Part 52
Maria turned onto the road that led back to the private airstrip and frowned when she noticed the guard shack that sat next to a security gate that was blocking her path. She applied the brakes and rolled to a stop in front of the barricade and her gaze was wary when an armed man stepped out of the small building and motioned for her to roll the window down.
"State your name and the nature of your business," he said, his tone brisk.
"Maria DeLuca. I'm here to pick up Michael Guerin."
"I'll need to see identification with a photo, ma'am."
"Oh, of course." She grabbed her bag and pulled out the driver's license Michael had gotten for her God who only knew where.
"It'll just take a moment to verify your information," he said and walked back into the guard shack. He came back several moments later and handed her license back to her as the secured gate began to slide open. He leaned down to look at her through the open window and gave her directions to the area where she was required to park and wait.
The plane had already landed and the setting sun reflected brightly off of the white paint, the glare nearly blinding in its intensity. She had to shield her eyes as she parked in the designated area and she watched several dozen people rush around the plane, their activity curiously frantic. The panel that contained the steps opened and slowly unfolded, coming to rest gently on the tarmac and a moment later Michael stood silhouetted in the opening. He turned to speak with someone inside the plane before beginning his descent.
Her gaze slid over him, trying to pinpoint the source of the difference she could sense in him. It was the first time she had ever seen him dressed out in full military gear and it made him appear colder, more aloof, and she quickly decided she didn't like it. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses so she couldn't read his expression, but she saw the momentary slip in his rigid posture when he looked up and saw her waiting for him.
She fought the need to go to him as long as she could but when he reached the edge of the gravel lot where she had been told to park she threw caution to the wind. He would reject the gesture of welcome, but she was too relieved to see him alive to care about that. She ran to him and threw her arms around him, hugging his tense frame for several long seconds before releasing him and stepping back.
He regarded her from behind the glasses as he shifted the case with his weapons carefully packed inside. He looked back at the plane and sighed heavily before continuing on his way to the truck.
Something was very wrong, Maria thought as she watched him put his things in the backseat and then get in the front - on the passenger's side. He never let her drive when they went anywhere together; it was just a part of his controlling nature that she hadn't been able to change. She shook herself out of her stupor and hurried around to climb in behind the wheel and start the engine.
Several times on the way home she tried to start a conversation but he had remained stubbornly mute. Halfway home she gave up and drove the rest of the way in silence. They were driving away from the setting sun but he never took the sunglasses off, and even though he was leaning heavily against the door she knew he wasn't asleep.
It was one of the ways that he was so similar to her Michael and it hurt to see him so closed off. She knew from experience that she had to let him deal with whatever had happened in his own way and wait for him to come to her, to be more receptive to the comfort she could and would offer. He was out of the truck as soon as they pulled into the garage; he grabbed his gear and went inside without a sound.
He went straight to his room, not even stopping to grab a beer, and he closed the door behind him. As far as messages went it wasn't subtle in the least but she accepted it for what it was - a warning that he wanted to be left alone and any attempt to engage him wouldn't be welcome.
She decided to make dinner even though she didn't think he would eat, but it was busy work and she needed something to do.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Michael showered and dressed in a pair of cargo pants and a sleeveless tee shirt before gathering up the clothes he had worn home and rolling them into a bundle that he carried out of his bedroom. He appreciated Maria's silence and he hoped she wouldn't get vocal on him when he declined dinner.
He unlocked the door on the workshop and dragged out the 50-gallon drum he used for burning, setting it up well away from the house. He threw the clothes into it and poured lighter fluid on them before striking a match and tossing it inside. Flames leapt above the rim of the drum and he stared at them, wishing his memories of the past few days could be made to disappear as easily as the material quickly turning to ash.
He stayed there until the flames began to die out and before long they were gone. He took care to extinguish the few remaining embers before turning and going back inside and looking around as if he had been gone for months instead of just a few days. He walked over to the wall where his trophy case resided, his gaze sliding over the weapons mounted inside the case. His mouth felt as dry as the desert when his eyes settled on a picture that rested on one of the glass shelves, mounted next to his first sniper rifle and his hand lifted to press against the case.
No one looking at the picture would know that it was Stone leaning against the side of the building that had housed ammunition and a storehouse of weapons that had been hidden for transport to a terrorist organization. It had been their first job together and Stone had laughed herself stupid when he had gotten his ass kicked by the girlfriend of one of the terrorists. The woman had come out of hiding and tried to crack the back of his skull with a frying pan followed by a severely vicious kick to his nuts. He had been young and so sure that he knew all the tricks out in the field, so certain that he didn't need anyone's help, much less some stupid female agent. Fuck, if he had a nickel for everything she had taught him he'd never have to work again. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but there was no moisture to aid him and he nearly choked.
He fought back all of the feelings and emotions that had been trying to rip their way out of his chest and his hand slid to the side to grip the edge of the case to steady himself. He needed to sit down or lie down before he totally embarrassed himself and passed out; he hadn't eaten in he didn't know how long and he was so exhausted from hiking through the jungle followed by hours of questions.
He walked towards the kitchen, intending to get a beer, but as he got closer to the kitchen he could smell the cooking food and his stomach churned in response. He went back to the bathroom and turned the faucet on, leaning down over the sink, forearms resting on the counter so he could collect the cold water in his cupped hands and splash it on his face. As soon as he felt the trembling fading and his stomach coming back under his control, he filled his hands with more water and sipped it slowly before turning the faucet off and grabbing a towel to dry his hands.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Maria walked out of the kitchen and paused in the doorway to the living room, sighing when she saw the man sitting in his favored chair, his eyes staring sightlessly at the blaring television. She watched him for a while, worrying more and more as the minutes ticked by and he remained silent and unaware of the game playing on the screen.
She knew he wasn't going to eat, but she had to ask him anyway. She switched the beer she was holding to her left hand and dried her right on her shirttail before slowly crossing the room to stand next to him. "I know the answer's probably no, but would you like something to eat?"
He shook his head and leaned his head back against his chair, the fingers of his right hand plucking at a loose thread. The feeling of something cold and wet brushing against the knuckles of his other hand drew his attention and his fingers uncurled to wrap around the bottle she was offering. He lifted it to his lips and took a long drink, his throat working as the cool liquid rushed over his tongue.
Maria left him to his thoughts and moved back to her position where she could observe him without bothering him. What had gone wrong? she wondered, feeling helpless in the face of his obviously weighty thoughts. Why hadn't Stone gotten off of the plane with him? She was pretty sure that they must have taken off and returned together, so why hadn't she seen the woman?
She had seen him when he had dragged the large barrel out of the shed and proceeded to burn the clothes he had worn home. The action had been almost symbolic, but she wasn't sure what exactly it was so symbolic of. She couldn't ask, of course, because he was in no mood to talk and until he decided to share there was nothing she could do to help him.
Had there been others involved in whatever mission he had undertaken? He had been so concerned about the lack of time his superiors had allotted for the mission; had he lost someone? Maybe that doctor they had been sent in to retrieve? Had they arrived at the location too late? Witnessed some horrible act by the rebels who were so vicious that he had been adamant they did not want to risk being left in the jungle?
She had no idea what to say or do other than to just do what she had been doing and let him approach her when he was ready. She went into the kitchen to put the food away and then grabbed a beer for herself before going back into the living room and sitting down in her usual spot on the couch.
Minutes crept by, the second hand ticking so slowly that it almost appeared to be stationary, and eventually Maria turned her attention to the baseball game that was being ignored by her silent companion. She couldn't care less about baseball or any of the other sports that he normally watched, but for the first time she found herself wishing that she found it at least semi-interesting.
Eventually the sun completed its nightly descent and darkness fell over the room, the television providing the only light. The voice of the sports announcer had been the only sound for so long that she jumped when she heard the springs in Michael's chair groan in protest when he shifted and a moment later stood up. She had expected him to leave and go to his bedroom, so she was surprised when he walked around the coffee table and stretched out on the couch. He dropped his shaggy head in her lap, rolling over onto his side and crossing his arms over his chest as he continued to stare at the television screen without watching it.
Maria hesitated for several brief seconds before letting her fingertips trail over his muscled shoulder, stroking with just enough pressure to let him know she was there. She felt him sigh and she let her hand slide up to card through his hair, fingernails gently scraping against his scalp in a soothing manner.
Michael was experiencing the strangest, most uncomfortable sensation that he had ever felt as something hot and heavy twisted in his chest, expanding until he felt like he couldn't breathe. The feeling only seemed to worsen beneath Maria's caring touches and he reached up to rub his eyes when they started to burn. His heart started to pound when his fingers came away wet and he stared at them uncomprehendingly.
What the fuck?! He hadn't shed a tear in his life and he didn't want to start now! He brushed them away angrily and folded his arms over his chest again, trying his best to contain the agonizing pressure that was building there as he stared at the suddenly blurry television screen. The last thing he needed was to have some sort of emotional break in front of Maria; she would want to talk it to death and he couldn't deal with that. Not now and not ever.
Maria felt the tension that settled over him and the light from the television reflected off of his cheek and she could see the path that a couple of tears had tracked down his face. She knew better than to draw attention to the fact that his emotions were not only surfacing, but manifesting themselves in a physical way, so she continued her gentle ministrations, alternating between stroking her hand over his shoulder and running her fingers through his hair.
His big body trembled from the effort he was expending to hold his emotions at bay and she knew what it would cost for him to let that control go. He wasn't the type of man to be comfortable with that kind of release and she seriously doubted that he had ever even come this close before.
As she had with her Michael when he had come to her in the middle of the night, seeking solace and comfort, she cared for this man in a way that wouldn't compromise his sense of masculinity or make him feel like he was less than a man in her eyes.
Michael never heard a sound that came from the television, but he heard every single word that Maria uttered as she assured him with words and touches that she was there, that she would take care of him, that he didn't have to talk about whatever was wrong, and that he could tell her about it whenever he was ready. He didn't understand this kind of caring, but he craved it in a physical and emotional way, needed it for his sanity and he wasn't sure how to feel about that.
He breathed out through his mouth, refusing to let his emotions get the best of him, and when they pushed even harder he lifted his fist and bit down on his knuckles to control the impulse to let his pain out vocally.
Maria could feel the war being waged inside of him and she lost track of time as she soothed and comforted him, doing everything she could think of to try and calm him down. He had obviously been through something traumatic and she just hoped that at some point he would be able to talk to her about it because whatever it was, it was eating him up inside.
He finally fell asleep after a while and the only indicator she had of how much time had passed was the off-air signal on the television. She followed him into sleep at some point, unaware of the position she was in or the fact that she was going to be stiff the next morning.