CHAPTER TWO

September 5, 1968

Jessica probably would have woken up the entire camp if Face hadn't clapped a hand over her mouth to remind her not to scream. Eyes closed, he kept his jaw locked tight, not making a sound as he felt the tension ease out of his body. Even the pain in his bandaged leg and the discomfort of the packed dirt floor beneath him couldn't dampen the pleasure running rings around his mind. Soaked with sweat and panting for breath, his forehead rested against her shoulder and he shifted to avoid crushing her when his arms gave out.

"You feel good?" he whispered against the side of her face.

A soft, satisfied moan answered him, and she raked gentle fingers through his hair, scratching lightly. Shifting onto his side, he heaved a grateful sigh as he took the pressure off the pebble that had been digging into his knee. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was going to be full of dust, but she didn't seem to care as she lay flat on her back on the floor of the exam room, still breathing heavily.

"So is this your idea of making good on all those favors you owe me?" she teased.

He chuckled at just how unconvincing her "hard to get" act was. The first time she caught his eye, he and Cipher had made a bet over who could get her into bed first. Not only had Face won the bet in a matter of hours, he was the one to formally introduce the two of them before Cipher had a chance to make a move. But if she benefitted from the whole arrangement - and he sincerely hoped her enjoyment was more than just an act - he was happy to be of service.

His eyes opened lazily as he stroked up and down her side, beneath the sweat-soaked T-shirt he hadn't bothered to remove when he'd dragged her into one of the few spaces of relative privacy on the base.

"Nah," he answered with a smile. "This one was for me."

She laughed quietly. "Oh, okay."

"Mmm." He tipped his head up until their eyes met. "But if you'd like me to settle my tab, I'm more than happy to."

She smiled faintly, pushing his sweaty hair away from his eyes. "I guess I could let you try again for a real date," she conceded.

He considered it for a moment, then sat up a little and reached for his cigarettes in the pocket of his discarded fatigues. "Got any R&R coming up?" he asked. "We could go a bit further than the nearest bar if you're up for it."

"R&R?" she laughed. "Like for more than a few hours? Not a chance."

He tipped his head down as he lit the end of the cigarette and passed it to her, then lit another for himself. It was so damn hot and sticky... They slid on each other everywhere their skin touched. She sat up beside him, pulling her T-shirt around her bent knees as he blew smoke into the air and set the pack on the floor.

"Could do something in Saigon," he suggested.

She crinkled her nose. "All anybody talks about when they come back from Saigon is the whores." She paused to drag on her cigarette as he chuckled. "You know how many guys catch the clap over there?"

Still grinning, Face took a long drag. "I can imagine." He'd been fortunate that he was one of the minority to escape the clap so far. Of course, he was a little more choosy than most about which whores enticed him into bed.

"I get to treat all of them when they come back," Jessica clipped. "It's pathetic."

"Well, I could take you to Hawaii," he suggested with a smile, "but that takes a few days off at least."

She was quiet for a moment, considering it. Tipping his head back, he rested on the sandbag wall behind him. He was relaxed, and it was a good feeling. "How long do you have left here, Face?" she suddenly asked.

The question startled him, and he took a hit off the cigarette before answering. "I'm on voluntary indefinite status."

She didn't answer, and he studied her quietly.

"Why?" he asked. "How short are you?"

"I still have five months," she admitted softly.

He nodded. "Will you go home?"

She sighed, shoulders rising and falling. "I don't know," she admitted, pausing for a long drag. "I've got to get out of Vietnam, Face. It's too depressing."

He didn't realize until after his laugh escaped that she'd been completely serious. She frowned at him, a hurt look in her eyes. "Why are you laughing?"

A bit sheepish, he glanced away. "Sorry," he sincerely apologized. "I don't really have time to get depressed about it. I'm either out there killing the bastards, recovering, or planning for the next drop."

"I'll never understand you," she sighed. He could hear the emotional detachment in her tone. "All of you. Men turn into such animals when you give them a gun."

He probably should have been offended by that, but he wasn't. He'd seen an awful lot of animals in 'Nam. Many of them he'd called teammates. On more than one occasion, there had been one staring back at him in the mirror.

"Kill or be killed, baby," he answered offhandedly. "Gotta be able to handle the sight of blood either way."

"It's not the blood that bothers me," she said with a frown. "It's the inhumanity."

He didn't bother replying. His thoughts were wandering off to Hawaii, to a week of R&R he'd never see for a date with a woman he wouldn't even remember once she went home in a few months. So much for a real date.

August 26, 1978

Face had been expecting a barrage of last minute excuses when he came to pick up Jessica, and was surprised when she was dressed and ready, sitting on the porch step. She didn't even give him a chance to get out of the car before she'd opened the door for herself and slid into the passenger seat with a nervous, "Hi," and a very long look at his tuxedo. She must have known instantly that she was drastically underdressed for what he'd had in mind, wearing sandals and a white sundress with little flowers on the skirt, but she didn't mention it. If anything, it seemed to boost her confidence that she'd thrown him a curve ball.

Small talk was no easier on the drive to the restaurant than it had been the last time they were trapped in the car together. It didn't help that Face's thoughts were divided. Getting reservations to the upscale restaurant hadn't been easy to begin with, and he was fairly certain she wasn't within the limits of the restaurant's dress code. Even if he could talk his way around that - which he was fairly certain wouldn't be too difficult - she certainly wouldn't be comfortable there.

Deciding to try his luck (he was on good enough terms with the staff to risk the potential awkwardness), he pulled to a stop in front of the door and handed his keys to the valet driver without flinching. Jessica's eyes were a little wider than normal as he walked around to the passenger side and slid an arm around her waist, guiding her to the door.

"Something wrong?" he asked, noting her hesitation. The first step to making her feel comfortable was the reassurance that he felt no discomfort with her on his arm.

She shook her head quickly, as if snapping out of a trance, and forced a smile. "No," she said with poorly-faked confidence. "No, it's... fine."

"You said once that you wanted me to take you on a real date," he teased lightly. "This is about as real as it gets."

She laughed quietly, uneasily, and he led her inside, then up a few steps into the restaurant. They were seated immediately, near the front window at the table Face had requested. Jessica's eyes never stayed in one place for more than a second or two, even when the waiter handed her an open menu. Face watched her carefully as he handled the wine order and pleasantries with the staff.

"This restaurant has some of the best chicken parmigiana I've ever tasted," he suggested as the waiter disappeared.

Jess gave a tight, unconvincing smile. It piqued his interest not because she was anxious - the way her darting eyes would have led him to believe - but because she suddenly wasn't. There was no fear or worry in her eyes as she sat with perfect posture and jaw wired shut. In fact, it was a look closer to anger than anxiety. On guard and not entirely sure what to expect, Face was glad when the waiter returned with the wine.

A half hour and a glass of wine later, she still wasn't relaxed. The typical conversation starters had all led nowhere fast, her exceedingly polite tone void of any real enjoyment as she complimented the wine, the decor, and his smooth aging since she'd last seen him. He was beginning to think this was a bad idea when she suddenly made an effort.

"So are you still in the Army?" she asked pointedly, sipping from her glass.

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. He'd forgotten, for a moment, that she lived in a box, cut off from the outside world. "Uh, no," he answered with a smile. "No, I left after the war."

"Were you in Vietnam the whole time?" she asked, casting a glance across the table.

"Pretty much," he answered lightly, looking away.

This was not the ideal conversation, but her entire demeanor had changed so suddenly, it was clear that whatever point she was driving toward, it was the source of her discomfort. More importantly, she was instantly brimming with confidence as she took charge. He let her lead, curious to see where she'd take him.

"What made you quit?" she asked.

The question seemed as innocent as it was naïve. He raised a brow, not immediately sure how to answer. Although he saw no reason to lie (he had nothing to tell that she couldn't discover by reading the local newspaper) it was one hell of an awkward conversation to have over dinner.

"You were a lieutenant," she clarified. "And on voluntary indefinite status. I figured you for a lifer."

He raised a brow. He was pretty sure the last time he saw her, he had been a sergeant. That meant she'd kept an eye on him. Suddenly, his nagging curiosity had become a screaming siren. Clearing his throat, he shifted a bit, taking the time to form an appropriately vague response. "Let's just say I never planned to get out of there alive."

He had a few ideas about what she'd ask next. Thankfully, she didn't have a chance before the waiter interrupted them, setting down two plates of food and exchanging a few words of much-needed distraction. It gave Face a moment to regroup his thoughts. But then, as soon as the man left, she picked up right where she'd left off.

"You keep in touch with your old team?" she asked.

He was more prepared now. "You might say that," he answered with a smile.

"Cipher?"

He nearly choked on the delicately seared filet mignon. How did she manage to ask the very last question he was expecting? Taking a moment to finish chewing - thank God - he considered his response carefully before speaking. "I haven't talked to Cipher in a long time," he answered honestly.

"I'm surprised." Pushing her food around the plate a bit, she cast a pointed look across the table, studying him carefully. "You two seemed pretty close back then."

Face shifted uncomfortably, and offered a shrug, directing his attention to the plate as he cut another piece of meat. He hadn't even thought Jessica would remember Cipher's name, much less that she knew of the friendship between the two of them.

"What happened?" she prodded.

He looked up, meeting her eyes. She was fishing for something. More than that, she wasn't even bothering to be subtle about it. But he couldn't begin to imagine what she was looking for. He only knew that she couldn't possibly fathom how things had ended with Cipher.

"People change," he said quietly, seriously. "It was another life."

She nodded, finally lowering her eyes. "You're right," she relented, although she hadn't gotten the answer she was looking for. "It seems so long ago."

He was happy to let her accept defeat gracefully. Surely there was another topic that could retain her interest. Smiling, he raised his glass in a subtle gesture for a toast that she did not return. Instead, she looked away, and his smile fell.

As they ate, the silence hung so thick in the air, it nearly choked him. Scrambling for something else to say, he came up completely blank. When was the last time he'd struggled for words with a member of the opposite sex? What made her different? He was getting nowhere with her, and becoming increasingly aware that it might have been better if she'd had those excuses ready when he pulled into the driveway. It would've saved them both a very uncomfortable evening.

"Look, um..."

Face was relieved to hear her break the tense silence until he saw that she was setting her fork down, folding her hands over the meal she'd barely touched. She cleared her throat before lowering her eyes.

"I know I'm supposed to be really flattered that you would take me here and spend all this money on me but..."

He watched her as he took a sip of his wine, then set it down carefully and folded his arms on the table in front of him, pushing his own - half-full - plate back a little. "But what?" he asked calmly. He was neither surprised nor offended. Her non-verbal cues had been screaming her discomfort for some time now and he was glad to finally address the elephant on the table.

She took a deep breath. "I'm just not interested in this kind of a relationship right now."

"Relationship?" he repeated, blinking in genuine surprise.

She looked up, her gaze locking hard on his. "Not with you."

The accusatory hook caught him off guard. Immediately, he ran back through his memories, searching for any indication that he'd wronged her in the past. Unfortunately, he came up empty. As far as he was aware, they'd left of good terms. Tipping his head a little, he gave her his full attention.

"Alright, I'm curious," he admitted. "What do you mean by that?"

She sighed. "I mean that I'm really not comfortable with you spending this kind of money on me when there's nothing in it for you."

He shrugged. "Who said I was looking to get anything out of it?" He couldn't help but feel a little insulted. It wasn't as though he'd been pushy, or expecting any quip pro quo. The insinuation that his motives were purely selfish was as offensive as it was inaccurate.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, sensing his defensiveness. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful."

"Not ungrateful," he corrected. "But maybe a bit too suspicious."

"It's just that you're a very different man than I remember," she said quickly.

He laughed tightly. "I can't imagine what you might have been expecting after ten years and a... retirement from the army."

"Well," she forced a smile, "you make a very nice retired man. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth and never did a hard day's work in your life. And that's quite some change."

He blinked. Was that an accusation? "It's not a bad change," he said carefully, not entirely sure what he'd done wrong.

"I didn't say it was bad. But I don't find it the least bit attractive." She smiled politely as she removed the cloth napkin from her lap and set it on the table. "No one would ever mistake you for a soldier, Templeton. Congratulations on that."

He was stunned by her biting words, even if her tone was sweet. Not sure whether to be angry, hurt, or whether he even cared at all, he watched her stand up. Had she come here looking for a soldier? That made no sense at all. The woman was drop dead gorgeous; she could've had any man she wanted and soldiers were a dime a dozen.

Realizing he was losing her to a hasty retreat and not wanting to end the evening on such a sour note, he rose a bit awkwardly and called after her. "Wait!"

She didn't stop.

Fumbling for his wallet in his unanticipated haste to follow the woman who was heading directly to the door, he threw more than enough cash on the table to cover the meal and shoved his wallet back into his pocket. Skirting around the tables, he reached the door only a few steps behind her and paused to graciously thank the host for the wonderful service. By the time he stumbled out onto the sidewalk, she was heading for the pay phone on the corner, he suspected to call a cab.

"Wait," he said again, stepping in front of her. "What do you mean by that?"

"By what?" she asked with innocent confusion, stepping around him and continuing to the booth.

"By... all of that. Did I -" He realized he was being ignored and grabbed her shoulder, turning her to face him. "Did I do something I need to apologize for? Because I'm a little confused."

Defensive or not, he was sincere. He was also sincerely bewildered. Jessica sighed, and closed her eyes. A moment later, she hid her face in her hand.

"I'm sorry," she apologized with equal sincerity. She dropped her hand and looked him in the eye, composing herself. "You're right. People change. I don't hold that against you."

"What were you expecting?" he repeated, genuinely curious. "This isn't a war zone, Jessica. Did you want me to drag you off into the bushes like when we were kids?"

The laugh that emanated from her was the first genuine emotion he'd seen from her all night. Coupled with the deep blush and the firm shake of her head, he wasn't entirely sure how honest she was being when she answered, "No."

"Then what do you want?" he asked, a bit frustrated.

She pushed her shoulders back, the blush fading quickly as she regained her confidence. "I don't want anything from you."

"I thought you wanted a pleasant evening," he said. "If that wasn't the case, why did you come?"

"Because you wouldn't take no for an answer!" she cried with a tense laugh.

He stared. If she'd given him the strongest "no" she was capable of, then she really shouldn't be walking the streets alone, let alone dating. With a purely internal sigh, he stamped "failure" on the evening and shook his head in resignation.

"I was just looking for dinner with an old friend," she finally said with a sigh. "But this isn't the kind of dinner I had in mind, and you don't much resemble my old friend. No offense."

"None taken," he replied quickly.

She looked away, hugging her arms over her chest. "And to be honest," she continued, "I'm actually really glad you're not the same as you were. But even so, I'm just not at a point in my life where I do -" She waved sweepingly at the restaurant. "- this."

"What's wrong with this?" he asked, genuinely confused.

She shook her head, as if in disbelief. "Old friends don't go for dinner to restaurants where they don't list prices on the menu."

"Well this friend does," he corrected, glaring at her indignantly. "Money isn't my problem. It never even crossed my mind that it would be yours, doctor."

She studied him for a moment, but he didn't flinch under her scrutiny. For once, he was being completely sincere. He'd talked her into bed before and he had no doubt that he could do it again. But he really, truly hadn't been trying. And thank God for small miracles, because it struck him that regardless of her profession and apparent success, she was just about as emotionally unstable as Murdock. Suddenly, a slightly terrifying thought struck him as he wondered if he might have read her wrong from the start. Maybe she wasn't a doctor at all; Murdock could certainly do a fine impression of one when the occasion called for it. What sort of psychoses might she have brought back from the war?

"All I've been trying to do all night is hold a decent conversation," he continued, buying time to think. "And you don't want any part of it. I have no ulterior motives here."

His mind was racing through the possibilities of what he saw and what she'd said. Which was the lie? Was she the successful doctor who'd made something of her life on the money and confidence she'd earned in Vietnam? Or was she the insecure and too-vulnerable woman who flipped from hot to cold and back again faster than even Face could keep up? Trying to read her was like playing charades with an octopus.

Finally, she looked away, lowering her head. "I'm sorry," she apologized again. "It's this place. It just... it caught me off guard."

Her eyes were darting nervously. Face took a step back, still evaluating her for any obvious signs of psychoses. But the only thing he saw was the anxiety and discomfort, and they confused him. Well, at least she wasn't angry anymore. Why did she regard him as such a threat?

"I wasn't expecting champagne and money to be flowing," she said again. "I just wanted to go someplace comfortable. Someplace, maybe, where we could talk."

Good God, talking was just about the last thing he wanted at the moment. For the first time in ages, he felt out of his depth. He wanted to take her home and forget this ever happened. But in the spirit of chivalry and good etiquette, he nodded his agreement.

"Alright, so let's start over," he started, gesturing to the valet to bring his car. "You tell me, where do you want to go?"

She sighed deeply, dropping her gaze to the pavement. Finally, she took a deep, calming breath and looked up at him again with a tight, forced smile. "Okay," she relented. "But... I really shouldn't be out too late."

That, at least, was a relief.