Claire Randall Fraser - I have to agree with you. It seems Fate is just one of those hot commodity types. In short supply and high demand. ^_^
daisylou2013 - I won't lie. I can't stop them with the flirting thing (and I kind of like it too). I think...the Lt is just naturally flirtatious. He doesn't mean anything by it, it's just how he is.
RandomMoonshadow - You should. This is the last book after all.
delenadreamer16 - I'll miss the Marine gear when it's gone too. But dammit, he just always gets into trouble wearing it!
stargazr41 - I think Fate see's Carol as an extension of his brotherhood with Daryl. She's his little sister and he would do anything for her. I also think he respects Carol a lot and enjoys their friendship.
As always, I appreciate every review I get! You have no idea!
..-~-..
..-~-..
Chapter Thirty: Running On Empty
**Carol**
Their destination that night was a particular tent among the tent city, near the edge where the noise that flooded out from it wouldn't disturb the residents of the makeshift base.
Feeling out of place in her white dress and somewhat heels, she fought the urge to fidget, knowing it would look like a nervous weakness to the others.
She wouldn't be nervous tonight. She would do what had to be done to get home, that was it. It sounded simple in her head.
"So, how long have you been married?" Connolly asked as they headed for the tent.
"Sorry?" Carol asked, too busy taking in the rows and rows of tents they passed, trying to keep track of where they were and where they were heading.
"You and your husband? How long?"
"Oh," she panicked mildly. Had the Lieutenant told anyone another story? Maybe they should have discussed that. To be honest, them playing house was the last thing on her mind, all she could think of was escape. "Eight years," she pulled out of her ass smoothly.
"You still seem like newlyweds," Connolly said. "It's cute."
"Oh, believe me," she said. "That teasing of his can wear you down fast."
There. If she had to do something, that way she could establish that her marriage with the Lieutenant was on the rocks.
"That's a damned shame," the woman said as they stepped into the noisy tent. "He's cute as hell."
Shocked by the noise and the flashing lights and the smell of liquor, Carol cringed.
Maybe she had been living at a convent for too long, but it was not really her kind of place.
Already, she regretted her decision.
Thoughts of her family pushed her onwards, however, into the heart of the tent.
She kept her eye out for any opportunity, but saw nothing but a crowd of faces.
As they approached a table of women, Carol was introduced about the table, but missed half the names due to the noise.
"You look nervous!" One of the woman shouted at her.
"Not really a party type," she explained.
"Dance!" One of the women exclaimed, climbing up and holding her hands out to the others encouraging them onto the dancefloor.
Carol took that chance to ask where the bathrooms were and was directed back outside to the port-a-potty's stood behind the tent.
Outside in the cool, quiet night air, she exhaled and reconsidered her decision.
"Hey," someone said from her left in the shadows by the tent.
Glancing over she spied a strange soldier standing there in full dress uniform, cigarette in hand, leaning against a nearby stack of canvas covered supplies. He was good looking, but a deep scar that sliced through his upper and lower lip on the right side of his face marred his looks, though Carol didn't think it detracted any from them. Gave him more dignity if possible, especially when coupled with the uniform.
His age could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty, his elfish face looked youthful, but at the same time carried himself like a man who had seen enough of the world to know all it's sticky corners.
"Hello," she replied.
"Kick ass party, huh?" He asked in a Northern tone, with none of the twang of the South.
She frowned, cautiously keeping near the entrance where people were coming and going, not daring to move close to the strange man. He looked amiable enough, but something about the sparkle in his eyes read danger.
"I…it's not for me, I suppose."
"Yeah."
They fell into an awkward silence, before Carol asked, "have we met?"
"No," he returned, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and eyeing it. "These cigarettes are dry as hell. I really should quit. They're getting harder and harder to find."
"Yeah, you should," she scolded lightly, playing along with his overly familiar tone. "You know they'll kill you."
He shrugged and tossed the cigarette down, stamping it out under his well-polished shoe. "Wouldn't want to die," he stated with a charming, easy grin. "I'm too pretty to be a shuffler."
She smiled a little, still wary about him.
"It's all bullshit, you know?" The man said suddenly, like someone dropping a ten pound stone.
"Life?" She guessed.
"This reality they have going on here."
"Oh?"
"I mean, it's elitist," he pointed out. "Won't let the civilians in, but they'll tell you to your face that they're saving those civilians. And then what? Look at this boozed up flea circus. And what do they do with the bodies?"
"Tell me about it," she played along, wondering what bodies he was talking about.
"I've been watching you, you know?" He returned casually. "All day."
Carol's brow puckered.
"Oh, you wouldn't have seen me," he stated with another one of his easy grins. "A lot of people never do."
"Am I in trouble?" She asked softly, playing the dumb card.
"They didn't have me watching you, don't worry," he said.
"So it's just a hobby of yours?" She teased a little.
The man smiled secretively and pushed off from the crates. "And then he swaggered off into the night, just a little bit drunk…"
Staring after him quietly for a moment, she jumped when someone spoke from behind her, hand moving for the knife she no longer had.
"Sorry," Connolly said with a grin. "Didn't mean to sneak up on you! I just wanted to make sure you found the biffy alright."
"Who is that man?" She asked, pointing to where the uniformed officer had stopped to chat with a couple of friendly, soused women who were on their way to the tent. By the lilt of his scarred mouth, she knew he was chatting them up with honeyed words and a charmingly smooth voice.
"The one in the blues?" Connolly asked.
"Yeah, he spoke to me, seemed nice," she lied. In truth the man seemed dangerous.
"That's Major Devlin."
"What does he do around here?"
"I don't know," Connolly said.
Carol continued to stare after him as he left, arms around the waists of the two women, head tilted back in jovial laughter that rang off the canvas walls of the tent city.
She didn't know what the hell was up with him just talking to her, openly confessing to following her around all day like he was chatting about the weather. And something he said, something he called the base, stuck with her.
Flea circus?
It didn't really make sense to her.
..-~-..
..-~-..
**The Lieutenant**
With nothing to do by himself in a small closet, Lafayette headed down to where they had been shown the workout room and stepped inside, intent on working himself into a later in order to get a better rest than he had the night before.
The place was dead empty, the neon lights turning it into a surreal landscape of still equipment and weight stands.
Changing into the sweats provided in the men's change room to his right, he left his shirt off and found a pullup stand.
After about twenty minutes of doing L pullups to the bar, the door opened and a figure stepped inside.
They headed for the changing room so quickly that he missed their face.
Taking a break, Lafayette dropped to the floor and panted.
He was getting fat and out of shape just holing himself away in a nunnery.
Making a mental note to workout more when he got home, he peeked over in the direction of the change room as Major General Gauthier emerged dressed down, towel over his shoulder.
It was awkward when the man's steps faltered as Fate stood and stared back at him. That feeling of seeing one's boss away from work came over Fate and he mildly panicked over whether to say something to the man or not.
He opted for the friendly route and picked up his own towel, heading towards where the Major General had taken up a spot at one of the rowing machines.
"Is it usually this dead in here?" Lafayette greeted the man in his best dumb Cajun from the bayou backwaters tone.
"A whole lot deader beyond our walls," the man returned dryly in a tone that gave Fate a clear 'fuck off' vibe.
Feeling like he was reading a 'choose your own adventure' book and had picked the wrong page, Fate shifted on his feet and thought about retreating gracefully.
But his finger was already removed from the bookmark and he went forth boldly, taking a seat at the rowing machine beside the Major General's.
They worked out in silence for a moment, before Fate asked, "so, where are you from?"
"Are we really doing this?" The man growled gruffly.
Lafayette slowed his rowing, before shrugging. "Sorry."
Rowing for a while longer, the Major General licked his bottom lip and then said, "I was born in Tel Aviv."
"That's…Israel, right?"
"Yeah."
They both rowed in silence.
"Can you become a—"
"I served in the armed forces and got my citizenship through my service," he said. "That was fifteen years ago."
Clearly this was a bit of a touchy subject for the man as his tone was ice cold.
"How does that work? You were a foreign national?"
"I was recruited in Tel Aviv to do a few things for the embassy there. Sort of fell into recruitment."
"Why?"
"I spoke English, Hebrew, Arabic, Russian and French. Did translating for a lot of military personnel and foreign emissaries."
"Ah," Lafayette said. "You speak French?"
"My father was a photojournalist from Paris, he moved to Israel to cover the Six Day War. He ended up in Tel Aviv where he met my mother." Sighing, the man demanded. "I suppose what we're doing is bonding, is it?"
"Makes the work out go faster," the Lieutenant said.
Gauthier was quiet, scowling at his feet as he rowed. "Where are you from?" He barked commandingly as though small talk didn't come easy to him.
His tone almost gave Lafayette the impression that whatever he said, 'steers and queers' were going to be the main exports of that geographic location.
"Louisiana, a small town called Basile."
"I've been there," Gauthier said.
"Shit no, really?"
The man nodded once firmly. "No lie. You have a Swine Festival, I was curious."
Fate beamed broadly and stopped rowing. "Jesus! That would be Basile!"
"But you speak thicker, with more of an accent, I'd imagine you migrated from deeper south?"
"Lake Charles is where my grandparents were from, they raised me to speak."
"Cajun is a beautiful language."
"Thank you," Lafayette said sincerely. "A lot of people mock us Cajun's."
"I won't." The man also stopped rowing and turned to him. "I see no fault in accents."
"I respect that, sir," Lafayette said sincerely.
Gauthier went back to rowing, before saying, "I heard you were giving Brandt grief."
"I…a little."
"He got promoted on the field," Gauthier explained. "From what I gather he was basically the last man standing. Not at all cut out for the rank, too cocky."
They both rowed in silence.
"I have no real power over the Marine Corps forces here at the base," Gauthier said. "But I'll put in to have Brandt taken out with a squad of his own. Seems you two will only serve to aggravate one another until sparks become a raging forest fire."
"I'm not looking for special treatment, sir," Lafayette said.
"Being stuck in the supply closet is not special treatment."
They rowed on in silence once more, before the Major General came back with. "Your wife is very small."
"Yes, she is."
The sounds of their workout filled the room.
"Do you love her?" Came the awkward question from what Lafayette was beginning to realize was an awkward man.
The Lieutenant paused. He knew Carol wanted to play them like a couple with a marriage on the rocks, so that nothing would really stand in her way if worse came to worst.
"We…have our moments," he said, struggling to think of a reason for them to be on the outs. "Sometimes she…doesn't get me. I suppose. I try, you know? But she…I dunno, sorry. You probably are the last person interested in hearing about my marriage."
Pushing up, Gauthier left his machine, wiping it down quickly, before heading for the treadmills.
Lafayette followed.
They ran for a good thirty minutes, before Gauthier said, "you're in good shape, Lieutenant."
Trying hard not to puff and pant, Lafayette said, "sure. I get my workout in."
This produced only the smallest, atomic level smiles, twitching the corner of Gauthier's mouth.
Another thirty minutes of running, the Major General said, "you know, they say the best workout for the heart is sex."
Grinning, Lafayette tilted his head. "Are you thinking of putting in a sex machine, sir?"
Gauthier didn't reply, only increased the pace of his machine.
Not to be outdone, Lafayette did likewise.
After another thirty minutes of extreme paced running, Gauthier shut his machine down and stepped off, reaching for his water bottle and taking a swig, watching the Lieutenant as he tried hard to keep his heart from exploding.
Gauthier offered him a drink from his bottle and he took it gratefully.
"Thanks," he huffed.
"Not doing a lot of distance running on the outside, hm?" The man asked.
"Oh, no, sir. I usually pant like this after a good run because I'm so excited."
This managed to move the whimper of a smirk into a half smile as the Major General gathered up his towel and bottle. "I'm not your superior, Lieutenant. You don't need to call me 'sir'."
"You still outrank me," he argued.
"Call me Oz," the Major General corrected.
"Fate," the Lieutenant replied.
"Fate," the man repeated. "We'd best hit the showers," he said, eyes scanning the Lieutenant from top to bottom. "You worked up a hell of a sweat."
As the man's eyes did another sweep of the Lieutenant's body, he began to get the niggling sense that maybe Carol's plan might be in vain. Something told him the Major General wasn't a ladies man.