rhythmic sound of breathing seemed to stop and then start again, from one of the sleeping beasts. It was not unlike her own purr that she used to soothe her cubs. Warily, she lifted each paw carefully to be placed noiselessly on the warm sand. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of burning wood, but the scent of meat was becoming stronger. The sudden movement of one the creatures accompanied by a low moan sent her fleeing swiftly back to the jungle to hunt for rodents.
The cold was no longer so bad, a slow warmth began to steal over her. It would be so easy, just let the snow fall over her like a soft blanket and give up. Only the anger, the hurt of betrayal, the sheer unrightness of it all made her crawl forward. The bright trail of blood melted the icy ground for moments before being buried by the newly falling snow. "Nu. Nu. Begrame. Jo savaren...please..."
"Please...don't leave me.. Begrame." The words were hardly above a whisper, barely heard above the continuous crash of the waves on the beach.
Brains shifted uneasily. Moving was still a delicate operation, but he sensed, more than heard, the anguish and tension in the woman lying between him and Virgil. A slight rustle of movement indicated that the other man had also wakened and had sat up.
"Nightmare." Virgil whispered, seeing Brains eyes were open.
"B-bad one." Brains whispered back. "Try to wake her carefully." He advised.
"Marie..." Virgil laid a hand on her shoulder. Despite the warmth of the tropical night, her skin was cold and clammy. "Marie, honey." He tried again, a little louder. His hand slid up to cup her cheek which was slick with tears that fell unhindered from her closed eyes. Her hand reached up blindly to clutch at his.
"It hurts. It always hurts." She whimpered.
"W-we are here, w-with you." Brains laid his uninjured hand on the other hand and clasped it strongly.
"Go back to sleep. You aren't alone." Virgil soothed. The men's words seemed to work and with a broken sigh Marie fell asleep, still clutching their hands.
"S-something really bad h-happened to her." Brains said softly. "N-not just losing th-that leg, either."
"Sounds more like someone." Virgil replied, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "We better have a talk in the morning."
"I d-don't th-think she'll like th-that." Brains warned.
"No. I suspect not, but talk we will." Virgil's voice was stern, but his gaze on the sleeping woman's face was soft and compassionate. He lay back down and soon heard the gentle buzz of Brains' snoring that indicated that the other man had fallen readily to sleep. Despite the rigors of the day and awakening caused by the nightmare, Virgil found it hard to capture sleep again. They had learned almost the hard way in the early days of International Rescue the value of debriefing and then defusing after missions. It was amazing how just talking about what happened would ease their minds and make sleep something to look forwards to, instead of dream fraught sessions of re-lived moments. Re-awakened traumas were bad things to deal with. They all had them and had learned to deal with them, but never alone.
Virgil found peace and solace in music, somehow feeling as he played the warm close presence of his mother. Yet, it was his family that he turned to for care and understanding. He and Scott were especially close having to care for their younger brothers when Mother had died. A hand on the shoulder, a raised eyebrow were enough between the two of them. The silent, stoic John was the hugger of the group. John's hugs were both giving and taking and often telling on the ribs but able to fill a heart with silent care and love. Gordon for all of his loudness and jokes and laughter found it hard to share his hurt. His near death accident in the powerboat had left his mark, but it was Gordon who would know what was hurting and when and specifically who. The recipient of his care was burdened with practical jokes and bad puns, but it worked. Alan gave them the precious gift of tears. Not all rescues were successful, not all were saved, innocents often perished and Alan would cry at the injustice giving them the chance to grieve also. Father was there, a pillar of strength, of wisdom and not without a little humor and infinite patience to protect and raise his five rambunctious men. Granny cured everything with a plate of warm cookies and glass of milk. Granny treated them all like they were small boys coming in with skinned knees. One could never be too old for Granny's kiss and cuddle.
Virgil tightened his grip fractionally as the small hand twitched in
his, holding onto him like a lifeline. Some rescues were not of the physical
kind he thought and fell asleep.