AUTHOR'S NOTE: Decided to go ahead and post another chapter, as this one is pretty short. (If I'd known it was going to be this short, I would've just posted it in the last chapter.) Enjoy! The next few chapters should take everyone to Twycross, and end this story arc.
Black Pearl Base
Sudeten, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth
12 August 3050
Max and Sheila walked across an oddly manicured lawn towards the huge 'Mech bays; unlike on Persistence, the Sudeten bays were above ground, which made them all the more impressive. It had been fairly clear when they had headed over to the Wandering MechWarrior, but now, the sky had turned a leaden gray, even as the sun started to set. The air smelled of rain. They walked together, side by side, but neither knew what to say. Max was still processing the knowledge that the man who had saved them on Blackjack was Kaatha's husband, and Sheila was still working off the adrenaline from knocking Mary Scott unconscious.
Max felt a drop of rain hit his head. "Sheila," he told her, "I don't think we're going to make it to the bays before we get hit." He pointed at the sky.
Sheila nodded. "Yeah. The barracks." She motioned at the squat barracks building, which wasn't as far. "Mine's closer."
They started running, but didn't quite make it. The skies opened almost without warning, and the rain poured down: Sudeten was known for sudden summer storms. The rain wasn't cold, but there was a lot of it. They fairly dived through the barracks door, but by that time, both were soaked. "Well, I needed to cool off, but that's not what I had in mind!" Sheila laughed. "C'mon, we'll dry off at my place and wait this out."
They went down the hall to Sheila's room, leaving wet footprints in the carpet all the way down. Both took off their shoes and socks once they were in Sheila's room, and Sheila dashed into the bathroom to grab some extra towels, throwing them to Max. They dried off as best they could: their clothes were still wet, but Max hadn't brought a change of clothing, and despite what had nearly happened before the Rasalhague mission, Sheila wasn't quite willing to strip for Max just yet. They sat on the floor rather than get Sheila's bed damp, and Sheila reached into the minifridge next to her bed, pulling out two cold sodas.
"I can nuke some eats, if you're hungry," Sheila offered. She had some microwave dinners in the fridge, though she wasn't exactly sure when they had been put in there.
"Nah, that's okay. Soon as the weather lets up, let's head to the 'Mech bay." Max smiled. "We can swing by the chow hall on the way."
Her eyebrows rose. "Make it a date? We haven't had one of those since…well…you know. That one night. Where we almost had sex to Wolves On the Border, which will make that movie forever awkward to me. I hope I never meet Jaime Wolf...I'll never be able to look him in the eye now."
Max snickered. "I know what you mean."
"Good to hear you laugh."
"Feels good to laugh." Max leaned against the wall. "Sheila…do you really think I deserve that Order of Steiner-Davion? Assuming Schattenwolff still approves it."
"I think he will. He's pissed at me, not you. Dad helped Morgan chew my ass, so I don't think Schattenwolff will hold it against the Sentinels in general." She opened her soda. "As far as if you deserve it, of course you do. You took command when it needed to be."
"I don't think I like it," Max observed. "I can't stand watching people get killed under my command. First Mica gets killed on Persistence, and then the people on Blackjack. Not just Renni. There were others."
"I know. I read your after-action report." Sheila took a drink and leaned against her bed. Her hair still felt wet, so she set the soda down, reached back, and undid the scrunchie holding her ponytail together. It freed her black hair to fall down over her shoulders. "You know, you did save that guy's life. You didn't have to."
Max blinked: he'd forgotten how different Sheila looked with her hair down. It didn't make her more or less attractive—he liked the ponytail—but it was exotically different. He took a drink of his own soda. "I guess. At least you don't have to wonder why you got the Commonwealth Star."
Sheila reached up to the endtable above the minifridge, and pulled down the medal, where she had left it. She ran her fingers over it. Do I deserve this? Sheila asked herself, not for the first time. "Max, you're getting a medal for doing pretty much the same thing I did." He held out his hand, and she gave him the medal. "You just had brains enough to use your 'Mech to do it."
"I didn't go one on one with Toads."
"I know. That's why I said you were smart." She took another drink, thinking of Mimi. "There's a fine line between being brave and being stupid. What was it that the great General Harry Flashman said? 'Win gloriously, and all the clever dicks don't remember about the ambulances that never came, the food that was rotten, and the generals that would be better off hawking bedpans. Lose, and that's all that they remember.'" Sheila knew that quote by heart; her father liked to say it.
Max stared at the Commonwealth Star for a quiet minute, then put it back on the endtable. "Your medal wasn't paid for by—" He stopped himself. "I guess that would be a stupid thing to say."
"My medal wasn't paid for by others? I think Mimi would disagree," Sheila said bitterly. "Max, please. Stop. You're beating yourself up over a battle that we probably couldn't win to begin with."
"I could've done something more." He held up a hand. "I know what Kaatha said. But I still feel like there was more I could do."
"Max, we're barely veterans. We're still learning this stuff!" She took another drink and shook her head. She was getting exasperated with him. She understood how Max felt, but he needed to let it go, before it drove him insane. "Max, you've got survivor's guilt, bad. You need to talk to someone professional. A priest, a shrink, someone. None of us are getting through, that's for certain."
"All right, smartass," Max snapped, angry without knowing exactly why, "what would you have done, if that had been you?"
"Exactly the same thing you did!" Sheila exclaimed.
"Bullshit. You would've thought of something. You always do. That's why you're a Major and I'm just a Lance Commander—and I'm barely even that any more." Max shook his head. "You know, I always thought you were pretty damn cool. Athletic, smart, people liked you—"
"Ha!" Sheila rolled her eyes. "Max, I don't know if you believed the shit Mimi used to say, or you've forgotten what I wrote you all those times while you were at NAMA, or both. Yeah, I'm fairly smart, and yeah, I try to keep myself in good shape. I was on the Nagelring gymnastics team until my tits got too big." She blushed at that, because involuntarily Max looked right at them. She had worn a white blouse to the bar; the rain had turned it transparent, but since she wore a modest black bra beneath it, it wasn't exactly showing anything. "But everyone hated me in school, Max, except for Mimi. Even Tooriu really didn't get to know me until my junior year. Mercenaries aren't real popular at the 'Ring, unless your name is Kell—and even then. God knows people didn't like Phelan. Granted, he was kind of an asshole, but still.
"People used to go out of their way to shit on me there, Max. Even back on Grunwald, back home, I had to deal with that 'Commander's Daughter' bullshit that Mary Scott threw in my face tonight. God, I hate that! And then they'd tease me because I was skinny and clumsy. I was always a few steps behind everyone else. In my plebe year, I used to dread taking showers after 'Mech practice and calisthenics because I was flat as a board."
Max pointed to her with the soda. "I think you've caught up."
Sheila snorted. "Yeah, when I hit sixteen, then I shot up like a weed and all of a sudden, I'm toting these damn things around." She hefted her breasts without really thinking about it, or the effect it might have on the man in the room with her. "Then the girls stopped with their crap, but all of a sudden I've got boys trying to get in my pants. Guys that before wouldn't even act like I existed suddenly wanted to fuck me."
She took a drink. "The Nagelring was hell on Tharkad until my senior year, Max. Until I met Tooriu, and got to be kind of friends with Victor Steiner-Davion. And Mimi, of course…though even she was more interested in bootlegging beer into the dorms, or getting laid, or…whatever." Sheila was not about to mention the night she and Mimi had gotten drunk, and Sheila had nearly gotten seduced. "But even then, I was still just a mercenary, from a nobody family from the sticks of Grunwald. Gad, I wanted to go to NAMA with you, because I heard no one really cared about mercs there!" Max shrugged. It was somewhat true. More mercenary children went to NAMA because there was less of a stigma there, but Max had heard enough jibes behind his back—either because he was from Shensi, or because a lot of people had never heard of the Sentinels. "Either NAMA or home. Yeah, I know it's childish—hell, Marshal Hasek-Davion said I'm still immature—but I really wanted to go home. At least my parents cared."
"Yeah. Must be nice." Max said it before he realized it, but from Sheila's expression, she realized she'd made a faux pas as well.
"Max…look, we can compete in the Feel Shitty Olympics, but it's not going to get us anywhere but right back here." She finished the soda, crumped the can, and threw it towards the trash can—and missed. "Shit." Sheila got to her feet and tossed the can away. "Things will get better, Max."
"Dammit, Sheila, how?" Max set aside his soda, to use both hands to make his point. "We're losing the fucking war! My 'Mech is still down because it's old and tired, my parents are maybe back together again, but I'm waiting for my dad to get drunk again, which will take them back to square one. I'm being put into command of people I barely know, who keep getting killed! Sometimes to save me! Who the hell am I, huh?" He got up as well and began to pace. "Who the hell am I? I'm nobody, that's who. Nobody cares! Kaatha's husband had shit to live for, man! He had a daughter! Why him?" Max punched the wall. "Why the hell was it him and not me?"
Sheila stomped over to him, getting in his face. "Stop it!" she shrilled. "God, Max, don't ever say things like that. Don't ever say you're nobody or nobody cares. Your mom and dad may get at each other's throats, but they've always loved you—you know that! My folks think you're awesome! I've never heard anyone say a bad thing about you. You talk about how you thought I was damn cool? Well, there were times, Max, that your letters were the only thing that kept me from losing my fucking mind at the Nagelring. And when we were growing up? People were always talking about how smart you were. How you had a head for numbers and all that. My math sucks! The only reason I didn't flunk out at the 'Ring was because the professor felt sorry for me!"
She stepped back, nearly out of breath. "Max, I know we're losing the war. I just look at the map and I know. The Jade Falcons are headed right for us, with the Wolves running right alongside. God only knows how bad the Ghost Bears and Smoke Jaguars are taking apart the FRR and Kurita. Nothing we do can stop them. We try on Persistence and damn near get overrun—and we were the lucky ones! Then we didn't do shit on Rasalhague. Blackjack was a fucking disaster. And now we're just hoping that some dirty tricks and bad weather can allow us to retake Twycross. But we can't just sit here, Max! We have to do something!
"Now listen to me, Max. Everyone wants to know why it was the other poor bastard and not them. I don't know why. I can't answer that, you can't, no one can, except God, and He's not talking. And maybe, Max, just maybe, you keep getting commands because you're fucking good at it!"There were tears on her face now. "And Max…dammit…I care. I care. I need you with me. All we've got in this whole shitty mess is each other. And I'm tired of losing friends." Sheila fell into silence, and Max just stared at her. She looked away, ashamed she had yelled at him, yet glad she had. The words had always been there, she had always wanted to say them aloud—to Max, to Mimi, to someone—and she had never been able to. Now she had.
Max reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "Do you mean that?" he said softly.
"You know I do."
Max wasn't sure what to do, but he saw the tears on her face, and drew her into a hug. Sheila wiped her face—she didn't cry any more. She just leaned her head on his shoulder and drew strength from him, as he did from her. "Thank you," Max said.
"You're welcome. I think I needed that too." She leaned back a little, keeping both arms on his shoulders.
"The hug or the speech?" Max smiled.
"Yeah, both."
They stood there for a long moment. Max took in her face, almost as if it was the first time he had really looked at her. The raven hair, the thin eyebrows, the green eyes, a pert nose, her full lips. He could see the pulse in her throat. It just seemed natural to kiss Sheila, so Max did exactly that.
He meant it as a way to thank her, but as they parted, both of them felt their hearts speed up, the thunder of blood in their ears, and the heat from each others' body. Then they were kissing again, but it wasn't just a friendly kiss, but a hot devouring of each other. Lips were crushed against the other's, and tongues flickered out to taste the other. Their hearts were now pounding audibly. Sheila felt like her skin was tingling, and it seemed to rush into suddenly heavy breasts and a sudden emptiness between her legs. Max felt his stomach seem to flip, but not in a bad way, not at all.
"Max," she panted in between kisses, "do we…oh God…do we want to do this?"
"Do you want me to stop?" he said breathlessly.
"No! Don't you dare stop!"
"Okay," was all he got out before she was trying to put her tongue down his throat, Sheila's hands intertwined in his hair. They fought each other for a moment, heading somewhat towards the bed, and fingers tore at clothes.
"Wait, stop!" Sheila suddenly half-shouted.
"Huh?"
"Blouse…kinda expensive…" She pulled back from him, reached down, and yanked the shirt over her head. Her hands reached for his shirt, but Max stepped back, knowing Sheila would probably tear it in half. He was willing to make the sacrifice, but some part of his brain that wasn't drowning in lust knew that he would have to explain to someone, somewhere why his shirt was missing all of its buttons. Instead, he got it off as well, pulling it over his own head without unbuttoning it. Sheila was pulling down her pants, nearly tripping over them, while Max did the same, unbuckling his belt and trying to get his pants off without hurting himself. Had the two of them seen themselves, they would have either died of embarassment at this near-comical fumbling, or laughed out loud. Yet for the two soon to be lovers, there was nothing in the least humorous about it.
The rain let up half an hour later, but for Max and Sheila, intertwined naked on her bed, it hardly mattered.
Calla Bighorn-Vlata was nearly a mile away, unaware that his daughter had just found another lover—something Calla, had he known, would have been glad not to know the details of. He watched from his headquarters office window as the rain picked up its skirts and blew itself out into the open plains. He watched them for a moment, then sat back down at his desk, and looked over the initial orders for the Twycross operation. He was impressed: Blackjack had been the preview, but this was the main event.
"Summer's over," he mused to himself. "Now autumn falls."