Go Canada.
www.sympatico.ca
What About Me?
Interlude
Notes: Orginally Chapter Four, I thought it worked out better as an interlude, seeing as it's not from the normal POV. *grin*
***
Jan. 8, A.C. 203
I pull my shoulder length blond hair into a ponytail at the base of my neck in preparation for the day. (I hope that, if I'm here for a while, it grows to a long enough length to be braided.) The blonde really doesn't suit my coloring, but the only other choice was red. You see my dilemma. Besides, with blonde hair my brown roots aren't as noticeable.
I walk over to the crusty mirror above the equally disgusting dresser all my worldly possessions reside in. I'm again thankful that I got my own private room as I struggle to remove my contacts. My familiar, if dry, Prussian blue eyes finally stare back at me. Tilting my head back, I drop moisturizers into my eyes, then replace the contacts. Vivid purple eyes now dominate my face. My lips twitch as I remember why I chose this particular color. My almost-smile turns into an outright frown as my abused eyes sting and itch. I rub them and sigh. The things I do for a mission. No one here must ever know my real hair or eye color. That means I even have to sleep with the contacts in, for someone could come running to my room at any time with news of an upcoming battle, raid, or escape.
Feeling slightly homesick in these terrorist surroundings, I open the second drawer in the dresser and remove the well-hidden secret bottom. I pull out the only thing inside. Once the dust has been blown off, eyes the same color as my contacts smile up at me.
Duo. I trace that madly grinning face and feel something pinch inside. I haven't treated him well. I replace the picture, and, my thoughts already on Duo, wonder what he'd think of my new appearance. The hair and eyes would shock him, I know, but I wonder what he'd think of the earring and tattoo? On my right ear are a plain gold bulb in my earlobe and a silver hoop higher up. (I'm the only man in the group with less than five piercings. It does make me stand out, but I draw the line at a nipple ring.) On my left bicep, an elaborate "W" twists and turns whenever I flex my arm. No one here knows what it's for, and no one asks. I'm thankful for that.
No more reminiscing for today. I leave my room and head to the watch house. I'm assigned to guard duty today. It took me a long time to gain the trust of Kulev, the leader of this group of rebels. He puts me on guard duty whenever he's expecting something or someone of importance to come in. That's good for me, and I relate whatever I learn back to Preventers on my laptop. Via code and numerous reroutes, of course. Wouldn't do to have someone find out a Preventer is in their midst and have me executed or painfully tortured. I've seen them torture people. It's not pretty.
Remembering my homesickness of earlier, I wonder how much longer this damn mission is going to take. It's already been two years. I have a feeling I won't be here any longer than a year, though. Kulev is getting impatient, and it shows in the restlessness of the troops. He's beginning to make errors in his eagerness. Just the other day he told me he plans to make a strike soon. A small one, though, so he's not completely stupid.
Home. I wonder about that. I know I'm not happy being married to Relena. I love her, but not the way she wants me to. It more like the love for a close friend, or sister. Certainly not the love a husband should have for his wife.
Even though I'm unhappy, I'm still hesitant to break off the marriage. For one, the press would probably humiliate her to no end. "Husband of 2 years divorces after leaving on mission 10 months into marriage." That's not the real reason and you know it, my mind scolds me. You're more worried that Duo wouldn't take you back even if you did leave Relena.
I scowl at this annoying little voice and push it away. I'll deal with it some other time. I reach the watch house, high upon a hill where the watchers can see the road and anyone passing on it clearly. Del waves cheerily to me from his seat by the cameras. I raise an eyebrow at him and move to my seat. I have the best eyes, so Kulev put me in the middle where I can directly see the road. Cameras don't always catch everything.
Del, who reminds me in some ways of Duo, shouts over to the other occupant in the room. Croaker ("Croaky" to Del) says something back in his tired, gravelly voice and tosses him a bag of peanuts. I watch it sail through the air, decline the offer of some, and resign myself to a whole day of watching this line thin of old brown dirt.
The things I do for a mission.
***
www.sympatico.ca
What About Me?
Interlude
Notes: Orginally Chapter Four, I thought it worked out better as an interlude, seeing as it's not from the normal POV. *grin*
***
Jan. 8, A.C. 203
I pull my shoulder length blond hair into a ponytail at the base of my neck in preparation for the day. (I hope that, if I'm here for a while, it grows to a long enough length to be braided.) The blonde really doesn't suit my coloring, but the only other choice was red. You see my dilemma. Besides, with blonde hair my brown roots aren't as noticeable.
I walk over to the crusty mirror above the equally disgusting dresser all my worldly possessions reside in. I'm again thankful that I got my own private room as I struggle to remove my contacts. My familiar, if dry, Prussian blue eyes finally stare back at me. Tilting my head back, I drop moisturizers into my eyes, then replace the contacts. Vivid purple eyes now dominate my face. My lips twitch as I remember why I chose this particular color. My almost-smile turns into an outright frown as my abused eyes sting and itch. I rub them and sigh. The things I do for a mission. No one here must ever know my real hair or eye color. That means I even have to sleep with the contacts in, for someone could come running to my room at any time with news of an upcoming battle, raid, or escape.
Feeling slightly homesick in these terrorist surroundings, I open the second drawer in the dresser and remove the well-hidden secret bottom. I pull out the only thing inside. Once the dust has been blown off, eyes the same color as my contacts smile up at me.
Duo. I trace that madly grinning face and feel something pinch inside. I haven't treated him well. I replace the picture, and, my thoughts already on Duo, wonder what he'd think of my new appearance. The hair and eyes would shock him, I know, but I wonder what he'd think of the earring and tattoo? On my right ear are a plain gold bulb in my earlobe and a silver hoop higher up. (I'm the only man in the group with less than five piercings. It does make me stand out, but I draw the line at a nipple ring.) On my left bicep, an elaborate "W" twists and turns whenever I flex my arm. No one here knows what it's for, and no one asks. I'm thankful for that.
No more reminiscing for today. I leave my room and head to the watch house. I'm assigned to guard duty today. It took me a long time to gain the trust of Kulev, the leader of this group of rebels. He puts me on guard duty whenever he's expecting something or someone of importance to come in. That's good for me, and I relate whatever I learn back to Preventers on my laptop. Via code and numerous reroutes, of course. Wouldn't do to have someone find out a Preventer is in their midst and have me executed or painfully tortured. I've seen them torture people. It's not pretty.
Remembering my homesickness of earlier, I wonder how much longer this damn mission is going to take. It's already been two years. I have a feeling I won't be here any longer than a year, though. Kulev is getting impatient, and it shows in the restlessness of the troops. He's beginning to make errors in his eagerness. Just the other day he told me he plans to make a strike soon. A small one, though, so he's not completely stupid.
Home. I wonder about that. I know I'm not happy being married to Relena. I love her, but not the way she wants me to. It more like the love for a close friend, or sister. Certainly not the love a husband should have for his wife.
Even though I'm unhappy, I'm still hesitant to break off the marriage. For one, the press would probably humiliate her to no end. "Husband of 2 years divorces after leaving on mission 10 months into marriage." That's not the real reason and you know it, my mind scolds me. You're more worried that Duo wouldn't take you back even if you did leave Relena.
I scowl at this annoying little voice and push it away. I'll deal with it some other time. I reach the watch house, high upon a hill where the watchers can see the road and anyone passing on it clearly. Del waves cheerily to me from his seat by the cameras. I raise an eyebrow at him and move to my seat. I have the best eyes, so Kulev put me in the middle where I can directly see the road. Cameras don't always catch everything.
Del, who reminds me in some ways of Duo, shouts over to the other occupant in the room. Croaker ("Croaky" to Del) says something back in his tired, gravelly voice and tosses him a bag of peanuts. I watch it sail through the air, decline the offer of some, and resign myself to a whole day of watching this line thin of old brown dirt.
The things I do for a mission.
***