Disclaimer: Don't own it, but I certainly wish I could watch it.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I'm not sure how long this'll be, but I hope you enjoy this bit.
Playing With Fire
Chris chuckled when he walked into the apartment after work and smelled something cooking. Though cooking wasn't quite the word for it; burning was more like it. "Meg, you're not starting a fire here, are you?"
She poked her head out of the kitchen door and grinned at him as he took off his jacket and tossed it on a chair. "I wanted to make you something for dinner. You cook all the time, I just thought I'd try."
"I cook because you can't." His eyes narrowed. "This wouldn't have anything to do with what we talked about last night, would it?"
She blushed and went back into the kitchen to try and salvage what she could of what she'd made for dinner. When he went in it was evident there was nothing left to salvage. They stared at the black piece of...something she'd pulled out of the oven. "Can I ask what it used to be?"
"Steak. Or pork."
He laughed. "What else do we have lying around? I think I'd better take over."
"Good idea. I don't know what we have." Chris shook his head and rummaged around for something else he could cook.
They sat down to dinner not long after, and ate in relative silence. "About last night..." Chris began.
Meg shook her head. "I don't know what was wrong with me.I don't need to see my parents. Maybe one weekend we can go north and I can see some snow."
"Meg, there's something I need to show you." Chris stood and picked up the plates, depositing them in the sink before going over to the end table in the living room and handed her an envelope.
She glanced at him as she took out the piece of paper inside, no doubt the same piece of paper he'd been frowning at the night before. "To Christopher Pierce" she read"apartment 23C, 51st Street, Los Angeles California. You are hereby directed to present yourself for Armed Forces Physical Examination to the Local Board named above..." Meg stopped reading and looked up at Chris. He leaned against the door jamb with his arms folded across his chest, staring at his feet. "This says you have to report on Friday."
"I know."
She didn't know what to say. As she looked down at the draft notice, she felt a bubble of laughter and couldn't stop it from escaping.
"This is funny?"
"This is not funny. I just... I just can't believe you're being drafted. After everything, they draft you."
He allowed himself a tiny smile at the irony. "I'm not going," he said a moment later, the smile fading and being replaced by the serious look he'd been wearing before.
Meg shook her head. "You have to. You're not a conscientious objector."
"Meg. After everything," he said, using her ownphrase,"you can't honestly believe I'm going to fight in that war. I won't go."
"Chris..."
"No. I've compromised on things before. I've given you your way before. Not on this. I'm the one who has to go to Vietnam, and I'm the one who could possibly be killed. I'm not going. And I'm not going to fight about this." He turned and strode into the bedroom.
Seconds later, Meg rolled her eyes—he'd put on a Rolling Stones record. She went into the bedroom and sat down carefully on the bed next to him. He flinched when she put a hand on his shoulder.
"Okay," she said quietly, wondering if he'd heard her.
It was evident he had when he turned his head and looked at her in surprise. "What?"
"What are we going to do?"
Chris shook his head. "I don't know." He leaned into her when she pressed her lips to his shoulder. He turned his head and caught her lips with his. He shifted and pulled her closer to him.
After a few minutes, when they were laying on the bed, Chris leaning gently on top of Meg, he pulled away and looked her in the eye. "You know I love you, right?"
She nodded and sat up a little bit, forcing him to roll off her. "I love you too. What's going on"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing," he repeated, rolling over to kiss her again.
She forgot to ask him what was wrong after that.
Usually he didn't have a problem falling asleep after he and Meg had sex. Usually he woke up in the morning to find his arms wrapped tightly around her.
Not tonight. Tonight he lay awake next to her, worried. Not that he'd ever admit that out loud, of course. Even to Meg. He never worried. He never had anything to worry about.
But that goddamned conscription notice weighed so heavily on his mind. He knew Meg was right; all the things she'd said to begin with. He didn't have a legitimate reason to not go. Except that after spending so much time with her and doing so much to stop the war, he couldn't go. Not now.
He couldn't risk Meg. He didn't want her to get in trouble if he was caught dodging the draft, but he couldn't afford to take her with him. Hell, he didn't even know what he was going to do yet.
There was something else behind his reluctance—his downright refusal—to go to war. But he couldn't bring himself to admit, even to himself, that he was afraid. He had never been afraid of anything before. Not like this. This was like playing with fire. A forest fire.
Sighing, he rolled over to try to go to sleep, but knew it would be a long time coming.
