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Date Posted: 17:36:47 11/18/02 Mon
Author: CCCook
Subject: Re: Studs, Texas - Book Two - New segments
In reply to: CCCook 's message, "Re: Studs, Texas - Book Two - New segments" on 17:34:28 11/18/02 Mon

From Hywelis:

For the whole week the weather had been hot and dry in Studs, and Saturday proved no exception to the trend. The late afternoon sun was beating on Samuel's back as he set about taking care of the last repair on Dancing Willow's shelter. They had been working together for more than two hours by then, touching up things here and there, seeing to a couple of major problems and doing some more "getting reacquainted" talk as they proceeded, and they felt as much satisfied for that as for the result of the work they were completing. Samuel took out a cracked glass pane from the window he was repairing and leaned it against the wall, then put in the new one and proceeded to screw the frame back up.

- Pass me the silicone tube. - he said to Dancing Willow.

As she bent to retrieve it from the toolbox, Samuel wiped his brow and shrugged out of his shirt, which he had unbuttoned earlier. Dancing Willow smiled when she saw that, just as he used to do long ago, when he did not have to follow the USMC uniform code, he didn't wear an undershirt. Then, as she took in the sight of his upper body, she experienced an unexpected rush of warmth and desire. She swallowed hard, taken aback by the feeling which was flashing through her and by its vehemence. Of course, the passion between them had always been fierce, but after all that time and all they had been through, she did not expect to feel so overwhelmed by it, or at least not so soon. Have a chill pill, she rebuked herself, embarrassed by the thought that he might look at her and see the reflection of that surge in her eyes.

Samuel turned around to get the tool he had requested, and when he did so, Dancing Willow saw something she had not noticed: a large scar on his left shoulder. It was not a very recent one, but it had not been there back at the time of their marriage. And it showed that the lesion which had caused it had been quite substantial, even severe.

- What's that? - she blurted out.

Samuel followed the direction of her eyes and cursed himself innerly for not having thought about his scar. If there was a time when his former wife would absolutely not back down, it was when she felt concerned for him. She was feeling so now, he could tell that, and he could not talk about the events which had led to his having that scar - for more reasons than one.

- Nothing. - he replied.

- Nothing? It seems quite something to me. What happened, Samuel? -

- It happened on a mission. A long time ago. -

Dancing Willow got a step closer to him in order to take a better look to the scar. It had been caused by a gunshot from some heavy weapon. She felt her stomach clench at the thought of the large blood vessels in that area, of the complex junctura, of the fundamental neuromuscular structure. Samuel could have bled to death or lost the use of his arm. She reached out, indicating that she wanted to touch the scar, but not making contact with Samuel's body.

- May I? - she asked.

- Leave it be, Rosemary. -

Dancing Willow lowered her hand, but she could not comply with the broadest sense of his demand and move on as if nothing had happened. She was feeling for him, even though the events in question were a part of the past by then - the thought of him suffering had never been one she was able to handle very well, in spite of the fact that he was a highly trained élite warrior - and there was something more to it: she felt in the middle of a déjà-vu, felt that he was beginning to shut her out again, and she could not tolerate it. She was ready to start things in a new, more constructive way, but he had to do the same. She could not do all the adjusting on her part. She took a deep breath and tried to go for it in a calm and mature way.

- Samuel, please. It's very important for me that we talk about things. It can't work unless we overcome our past mistake. Me and you. Both of us. -

Samuel's eyes became steely. - I want this subject dropped. Now. - he snapped, then turned around and began to walk away from her.

Dancing Willow stood transfixed, but only for an instant. Then anger flamed up in her, and the unquenchable desire not to let things get out of hand this time, not to let that barrier of non-communication rise again between Samuel and her.

- Oh no you don't! - she exclaimed. She caught up with Samuel, overtook him and stopped in the middle of his way. Nothing short of a physical blow was going to root her from the spot, and they both knew that would never happen.

- We are talking about it … one way or the other we are going to talk about it. And I don't mean your scar or what caused it. We may get around to it or we may not. But we need to get something straight here, right now. -

She spoke in a low voice, but the look in her eyes would have driven a weaker man to his knees.
Samuel, however, stood his ground, his gaze riveted in hers.

- Gimme a break, will you? - he spat out - When are you going to learn that I am not the gushing let's-talk-about-it-it-will-make-it-all better kind? That's the way I function. When are you going to learn and live with it? -

- Maybe never, if it goes to such an extent. Because I can't and won't do all the adjustments myself. First and foremost, it's not fair. Second, it will not work. Talk to me, Samuel. If there is something that bothers you, you can tell me. And if I do something you don't like, you can tell me. I promise that I won't try to manipulate you into changing like I used to do… that was very wrong and unjust. But you need to meet me halfway. I know it's not easy for you, but talking and sharing is what a healthy relationship is all about. And one more thing … Learn to tell the difference between the barracks and the word outside it. I will not be treated like some recruit of yours whom you can order about and dismiss like you have just done. I'm serious about this. Do I make myself clear, Trautman? -

- Who's playing DI now? - he sneered.

Dancing Willow breathed in deeply a couple of times to calm down to some extent.

- OK, I was about to go overboard with it and I apologize. But your attitude in both regards used to hurt me so bad that I honestly can't take much of it again. So, I make one step and you make another. Deal? -
Samuel remained silent for a moment. He hadn't had the truth about his attitude held up for him to see for a long time. He resented it, but he also had to acknowledge the fact that what his former wife had said was true. That was the way he functioned… and he hadn't encountered resistance to it for such a long time that he had come to regard it as something natural. But he too was serious about something: about not blowing up his last chance with her, his last chance to perhaps - dared he even formulate the thought? - win her back one day.

- Deal. - he said.

Dancing Willow gave him a tentative smile.

- Thank you. Now, for that other matter… your shoulder. If there is something you don't want to tell me, that's fine. But I'd really like that we talked about it. You don't need to tell me where or when it happened, if you are not at liberty to. It's your thoughts, your feelings I am interested in. You are what matters to me. Do you want to talk about it? -

There was another long silence on Samuel's part. He had never talked about it outside official hearings to anyone, except for John Rambo. He had been there when it had happened, and what was more he had been through something similar, and even worse, in his own time. But even then he had stuck mostly to the facts. Rosemary thought it was some military secret he was trying not to let out, he mused bitterly. That wasn't even the half of it. It was his feelings, his memories, that he did not want to discuss or face. But in the end he nodded.

Dancing Willow guided him to sit on a bench under a tree close to the shelter entrance and sat beside him. Samuel stared ahead for a while before beginning to speak.

- The scar… what caused it was only the last event in a sort of catastrophe. I was chosen for a mission. Where and when I am not at liberty to disclose. It was the kind of op in which, if you get caught, your very existence is denied. I wanted Rambo to come with me. That was the best chance for the mission to be accomplished. Together we could have done it. But John refused. He was not in the right frame of mind, and I respected that. Hell, he was no longer in the Corps, back then. I could not order him to, and I wouldn't have anyway. Your heart is not in it, you fail. And you die. So they set up a team. I questioned the validity of this plan flat out, but someone high above ordered me into it. We hadn't been in a real action of that level together, before. We were too conspicuous. We were intercepted. Most of the team was killed on the spot. I managed to stay alive, but I was captured. - Samuel stopped, staring ahead in the void again. Fresh beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead. - They wanted information I possessed. I refused to talk, so they tried to wring it out of me. They would hang me up to the ceiling by my wrists, so that my whole weight was on them. They would go at me with their fists, in my stomach, in my kidneys, in my face, till I felt like puking from sheer pain. Every now and then they punched me right in my diaphragm. When they did that I could not breathe for several seconds. It was as if I was swallowed in a dimension where there was nothing but this terrible sense of suffocation and dizziness. It felt as if it would never end. And they had a flame-thrower… they would activate it and wave the flame close to me… over and over… pulling it back just a second before it could scorch me. - He paused once more: he had to swallow several times when he said that.

Dancing Willow felt cold sweat covering her at what she was hearing. She was trembling with horror and compassion. She wanted nothing more than squeeze Samuel's hands in hers, throw her arms around him and hold him close to her to assuage the feelings that those memories were awakening in him, but she could feel that in that particular moment her actions would not have been welcome. She knew why: being comforted could make one break down. And Samuel could not tolerate anyone to witness what he would have considered a weakness.

- On several occasions they barged in my cell at night and beat me with sticks even before I was fully awake. When they were done sometimes their leader would step forward and say that if I kept being so uncooperative there was only one thing to do, and he'd draw his sidearm, jam the muzzle under my chin and pull the trigger. The gun was unloaded, of course, and on a rational level I knew they would not kill me before they had obtained what they were after, still… I was fri… I thought that I would not make it out of there, at times. When they let me alone I often thought of Lorraine, of how she would be served some tale about my disappearance and be left on her own. She was a frail woman. She wasn't like you. I don't think she would have managed to cope with it. A couple of times I found myself thinking…. well, never mind. -

- How did you escape? - Dancing Willow asked, hoping that he would continue to talk if she gave him some space as for the things he wanted to keep to himself.

- John came and got me out. We needed to reach a bordering country in order to be safe and able to come back in the States. On our way there, we had a last run-in with the enemy, and I was wounded. So that's what remains of all that. My scar. And the fact that I had failed in a crucial mission, which kept me from making brigadier general when I should have. -

- And some hellish memories to live with. -

- It was no day in the park. But it's all in the past, now. -

- Did you get any kind of support after you returned stateside? - Dancing Willow inquired.

- I'm a full colonel in the Marine Corps. We aren't supposed to need the kind of support you're referring to. They did a great job on my shoulder, and I was more than happy for that. As for the rest, I gritted my teeth and went on with my life. -

So much macho bulls**t, Dancing Willow thought, but she managed to keep it to herself. Samuel, however, could read the thought off her face.

- All right, sometimes it wasn't as easy as I make it sound, I'll give you that. - he admitted at
last - But maybe something good came out of it all. Having experienced first hand how difficult it can be to readjust, on occasions, I began studying a way to make it easier for people in the same situation. In the end I managed to persuade the CMC bureau of the importance of establishing a de-conditioning help program. -

- Yes, you mentioned that when I came to the base. -

- We call it de-conditioning help but it provides support in many directions, including counseling. This way we can work out the personnel's problems in a context which is compatible with their environment. -

- That's a smart way of handling all the factors involved. - Dancing Willow commented.

She paused for a while before speaking again - Samuel… thank you for opening up to me. Thank you for discussing this with me. It can't have been easy, on many accounts, and I am really thankful that you let me in on something so delicate. -

- You're welcome. - he replied noncommittally, already trying to play the whole thing down.

- Would you do something for me? - she went on.

- Sure. What? -

- Would you tell Rambo he has all my gratitude, and that I'll thank him personally the next time I'm at the base? -

- I'll relay the message. - Samuel said, deeply touched by the unspoken meaning of his former wife's words.

They looked into each other's eyes, and this time Dancing Willow did reach out to take Samuel's hand in hers. He squeezed her hand tight, then passed his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer to him. She laid her head on his shoulder, like she was used to do so many years before, and for a long time they remained like that, locked in a wordless embrace.

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