SALVATION
Chapter 3 ("The Storm Breaks")
By Slayne
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"Fade into you,
Strange you never knew.
Fade into you,
I think it's strange you never knew..."
-- Fade into You.. by Mazzy Star
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The house wasn't bad for a single guy living on his own. Of course, Beach Head always had been a bit neurotic about control and therefore his quarters had been kept neat as a pin. He wasn't much for collecting all the crap that normal people acquired over a lifetime either. He had the basic furniture, along with an expensive steel gun cabinet. Courtney walked slowly around the small house while he took a shower. She carefully avoided the pan of dead squirrels in the sink as she nosed around the kitchen. Again... there were the basics, including one whole cupboard that held Army MREs. She gave a snort of laughter as she looked at them.
"Some things never change..." she muttered as she closed the doors and then opened his fridge. It was nearly empty except for some bottles and jars. No beer or alcohol. Well... at least he hadn't descended into drinking his cares away. Not that she had expected him to. He didn't drink because he didn't like the lack of control over himself... not because he couldn't handle his liquor.
He had one bookshelf in the small living room that held the closest thing he had to a collection: His military manuals and history textbooks. She saw two fiction paperbacks there too. One Nelson DeMille and one Tom Clancy, but the spines on both were new and unbroken. Unread. She smiled and ran a finger over the CID manual she had found one year at a flea market on leave in Chicago. She'd given it to him for Christmas that year when they were both stuck on base without holiday leave. Someone had to keep an eye on Cobra. He'd acted as if it had meant nothing of course, but that wasn't what she'd felt later that night when he'd pulled her under some mistletoe and kissed her slowly and deeply.
She sighed. That had been right before the end of the Joes... and the end of their close friendship. There was a noise as the bathroom door opened and emitted some steam.
"Stop going through my shit, Courtney." An invisible voice commanded.
Courtney grinned. "What makes you think I'm going through your shit? I was hoping you'd became an alcoholic and had a good, stiff drink around here."
There was a pause. Then, "Why? Do you need one?"
She walked to the table and leaned against it, glancing into the bathroom. He was standing in a clean pair of camouflage cargo pants, no shirt or boots, shaving the rough growth of beard from his face. She couldn't hide her surprise for a moment and was thankful he was intent on his task and not looking at her. He was still all well-defined muscle and light auburn hair. Damn.
"Hell yeah..." she muttered the answer to his question. He glanced at her then and held her gaze. She felt herself turning red and she looked away. Man, she was really out of practice. She was slightly alarmed when he suddenly set his razor down and began walking purposefully towards her. She jerked upright and looked at him uneasily. His eyes never left hers as he walked right up to her, then reached to a shelf behind her and took down a bottle of Jack Daniel's Gentleman Jack. He set it next to her and then hesitated, standing way too close to her.
"What're you so nervous about?"
She could smell the soap he had used in the shower and nearly felt his breath on her face. The table prevented her from backing away from him. She swallowed and suddenly felt very warm in her leather jacket.
"Nothing. I'm not nervous."
"You look like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck."
"And you're the truck?" She snorted and stepped sideways a bit. He raised a brow and leaned down, placing his hand on the table behind her so they were eye to eye.
"That depends... are you the deer?"
"Absolutely not!" She glared at him, and the corner of his mouth tugged upwards. He stood straight.
"Relax, Cinderella. If I'd wanted to rape you, I could have taken you when we were locked in that damn bank vault, cuffed together."
"Well, for god's sake, I didn't think you were going to... " She sputtered for a moment before suddenly becoming thoughtful. "You know I still dream about that sometimes. That we're still locked in there..."
"Oh?" He gave her a huge smirk as he walked into the kitchen, and she rolled her eyes.
"Not THAT part, Don Juan! Just being locked inside like we were." She bit her lip as she lied. All that damn tension between them for so many years... and nothing had ever come of it.
"I dream about it too... but in my version, Duke doesn't find us for another couple of hours." He walked back into the living room and handed her a small glass. She took it and gave him a long-suffering glance.
He shrugged and poured whiskey into her glass. "I've been living alone so long even you started to look good."
She grinned at that. That was more like the old Beach. "You have been out here too long."
When he turned to walk back into the kitchen though, she quickly downed the fiery liquid and poured herself another. The heat seeped into her blood and calmed her mind, and she slipped her jacket off, throwing it on a chair. She grabbed her glass and walked into the kitchen after him.
She leaned against one of the narrow counters and sipped her whiskey, studying him over her glass. Clean-shaven once again, he looked like the same old hard-ass straight arrow he had always been. When she had to catch her gaze from running down his chest again though, she wished he'd put a shirt on. Or at least that apron she had mentioned. He took a very sharp looking knife from a drawer and began slicing the meat from the squirrels.
"So why are you really here?" He finally asked without glancing at her. "Besides wanting to try my famous squirrel gravy that is."
"I just... I don't know... you dropped out of sight after...well, after you asked for a discharge. You weren't even at Flint and Lady Jaye's wedding. People are worried about you, Wayne."
He snorted with a derisive laugh and shook his head. "What did I miss? Wreck drinking too many tequila shooters and throwing up all over Flint's mother?"
She grinned. "Actually... it was margaritas and Flint's Aunt Betty. He said he invited you... why didn't you go?"
"Didn't want to. I'd have killed the party anyway." He caught her concerned look and turned to stare at her. "No one needs to worry about me."
Courtney pushed a lock of hair from her eyes and sighed. "I wish you'd have told me that 10 years ago." They stared at each other again, and this time it was Wayne who looked away.
"So, what have you been doing since you got out?" He asked as he turned on a burner under a cast iron skillet on the stove. She watched him with amusement. She'd seen him heating MRE's on the trail plenty of times... but standing in front of a stove cooking, that was a different thing altogether.
"Oh, this and that. I scout shooting locations for some of the bigger photo-based magazines. It's part-time, and I travel on their dime. It pays the bills nicely."
"You quit a job you loved for that?"
"I didn't quit a job I loved. Uncle Sam pulled it out from under me... the same way he did to you and all the other Joes. I quit a job I was settling for."
"You miss it?" He glanced carefully at her. She met his gaze steadily.
"Yeah... do you?"
He didn't answer. He threw the bits of meat in the skillet and they sizzled hotly. He stirred them absently with the tip of the big knife.
"You know... there's talk in Washington of bringing the team back..." She ventured.
"So?" He seemed to stiffen a bit.
"Soo... Flint mentioned that..." She was cut-off as he whirled around and glared at her.
"Goddamn it! I knew it! I knew someone sent you here to 'talk' me out of retirement!" He slammed the knife down, point first, into the wooden counter top and nearly snarled at her. "Well, I don't take orders anymore. You tell those fat desk-Generals to go fuck themselves!"
The venom in his voice startled her, and she instinctively took a step back from him. He seemed a bit startled by that and then regretful. He leaned against the counter and took a deep breath.
"Why... are you here? And don't give me any bullshit, Courtney. I always respected that about you, don't disappoint me now." They stared at each other for a while, and Courtney finally took a stiff swallow of booze and then sighed. She'd come this far...
"You called me." She said simply, staring down at the amber liquid in the glass. There was a long silence and then a sound as Beach Head removed the pan from the burner and set it aside.
"That was two years ago."
"But you called me. It was the night of all the memorial services..." She glanced up and he was leaning against the stove, staring at the floor.
"I left a message. You never called me back." He said quietly.
"I was out of the country. I didn't get the message until I got back. By then... I don't know; it just seemed too late." It sounded lame, even to her. Looking at him now, she realized it hadn't been too late. She'd dropped the ball where he was concerned. "I'm sorry, Wayne. I should have called you back."
He shrugged. "It didn't matter."
"I think it did."
His eyes met hers, and she felt that peculiar shiver that always resulted from that steely-eyed stare he had. He suddenly walked towards her again. She held her ground, and he stepped very close to her, glaring down, as his hand closed over hers, and he took the glass from her hand. His gaze drilled into her with a near laser-like intensity. Her mouth ran dry, and she gave the glass up without a fight. He raised the glass to his mouth and drank the rest of the whiskey in one swallow, his eyes never leaving hers. When he'd finished, he set the glass down on the counter behind her, his arm brushing her shoulder.
"It didn't matter." He insisted firmly.
To be continued.......
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Chapter 3 ("The Storm Breaks")
By Slayne
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
"Fade into you,
Strange you never knew.
Fade into you,
I think it's strange you never knew..."
-- Fade into You.. by Mazzy Star
^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The house wasn't bad for a single guy living on his own. Of course, Beach Head always had been a bit neurotic about control and therefore his quarters had been kept neat as a pin. He wasn't much for collecting all the crap that normal people acquired over a lifetime either. He had the basic furniture, along with an expensive steel gun cabinet. Courtney walked slowly around the small house while he took a shower. She carefully avoided the pan of dead squirrels in the sink as she nosed around the kitchen. Again... there were the basics, including one whole cupboard that held Army MREs. She gave a snort of laughter as she looked at them.
"Some things never change..." she muttered as she closed the doors and then opened his fridge. It was nearly empty except for some bottles and jars. No beer or alcohol. Well... at least he hadn't descended into drinking his cares away. Not that she had expected him to. He didn't drink because he didn't like the lack of control over himself... not because he couldn't handle his liquor.
He had one bookshelf in the small living room that held the closest thing he had to a collection: His military manuals and history textbooks. She saw two fiction paperbacks there too. One Nelson DeMille and one Tom Clancy, but the spines on both were new and unbroken. Unread. She smiled and ran a finger over the CID manual she had found one year at a flea market on leave in Chicago. She'd given it to him for Christmas that year when they were both stuck on base without holiday leave. Someone had to keep an eye on Cobra. He'd acted as if it had meant nothing of course, but that wasn't what she'd felt later that night when he'd pulled her under some mistletoe and kissed her slowly and deeply.
She sighed. That had been right before the end of the Joes... and the end of their close friendship. There was a noise as the bathroom door opened and emitted some steam.
"Stop going through my shit, Courtney." An invisible voice commanded.
Courtney grinned. "What makes you think I'm going through your shit? I was hoping you'd became an alcoholic and had a good, stiff drink around here."
There was a pause. Then, "Why? Do you need one?"
She walked to the table and leaned against it, glancing into the bathroom. He was standing in a clean pair of camouflage cargo pants, no shirt or boots, shaving the rough growth of beard from his face. She couldn't hide her surprise for a moment and was thankful he was intent on his task and not looking at her. He was still all well-defined muscle and light auburn hair. Damn.
"Hell yeah..." she muttered the answer to his question. He glanced at her then and held her gaze. She felt herself turning red and she looked away. Man, she was really out of practice. She was slightly alarmed when he suddenly set his razor down and began walking purposefully towards her. She jerked upright and looked at him uneasily. His eyes never left hers as he walked right up to her, then reached to a shelf behind her and took down a bottle of Jack Daniel's Gentleman Jack. He set it next to her and then hesitated, standing way too close to her.
"What're you so nervous about?"
She could smell the soap he had used in the shower and nearly felt his breath on her face. The table prevented her from backing away from him. She swallowed and suddenly felt very warm in her leather jacket.
"Nothing. I'm not nervous."
"You look like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck."
"And you're the truck?" She snorted and stepped sideways a bit. He raised a brow and leaned down, placing his hand on the table behind her so they were eye to eye.
"That depends... are you the deer?"
"Absolutely not!" She glared at him, and the corner of his mouth tugged upwards. He stood straight.
"Relax, Cinderella. If I'd wanted to rape you, I could have taken you when we were locked in that damn bank vault, cuffed together."
"Well, for god's sake, I didn't think you were going to... " She sputtered for a moment before suddenly becoming thoughtful. "You know I still dream about that sometimes. That we're still locked in there..."
"Oh?" He gave her a huge smirk as he walked into the kitchen, and she rolled her eyes.
"Not THAT part, Don Juan! Just being locked inside like we were." She bit her lip as she lied. All that damn tension between them for so many years... and nothing had ever come of it.
"I dream about it too... but in my version, Duke doesn't find us for another couple of hours." He walked back into the living room and handed her a small glass. She took it and gave him a long-suffering glance.
He shrugged and poured whiskey into her glass. "I've been living alone so long even you started to look good."
She grinned at that. That was more like the old Beach. "You have been out here too long."
When he turned to walk back into the kitchen though, she quickly downed the fiery liquid and poured herself another. The heat seeped into her blood and calmed her mind, and she slipped her jacket off, throwing it on a chair. She grabbed her glass and walked into the kitchen after him.
She leaned against one of the narrow counters and sipped her whiskey, studying him over her glass. Clean-shaven once again, he looked like the same old hard-ass straight arrow he had always been. When she had to catch her gaze from running down his chest again though, she wished he'd put a shirt on. Or at least that apron she had mentioned. He took a very sharp looking knife from a drawer and began slicing the meat from the squirrels.
"So why are you really here?" He finally asked without glancing at her. "Besides wanting to try my famous squirrel gravy that is."
"I just... I don't know... you dropped out of sight after...well, after you asked for a discharge. You weren't even at Flint and Lady Jaye's wedding. People are worried about you, Wayne."
He snorted with a derisive laugh and shook his head. "What did I miss? Wreck drinking too many tequila shooters and throwing up all over Flint's mother?"
She grinned. "Actually... it was margaritas and Flint's Aunt Betty. He said he invited you... why didn't you go?"
"Didn't want to. I'd have killed the party anyway." He caught her concerned look and turned to stare at her. "No one needs to worry about me."
Courtney pushed a lock of hair from her eyes and sighed. "I wish you'd have told me that 10 years ago." They stared at each other again, and this time it was Wayne who looked away.
"So, what have you been doing since you got out?" He asked as he turned on a burner under a cast iron skillet on the stove. She watched him with amusement. She'd seen him heating MRE's on the trail plenty of times... but standing in front of a stove cooking, that was a different thing altogether.
"Oh, this and that. I scout shooting locations for some of the bigger photo-based magazines. It's part-time, and I travel on their dime. It pays the bills nicely."
"You quit a job you loved for that?"
"I didn't quit a job I loved. Uncle Sam pulled it out from under me... the same way he did to you and all the other Joes. I quit a job I was settling for."
"You miss it?" He glanced carefully at her. She met his gaze steadily.
"Yeah... do you?"
He didn't answer. He threw the bits of meat in the skillet and they sizzled hotly. He stirred them absently with the tip of the big knife.
"You know... there's talk in Washington of bringing the team back..." She ventured.
"So?" He seemed to stiffen a bit.
"Soo... Flint mentioned that..." She was cut-off as he whirled around and glared at her.
"Goddamn it! I knew it! I knew someone sent you here to 'talk' me out of retirement!" He slammed the knife down, point first, into the wooden counter top and nearly snarled at her. "Well, I don't take orders anymore. You tell those fat desk-Generals to go fuck themselves!"
The venom in his voice startled her, and she instinctively took a step back from him. He seemed a bit startled by that and then regretful. He leaned against the counter and took a deep breath.
"Why... are you here? And don't give me any bullshit, Courtney. I always respected that about you, don't disappoint me now." They stared at each other for a while, and Courtney finally took a stiff swallow of booze and then sighed. She'd come this far...
"You called me." She said simply, staring down at the amber liquid in the glass. There was a long silence and then a sound as Beach Head removed the pan from the burner and set it aside.
"That was two years ago."
"But you called me. It was the night of all the memorial services..." She glanced up and he was leaning against the stove, staring at the floor.
"I left a message. You never called me back." He said quietly.
"I was out of the country. I didn't get the message until I got back. By then... I don't know; it just seemed too late." It sounded lame, even to her. Looking at him now, she realized it hadn't been too late. She'd dropped the ball where he was concerned. "I'm sorry, Wayne. I should have called you back."
He shrugged. "It didn't matter."
"I think it did."
His eyes met hers, and she felt that peculiar shiver that always resulted from that steely-eyed stare he had. He suddenly walked towards her again. She held her ground, and he stepped very close to her, glaring down, as his hand closed over hers, and he took the glass from her hand. His gaze drilled into her with a near laser-like intensity. Her mouth ran dry, and she gave the glass up without a fight. He raised the glass to his mouth and drank the rest of the whiskey in one swallow, his eyes never leaving hers. When he'd finished, he set the glass down on the counter behind her, his arm brushing her shoulder.
"It didn't matter." He insisted firmly.
To be continued.......
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