Recoil (a Worm fanfic)

Recoil

Part 3-3: Interpersonal Relationships​

Saturday, March 5, 1994
Brockton Bay

Sergeant Kinsey swung the hire car expertly into the parking spot; I nodded to him, fitted my beret on to my head, and climbed out of the vehicle. “You can find your way back to the motel?” I asked him. The question was unnecessary; I knew damn well that even if he couldn't, there was a map in the glove compartment. But we both knew that verification avoided problems later on.

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied crisply.

“Good. I'll call you when I need pickup. I'll probably be a couple of hours. You're off the clock until then.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” he replied. He didn't salute, which was appropriate, given that he was in current control of a vehicle with a running motor. I nodded to him, closed the door, and strode toward the church. Behind me, I heard the sedan shift into reverse, as he prepared to pull out of the parking space.

I knew that, once back at the motel, he would probably change into civvies, and go and have a few drinks. Not so many that he couldn't drive, but enough to relax and unwind. That was fine with me; he was a good soldier, and a good subordinate. He wouldn't get into trouble.

-ooo-​

Monday, February 28, 1994
Chicago PRT Base

Major Hamilton grimaced as he read over my leave application. “You do know that this is not the best time, Snow,” he protested.

I nodded. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. But my best friend is getting married, and … “

“And you want to be there for her,” he finished. “Well, I can't fault your loyalty, Snow. But we're getting toward that deadline … “ He didn't say it out loud, but I knew what he was thinking. I had been 'working' on the problem of where and when the Behemoth would strike next, but I had not yet been able to give him a definitive answer. And nor, although he did not know it, would I, not until it was almost too late.

“Yes, sir,” I agreed. “It's not yet, but it's soon. I need to gather more data.”

His brow creased. “Snow, you've already been burning up the phone lines between here and every police station that I've ever heard of. As well as spending all hours of night and day tapping away on that computer that you requested.”

“It's a big problem, sir,” I reminded him. “It's not hard to find out where violence is building, but it's a more subtle problem to work out where an attack would be more likely to destabilise the area.”

He tilted his head. “How do you figure that one out? Your crystal ball again?” By which he meant my occasional 'hunches'.

“In a way, sir,” I agreed. “I'm asking for statistics on minor assaults, crimes committed on the spur of the moment. Online, I'm chatting to people across the country, in chatrooms and the like, and throwing out subtle provocations to see if they're more likely to react disproportionately. Cross-referencing that on the map gives me a feel for where people are starting to feel the strain, where civilisation is wearing thin.”

“Hm.” He frowned. “Seems very up in the air to me, Snow. But are you getting results?”

“I'm getting closer to getting a result, sir,” I temporised. “But this leave will help me get more data. By talking to people."

"Which reminds me." He tapped the leave form with a thumbnail. "Driving from Chicago to New York, then up to Brockton Bay? Couldn't you simply fly to New York, then drive up, or even fly direct?"

I shook my head. "No, sir. I need to be out in the world. I want to spend time on the ground, taking the temperature, as it were. We'll be stopping in every community, getting more of a feel for things. Seeing if I'm getting warmer or cooler.”

A shake of the head. “More crystal-ball mumbo-jumbo.” But he accompanied the comment with a smile. “So it's not just a vacation, Snow.”

“No, sir, it's not just a vacation.”

Thus reassured, he picked up his pen and signed the application. “Enjoy yourself, Snow. Come back with something I can use.”

I saluted; he returned it. “I'll do my best, sir.”

-ooo-​

Saturday, March 5, 1994
Brockton Bay

I marched up to the church steps, and climbed them. Pushing open the doors, I slipped inside, pausing to let my eyes adjust to the brightness while I took my beret off again. PRT undress uniform had a steel-blue tunic with ultramarine trousers or skirt; by preference, I wore the former. The beret matched the tunic in colour; I rolled it up and tucked it under the shoulder strap of my epaulette.

I moved down the aisle carefully, noting Franklin at the altar, talking quietly to a few of his friends. I didn't recognise them. Nor, it appeared, did he recognise me. But then, it wasn't me that he was looking for.

I saw a hand raised, and then I spotted Danny's familiar profile; murmuring excuses, I slipped into the pew. Not much to my surprise, Andrea was sitting alongside Danny, with Anne-Rose on his other side. Danny looked moderately uncomfortable in a suit and tie, while Andrea had on a bright red dress that set off her hair, and Anne-Rose wore a deep blue gown which rather suited her. With a mild sense of shock, I thought I actually recognised it; I'd seen it, or one very like it, in Mom's closet, once upon a time.

George and Dorothy were seated on the far side of Anne-Rose; I nodded to them, and Dorothy smiled back.

Danny and Andrea wedged aside to make room for me, and I sat between them. Andrea immediately captured my hand and held it tightly; I squeezed back, enjoying the feeling of her hand in mine.

"You made it," Danny murmured. "I was wondering if you'd be able to get away."

"You think I'd miss this?" I grinned at him. "Gladys and I have been through too much together." I paused. "Which reminds me. She told me that you two have finally gotten engaged."

On his other side, Anne-Rose smiled at me, then showed me her hand, with the engagement ring on the appropriate finger. The stone was of a modest cut, but I took her hand in mine, and examined the ring with feigned astonishment. "Wow, Danny, what jewellery store did you knock over to get this rock?"

She giggled and flushed, pleased at my joke. Danny snorted; he knew all about my sense of humour. "It's not all that big ... "

"The heck it's not," I retorted. "You don't want to go swimming with this on, Anne-Rose."

"Why not?" she asked, concerned. "Do you think I'll lose it?"

"Nah," I told her, releasing her hand. "It'll drag you straight to the bottom." Anne-Rose giggled again, and Danny just shook his head, even as he tried to hide a grin. I kissed him on the cheek. "Congratulations, both of you. I know you'll be very happy."

There was a momentary silence, and I wondered if I'd overstepped the mark, telling them anything at all about their future lives. Then Danny cleared his throat.

"Thank you, Taylor," he replied soberly. "I appreciate that."

"Not a problem." I grinned at him. "So. You thought about when you're actually gonna tie the knot?"

He nodded. "We're looking at mid to late August, before the end of summer break."

I calculated rapidly in my head. Given my mid-June birthdate, I would've been conceived in mid-September, just after college let in again. Which, in hindsight, made my parents' late September wedding date look just a little suspicious. It looked like this time around, they weren't going to be caught off guard.

It kind of made sense, in a weird way; having a time traveller assure you that you would have a happy marriage would probably go a long way toward assuaging doubts.

"That sounds just fine to me," I agreed.

"And I've decided to take your advice," Anne-Rose put in. "When we go back, I'm changing my major." She went to say something else, but just about then, the music started up. We faced front; Franklin, at the altar, stood up straight and looked down the aisle.

"Whoops," muttered Danny. "That's my cue." He scrambled to his feet and made his way out to where Franklin was standing. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a ring-box, which he surreptitiously checked to make sure of the contents. Thus satisfied, he patted Franklin on the shoulder, apparently in reassurance.

We all craned our necks; the church doors opened once more, and Gladys entered, on her father's arm. I had only met Mr Harvey a few times, but we had gotten along. He looked proud; she looked utterly radiant. Behind her trooped the bridesmaids, holding her train.

We watched as she proceeded down the aisle. Down toward the front, I spotted her mother, already dabbing tears from her eyes. When Gladys reached the altar, she took Franklin's hands, looking into his eyes, while her father retired to a seat beside her mother.

The priest cleared his throat. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today ..."

-ooo-​

After the ceremony, the wedding party posed at the top of the church steps while photos were taken, and then the bride threw the bouquet. It went high and wide; Gladys had always had a good arm. Anne-Rose reached up and snagged it out of the air, then looked smugly at Danny.

People were surrounding them, offering congratulations and slapping Franklin on the back; I joined the crowd, trying to get close to the newlyweds. I was taller than most of them there, even some of the men, and Gladys spotted us almost immediately. "Taylor! Anne-Rose!" she called, and forged her way between her well-wishers to reach us. When she got to me, she flung her arms around me, and I immediately got the impression that she had not slacked off on her exercises. I was no weakling myself, especially not since joining the PRT, but her hug drove all the air from my lungs.

"You made it, you made it!" she exclaimed, bestowing a jasmine-smelling kiss on my cheek. I returned the hug and the kiss, though less exuberantly, then looked into her smiling face.

"You look good," I told her, and it was true. She looked ... 'radiant' is a much overused word, especially when used in conjunction with brides, but she did look all of that. "I think married life agrees with you."

"Oh, you," she chuckled. "Look, Franklin, Taylor made it! I knew she would!"

Franklin, looking somewhat stunned, caught up with her. "Oh wow, hi, Taylor," he greeted me. "That beret looks really cool."

I chuckled, and touched the aforementioned beret, which I had of course replaced once we exited the church. "It's convenient, I'll give it that. It's good to see you. How have you been?"

He spread his hands. "Oh, you know, same ol', same ol'. Woke up this morning, said, hey, I think I might get married today, and hey! Here we are."

Gladys nudged him in the ribs. "What, asking me didn't come into it at all?"

By way of answer, he took her into his arms and gave her a kiss; she returned it with a certain amount of enthusiasm. I grinned and glanced at Anne-Rose, who was hugging her bouquet. "You realise, that's kind of a given," I pointed out. "Maybe you should give some other poor girl a chance."

"Oh, really?" she retorted. "Would you like it?" She made as if to hand it to me; I raised one hand defensively, as the other had been recaptured by Andrea.

"No, no, I'm good," I told her. "No plans to get married any time soon."

"That's what I thought," she sniffed, and wrapped her arms around it again. "This is my bouquet, and I won it fair and square."

"Hey, Taylor," Danny spoke up from beside me, "do you have a lift to the reception?"

"Uh, no," I confessed. "I told my driver to wait for my call. And I don't even know where it is."

"Oh, that's fine," he told me. "We came in my car. I can give you a lift."

"You have a car?" I asked. "Wow, this I have to see."

-ooo-​

The car didn't look too bad, to be honest; it was second-hand, to be sure, but it was well-kept, and ran smoothly. Anne-Rose got in the front seat, while Andrea and I shared the back, a situation that pleased both of us. I put my arm around her; she snuggled up to me.

"So tell us what you've been doing," she demanded. "Your letters don't say much of anything."

"That's called 'operational security'," I explained. "I'm not allowed to talk about much of what I do. But I did go to a party at the White House in January."

She listened, wide-eyed, while I gave her a carefully edited version of what had happened at the ball. Not at all deterred by any concept of operational security, she bombarded me with further questions, until Danny laughingly interrupted. "Hey, Andrea, can one of us ask her a question?"

She sighed and pouted. "I suppose." I grinned, and gave her an extra squeeze. "Go ahead," she added, the answering grin on her face belying her still-sulky tone. "Ask your stupid question."

"Taylor, you drove all the way here from Chicago, via New York, right?" Danny asked.

"Sure," I agreed. "Two days from Chicago to the Big Apple. Another six hours from there to here. Why?"

"Well, that's what I was going to ask you," he responded. "Why? Why drive all that way, by that roundabout route, when you could have flown from Chicago to here in less than an hour?"

I considered the question. "I suppose," I answered carefully, "you could say that I was on a fact-finding mission." I had to be careful; while all three were aware of my true origins, only Danny and Andrea knew even peripherally of my behind-the-scenes activities, and just Andrea knew about Lisa.

“And I suppose the nature of the facts that you were finding is not a topic for discussion,” Danny commented dryly, when I did not go on.

I nodded. “Sorry, but that's the way it is.”

“Did you at least get the information you were after?” asked Andrea.

I nodded. “Yes, I believe I did.”

-ooo-​

Friday, March 4, 1994
Interstate 76

We were an hour out of Pittsburgh when I raised the topic. We'd driven from Chicago to Pittsburgh the previous day, an eight-hour drive that had done neither of us any favours. I'd offered to take my turn at driving, but Kinsey was adamant; he was the NCO, so he would drive.

At each town, I had gotten out to stretch my legs, gone into the stores, bought small items, and chatted to the shopkeepers. Kinsey and I were both in plain clothes, but I had him stay in the car; whether he was wearing the uniform or not, he was a sergeant through and through.

By halfway through the drive on Thursday, he had unbent enough to chat on neutral topics, to carefully express his views on some matters, and in general to act like someone chatting to an equal, not a sergeant talking to a lieutenant.

And so, on Friday, the asphalt of I-76 was humming under our tyres when I turned to him. “James,” I inquired politely, “can I ask a question of you?”

His eyes flicked sideways to me. “The Lieutenant is entitled to ask any question she feels necessary,” he replied.

I raised an eyebrow. “I thought we'd gotten past that, yesterday,” I commented. “Yes, I'm an officer. Yes, you're an NCO. But right here, right now, we're two people in a car, and if we can't talk freely, it's going to get very old, very fast.”

Again, the eye-flick. “Was that a question, ma'am?” he asked after a moment.

“No, James, it wasn't,” I responded. “The question is, do you trust me?”

There was a long silence. I waited. After a time, he replied carefully. “I'm not sure what you mean by that, ma'am.”

“I mean,” I told him, “do you believe that I would betray you, personally, in order to get some sort of profit or benefit?”

He shook his head immediately. “I don't believe that, ma'am.”

I raised my head slightly. “Why not?”

This time, he turned to look at me, a direct eye-to-eye contact, before putting his attention back on the road. “Because you saved my career. After that Master-Stranger did his whammy on me, I was on the bench. No-one would have trusted me with anything important. It wouldn't have been long before I was offered an honourable discharge, for the good of the service. But you trusted me. And that means something to me. That means a hell of a lot, excuse me for swearing, ma'am.”

I smiled slightly. “That's fine, James. I've heard much worse. I've used much worse. But I'm glad you feel that way. Because it means I can ask you another question. And this is a much harder one.”

“Ask away, ma'am.”

Mentally, I sighed. I'm never going to get him to lose the honorific. Oh well. “Before I ask it, I want you to understand that no matter what you say, no matter how you answer it, I want you to be totally honest. Is that understood? No matter what you tell me as an answer, I want to hear your real opinion. There will be no repercussions. None. You're safe, no matter what you say.”

One eyebrow raised. “Sounds like a doozy of a question, ma'am.”

I nodded. “The question is this. What's your personal opinion of me, as a person and as an officer?”

I saw his knuckles tighten on the wheel. When he spoke, his voice was carefully casual. “Christ, ma'am, you've got a talent for hitting a man with the big ones.”

I kept my tone light. “Is that your opinion?”

Half a smile cracked that craggy face. “No, ma'am. That was just an observation. And before I answer, you're one of very few that I'd be honest about answering with. Some officers, who I will not name, would hold a grudge for honest answers, even if they demanded them in the first place.”

I nodded. “Understood, Kinsey. Feel free to answer in your own time.”

He breathed deeply; neither of us spoke for a good half mile or more. Then he spoke.

“Ma'am, as a person, you're more than a little on the driven side. From what I know, you're loyal to your friends, and probably pure hell to your enemies. You know a lot more than you should in some ways, and less than I'd expect in others. If you were my daughter, I'd be proud as hell of you. Mind you, you also confuse the hell out of me sometimes, but if we were in civvy street, we could be friends.”

“And if I was a sergeant, like you?” I asked quietly.

He grinned slightly. “Then I'd be asking why the hell you hadn't gone in for officer training already.”

I nodded. “Interesting. And as an officer?”

He took a deep breath. “You're a cowboy, a maverick. You pretend to keep your head down, but you come up with the most wild-ass stuff, and it's all pure gold.” He frowned. “You don't play politics and you don't kiss ass. You're doing your job, doing it right, getting your ducks in a row, but you've got a longer term goal in mind than career PRT officer.”

I shivered. “Christ, Kinsey. That was some analysis. Why aren't you an officer?”

He chuckled slightly. “That would require me wanting to be one, first,” he replied. “Now, I'm getting the impression that you're wanting to ask a third question, to do with the other two.”

“You are correct,” I acknowledged. “And this is the big one. If I chose, at some future time, to leave the PRT, would you come along too? If I asked you?”

He froze, just for a moment. “Are you planning to leave the PRT soon, ma'am?” he asked quietly.

By soon, I suspected, he meant during this trip. In short, he was asking me if I was intending to go AWOL.

I shook my head. “No, Kinsey. Not that soon. It's more of a hypothetical. As you have so succinctly pointed out, I'm not planning to make the PRT my career. If and when I do leave, I could do with a loyal, well-trained … “

“Helper?” he suggested. “Bodyguard? Assistant?”

I tilted my head slightly. “I was thinking 'partner'.”

“Partner,” he repeated. “Hm. I'd have to think about that one.”

“Take your time,” I told him lightly. “I've still got a lot of work to do before I hand my resignation in.”

He nodded, acknowledging that. “I'll definitely think about it, ma'am,” he agreed. “I like being in the PRT, but these days, I'm not so sure whether it's the PRT that I like, or being your orderly. You keep life interesting.”

“I can only try, Kinsey,” I replied. “I can only try.”

He was silent for a few moments, then changed the subject. We didn't talk about the topic of trust, or about leaving the PRT, for the rest of the trip.

-ooo-​

We got motel rooms in New York; again, I went for a walk and spoke to people before turning in.

In the morning, we were on the road early, heading toward Brockton Bay.

-ooo-​

Saturday, March 5, 1994
Brockton Bay

“Oh no, you didn't!” I exclaimed, as I realised where we were going.

Danny grinned. “Oh, yeah. We did.”

“You realise that I don't have the very best memories of that place,” I reminded him.

“Oh, I dunno,” Andrea told me as Danny pulled the car into a parking space. “I seem to remember that's where I ended up with a girlfriend.”

I gave her a very dry look before climbing out of the car. “And you'll never, ever get tired of telling people about that, will you?”

“Nope,” she confirmed cheerfully. “Except that one tall skinny drink of water who kept coming around for a bit, asking around about you. When he got to me, I told him exactly where he could fuck off to, and how he could do it.”

“Tall, skinny guy, huh?” I asked, not entirely surprised. “Did he try to put the moves on you?”

“Not me, but I heard he tried it on with a couple of the other girls,” Andrea told me. “When it came to me, he was just hot for information.”

Tall skinny drink of water … sounds like Calvert, all right. So he was in on the investigation.

I leaned down and kissed her; she blinked, but did not protest. In fact, she kissed me right back.

“Not that I'm complaining,” she observed when we broke for air, “but what did I do to deserve that, and can I do it again?”

I smiled down at her. “Probably helped keep my career from crashing and burning,” I told her fondly. “I think they were looking around for proof that I was gay.”

She blinked. “Oh, is that all? He was asking more questions than that. Had you ever exhibited signs of parahuman powers, and all that.”

“Huh,” I murmured, a little jolted. “Well, given that I'm not a cape - “

“A what?” she asked.

“A cape,” I explained. “It's what some people are calling costumed parahumans. Seeing as I'm not one, that's a given.”

That comment was for the benefit of Danny and Anne-Rose, who were tactfully keeping out of the conversation for the moment. Andrea knew exactly what was going on with me, or at least as much as I knew about it, and so she didn't argue.

“Yup,” she agreed. “Now let's go join the reception.”

“Let's do that,” I agreed, and led the way into the Brockton Bay College Recreational Club.

-ooo-​

“ - so Emily goes, 'Okay, I hear you're good on the rifle range,'” Andrea told the table. Danny was grinning broadly, and Anne-Rose was giggling over her drink. I had a bottle of some sort of alcoholic cider; I'd had the bartender hand it over unopened. There was no way I was going to risk another drink spiking, even at an event like this. In any case, it wasn't too strong, so I figured I was okay.

Gladys had her hand over her eyes, slowly shaking her head. I was intrigued. “So what happened then?” I asked.

Andrea took a drink, and grinned at me. “They went on to the rifle range, and Emily slaps down ten bucks and points Gladys at the hundred-yard target. So Gladys pops it. Emily takes her shot, and pops it too. So Emily goes to the one-fifty yard target, and slaps down another ten.”

I could see where this story was going. “So, at what point did Emily give up?”

Andrea cackled out loud. “Five hundred yards. She only hit the bullseye with one shot out of three, and missed with one shot altogether. Gladys put them all through the same damn hole, near enough. Right smack bang in the middle.”

Gladys shook her head again. “I felt so bad, taking her money,” she explained.

“So we took her out for drinks, after,” Franklin took up the story. “Got her drunk on her own money. By the time we poured her on to the train, she was plastered.”

I grinned. “Gladys, you target-shooting shark, you.”

“I still go out once a week and put a few rounds through a few targets,” she confessed. “It's fun.”

“Wait till you see the wedding present Dad got you,” Franklin told her.

Her eyes opened wide. “Ooh, what?”

Grinning, he shook his head. “Gonna have to wait and see.”

Andrea leaned up to my ear and whispered, “A new rifle.”

I looked at her and raised my eyebrows in a question. Are you serious?

She nodded, grinning.

Well, I thought. Gladys is gonna love that.

-ooo-​

The reception went longer than I thought. The drinks were free, and the alcoholic cider seemed to really agree with me. Not that I had that many, or so I thought; it was just that we were toasting the bride and groom a lot, and the bottles didn't have all that much in them, and it was sometimes easier to finish one and open another.

I went to stand up, swayed, and steadied myself on the table. “Woo.”

Danny blinked owlishly at me. “Taylor, you're drunk.”

“Am not.” I went to take a couple of steps, and swayed again. “Woo. Maybe I am.”

Andrea picked up one of my bottles – how did that many cider bottles get in front of me? Was someone else drinking them and leaving them in front of me? That's untidy.

She looked at it, and laughed.

“Wow, Taylor, you've really been putting these away, haven't you?”

She didn't sound drunk. That wasn't fair at all. She was smaller than me.

“They're not that bad,” I told her, trying for a positive tone.

She chuckled. “They're smooth, I'll give them that. They don't have as much alcohol as a full-strength beer, but you've been putting away a lot of them.”

I blinked at the number of tables on the bottle – I mean, bottles on the table. They seemed to move around. Tricky little things. When I counted them, I couldn't focus. After I counted the same one four times, I gave up.

“Have I drunk that many?” I asked plaintively.

She nodded, then grinned. “But it's okay. I can give you a lift back to my place.”

That sounded good. I had spent many nights at her place. Sometimes when it was my place. But then something intruded. “I … no. Can't.”

She frowned. “Can't?”

I held her by the shoulders, steadying myself, and tried to explain. “I got driver. He'll pick me up. Sergeant. Big man. Kinsey. Regul-regulashuns. Need to call him.”

She frowned. “You're serious.”

“'M offisher. Got rules 'n' regulash'ns t'follow. Major tol' me, tol' me, not go far from Kinsey. He's driver. Protects me. Big man. Good man.”

She nodded. “Okay, we'll call Kinsey. Sergeant Kinsey?”

I nodded, then regretted it as the world spun. “Woo.”

“Where's he staying?”

“Motel,” I mumbled. “Big sign. Thingy.” I rummaged in my pocket, found my wallet, then promptly dropped it. Andrea picked it up, and looked through it.

“What am I looking for?”

“Paid. Piece of paper. Thingy.”

“A receipt?”

I raised a finger, because I didn't want my head to fall off. “That. Yeah.”

She pulled something out of my wallet, unfolded it, and read it. “Found it. Traveler's Rest. Rooms fifteen and sixteen.”

“Yup yup,” I agreed. “Thass th' one. He's in sis'teen.” I forgot not to nod, and the world spun again. “Woo.”

“Why don't you sit down here,” she told me gently, and helped me to a seated position. “I'll go make that phone call.”

“Okay, Andrea,” I told her. I watched her walk away. She's so nice to me. Why did I leave her? For the life of me, I couldn't remember.

-ooo-​

The phone on the nightstand rang. Kinsey sat up and muted the TV so that he'd be able to hear the person on the other end, before picking up the phone. “Kinsey.”

“Ah, yes, sir, we have a young lady calling you. She says it's about your friend?”

He frowned. “Put her through.”

A moment later, after a few clicks, a feminine voice burst on to his eardrum. Not Lieutenant Snow. Someone else.

“Am I talking to Sergeant Kinsey?”

He sat up straight. “Yes. Where's Lieutenant Snow?”

“She's kind of drunk. You might want to come pick her up.”

He stood up. “Where is she?”

“Do you know where the Brockton Bay College Recreational Club is?”

“I have a map. I'll be there shortly.”

He put the phone down, then went to the closet, where he'd hung his uniform after changing into civvies. I've never known her to get drunk before. They say she threw up after one cocktail at the White House ball.

He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he knew that he needed to go and get her.

If anything happens to her – anything at all – Major Hamilton will have my guts for fucking bungee cords.

-ooo-​

Ten harrowing minutes later, he was pulling into the parking lot of the Brockton Bay College. Leaping from the car, he double-timed it toward where the Club was spilling music, laughter and revellers into the cool night air.

One girl was steadying another as she threw up into a garden bed; he nearly went straight past them, before he realised that the tall one with the blue outfit was indeed Snow. The redhead who was assisting her looked around and saw him, and waved him over.

As he got there, Lieutenant Snow finished throwing up, and groggily straightened up. The redhead gave her a tissue, and she wiped her mouth. Her glasses were askew, and she carefully straightened them before focusing on Kinsey.

“Sergeant Kinsey,” she enunciated carefully, “I think I would like to go back to the motel now.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied, saluting.

She returned the salute, nearly putting her own eye out, then staggered a little; the redhead steadied her again. “Do you need a hand, Sergeant?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I've got it from here, miss,” he replied. “Thank you for calling me.”

She smiled sadly. “You're welcome. She means a lot to me.” She held out her hand. “Andrea Campbell.”

He shook it. “James Kinsey.”

Tucking his shoulder under Snow's – she was just tall enough for this to work – he helped her back to the car, and got her into the passenger seat. By the time he was done getting her seatbelt on, she was snoring softly.

The drive back to the motel was a lot less hair-raising than the outward trip; Lieutenant Snow was safe now, in his care. Several times on the drive, he looked across at her as she slept. She looked almost innocent, unspoiled. Quite the contrast from when she was on duty; the snap in her voice, the glint in her eye, told anyone who doubted her that here was someone that you didn't cross.

And now, she was drunk in the passenger seat of the car, as he drove her back to the motel.

I thought I'd seen all sides of her. It's a strange, strange world.

-ooo-​

Getting her into her motel room proved relatively easy. They had adjoining rooms, and she was limp as a rag doll. There was no-one else around; he picked her up in his arms and carried her into his room, through the connecting door, into hers. Laying her down on her bed, he untied her shoes and eased them off, placing them neatly on the floor beside her bed.

The uniform tunic concerned him; there were a few spots on it, either from food, drink, vomit or alcohol, and if she left that till morning, the stains would set.

“Ma'am,” he stated firmly. “Lieutenant Snow.”

She stirred a little.

He repeated her name, shaking her slightly. Her eyes fluttered open. “Huh?”

“Lieutenant,” he repeated. “You have to get your tunic off. I need to soak it. Do you understand?”

Christ, he thought, Hamilton really should have sent a female driver with her. I do not need this situation.

She nodded woozily. “'kay.” With fumbling fingers, she began to unbutton her tunic; he helped her out of it, then unpinned the medal ribbons and laid them on her nightstand.

“I'll just set this to soaking,” he assured her, averting his eyes from her lacy bra.

Ducking into the bathroom, he filled the basin with cold water, rubbed soap on the stained areas, and left the tunic to soak.

When he exited the bathroom, he saw that she was wriggling out of her uniform pants, but seemed to be stuck.

I do not need this.

Striding over to the bed, he took hold of the bottom ends of the trouser legs and gently tugged them off of her, doing his best to ignore her long, slender limbs and body, the pale skin contrasting against her dark underwear.

I can handle this. We're both adults.

Folding the trousers, he hung them over the chair beside the bed, then turned to go.

“Serg'nt.”

The word was not much more than a mumble, but he heard it, and turned. She was up on one elbow, looking at him.

“Lieutenant?”

“C'm'ere, Serg'nt,” she ordered. She was still slurring her words, but they were recognisable.

He went to the side of the bed.

“What do you need, Lieutenant?” he asked, quietly.

She gave a choking noise, and for a moment he thought she was about to throw up again, but with a shock, he realised she was crying. “'m all 'lone. M' friends 'r' dead, long ago 'n' far 'way. Need someone t' help me not be all 'lone. C'n you help me, Serg'nt?”

He was very aware of her as a woman.

Oh god, let me do the right thing.

He sat on the edge of her bed. She tried to kiss him; he turned his face away, gathered her in his arms. Softly, gently, he held her in his strong embrace, rubbing her back as he sang to her. The tune was that of a nursery rhyme; the words, quite obscene, those of a US Marines marching song. But it was the tone, the rhythm, that mattered. Slowly she relaxed, her eyes closed. The tears stopped flowing.

He laid her down on the sheets, pulled the covers over her. Turned off her bedside light.

Then he went back through the connecting door, and locked it on his side. Carefully, he took off his uniform and hung it up, piece by piece. And then he went and had a very long, very cold shower, before he went to bed.

-ooo-​

Sunday, March 6, 1994
Traveler's Rest Motel
Room Fifteen

When I finally managed to open my eyes without lightning-bolts of pain slashing through my retinas, I looked up to see Sergeant Kinsey standing by my bed with a tray of food.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he greeted me formally. “How are we feeling this morning?”

I weakly reached out and grasped a glass of fruit juice. Slowly, carefully, I drank some of it. My stomach did not rebel, so I drank some more.

“Like the inside of someone's sock after a twenty-mile pack march,” I groaned. “Ow. My hair hurts. How does my hair hurt?”

“The Lieutenant apparently drank a little too much last night,” he observed. “I would suggest that she rehydrates, then has a long hot shower, then eats as much of this as she can. Then, perhaps, she might feel a little more human.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “You seem to be deriving far too much enjoyment out of this,” I growled.

He returned my gaze innocently. “Far be it from a sergeant to derive enjoyment from a lieutenant's misfortune, ma'am. I would never do such a thing.”

I drank more of the fruit juice. It seemed to be spreading throughout my system, waking me up as it went. It tasted vile, and it still tasted better than what had apparently died in my mouth overnight.

Something occurred to me, and I checked under the covers to make sure of it. “Sergeant, I appear to be not wearing my tunic or trousers.”

“That is correct, ma'am,” he replied, still holding the tray. “Your tunic was spotted with something, so I had you remove it then hand it to me; I put it on to soak. You removed your trousers and hung them up yourself.”

“From my memory of last night,” I ventured, “I would have been hard put to walk across the room without falling over.”

“That, ma'am, is what Basic is for,” he reminded me. “So you can still do things like that, even when in the extremity of injury or drink.”

“Hm.” I finished the juice. “Leave the tray. I need to have a shower.”

“Ma'am.” He set down the tray, about-faced, and then left the room at quick march, while I was still figuring out how to untangle myself from the sheets.

Slowly, creakily, I climbed out of bed. It took some effort to reach the bathroom, and more to prepare for the shower. There were certain biological processes to go through first, which left me much relieved.

Slowly, however, the hot spray woke me up, and unknotted my muscles. I still didn't remember much past seeing Kinsey and telling him that I needed to go back to the motel.

My tunic was in the basin, where he had put it. I pulled it out and rinsed it under the hot water; with some scrubbing, the stains came out. Wringing it out, I hung it up next to the shower cubicle, then got under the spray again. Leaning back against the wall of the cubicle with the water running over my body, I closed my eyes and let my mind drift …

-ooo-​

“Wow, you certainly tied one on there.”

I looked across at Lisa as she finished strapping the saddle on to the hadrosaur. She was wearing knee-high boots of an odd pebbled leather that never came off of a cow, along with tough, hard-wearing clothes, and a broad-brimmed hat. What do you mean?

She grinned mischievously. I groaned; I knew exactly what that grin meant. I'd put my foot in it, in a most embarrassing fashion. Lisa wasn't going to let me hear the end of this for ages.

“I mean,” she told me, “you almost literally drank yourself under the table on alcoholic cider. One more bottle, and you would have happily gone home with Andrea. And slept with her.”

Oh god.

“And then,” she went on relentlessly, “after the good Sergeant Kinsey got you home, and into bed – your bed, not his – he had to get your tunic off, because it was spotted -”

Yeah, I know, I told her irritably.

“Did you know he helped get your trousers off, and hung them up for you?” she asked sweetly, climbing into the saddle. Extending a hand down, she helped me up behind her.

I suspected, I growled.

“And then you made a move on him.”

I froze. I what?

She shrugged and grinned, and started the hadro off at a fast, if bumpy, trot.

“You tried,” she called over her shoulder, as the large dino negotiated a stony slope down into a narrow draw, “to get him into bed with you. While drunk, and only wearing your underwear.”

Oh god almighty.

The hadrosaur loped along the floor of the narrow canyon, ducking around large flowering bushes. I began to hear a dull rumble, although there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

“Fortunately, your Sergeant Kinsey, although he was mightily tempted at that moment in time, held to his duty. He sang you a lullaby, and basically rocked you to sleep. Then he went and had a really cold shower.”

Holy shit, I marvelled. The man must be a saint.

The hadrosaur exited the draw, into a wider canyon. There were no bushes here, no trees of any kind. This was because all plant life had been stamped flat by the mass of ceratopsians that were occupying the canyon from side to side. Stolidly, they trundled forward, each footfall raising dust to obscure the ones behind.

“Nope,” Lisa corrected me. “Just a really good sergeant. Who's just a little bit in love with you, although he'll never, ever admit it.”

My brain locked up. Kinsey's in love with me?

“Just a little bit. Prod's down by your left boot.”

I reached down and pulled the long metal prod out of the leather scabbard. There were two contacts on the end. A cattle prod?

“Prod, yes. Cattle, no.” To illustrate, she leaned over in the saddle and touched the contacts to the shoulder of a ceratopsian that was attempting to nudge the hadrosaur aside. There was a pop and a smell of ozone, and the ceratopsian bawled in protest, moving away from us.

Ah, I noted. Gotcha. I frowned. How can he be in love with me?

She glanced back at me. “You're a bit slow today. He's already told you as much. You could have ended his career with a word, but you helped him instead. You're a straight shooter, you don't play politics, and you treat your subordinates well. And you get the job done. Also, it doesn't hurt that you've started to develop a little, over the last couple of years. If you were sergeants together, he would already have asked you out.”

The hadrosaur loped forward along the periphery of the herd of ceratopsians. Occasionally, Lisa leaned forward and prodded a slow or stubborn one out of our way.

I never realised, I told her in tones of wonder. I thought he was just loyal.

She shrugged. “There's loyalty and there's loyalty. Many shades of grey. When I was alive, I loved you in my own way. Just not, you know, in that way.”

The canyon began to widen, the herd to spread out. “We've got to get up ahead of them,” she told me, shaking out the reins so that the hadrosaur quickened its pace. “Turn them so they go down a side canyon. Also, watch out for the raptors.”

Raptors? I asked.

It was then that I saw one, cutting through the herd like a shark through a school of particularly stupid fish. It went to leap on to the back of the hadro -

Instinctively, I brought up the prod. The raptor ran full into it. A jolt of electricity designed to get a three-ton ceratopsian's attention coursed through its body. It fell, and lay twitching. The ceratopsians behind walked stolidly over it. I didn't see it again.

“Yeah,” she grinned. “Raptors.”

We pounded down the canyon, prodding the ceratopsians into turning, dealing with the occasional raptor that wanted to either lunch on us, or take down a ceratopsian calf. Once, a raptor tried to hit us from the other side; Lisa drew a pistol that looked more like a blunderbuss, and blew a large hole through it.

Finally, we had the herd moving smoothly; the raptors were either dead or had decided to seek greener pastures. We stopped for a breath, watching them trundle past, their massed footfalls shaking the earth. It was only then that I noted the small brand that each bore on its flank; TT.

Wow, you're really into this herding dinosaurs thing, aren't you? I asked.

She grinned at me. “Hey, it's a hobby.”

I inclined my head. Not criticising. I enjoy whatever we do together.

“Me too. By the way, you might want to get out of the shower soon. Thought about what you're going to say to Kinsey?”

I nodded. Yeah. Thanks, by the way. I needed time to think.

She smiled. “Any time. Kiss before you go?”

I kissed her readily enough; her lips tasted of dust and blood. A fly buzzed at my eye, and I blinked -

-ooo-​

- and I opened my eyes in the shower.

I sighed, reaching to turn the water off. The time with Lisa had served to answer some questions, but had raised one or two more. There were now issues that I had to deal with, or not, and I had no idea how to deal with them. It had been bad enough when Brian had felt that way about me, and I'd been his girlfriend.

Kinsey and I, on the other hand … we were in a fixed hierarchy. There were rules. Sergeants did not sleep with lieutenants in their chain of command. That was even if I was attracted to him.

Am I attracted to Kinsey?

It was a fair question. He was tall, muscular, not bad looking, but years and years older than me. Consciously, I had never actually thought of him in that way before. Subconsciously, apparently, I had been checking him out.

But now, drunkenly, I had made the offer, and he had turned me down. How would this affect our working relationship? How was I going to deal with this?

Kinsey, apparently, was dealing with it by not dealing with it. As far as he was concerned, it had never happened.

I thought some more about this, while I dried and dressed. I put the still-damp tunic on a hanger under the ceiling fan while I ate the remainder of my breakfast, then I tapped on the connecting door; he opened it almost immediately.

“Ma'am,” he acknowledged me. He didn't salute, given that we were both in civvies.

“Sergeant,” I replied. “Thank you for the breakfast. You were right; I do feel more human.”

The slightest smile cracked his imperturbable expression. “You're welcome, ma'am. What are your plans for the day?”

I rubbed my chin. “I believe that I will go and say my goodbyes to my friends. And then we'll make a start back to Chicago.”

He nodded. “Very good, ma'am.” Turning away, he started toward the door out of his room.

I raised my voice slightly. “Oh, and one more thing, sergeant?”

He stopped and glanced back at me. “Ma'am?”

“About last night. After we got back.”

For a long moment, he looked at me. “You remember, ma'am?”

“It came back to me in the shower.” It wasn't even a lie. “Thank you, sergeant.”

Slowly, he nodded. “You're very welcome, ma'am.”

I closed the connecting door, and went to get my bag. The issue with Kinsey wasn't over, but we could both deal with it.

And for the time being, I'd have to be satisfied with that.

End of Part 3-3

Part 3-4​