Don't Leave Me Lonely

by brooklinegirl (witchbaby)

brooklinegirl@rcn.com

PG

10/2001


A vignette set in Vietnam. Murdock’s 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!


Waiting.

You do this all the time. It’s part and parcel with being in Vietnam. Hell, with just being in the army. Hurry up and wait, that’s the motto here. But it still fucking sucks.

It’s 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 don’t know how much more I can take. Don’t know why the fuck I’m 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, it’s fact: I’m 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 I’m 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? ‘Cause I don’t see how. When I’m not there, in the moment, being held by him, kissing him, being kissed in return. . .when I’m not there, I just don’t fucking see how.

‘Cause when I’m *not* being held. . .*not* being kissed. . .I’m falling apart inside. Breaking down, piece by piece, and I sure as hell can’t afford to do that. No way, no how. I know what I’m doing. I’m smart and sure, out in the field. I know this place as well as anybody. Know what I’m doing, know how to keep myself alive, know how to keep my men alive, and know how to kill anyone else. I’m good at that, and I guess I should stick to what I’m good at, because this sucks.

This, I’m *not* good at. Fucking waiting. I can’t do this.

*~*~*~*~*~*

(Before)

Dear lord, how long has it been since I’ve kissed someone? Been a whole hell of a long time, let me tell you. And first kisses? Ain’t nothin’ like first kisses. Nothing comes even close.

Makes me think I’m falling in love with him, though I guess that’s not quite possible yet. Still, there’s that melting inside, that warm feeling, and his lips on mine, and his hands on my hips and well. . .I’m having a real hard time convincing myself that I’m not falling in love with this boy.

It’s just the first kiss. Can’t be that easy, can it? He’s making it that easy, though. It’s all so easy with him. The talking, the laughing, the looks. . .it’s easy. This is easy too. I’m not holding back ‘cause I’m not scared. It feels good and right and I’m just not going to fight this. I fight everything else here. I’m 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 I’m grinning back, smiling like an idiot because I can’t help it. It just feels so right. Till there’s a rattle at the door of the supply shed (where we’re neither one of us supposed to be) and we jump apart real quick, like we’d been burned by each other.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The kisses are easy. It’s the rest of it that’s hard. The waiting. The wanting. The sheer need of it all, making me crazy. Making me wonder why I’m doing this at all. I miss his arms, though he’s 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 it’s 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. It’s killing me.

I’ve 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. It’s hard, because the only thing that feels safe now is feeling numb. If I’m numb, I can’t be hurt. I’ll forget it all. Forget the kisses and just go back to being uncaring and fierce and funny and isn’t that better than this?

I try to make myself think so. But I can’t keep my eyes away from him tonight. Any night. I’m grinning and joking with Ray, harassing BA per usual, drinking beer and buying rounds with money I don’t really have to spend. . .and I can’t 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 we’re connected. It’s such a cliché, but that’s what it feels like.

I’m on the very edge here. I can tell by how BA’s voice is soft even as he tells me to shut up and be quiet. I can feel Ray’s eyes on me as he brings a round of new beers, nudges one in my direction. I’m being less-than-subtle, I guess. They know I’m off, they know I’m angry, but they don’t know why. I don’t think they know why. I hope they don’t know why. It’s hard enough dealing with this between just Face and me. Can’t explain it to myself, even, how could I explain it to anyone else?

It’s just so fucking frustrating, all of this. I want him and I don’t 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 don’t know what, but I know I need something. I can’t hold myself together.

Fuck.

I’ve gone silent, stopped with the harsh chatter. I know I’m angry and I know I’m 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 I’m on my feet, shaking and glaring. Realize it was Face who nudged me. Face who I threw away from me. Face who’s 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. Don’t want nobody to follow me.

I hear the door open again behind me, and I don’t have to look back to see who’s there. I don’t wait; I’m so fucking done with waiting. Don’t wait, just keep walking away, getting away. Running away.

Head blindly towards the choppers. Guess it’s a homing instinct, that I can get steadiness from them. Being near them, knowing there’s at least the potential for flying. I don’t hear anyone following me, but that doesn’t 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. It’s where I go to calm down, and I’ve 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 can’t handle this frustration; it’s 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 don’t 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 can’t.

I look at him, and he’s sitting there silent as a cat in the moonlight. His eyes glow silver as he rests them on me.

My voice is harsh. “I can’t do this.”

He nods slowly. His eyes don’t leave mine.

“It’s killing me.” I don’t know if I want him to argue or understand.

“You’re stronger than that.” He’s suddenly closer to me than before, though I didn’t see him move.

“Maybe I’m not.”

“Maybe you are.” He’s very close to me in the darkness, and then he’s kissing me soft and slow. Consuming me. His lips move gently against mine and he’s so very sure. His hand rests softly on my cheek as he kisses me and it’s 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 he’s mine.

I’m still falling. Falling apart, falling in love. But it feels like he’s mine. And I can’t convince myself that it’s 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 he’s mine.

~end~


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