Insomnia
a Ricochet Vignette
"I can give you something to help you sleep." Lifeline offered without a second thought. He'd just finished changing the dressings on her dual gunshot wounds. She'd been lucky, luckier than he'd ever really tell her. One shot had winged her torso, just inches from shattering her hipbone, while the other had managed to miss both her lung, and her spine by fractions of centimeters. It was barely four days later, but the Marine still insisted on moving around the infirmary.
She shook her head at his offer, setting her thick blond curls to dancing. "Thanks, but no." She really had a sweet smile. He had a hard time believing that she was a hardened sniper. "I've slept enough in the past few days." Reaching around her back, she tugged her shirt down. The simple tee-shirt was emblazoned with the U.S.M.C anchor just over her heart.
Lifeline chuckled and shook his head slightly. He'd never met a Marine that didn't have pride in the organization. "You can walk around this level, but we still haven't gotten your clearance codes for the rest of the facility." He tried to sound as apologetic as possible. It wasn't like she was a prisoner, but he sure felt like he had to treat her like one.
She gingerly turned around, being extremely careful not to twist her back. She tucked her bare feet up beneath her on the bed, and carefully stretched. He'd seen her do it before, testing the limits of her movement and just when the pain would kick in. She stopped before full extension, a slightly frustrated look on her face. With a sigh, she reached over and patted Lifeline's arm gently.
"You're the one who needs sleep. I've listened to you all day, running around like a chicken without a head. It's what, 2300 hours? Talk about going for broke." When she chuckled, Lifeline couldn't help but join in. The irony of being told that he needed sleep, by one of his patients, struck him as highly amusing. "Besides, a good walkabout will do me a world of wonders. I can only stare at the same four walls for so long."
"All right, all right, I get the hint!" Lifeline pushed himself to his feet, and headed for the door. "Just promise me you'll take it easy, no running, no crazy stunts..."
Ricochet solemnly placed her hand over her heart and nodded. "I swear." Once the medic had left, she sat quietly regarding her feet. Already even the simple idea of pulling on a pair of socks made her back twinge in pain. Listening to her wounds, she decided that barefoot was just the easier way to go. At least at this hour of night, most everyone would be asleep; so it didn't matter if she were dressed so raggedly. She hummed softly to herself and counted her lucky stars, getting to her feet generally took a few minutes.
She'd gotten to meet the General on her first day conscious. For brass, he was respected, and likable. He'd addressed her with the right mix of inter-branch politeness and soldier-familiarity that had put her directly at ease, enough so that she thanked him for pulling her ass out of Cambodia. Hawk had laughed, and taken no credit for the operation. One of the grunts from her old unit had dropped off the remainder of her gear, which meant, that even though she'd lost Bathsheba in the jungle, she still had Esmerelda to coddle. Once she found out where her permanent bunk was located, at least.
She did have some unpleasant paperwork to attend. The whole unhappy incident with Piseth Sok... her kill had been confirmed by local news and radio. But she felt there was much more to the dealings than she'd originally seen. Like the whacko in the silver mask. She rubbed her temples and padded quietly through the infirmary. Hers was the only bed occupied, the only casualty at an actively deploying base. Pausing at the main door, she checked the hallway in both directions. All the lights were low, giving the gray walls almost a pleasant, instead of sterile, color.
Here was the time of night she liked the most. The quiet, stillness that sunk through the air. The feeling of civilization without dealing with the humanity of it. Everything she liked about the depths of the night, even the smell of coffee.
Coffee?
She slowed down, taking a moment to orient herself to the warm smell. She thought, pretty hard, about the last time she had a good cup of coffee. It had to be more than a month ago, and just catching the smell was like jolting her body back into awareness. She was back in civilization. That meant steak and potatoes, coffee and cola. Unfortunately, her stomach was so used to cold MRE's, jungle bugs, and roots, that any thought of real food made her insides flop.
Leaning up against the cool gray wall, she fought to keep what little she'd had to eat down. With encroaching footsteps, the smell of coffee came around the corner.
"Hey, what're you doin' up and around?" the voice was familiar, but she really didn't want to look up to put the face to it. At the moment, he grabbed her arm, for fear of her falling, she caught a whiff of nicotine. Her stomach unclenched and growled, embarrassingly loud in the quiet of the hall. Mr. Coffee said nothing.
Sheepishly, Ricochet raised her head, slowly straightening her back until she could get a look at the soldier addressing her. Once she did, she wished she hadn't. His eyes were electric blue. And familiar. That was the face she'd been looking up at when she'd passed out in the jungle. Suddenly, he grabbed her by the bicep and started leading her down the hall in the direction he'd come. Without saying a word, he tugged her between a set of double doors, and into a large, open space.
Mess hall. She was extremely grateful when he pushed her toward a seat, and set his own coffee down beside her. "Here." it was little more than a grunt at first. "You look like hell." He turned and sauntered off toward the coffee pot before she could retaliate.
She curled her hands around the paper cup to feel the heat radiating from the interior. She didn't drink it, not yet. When her companion sauntered back over, she found herself watching the way he moved carefully. It was all comfortable confidence, she figured. He settled into the bench across from her, regarding her carefully.
"Low Light, right?" She asked finally. He only nodded, sipping his coffee. He was one of the men who pulled her out of Cambodia. She smiled then, glad that she had managed to commit at least one name to her memory. She remembered his face, looming large above her, shouting words that, at the time, didn't make any sense.
She found the growing silence, comfortable. Easy. When he made eye contact with her again, she simply nodded at him, thanking him. Before he glanced away, she swore she spotted the ghost of a smile.
