Hide and Seek
By Crystal Wimmer1,495 words / Rated PG
I've been crying for so long that my head hurts. My nose is stuffy and I can't even think. I keep going over it in my head, but there's no logic to it; only emotion. Hell, maybe that's why it's so screwed up. Everything's screwed up. We were supposed to join the MI and see the world, but all I've seen is death, and pain, and destruction.
I guess the whole reason I started with MI wasn't to be a citizen, but to stay close to Rico. I mean hell, we've been close since school. More than once I've fallen in love with him, and then gotten my heart twisted because he's got the attention span of a hiccup. But I can't use that excuse now; not really. Carmen hasn't been in the picture for a while.
They say you should be careful what you wish for, and they're right. Whoever 'they' are, that is. I wanted him to care, and to see me as a woman. Well, it's happened and at the worst possible time. I've always been the jinx, and there's no reason that's going to change. I won't turn that on Johnny. I can't. But at some point he started thinking the way I thought I wanted him to think, and now is not the time. I've lost too much; I can't stand to lose any more.
When you're young, you never realize that everyone is expendable. But they are. My parents are gone now, and my home, my school, my childhood. Carl and Johnny are all I have left, and Carl isn't Carl anymore. Not really. All that's left is Johnny, and I'm not willing to mess with that. Unfortunately, he is. Or was… I guess I put an end to it today.
In the first place, loving someone you work with isn't all that safe. From the beginning of the mission, he's been acting dumb, as though I can't tie my own boots. It started out in the ally, when he was giving me orders I didn't need, offering protection I didn't want. Okay, maybe I did need a little shove out of the way at one point, but when the dust settled and I looked up into his eyes… I knew I was in over my head. Maybe I always had been. The only thing that had kept things reasonable was that Rico never returned the feelings that had me by the neck; the look I saw in his eyes as I met his gaze in that ally told me that he was having them now. I can't fight myself and him as well.
And even if the save in the ally had been legitimate, helping me back at the barracks wasn't. I'm perfectly capable of taking off my own backpack, and straightening my own gear, and any other damned thing I need to do. Hell, I've been doing it for years and he's never been under foot. In fact, of all the guys Rico was the least likely to step in, because he knows I can do for myself. He really got on my nerves with the backpack deal; and it didn't get better with lack of sleep.
Neither of us have been well rested since we joined the MI, so we get testy with one another. That's fact. But this mission seemed to be one thing after another. Banging shovels, fighting over space… none of it is what we know we have to do. Even I don't know why I was such a brat, but I was. Maybe I was trying to run him off. It figures that I'd spent years with his ignoring my efforts to attract his attention, and as soon as I post a 'hands off' sign he's all over me. That's Rico, always contrary.
Not being able to fire a weapon is always the hardest command to follow, but somehow I kept myself together. It was Carl, not Rico, who saved our butts from that bug when we were in hiding, but good things never last. The only thing nearly as good as a blaster though is a shock-stick. I'm damned good with the things, and everyone knows it. Unfortunately, I spent more time going after the bug with it than paying attention to my position. That's how I got near the cliff. That's how I got into trouble.
But you know, once I felt my balance go… once I felt the air rushing around me… it wasn't so bad. There are certainly worse ways to die, and I figured that at least it would stop the hurting, right? I wouldn't be an orphan anymore, and I wouldn't be without Carl or Zander. Or I would be with them, maybe. I don't know. I just know that my only regret was Rico. God, hitting the ground was going to hurt him. Then I hit bottom, and I didn't think at all.
Being dead hurt more than I expected. My head, my back, my legs… all of them were killing me. At first I thought it was hell, and then I heard him. 'Bright Eyes." He hasn't called me that since we were kids. He told me to hold on, and I did what he said, just like I always had. I held on, and he hauled me back up to the world of the living. He did one other thing, too. He told me the only thing I'd ever wanted to hear from him. He loved me. What in hell could I say to that.
So I went with the safe answer and kept my trap shut. At least, as long as he'd let me. Leave it to Johnny to make even that much escape impossible. He wanted to talk about it, so I tried to keep it light. I was only telling him the truth. He can't love me. I can't lose him, too. I've lost so much, so many… losing Johnny would kill me. There wouldn't be anything left. And that's what I told him, that I was a jinx and I wouldn't let him love me.
If he hadn't pushed, we could have left it at that. But Rico has never backed down from anything in his life. Carl knew the truth – damned psychic – but in his way Johnny did too. So I did the only thing I could; I hit below the belt. Rank has never been between us. Never. Hell, he fawned after Carmen for years, and she's an officer. But coming from me, and coming as a threat, he believed it. Would I have really called him on sexual harassment? Hell, no. He's loved me since I was nine. I've loved him longer than that. Telling someone you love them isn't harassment, and it wouldn't be looked down on by SICON any more than telling them their uniform is askew or their bed needs to be made. It's a statement of fact.
But it let him know I was serious, and that he needed to back down. I wasn't ready; I'm not ready. I just can't lose anything more. There isn't enough of 'me' left as it is. So he walked away, respecting my judgment, and it was over.
Over. Right. That's why I've been crying for the last two and a half hours. That's why I feel like I've been battered into a bloody pulp. That's why all I want to do is walk across the damned barracks and crawl into his bunk and wait to tell him I'm sorry, and I love him, and I need him. But life isn't like that.
There's a war on, and right now it's the worst of all because it's on our own front doorstep. This isn't some distant planet. This is home, and it's crawling with bugs. They're everywhere, and nothing is certain. Not Rico, not me, and certainly not life. So he won't know. He can't know. I sent that message to Carl about an hour ago, when he kept niggling into my head, trying to see if I was okay.
I have another hour to cry. I told doc that my head hurt, and it's the truth. He gave me something for it, even though it wasn't the real problem. Rico's on watch for another hour, though. By then, I have to have it together. He can't see this. He can't know the truth, because if he did there's no way he'd let it go – not because of rank, or threat, or knowing him even by death. Rico doesn't give up anything unless he wants to. But that doesn't make me want less; it doesn't make this hurt less.
Because when it's all said and done, whatever I've told myself, or Carl, or Johnny, the bottom line is that I do love him. I always have. I always will. Maybe if we survive this damned war, I'll be able to tell him.