Received: from [66.218.67.200] by n5.grp.scd.yahoo.com with NNFMP; 09 Mar 2004 03:07:12 -0000 X-Sender: stephenbratliffasc@earthlink.net X-Apparently-To: ascem-s@yahoogroups.com Received: (qmail 85774 invoked from network); 9 Mar 2004 03:07:10 -0000 Received: from unknown (66.218.66.216) by m8.grp.scd.yahoo.com with QMQP; 9 Mar 2004 03:07:10 -0000 Received: from unknown (HELO hawk.mail.pas.earthlink.net) (207.217.120.22) by mta1.grp.scd.yahoo.com with SMTP; 9 Mar 2004 03:07:10 -0000 Received: from sdn-ap-021dcwashp0086.dialsprint.net ([63.191.144.86] helo=SaintPeter.earthlink.net) by hawk.mail.pas.earthlink.net with esmtp (Exim 3.33 #1) id 1B0XaA-0004Zt-00 for ascem-s@yahoogroups.com; Mon, 08 Mar 2004 19:07:03 -0800 Message-Id: <5.1.1.6.2.20040308220615.01fcc010@mail.earthlink.net> X-Sender: stephenbratliffasc@mail.earthlink.net X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Version 5.1.1 To: ascem-s@yahoogroups.com X-eGroups-Remote-IP: 207.217.120.22 X-eGroups-From: "Gigi Sinclair" (by way of Stephen aka Old Man ASC ) From: "Gigi Sinclair" (by way of Stephen aka Old Man ASC ) X-Yahoo-Profile: oldmanasc MIME-Version: 1.0 Mailing-List: list ASCEM-S@yahoogroups.com; contact ASCEM-S-owner@yahoogroups.com Delivered-To: mailing list ASCEM-S@yahoogroups.com Precedence: bulk List-Unsubscribe: Date: Mon, 08 Mar 2004 22:06:51 -0500 Subject: [ASCEM-S] NEW ENT Change (Tu/R, H/m, R) 2/2 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit (see part 1/2 for details...) If there was one positive aspect to sharing quarters with Lieutenant Reed, it was that he wasn't quite so inclined to seek me out and bitch at me during the day. He got all the bitch-time he needed at night, and I had the feeling he didn't want to spend additional time with me anymore than I wanted to spend it with him. When Reed came into the gym one evening and saw me on one of the exercise bikes, he hesitated and looked like he was about to turn around. I didn't do anything to discourage him, but he changed his mind anyway and asked, "Are you almost finished, Major?" "Ten more minutes." I scrolled down on the PADD I was reading while he mulled this over. Finally, he decided to climb onto the other bike. The gym wasn't completely deserted. Cole was doing crunches on the mat while two of the Starfleet personnel I didn't know by name worked with the free weights. On top of that, I was certain Reed was completely capable of doing his routine without talking. Nevertheless, he felt compelled to speak to me. "I've set up a new program in the armoury. It automates the monthly proficiency tests so we don't need to run them ourselves." "Hm." The monthly proficiency tests took up a lot of our time, but they were vital to make sure our personnel were ready when we needed them. "Is it accurate?" "I tested it today with Ensigns Sato and Mayweather. It was perfectly accurate." "Unlike Ensigns Sato and Mayweather." I expected a dirty look, and possibly a few comments about my MACOs that would be scurrilous lies, since my worst shot was still ten times as good as his best, and he knew it. Reed just snorted. I slowed down my pace as I came to the end of my routine, and decided I had nothing to lose by adding, "Good idea, Lieutenant." "Thank you, Major." He sounded surprised, not without cause. "You're welcome," I grunted, got off the bike and left before things could get too nauseatingly touchy-feely. *** The Philippines, September 2146 Miguel looked up with exhausted eyes as my 2IC and I crashed into his medical tent. "Good day at work, dear?" Miguel took in my mud-caked uniform, lingering on my left ankle. It was a sight worth seeing, swollen to about the size of a standard soccer ball and straining the confines of my already-unlaced boot. "I'm fine," I gasped, gritting my teeth against the searing pain. "Clearly. I'll just look at everyone else first, then, should I? Captain Randolph, how's the athlete's foot treatment coming along?" He turned to my second-in-command, Captain Randolph, a dedicated soldier with no sense of humour. "You should look at Major Hayes, Major Ramirez," Randolph suggested. "He might have broken his ankle." "And how might he have done that?" "He tripped," Randolph replied. "It was a trap," I corrected. A cunningly placed trap, too. "It was a hole in the ground." If he'd been the type, I'd have wondered if Randolph was being insubordinate. "Put there by the enemy." "Or animals, Major Hayes." "Can't it be both?" Miguel indicated the medical cot, and Randolph helped me onto it. I tried not to shriek in pain as Miguel took off my boot. I couldn't stifle a groan, though. "Oh, yes, I can see you're perfectly fine, Major. I'm surprised you didn't cartwheel your way in here." He glanced up. "Thank you, Captain, I'll take it from here." "Sir." Randolph saluted and left. Miguel pulled over a supply cart and a stool and closed the privacy curtain around us. "How bad is it?" I bit my lip as Miguel put a hypospray to my thigh, and let out a long sigh as the pain slowly seeped away. "If I had decent supplies, it wouldn't be a problem. As it is," he returned the hypo to the cart and ran his hands over my numbed ankle. "You'll be out for five days, at least. Unless you want to hobble around the battlefield on crutches." "What?" I frowned. "There's nothing wrong with me, Miguel. I just twisted it." "Sprained," he corrected, reaching for a box of bandages and pulled up my pant leg. "Badly, too." "So give me some painkillers and send me back out there. They need me." Miguel stared at me. "And I don't." "What's that supposed to mean?" "What it sounds like." He wrapped the bandage around my ankle, yanking hard as he pinned it together. If I'd had any feeling in that leg, I probably would have thought he was being a little vicious about it. "How long is it going to be until you come in here with a spear through your chest and tell me it's just a flesh wound?" "Don't be stupid." "I'm not stupid, I'm a doctor. That means taking care of you is my job. Funny, I kind of liked it as a hobby, too, but the feeling's apparently not mutual." "We made a deal. The job comes first." It had to. It was the only way I could possibly live with myself, let alone have this relationship succeed. "And everything else is last, including common sense. Strange, I always thought that was one of the more important qualities a soldier could have in war." "This isn't a war, it's a diplomatic mission," I replied automatically. Miguel rolled his eyes. I couldn't blame him; no one believed that line, not even the media. "If it was a diplomatic mission, I wouldn't have used up all my fucking supplies patching up kids hit by mortar rounds." I looked down at Miguel, who had already finished wrapping my ankle and was typing on a PADD. He seemed more tired than I'd seen him for a long time, which was understandable. The medical team had the hardest jobs of all. The rest of us were paid to die for the government. The medical team was paid to keep us from doing just that. I wished I could tell Miguel I understood what he meant, and that I appreciated him. But verbal communication outside the context of giving and taking orders isn't a skill prized by the military, and I didn't know how to go about it. Still, I tried. "Miguel." He looked up at me. I smiled. "You know..." That was when it fell apart. I shrugged. "Right?" Miguel nodded and put his hand on my right knee, the one I could still feel. "I know, Matt." He looked at me for a long moment, and I wished I could give him more. He deserved a guy who could articulate his feelings, who didn't risk his life every time he did his job. A guy who would marry him. Instead, he had me, and while I wasn't complaining, it did seem like he'd gotten the rough end of that deal. He stood and pulled back the curtain. "Three days minimum, and I'm serious." "But I'm fine." "Three days," he repeated, "Or when we get back to the States, you're sleeping on the couch for a fucking month." I couldn't argue with that. *** Thursday, which just happened to be the one-week anniversary of moving in with Reed, I went back to his quarters exactly fifteen seconds before the proscribed 2300 curfew---I was never too early, lest Reed think I was listening to him---and found that he wasn't alone. He and Tucker were both sitting on his bunk, and both stood up quickly when I came in. "Major Hayes." "Commander Tucker." I looked at him coldly. "How are things progressing in my quarters?" "It's a bit trickier than I first thought. Could take a couple of weeks." "Really." I was unimpressed, but not surprised. "I must say, I find this extremely inconvenient." He shrugged. "Sorry, Major, but like I say, it's a real son-of-a-bitch." "I'm sure." I raised an eyebrow. "May I suggest that it might not take quite so long if you spent more time doing your job and less time," I glanced over at Reed, who, unusually for him, hadn't said anything. "Engaged in other pursuits?" Tucker reddened a little, but crossed his arms defiantly over his chest. "I don't see how that's any of your business, Major." "It's my business when your libido disrupts the functioning of the ship. I can see I was quite justified in preventing Cole from having anything to do with you." "You didn't prevent anything. Amanda and I were just being friendly. Who knows, if you tried it yourself once in a while, you might be a hell of a lot more pleasant to be around." "It's not my job to be 'pleasant', Commander. It is my job to assure that we complete our mission." "Are you sayin' I don't care about the mission?" Tucker's nostrils actually flared, anger practically radiating from him. I, on the other hand, was quite enjoying myself. As we used to say back at Fort Bragg, there's nothing like letting loose on a subordinate---or a civilian, in this case---to reduce stress. We didn't say it too loudly. "Gentlemen, please." Reed interrupted my stress-relief, standing up. "Trip, you'd better go." "I don't think so, Malcolm." "Trip." Reed repeated, more definitely this time. "Go. Now." Tucker stared at me like he was going to take issue with that, but he turned on his heel and left, muttering to himself. Once he'd gone, I didn't give Reed the satisfaction of asking. I knew he would expect me to, and I'd be damned if I was going to give him what he expected. Instead, I laid out my bedroll in my usual corner and started to undress. "It's not what you think," Reed said, finally. "I don't think anything, Lieutenant," I replied, then realized that wasn't quite the cutting reply I'd had in mind and added, "Your personal affairs are no concern of mine." "I know that, Major." "As long as your mind's on the job when I need it," I continued, "I couldn't care less how you spend your free time." Although he wasn't using that time efficiently if he still hadn't convinced Tucker to fix my quarters so they could be left alone. Reed snorted as he got into bed. "You're too generous, Major." "Probably." Tucker clearly had problems. In the army, we'd have called him the unit bike, the one that was ridden by everyone. I was sure there was an equivalent term in Starfleet. The human shuttlepod or something. "But if that's my biggest fault, I guess you can't really complain." I got into my sleeping bag and pretended not to hear him when Reed muttered, "It's not." *** Fort Bragg, North Carolina, April 2148 Having a baby was entirely Miguel's idea. He was from a large family, but I didn't think that was something he particularly cared about. Until he turned forty and, after some very enjoyable birthday sex, turned to me and said, "I always thought I'd be a father by this time." "Can't help you there, buddy." I rolled over and closed my eyes. "Artificial conception by same-sex couples is fifty times more prevalent now than it was twenty years ago." Same-sex weddings were popular again, now, too, but that didn't mean we were about to have one. "I'm not about to jack off into a cup." Not to mention that artificial conception was far too expensive for two soldiers' salaries. "We could adopt. There are plenty of kids who need families." I knew that. We'd seen it in Venezuela and the Philippines. The kids were always the ones who suffered the most, and I felt bad about it, although not bad enough to make that kind of change. "I don't think so." I expected that to be the end of it. We were both on duty early the next morning. I opened my eyes when I felt Miguel get off the bed. "Where are you going?" "Downstairs." "What?" I sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. Miguel took this as a cue to pull the comforter off the bed, leaving me with a sheet. "Miguel..." I rubbed my eyes. "Forget it, Matt." "What the hell..." "I don't want to discuss it." "Fine." I rolled over, frowning. If he was going to be completely unreasonable, then I could do the same. I lay, resolutely not caring, while he went downstairs. I expected him to come back, but he didn't. He was equally cold at breakfast, and at dinner, and when I went to the infirmary to get a serious splinter removed from my hand. Finally, after three days, I did some strategic manoeuvring and went to the base Family Services department to get some information---just information ---about adoption. It would be a change, sure, but Miguel leaving me would be an even bigger change. Or so I thought. *** Ensign Sato's Ping-Pong tournament was still in progress when I arrived in the mess hall at lunchtime the next day. Most of the dining tables had been angled to give a good view of the action, which currently consisted of Sub-commander T'Pol whipping Captain Archer, while managing to simultaneously look like she was bored out of her mind. The only person not watching was Reed, who was sitting on the other side of the mess hall. This was also the only table with a free chair and, sighing heavily, I took my tray and went up to him. "Is this seat free?" He looked pained, but he admitted it was. I sat down and arranged my soup and crackers in front of me. "I don't suppose you've heard any news about when my quarters might be ready," I said. He glanced up from his PADD. "I'm certain you'll be the first to know, Major." "Ah." I stirred the crackers into the soup, which appeared to be made with some kind of lentils, and couldn't resist adding, "I thought being so close to Commander Tucker, you might have an inside edge." "Commander Tucker is my friend, Major. Nothing more." I tasted the soup, which wasn't bad. After a lifetime of military rations, most of Chef's food was practically food for the gods, although I would never admit it. "Which would explain why he harassed Cole." Reed's eyes flashed. "Trip would never 'harass' anyone, Major." He glanced back down at the PADD. "He has gone through a difficult time since the death of his sister." Reed's tone of voice made it clear that Reed had gone through a difficult time since Tucker's sister had died, too. For a moment, I felt a flash of sympathy, but then Reed said: "And would you mind asking your men to clean up the gym after they've used it? It's disgusting." And the sympathy passed. "No more disgusting than the condition in which your men leave the showers," I replied. "Someone is definitely going bald, because we found another wad of hair in the sink yesterday." "Well, excuse us, Major. We didn't realize you were that precious." But the sniping sounded automatic, like Reed's heart wasn't really in it. We ate the rest of our meal in silence. *** Fort Bragg, North Carolina, April 2153 "I just don't see the point in moving when you could just as easily stay here." "This is a far better position, Matt." "For you." I finished packing Heather's lunch and put it in the refrigerator. "What about Heather and I?" "Heather will be fine. And they'd be glad to have you at Fort Hamilton." "I don't want to move to Texas." I'd been bumped around enough earlier in my career. Now that I was finally established, I didn't want to voluntarily give that up. Not to mention that things had been a little rocky between Miguel and I lately, anyway. "Why don't you ask Harrison if he'd come with you?" If he hadn't already "come" with Miguel during the recent six weeks I spent field training in the Australian outback. As I suspected he had. "Oh, for God's sake, would you give that a rest? There's nothing between Jeff and I." "Jeff, is it?" Before I'd gone to Australia, it had been Sergeant Harrison, or, in a pinch, "Nurse." "Can you hear yourself?" Miguel asked. "You sound moronic." "Thanks." He scowled at me. "I'm taking the job at Hamilton, Matt. You can come with me or not." "Threats, now? How mature." He opened his mouth, shut it, and stalked off. A moment later, I heard him switch on the video screen. I made sure Heather's backpack was ready for daycare the next day. I wouldn't say that becoming a father changed me, but it did change my priorities. Miguel's, too, which may have been where our problem lay. Before Heather came along, we could give a hundred percent to our jobs and still have energy left over to give at least seventy-five percent to our relationship. Now, we gave a hundred percent to Heather, another hundred percent to the army, and we had nothing left over for ourselves. And the worst part was, I didn't necessarily mind. During those six weeks in Australia, I'd missed Heather every minute of every day. I'd only thought about Miguel when a scorpion stung one of my men and the medic we had with us was a little slow with the antivenin. I was heading upstairs to Heather's room, to check on her one more time before I turned in, when Miguel said, "Matt, come here." "I'm going to bed, Miguel." "Right away." His voice sounded strange, almost hoarse, and I turned around on the stairs. At first, I thought he was watching a horror movie. Powerful lights illuminated a huge smoking crater that looked miles wide. The camera panned over the scene, then the commentator's voice said, "The attack occurred approximately an hour ago, when what has been described as a large, unidentified vessel flew over a strip of land including Florida and Venezuela. To date, no surviving eyewitnesses have been found." "What..." I couldn't even take in what I was seeing. "Preliminary reports estimate the death toll could be as high as fifty million," the commentator added, as the image dissolved to another of fires burning in what had once been a neighbourhood. I looked at Miguel, who had gone pale. That was when I remembered which island lay between Florida and Venezuela. Miguel jumped at the sound of the communicator. I glanced at him, wondering if he wanted to answer it, but he shook his head and I hit the comm. "Major Hayes." Sergeant Faulkner looked back at me gravely. "The general has asked that you and Major Ramirez report to the base at once." "Thank you, Sergeant." I cut the communication and looked at Miguel, who was still staring at the screen. Then I called our baby-sitter and went to get into uniform. Within twenty-four hours, I was in Florida, one of two thousand troops trying to bring some kind of order to the chaos the Xindi had left behind. Miguel was excused from the mission on compassionate grounds which, for the army, was saying something. Two weeks after the attack, I was in a disaster relief centre near what had been Key West, trying to entertain a little girl lucky enough to have been staying with her father when her mother's apartment block was annihilated, when General Garrett's lackeys found me. "Major John Matthew Hayes?" The uniformed lackeys looked between me, the puppet on my hand and the little girl sitting on one of the hundred cots set up around the high school gym. "Could we speak with you a moment?" I took the puppet off my hand and gave it to the kid, and told her, "I'll be right back." We went into what had once been the main office, but had been commandeered as military headquarters. They'd kept the furniture, though, including the sign flashing such scholastically inspirational messages as "Believe in yourself" and "Junior Prom Friday, April 20." It was now Thursday the twenty-sixth, and most of the people in the gym were a little underdressed for the occasion. The lackeys had already set up a comm screen in the principal's office, and, as I sat at the desk, I found myself face to face with the five-star head of the American army. "General Garrett, sir." Garrett returned my salute. "Major Hayes. How are things in Florida?" "It's under control, sir." More or less, but that wasn't a qualifier you used with a five-star general. "Good to hear it, Major." He sighed. "This is a terrible business." "Yes, sir." "Something we're going to remedy. Starfleet has a ship heading into the Expanse." "Yes, sir." It was news to me. I did remember the fanfare when "Enterprise" first left Jupiter Station, but since I'd been a little preoccupied with Heather and my job at the time, I hadn't taken much notice. "We're sending a military unit along with them. To offer backup." "What kind of backup?" If the Xindi had the technology to obliterate entire countries, I doubted we'd be engaging them in a lot of ground combat. "The Starfleet people are used to peaceful exploration, Major. We need someone with combat experience there to offer advice." He looked at me. "And we'd like you to lead the mission." "Me?" I repeated, then realized I sounded like a Miss World contestant. "I don't know anything about space travel, General. And I'm just a major. Surely a general or a colonel would be more suited to this kind of mission." "You have proven yourself to be a competent leader, Major Hayes. Your subordinates all speak highly of you. Particularly," he glanced down. "Sergeant Mackenzie?" "Mackenzie?" It had been years since I'd seen her. The general shifted in his seat. "We're not unaware of the personal effect this has had on you." It took a minute for me to understand what he meant. Once I did, though, it was crystal clear. We had no idea what kind of enemy we were facing. If I were just fighting to avenge my planet, I might be tempted to give in to cowardice. If I were fighting to avenge my daughter's family, though, I'd stick to the cause no matter what. Personal vendettas make for better soldiers than general ones. Or at least soldiers willing to take bigger risks. The next day, I was back in Fort Bragg, getting ready to take a team into space. "You don't have to go," Miguel pointed out as I packed. "I have my orders, Miguel." "I don't think they can strictly order you to get onto a spaceship and go fight aliens." "I want to do it. For Heather." The only reason I could see for doing it. "How about staying here and not getting yourself killed? Seems like that would be a better gift." He looked at me, his eyes showing all the stress you'd expect of a guy who had lost his entire family in one attack. We'd been together nearly ten years, but I didn't know what to say to him. I put my arms around him wordlessly, and he hugged me for a moment. When he drew back, Miguel said, "I'm going to Texas." I was going into space. I wasn't in a position to argue. "I'll keep in touch," I said, like I was a casual acquaintance or an old drinking buddy. Miguel nodded, and I went to say good-bye to Heather. She was stoical about things, as she'd been since the attack. "You have to stop the bad aliens from coming back," she agreed calmly. "So when you come home, we can play outside and not be worried." "Right." "I'll take care of Papito." "Thanks." I hugged her. The next day, I went to San Francisco for a five-day crash training course. Sergeant Mackenzie hadn't changed much since the last time I'd seen her. She still didn't know her vowels. *** "Here we are again," Reed sighed. "Maybe they're doing it deliberately," I suggested idly, as I lay out the sleeping bag. "What?" Reed looked over. "I wouldn't put it past Archer to force us to stay together until we're bosom buddies." I hadn't known him long, but it seemed like the kind of thing he'd consider a good idea. "Then maybe we should pretend we're bosom buddies," Reed replied. "Although I doubt my acting ability would be up to it." "Or mine," I replied automatically and climbed into bed. "Why are you so difficult?" Reed asked, after a long moment of silence. "I beg your pardon?" "From the moment you stepped on this ship, you've done nothing but try to undermine me." "Maybe it's because you don't seem to realize I know what I'm talking about." "So do I. That doesn't mean you have to disparage my way of doing things." "You haven't exactly rolled out the welcome mat yourself, Lieutenant," I shot back. "The first thing you said to me was, 'This is my ship.'" "And it is. We managed very well for two years before you showed up. I run a closely-knit team." Now, I snorted. "Which didn't exactly make it easy for my men and I to come on board and try to work with you." "You didn't try very hard." "Neither did you." There was a brief silence, which Reed finally broke. "I was somewhat preoccupied at that time. I didn't want you on board," he added, as if I was going to get the wrong idea. "But I had other things on my mind as well." "What are you trying to say, Lieutenant?" "I'm trying to say, Major, that maybe it wasn't all about you." I grunted. I'd been thinking of other things---other people---when I'd first come on board as well, and perhaps I hadn't handled Lieutenant Reed as well as I would have under other circumstances. "It's difficult," I said at last. "Not knowing how to help." Tucker had lost a sister, Miguel had lost his family, and there was nothing either Reed or I could do about it. Beyond destroying the Xindi. "Good night, Major." Reed said, after yet another lengthy pause. "Good night, Lieutenant." I rolled over and closed my eyes. As usual, I tried to wait for Reed's breathing to even out before I dropped off and, as usual, I fell asleep before I heard any change. Reed usually left his quarters while I was dressing, but the next morning, he waited for me to finish. I didn't comment on it. When we arrived at the mess hall, he went to his usual table, with Ensign Mayweather and Ensign Sato, and I went to Kemper and Mac. She slid a PADD over as soon as I sat down. "What's this?" "A new cartoon." She smiled, and I activated the PADD. This time, the dark-haired cartoon figure was standing in a blue-shaded room that was apparently supposed to be the decontamination chamber. A pointy-eared figure appeared from the side of the screen and said, in a speech bubble, "It is logical that you assist me with the application of the gel, Lieutenant." The dark-haired figure turned red and said, "That's more Commander Tucker's area of expertise." A blond figure bounded into join them, and his speech bubble appeared a moment later. "Did someone call?" The Tucker-figure's triangular eyebrows waggled suggestively and he put a hand on both the Reed-figure and the T'Pol-figure. Mac sniggered as I handed the PADD back to her. I glanced past Kemper to Reed's table. Reed smiled vaguely as Mayweather said something and both ensigns laughed. A moment later, Tucker came into the mess hall. Reed's eyes went immediately to him. Tucker half-nodded as he passed their table on his way into the captain's dining room. Reed watched the door close behind him, then turned back to Mayweather and Sato. "Major?" Mackenzie asked. "You OK?" "Lay off, would you, Mackenzie?" "I'm sorry?" I couldn't blame her for being surprised. I was the last person I'd have expected to defend any of the Starfleet personnel, let alone Reed. "Leave them alone. They're just doing their jobs, like we are." I expected Mac to ask if I was feeling all right, maybe attempt to force me into seeing Phlox and having me declared unfit for duty. Instead, she just looked at Kemper and said, "Sorry, Major." I shook my head and finished my breakfast. The shift was uneventful. When I got back to Reed's quarters, I found him putting the few belongings I'd brought with me next to the door. "Your quarters are ready," he told me, smiling with about as much relief as I felt. "Trip just called to let me know." "Great." I grinned and picked up the bags. "About time." "Exactly." I faltered for a moment, wondering whether I should say good-bye. But, since I was going to see him again in about eight hours, I just said, "Thanks," and left. I couldn't see any evidence that Tucker had been working on the wall for more than a week. The hole was repaired and a new panel had been put in place, but that was all. I put my things away, gazing fondly at the pictures of Heather I had arranged on my shelf and I hadn't seen for a while. Then I came to the single picture of Miguel and made a snap decision. I sat down in front of the screen and, trying not to sweat too visibly, came out with some other words I'd never expected to hear myself say. "When I get home, why don't we get married?" I took a deep breath. "In Texas?" Then I sent it off before I could change my mind. Take that, "Ray." A moment later, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to see Reed standing in his workout gear, a towel in hand. "Major." "Lieutenant." He shifted, a little nervously. "I was, ah, wondering if I could interest you in a sparring session." "Sparring?" I didn't feel like getting into another fight with him. Archer certainly wouldn't be pleased. "Real sparring," Reed added. "If you didn't have any other plans." "No other plans." And, I thought, I was tired of working with the machines and the bags, anyway. "I'll meet you there." Reed actually smiled. "I hope you're prepared to lose." I smiled back. "We'll see, Lieutenant." My old CO told me change could be a best friend or a worst enemy. Now, though, I knew sometimes it's just a part of life. Not that I'd ever tell Reed that. Messages from this list are mirrored on the ASCEM newsgroup. Read http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCEML/files/faq.txt for more information about your subscription to ASCEM/L. Yahoo! Groups Links Yahoo! Groups Links <*> To visit your group on the web, go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCEM-S/ <*> To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: ASCEM-S-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com <*> Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to: http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/ From ???@??? Tue Mar 09 00:29:13 2004 X-Persona: Status: U Return-Path: Received: from n12.grp.scd.yahoo.com ([66.218.66.67]) by sparrow (EarthLink SMTP Server) with SMTP id 1b0zJx2xx3NZFjV0 for ; Mon, 8 Mar 2004 21:24:51 -0800 (PST) X-eGroups-Return: sentto-1978024-7895-1078809890-stephenbratliff=earthlink.net@returns.groups.yahoo.com