**No demons or werewolves here. This is just a straight-ahead romance. Ok, it's a little odd since I wrote it. O_o
I may use this as a platform for other relationships among the people around the ones here, I don't know yet. I'd been planning to post a different story, but realized that this one has to precede it, so I may as well get this one said. I plant to post the chapters for this weekly if I can.
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PROLOGUE
Riding back to the compound, he felt more numb and empty than anything else. Two of the crew tried to engage him in small conversation to get his mind off everything, but he didn't have much desire to reciprocate and they gave up after a while. He imagined that he now knew how it felt to be a spent piece of ammunition and just wanted to be left alone. He knew that he was leaving a mess inside the armored personnel carrier, but didn't have enough concern left in him to feel badly about it.
He made enough of an appearance at HQ so that everyone could see that he was still moving air and then turned away, nodding in agreement that he seek medical aid. He really didn't give much of a damn about anything, and was only there to lock up his rifle. Asked why he wasn't at the compound hospital already and he replied that he wanted a cigarette, and they probably wouldn't allow that, and the way that he felt at the moment, the result would likely be unpleasant for all concerned, himself included.
He supposed that it was his small smile which put everyone off. He couldn't help it. They all thought that he must be in shock. The idea was what made him smile at the absurd irony of it. Two hours ago, he'd been in shock.
Now, he didn't give a flying fuck.
Insisting on the short walk, and ignoring the looks that he received, he headed for the hospital to let them do their business, but on the way, he reached into his shredded shirt pockets for his smokes.
And of course, they were completely sodden with blood and who knew what else, he remembered sourly. He tossed them into a bin and seeing a corporal smoking nearby, he bummed one and a light. The corporal stared, and his only comment after lighting the thing was, "I'm uh,... I'm having a bad day."
He shrugged. Well it was the best that he could come up with.
"No shit," the corporal replied.
Finally, he stepped inside.
They began to fuss over him. He provided his serial number, and they got to work. He couldn't believe the questions. They asked him why it had taken him this long to seek their help.
He shrugged, "I'm still walking, aren't I? I had to make sure my people were ok and that nobody else got hurt. The marketplace is a mess now and it took a while. You guys only see the results. It's a little different at the scene. I had a hell of a time just seeing everybody for the dust at first."
He grinned, "But I'm here now, so you can get started, unless there are forms that I have to fill out in triplicate or something."
The medics told him he'd lost some blood. He looked down at the blood and filth that he wore and replied, "Uh-huh."
They told him his wounds were not serious. He looked over and said, "I kind of figured that since I walked here, but you oughta look for shrapnel. I itch in a few places."
They told him that he'd need stitches. He sighed, "Yeah, I figured that too. Look, so far, the only reason that I ought to have gotten here sooner is because you seem to have to remark on all of the things that are really obvious. Can we just do this thing while I'm still young?"
Just after the time that he had the last of the stitches removed, his rotation time had come around.
Two weeks after that, he walked up the ramp into the cavern of the transport and sat down heavily. He still felt numb and empty. He'd started this deployment feeling lost over Sam's death and a few other things, but otherwise, he'd been up for it the same as at any other time. Now...
After the usual interminable, endless farting around, and the long taxi to the active runway, the fat bird clawed skyward with its engines howling. He normally liked to try to get at least a look out the window if he could. This time, he was asleep long before they'd reached cruising altitude.
Walking into his sparsely-furnished home days later, he set down his bags and looked around. "How is everybody?" he called.
Listening to the silence, he smiled, "That's what I thought. Glad I didn't miss anything."
He placed one long distance phone call, and after hearing pretty much what he expected, he promised to be on his way soon. He placed a second call, and made a hasty arrangement for noon the next day. He sighed heavily as he hung up.
Later that evening, he stared at a pair of photographs on his desktop monitor as he drank his second beer. He clicked the PRINT button and pulled his camera's memory card from the reader slot. Setting the prints aside carefully on the table near the door, he went to bed.