by brooklinegirl (witchbaby)
A vignette set in Vietnam. Murdockís on edge and looking for steadiness.
Notes: Happy Birthday to SnowFlake, one of my very favourite people! I hope your day is splendid, and that this story, however dark it may be, is something you like!
You do this all the time. Itís part and parcel with being in Vietnam. Hell, with just being in the army. Hurry up and wait, thatís the motto here. But it still fucking sucks.
Itís long and hot and fucking ridiculous. Standing around, killing time, which is better than killing men, but not by much.
This killing time is killing me.
Killing me by inches, and I donít know how much more I can take. Donít know why the fuck Iím doing this. Why I let myself get caught up in this, get trapped by this. Too much chance of getting hurt by this. Chance? Chance, hell, itís fact: Iím already getting hurt by this. Just by the waiting. The uncertainty. The sinking pit that seems to have taken up residence in my stomach.
Tell me again why Iím doing this? When it gets me pissed off all the fucking time? Tell me again, just remind me why this is worth it. Is this worth it? Could it possibly be worth it? ĎCause I donít see how. When Iím not there, in the moment, being held by him, kissing him, being kissed in return. . .when Iím not there, I just donít fucking see how.
ĎCause when Iím *not* being held. . .*not* being kissed. . .Iím falling apart inside. Breaking down, piece by piece, and I sure as hell canít afford to do that. No way, no how. I know what Iím doing. Iím smart and sure, out in the field. I know this place as well as anybody. Know what Iím doing, know how to keep myself alive, know how to keep my men alive, and know how to kill anyone else. Iím good at that, and I guess I should stick to what Iím good at, because this sucks.
This, Iím *not* good at. Fucking waiting. I canít do this.
Dear lord, how long has it been since Iíve kissed someone? Been a whole hell of a long time, let me tell you. And first kisses? Ainít nothiní like first kisses. Nothing comes even close.
Makes me think Iím falling in love with him, though I guess thatís not quite possible yet. Still, thereís that melting inside, that warm feeling, and his lips on mine, and his hands on my hips and well. . .Iím having a real hard time convincing myself that Iím not falling in love with this boy.
Itís just the first kiss. Canít be that easy, can it? Heís making it that easy, though. Itís all so easy with him. The talking, the laughing, the looks. . .itís easy. This is easy too. Iím not holding back Ďcause Iím not scared. It feels good and right and Iím just not going to fight this. I fight everything else here. Iím not going to fight this. No way. Not when it feels so damn good.
The kiss goes on for a long time, and when he finally pulls back real slow, he looks up at me through his lashes, those blue eyes looking up at me so sweet. He grins at me, real open, and I know Iím grinning back, smiling like an idiot because I canít help it. It just feels so right. Till thereís a rattle at the door of the supply shed (where weíre neither one of us supposed to be) and we jump apart real quick, like weíd been burned by each other.
The kisses are easy. Itís the rest of it thatís hard. The waiting. The wanting. The sheer need of it all, making me crazy. Making me wonder why Iím doing this at all. I miss his arms, though heís only held me a few times. I miss those lips. I miss *him*. Most of all I miss the time to spend. All this waiting here in Vietnam, and itís wasted. Time I could be spending with him, just so fucking wasted. And I end up being harsh to him, as a mean way of bleeding off all of this tension. Itís killing me.
Iíve got my back to the wall, leaning way too far back in my chair, testing my balance, I guess. Seeing if I can afford to drink any more and still be safe. Safe enough to walk, safe enough to fight if need be. Itís hard, because the only thing that feels safe now is feeling numb. If Iím numb, I canít be hurt. Iíll forget it all. Forget the kisses and just go back to being uncaring and fierce and funny and isnít that better than this?
I try to make myself think so. But I canít keep my eyes away from him tonight. Any night. Iím grinning and joking with Ray, harassing BA per usual, drinking beer and buying rounds with money I donít really have to spend. . .and I canít keep my eyes away from the boy. His eyes are almost always on me when I look, like he can feel my speeding thoughts, feel how my whirling mind is focused on him even as I talk and joke and drink.
Like weíre connected. Itís such a clichť, but thatís what it feels like.
Iím on the very edge here. I can tell by how BAís voice is soft even as he tells me to shut up and be quiet. I can feel Rayís eyes on me as he brings a round of new beers, nudges one in my direction. Iím being less-than-subtle, I guess. They know Iím off, they know Iím angry, but they donít know why. I donít think they know why. I hope they donít know why. Itís hard enough dealing with this between just Face and me. Canít explain it to myself, even, how could I explain it to anyone else?
Itís just so fucking frustrating, all of this. I want him and I donít get to be with him. The stolen kisses are sweet but not enough. Not nearly enough. I feel crazy, crazy like they all say I am, crazy enough to break down entirely and. . .what? I donít know what, but I know I need something. I canít hold myself together.
Iíve gone silent, stopped with the harsh chatter. I know Iím angry and I know Iím out of focus, and when someone nudges me, I just break. I lash out, hard, shoving that intruding hand away from me with way more force than necessary. Realize that my chair has fallen forward with a slam and that Iím on my feet, shaking and glaring. Realize it was Face who nudged me. Face who I threw away from me. Face whoís looking at me now, holding himself real still.
Fuck. I spin away with a growl and slam out the door. Just need to get away from all the frustration, the holding back, the fucking waiting. Donít want nobody to follow me.
I hear the door open again behind me, and I donít have to look back to see whoís there. I donít wait; Iím so fucking done with waiting. Donít wait, just keep walking away, getting away. Running away.
Head blindly towards the choppers. Guess itís a homing instinct, that I can get steadiness from them. Being near them, knowing thereís at least the potential for flying. I donít hear anyone following me, but that doesnít mean anything. Face can move silent as anything, and usually does, whether he needs to or not.
No one bothers me as I head to the choppers. The guards see me do this all the time. Itís where I go to calm down, and Iíve needed a lot of calming down lately. And if Face is still following me, I doubt that anyone sees him at all. No one sees Face unless he wants them to.
I swing myself into the back of the chopper. Drop to the floor, just trying to keep breathing. I canít handle this frustration; itís driving me out of my mind. The whirling in my head is just starting to slow when Face slips into the chopper and settles down in front of me. I can feel his eyes on me, but I donít look at him. I want to put an end to this. End the waiting. Stop with the craziness. Or at least go back to the crazy that I know. I try to keep my eyes away from him, but I canít.
I look at him, and heís sitting there silent as a cat in the moonlight. His eyes glow silver as he rests them on me.
My voice is harsh. ďI canít do this.Ē
He nods slowly. His eyes donít leave mine.
ďItís killing me.Ē I donít know if I want him to argue or understand.
ďYouíre stronger than that.Ē Heís suddenly closer to me than before, though I didnít see him move.
ďMaybe Iím not.Ē
ďMaybe you are.Ē Heís very close to me in the darkness, and then heís kissing me soft and slow. Consuming me. His lips move gently against mine and heís so very sure. His hand rests softly on my cheek as he kisses me and itís warm, warmer even than the hot night air. I pull away and look at him, look at his eyes so close. I can feel him breathing, and it feels like heís mine.
Iím still falling. Falling apart, falling in love. But it feels like heís mine. And I canít convince myself that itís not worth it. All the waiting in the world seems worth it for this moment. It seems selfish to ask for anything more than this. Because all I can think, in this moment, is how could it possibly get any better?
Everything else. . .all the bad stuff. . .fades away. Because you know what?
It feels like heís mine.
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