by K Alexander
When she is finished and opens the door uncertainly, the towel wrapped securely around her body, the soldier is waiting, leaning against the wall. Taking her captive back into the bedroom she points at the jeans, long-sleeved shirt and light jacket laying on the bed, leaving the room once again to let Claire get dressed, and when she returns she has a small black bag clenched in her hand.
"Come on."
They walk towards the kitchen and when they pass Victor's bedroom Claire tries to glance in, but the door is closed. Ryan's hand on her arm yanks her into the kitchen, and as the soldier passes her two pieces of toast with cheese on a small plate she glares at the lean woman.
"Did you have to?" It's a disgusted hiss.
Raising her eyebrows Ryan stares at her coolly. "Did I have to what?"
"You know! Did you have to kill him?"
"He's a bastard." The words are vehement. "He betrayed me."
"And it changes things to kill him? That's the only solution you seem to have!" The doctor shakes her head.
"You definitely won't understand." With a bitter expression Ryan presses the remaining piece of toast into Claire's hand and then puts the plate in the sink. "Your brain is not at all like mine. Courtesy of him." Grasping Claire's wrist she propels her out of the house and towards the SUV.
It is silent in the vehicle as Ryan turns right and then right again, crossing the river and taking them out of Fort Benton. Claire stares at the reflection of the early morning light off the water, and then at the landscape passing them by. When she finally turns her head to look at Ryan her eyes are brimming with tears.
"You knew him. You knew his daughter. Now you're going to be the reason she wakes up today without a father?"
The soldier's jaw clamps tightly. "She'll be fine."
"You think?" Claire raises her eyebrows incredulously. "Why, Ryan? Because good troops never cry? Because for you life just goes on?" She laughs sharply, bites back the sound and shakes her head.
"Because Victor's not dead."
There is a second of silence before Claire comprehends the words. "What? You shot him! I heard you!"
Ryan shakes her head abruptly. "You heard a shot. When they find him he'll have been unconscious for a few hours and he'll be sporting a good selection of bruises, but he'll be alive."
"But why?"
"I think he was set up. He knows more than he's telling but less than they're implying." Her eyebrows draw together. "I may be messed up, confused, my brain fried - but he was a friend and I couldn't do that."
With a sigh somewhere between hysteria and relief Claire puts her face in her hands. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? Christ, Ryan… "
"I couldn't tell you earlier because the house was bugged." Ryan adjusts the rearview mirror slightly. "Someone's watching."
------
"… I think the machine's going to cut me off - give me a call when you do get in - you have my number."
Colonel George Turner puts down the phone quietly and smiles to himself before he picks up the handset and dials again. The man who answers on the other side has a deep smooth voice.
"Yes."
"Mahoney, this is Colonel Turner. The call is made."
"Good." Turner can hear the satisfaction in the other man's voice. "We're listening."
"Shouldn't be long." Turner rings off without greeting.
Mahoney - or as he prefers to be known, Sierra - sits in front of the surveillance equipment for about twenty minutes before the sound of a shot rings out in his earphones. With a grim smile he picks up the satellite phone and dials.
"Turner."
"It's done. She's dealt with Banks."
"Good." There is the shuffling of papers on Turner's side. "Tomorrow, Grossman. Get some sleep."
"We want to be waiting."
"If you're dull you're useless to me, Mahoney. Get rest. We know where she's going."
"Fine." Sierra disengages and puts down the phone.
------
Apart from the muted music that drifts from the radio, it is quiet in the Trailblazer, both women thoughtful and far away. They have been driving for almost forty minutes before Claire speaks for the first time.
"Banks said some shocking things last night. Do you want to discuss it?"
"Typical therapist. I hear the worst news ever, and you want to chat." Though her words are short her tone is nearly humorous. Ignoring the obvious evasion Claire continues.
"I'd like to know how you're taking it, Ryan."
"As it comes, doctor. In my stride. I don't have that many options." She cocks her head. "So I'm some sort of sci-fi monster now. At least I know it's not just how I am hereditarily."
"Well, that's an admirable point of view." Claire shakes her head. "I'm not sure if I were in your position I'd be able to do the same."
"It's not noble. There's just not much more I can do." In Belt Ryan stops at a gas station and fills up the SUV, pulling some notes from a brown leather wallet she retrieves from the black bag. They leave the town behind and Ryan glances around when she sees from the corner of her eye that Claire is for some reason smiling at her.
"What?"
"You stole his wallet?"
"He's alive. That's good enough."
"I don't think your problem is the voice in your head, Ryan. I think you're a covert kleptomaniac."
The soldier almost smiles, and when she speaks her voice is overly grave. "You've caught me out, doctor Walsch. You're not actually a hostage. I just took you because I thought you looked so damned good." Shaking her head at herself she grimaces. "Sorry. That came out wrong."
"Hey, I don't have a problem with being told I look good. Even if it is in a joke." Brushing off Ryan's awkwardness she shrugs. "It's okay."
"You do look good. I wasn't kidding about that." Embarrassed once again Ryan clears her throat. "Hey, doc, want to ask me a personal and intrusive question? How about it?"
Claire laughs heartily. "The only time you ever offered that." Sitting forward she turns down the radio. "Ryan? You're not as bad a person as you think you are."
Her jaw muscles clenching, Ryan glances out her window. "I believe you. Millions wouldn't ..."
"Hey." Tapping lightly on her wrist Claire waits until the soldier looks at her. "It's not your fault. What happened, happened to you. You're dealing with it a lot better than most people would have. It's just a pity about the stealing."
Shaking her head Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Where's that invasive question I'm waiting for? Can we move on to that now?"
"Hmm." The doctor purses her lips, smiling slightly. "All right. Okay. Next topic. Why exactly do you think the voice is god?"
"Dear lord." Rolling her eyes Ryan lets out a loud breath. "You play rough."
"You told me I could. Well?" Claire folds her arms expectantly.
"All right. It told me so." She shrugs. "I may not fully believe in it when I say it, but most of the times it's a hell of a lot easier to think that I'm being contacted by a divinity than that my own psyche's telling me that it wants to be god. Okay?"
"Okay." Claire nods. "So it basically put up its hand and said "Hi, I'm God"?"
"Something like that."
"Oh."
"So how much crazier am I now?" Smirking at herself Ryan pulls a face before she glances at Claire, summarily serious. "Now it's my turn to ask something."
"You didn't mention small print on that offer." The blonde turns her head and stares out of the window, sighing when a warm hand touches her knee gently.
"Claire. Come on. Tell me. In a few days you'll walk away and never see me again."
The doctor starts to speak, her voice measured and low as if she's had to tell the story more than once. "It was two years ago. I was working late at the office, and when I got outside one of my colleagues was just coming through the front gate. He just… " her voice breaks a little and Ryan waits quietly for her to compose herself, "sorry. He grabbed me and dragged me into a consultation room and raped me. Afterwa
rds he made me drive him home in my car, and he actually made me kiss him goodnight and tell him how much I'd enjoyed the evening." She clears her throat roughly. "After that… it's irrational, but I don't like driving much now."
"It's not irrational. But you know that. What happened after that?"
Claire looks out of the window again. "Nothing."
"No case against him?"
"No. He was a senior partner, I'd just started out." She smiles grimly. "If you think rape was a problem, you should try and imagine what he would have done to me professionally. I'm a coward."
"You're not, at all. It probably seemed like he would be violating you all over again if you stood up to him."
"Huh." Claire's blue eyes take in the soldier's face. "Did you read my case notes?"
Ryan smiles slightly. "Speaking of which, did you ever see anybody for it?"
"No. I didn't deal with it well."
"And now?"
The question lies between them for a while before Claire responds. "He left four years ago - rumors about sexual harassment - and I'm still there. I'm fine. Surviving."
"That's not always good enough."
"I don't drive. I'm not good with … intimacy. I don't deal well with violence. But I get up every morning and I feel stronger and I try to make a difference. That seems good enough to me."
"You shouldn't have to settle for good enough." Ryan points a finger at the back seat. "Please pass me the bag?"
Glad to be released from the conversation Claire reaches for the bag and puts it on Ryan's lap, watching as the woman scrabbles around in it with one hand and pulls out two energy bars, one of which she passes to the doctor. They're tasty, apple and cinnamon, and the two women eat in silent companionship before Ryan glances down at the bottle of water still sitting in the cup holder.
"There any water left in that?"
"Sure." Claire frowns as Ryan begins to run her hand through the space next to her seat and then under her feet. "What are you looking for?"
"Aspirin. Do you know what I did with the bottle?"
Opening the cubbyhole Claire takes out the small white bottle and pops off the lid. "How many?"
"Three."
She shakes out three in her hand and holds them out, examining the soldier's pale face as she slips them into her mouth and washes them down with tepid water.
"What's wrong?"
"Bit of a headache."
"For three aspirin it must be more than a bit, Ryan."
The lean woman glances towards her. "Weren't we talking about you?"
"We're not anymore. Have you eaten this morning?"
"Yes. An energy bar." The soldier says it in a way that makes it clear that she expects the line of conversation to end. Claire frowns, never that good at doing the expected.
"Ryan, do you have a … problem with pills?"
A low chuckle fills the car. "Not only a kleptomaniac but now an addict, too?"
"Seriously, if there's a problem you can tell me."
The chuckle abruptly makes way for a sigh as Ryan looks over at the blonde. "No. There is no problem." At the upraised eyebrows she shakes her head in exasperation. "I've been having more headaches lately. I'm not sure whether it's the meds, or what."
"Did you have them when you were at Fairwater?"
"A few times. But the incidents were spread out over a period of time. Now it's a constant bombardment."
"You don't think," Claire begins tentatively, "that it's to do with not eating or sleeping properly? Exhaustion does take its toll."
"No. I've been tired and hungry before."
"Okay." While Claire is thinking Ryan glances over at her once, and then twice.
"Doctor, did you just accuse me of something so that I would have to discuss it to defend myself?"
"Maybe." The doctor shrugs her shoulders. "I'm full of surprises."
"Wow. You're sneaky."
"Some would call it that. Some would call me cunningly gifted." Abandoning the light tone she cocks her head. "You must be exhausted."
"I'm fine."
"Did you ever take a bullet?"
At the incongruous question Ryan glances over, her green eyes puzzled and her eyebrows raised. "What? Where did that come from?"
Claire shrugs. "I'm interested."
"That's for sure." The soldier shakes her head and looks at Claire again before she taps her fingers against the steering wheel. "Okay. Well, we were in the Congo in '90. I got a bullet in my chest." She reaches up with her left hand and rubs reflectively at the concave area just under her collarbone before she continues. "Then there was the Ivory Coast, late '91. A rebel put one right in my thigh. That was a bad one - hit an artery. If the medevac helicopter hadn't arrived when it did… " Her lips curve just a little. "Africa hasn't been kind to me. Maybe I should take that as a sign and stay away"
Claire smiles too, a little, before she speaks. "It must have helped in those situations that your pain threshold is so high?"
"Well… " Ryan hesitates, "no, not really. Nobody in my squad would have fussed over minor things, but a bullet hurts, whichever way you look at it. It's not like in the movies where you take one in the leg and still drag yourself forward shooting baddies. Falling down and bleeding to death would probably be a much less heroic scene, but it's a lot more accurate. Even getting clipped by one hurts like shit. Besides, being a special ops soldier doesn't mean you can simply keep going until you die. We're more focused and better prepared for pain, but we do still hurt like other people."
"Right." Claire nods. "So right now, for instance, not having slept for a long time, and not having eaten for a while, and I think being slightly sick, you're feeling like a normal person would under those circumstances? Which would be not very fine at all?"
The dark eyebrows lift in a sharp arch and Ryan purses her lips as she glares over at the blonde. "Sneaky. And twice in one day?"
"Gifted." Claire shrugs. "All I'm trying to point out is that you are a 'normal person', Ryan. You can in fact admit it when you hurt. Talking about things doesn't do any damage."
"It doesn't do any good either, Walsch. If I tell you I'm tired, what does that change? I'll still be tired afterwards."
"It'll change my awareness of the fact. And it might allow me to do something about it."
"Like what?"
"Like offer to drive, if I could…"
"But you won't, so it's a moot point." If Claire didn't know better she'd swear Ryan was gloating. "Why would you want to help me anyway, Claire? You're a hostage."
"I know. I remember." The blue eyes are wry. "I'd help you because you're not as bad a person as you think you are."
"We've had this conversation, and I'm not going… " Even before her words finish abruptly Claire can tell by the way her eyes glass over and her pupils dilate that something is wrong.
"Pull over! Pull over, Ryan!"
The blonde grabs the steering wheel and turns it in the unresponsive hands. They skid off the road and come to a sudden screeching stop as the soldier simply slams down her foot. The force of it throws them both forward against their seatbelts and Claire is winded and slightly dazed as she turns her head to look anxiously at Ryan. The lean woman's eyes are tightly closed and she's arched in her seat, her head thrown back. When a muffled growl escapes from between her clenched teeth Claire fumbles for the seatbelts and undoes Ryan's. She waits for her to get out of the vehicle, but the woman's body is stretched tautly and her muscles strain against her shirt as she tenses against the backrest of the seat. Gritting her own teeth the blonde leans over her to reach for the door handle, but as she pulls it to open the door Ryan's hand wraps around her wrist. The soldier's hand is shaking wildly and she stares down at it with seemingly uncomprehending eyes before she almost pushes it away from her and stumbles out of the SUV, falling to her knees on the ground. Claire considers getting out and running, she considers - briefly - the option of getting behind the wheel and driving off, she even considers hitting the soldier w
ith something, but as she runs through the thoughts mechanically she already knows that at this moment she's in too deep to do any of those things. Instead she climbs over the handbrake and into the driver's seat, shooting the steering wheel a quick glance before she slips out of the vehicle and approaches the prone figure carefully.
"Ryan?"
At the sound of her name the soldier heaves a ragged sigh and struggles to her feet, almost collapsing again as she rises, and pushing herself off the ground with her hands obstinately. When she stands she is weaving slightly, her jaw tightly clenched as she walks away from the doctor, around the Trailblazer. Uncertainly Claire follows her, watching her faltering movements with alarm.
