Title: Declaration
Chapter 9
Spoilers: Anything before "Hail and Farewell" is fair game.
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Gulping the remainder of my drink, I set my glass down on the table with a thud. Leaning forward, I say, "First, she tells me she can't handle the job. Then…then, she says if I leave it, I won't be the man she loves. What the hell is that?"
Victor leans back in his chair and takes a bite of pizza. "She's just reacting, Clay. She'll calm down."
"Give me that bottle," I say, frowning.
Scooting the wine bottle across the table, Victor says, "Clay, think about it. How would you react if Colonel Mackenzie's life was always in danger?"
"She works with Rabb. Her life is always in danger."
A smile ghosts across Victor's face. "My point is that Colonel Mackenzie is the one left home waiting. She probably feels powerless when she doesn't know where you are. She's kind of a take-charge woman, you know."
Filling my glass to the brim with wine, I narrow my eyes. "I suppose."
For a moment, my mind drifts back to my childhood. I remember how helpless I felt when my father would disappear for days, weeks, and months.
"And I got a lecture from Mother," I say, "She says I should…hang up my cape." I take a drink. "My mother's a funny woman."
Victor grins. "Well, consider yourself lucky. My sisters have no idea what I do for a living." He pulls a piece of cheese off his pizza and shoves it into his mouth. "I mean, they nag me all the same, but they don't know what they're nagging me about."
Smiling, I pour the last of my drink down my throat. "All right, what was your point again?"
He frowns. "That's a good question."
Smirking, I say, "Well—"
Just then, Victor cuts me off. "I got it. My point is that you don't have to hide who you are." He nods, apparently satisfied. "That was my point."
"True," I chuckle lightly, "But Mother and Sarah are robbed of the blissful ignorance of thinking I have a normal job."
"My sisters know I don't have a normal job," Victor grins, "Maria refers to you as 'that James Bond-type from Virginia.'"
I let out my first real laugh in days. "Maybe we should recruit her for the Agency."
Smiling, Victor takes a sip of his lemonade. "I wouldn't worry too much about the Colonel, Clay. Just try to be extra-romantic. Make her feel special while you are here."
"Wine her and dine her?" I smirk. "Without the wine of course."
Victor grins. "More or less, Clay." He leans forward as if to tell me a secret. "You've got to do something. I think she's starting to get jealous of all the time you spend with me."
"Homewrecker," I say dramatically.
"I'm telling you, with these movie star good looks…"
"Oh, come on!" I throw a crumpled-up napkin at him.
Our laughter subsides, and we sit in relative silence for a while. Finally, Victor tentatively says, "Have you thought about seeing someone? I mean, maybe if—"
"Whoa," I say, "I've already had this lecture from Tim Fawkes. I don't need it from you."
"I'm not lecturing you," he insists, "I'm just saying that maybe if you talked to someone about your problems…"
"You're my best friend, Galindez," I say, "That's what you're for."
He crosses his arms. "Fine, then. Talk to me."
"We are talking," I spit, "Try to keep up."
Victor points at me. "No, you're grumbling about your love life, sure. But you're going nowhere near the real issue."
"Which is?"
"Paraguay."
I swallow the rest of my wine, refill the glass, drain that one, and then pour another drink.
"Paraguay is not the excuse for everything," I say confidently.
"Then why are you trying to numb yourself?" Victor asks.
I glare. "Because I can."
"Because you can?" Victor shakes his head. "Good one, Clay. You know what I think?"
"I don't care what you think."
Victor ignores me and presses on. "I think they put you back in the field too soon."
"Oh, I was off for months," I snap. "What more did you want?"
"I want you to talk about what's bothering—"
"You sound like—"
He raises his voice above mine. "I want you to talk about what's bothering you instead of drinking like a fish."
I think Rabb and I had this conversation.
"Right now, Vic, you're bothering me."
Without warning, Victor snatches the half-empty wine bottle from the table and walks briskly into the kitchen.
"What the hell are you doing?" I ask, jumping out of my seat to follow.
When I reach the kitchen, I find Victor emptying the contents of the bottle into the sink.
I take a step forward and grab his shoulder. "What the hell are you doing, Galindez?"
"I'm cutting you off," he says.
"Well, you know what?" I snap, "I have another bottle."
He holds out his hand. "Give me the key to your liquor cabinet."
"Not going to happen."
"Give me the key."
"No," I say definitely.
Victor grabs me by the collar and slams me up against the counter. I wince as my side connects with the marble surface.
"You're going to give me the key," he says severely; "And then you and I going to dump everything."
"You think you're man enough to make me?" I say.
If you think about it, that's a pretty stupid thing to say to a CIA-trained Marine.
"Well, we're about evenly-matched as far as skill, Clay," Victor says tightening his grip on my collar. "But you've had quite a bit to drink. That slows the reflexes. And I seem to have gotten the drop on you. So, yes, I think I'm man enough to make you."
While Victor is preening about his physical prowess, I hook my foot behind his ankle and knock him off balance. Then, I move out from between the counter and the Marine and take a step toward the door.
Suddenly, Victor lunges at me. When the full force of his body connects with mine, we both tumble through the swinging door that separates my kitchen from my living room.
I take a swing at him, and dulled reflexes or not, I manage to deck him on the jaw.
The two of us roll around on the floor, brawling like a couple of kids. During the skirmish, Victor manages to give me what I'm sure will be a lovely black eye. Then, somehow, he twists my arm behind my back and maneuvers his body so that he's holding me down.
"Now you listen to me, you stubborn spook," he says, struggling for breath, "You're my best friend. All right?"
"All right," I say, trying to push Victor off of me.
"Now, nobody else may have the guts to say this to you," he says, still holding me down, "But Clay…you're drinking too much. You're drinking to cover up your problems, and believe me…I know…it's not going to fix anything."
I stop struggling and let my body go slack. I know he's right. But what else can I do? How else can I keep going out there and doing my job? After Paraguay, everyone at the Agency patted me on the back and told me how they never could have gone through what I did. They told me they would've lost the nerve. How could I tell them that maybe I have lost the nerve?
Galindez doesn't loosen his grip, but he takes one hand and squeezes my shoulder. "You need help dealing with happened to you," he says, "Talk to me. Talk to somebody else. Either way. But I'm not going to stand by and watch you put yourself in a grave."
Defeated, I say, "Get off me first."
Victor releases me from his hold and sits down on the floor, his back leaning against the couch.
I half-crawl over and sit next to him. "You hit like a girl," I say, smirking.
He shoots me a look. "Who wound up on the floor in a vice grip?"
Undeterred, I say, "Well, like you said, dulled reflexes."
We sit quietly for a while, and then Victor holds out his hand. "Key."
"Fine," I say, reaching into my pocket for the key to the liquor cabinet.
"You know," Victor says, "I meant what I said. You have to talk to someone."
Biting my bottom lip, I nod. "Doing anything tonight?"
"Dumping your liquor cabinet."
I take in a breath, and then let it out slowly. "If you want to listen," I say wearily, "I'll talk."
Victor reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. "Okay."
Narrowing my eyes, I examine Victor's split lip. Gingerly, I reach my hand up to my own face and press the darkening place under my right eye.
My living room is a mess. During our scuffle, Victor and I managed to break one glass, overturn two plants, and dump a dish of cashews I had sitting on the coffee table.
Half-grinning, I look at Victor. Gesturing at the living room and our faces, I say, "This is going to be fun to explain to Sarah."
