| Subject: Chapter 285 - Part 1 (16 and above) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, April 18, 07:08:23am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark continued (273>)" on Monday, March 05, 07:03:06am
Extra warning: I'm rating this part 16 and above for very bad language.
Dreams in the Dark (285/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
It had been, without a doubt, a very long three months; that fact had been assured from the first. From the moment of his arrival on base, he had known that his time here would be brutal and unyielding, the journey to the day of his graduation endless. But he had had no idea just how correct that intuition had been.
It had been almost three months of distance now, over twelve weeks, or 86 days, or 2,064 hours, or . . . a simple eternity, since he had seen his beloved. The time in exile had been excruciating--and pointless. And he still had about another four days to go, before he could hope to hold her again.
It was this thought which utterly preoccupied Michael now, this intention which kept him going. In just four days, his training here would be over. Then, he could finally be on his way to see Nikita once more.
It was this dream he lived for, this which had gotten him into this miserable situation to begin with. Her father's brutal demands--the ones which didn't seem to have ended with the actor's acquiescence to his orders--had sent Nikita's husband so very far away from home, into this life which might well see him killed. As yet, he had no idea exactly what would happen to them after this point, only knew that his small training group was intended to be kept together, would be used for publicity purposes as much as anything else. As much as he would like to believe that they would end up back in Hollywood--or some other place which allowed him access to his wife--it seemed direly unlikely. No. What was far more certain was that they would all be sent somewhere which was at least near the war. And then what would happen to him was more than a little in doubt.
This fact burned through him, as little as he wanted to think about it. Instead, he needed to focus on the small paradise which awaited him--on his brief return to his wife. Perhaps it wouldn't be long enough--but that was a certainty, anyway. Unless he were promised an eternity in her arms, he couldn't be satisfied in the least.
This was not the sort of promise the military dealt in--or cared about--that fact long-established. And it seemed even more likely to be rubbed in, given his immediate destination.
It was eight o'clock in the morning now--or "oh-eight-hundred-hours," as the military terminology was pronounced--and he was on his way to see the base's overall commander, who was apparently waiting for a command performance. The order had come to him at reveille, Col. Simmons letting him know that he was wanted. Now there was only the question of "what for?" left.
Whatever it was, he was about to find out--although he couldn't claim to be particularly excited about the discovery. From the first moment of his arrival on base, Van Vactor had made it infinitely clear that he was neither wanted nor liked. Three months of constant duty and devotion was unlikely to have changed that fact at all.
He wasn't particularly pleased about this coming meeting, then, was only praying that none of his real fears would be answered. After all, a call to the base commander's office could mean many things. Among them was the absolute worst of his terrors: that something might have happened to his beloved; he refused to even let the thought in his head. Because, if Madeline's little tricks had succeeded at last . . .
He wouldn't admit to this, knew it was death to even try. If he were told of any damage to his wife, the results would be far too cataclysmic. For one thing, he wouldn't stay here, would care nothing for the military's justice, if he ran away. And he would need to, would have to go back to confirm any reports. He knew, as well, that, if the worst were true, the military would have lost one of its problems. He had already been issued a gun. There would soon be nothing left of him for them to prosecute.
He was walking a little more intently now, was nearly trying to crush this very idea beneath his feet, as he made his way to the office; the sound of the snow and ice cracking beneath his boots went entirely beyond his notice. Still, it wouldn't do to ponder this terror too far. His love for Nikita--at least, when it was so thwarted and distanced--contained a great deal of madness. They were all much safer, the saner he remained.
There were other, unpleasant possibilities for this demand for his presence, however--the next one he feared still great, if a million universes away from the pain of the first. It was always possible that Helmut's attempts to aid him had failed, that the RCAF had changed its plans. Yes, Michael was useful in publicizing the war effort, but such publicity could be created in many places other than Hollywood. Only Michael himself would argue that being by his wife would help out their plans more than any other approach.
There was a deep sigh, as he made his way closer to his destination, feeling his heart sink with every step, fearing what would come. There was certainly a great deal of self-serving logic to this argument--which was also the reason for this fear. If Van Vactor--who had never liked him--had decided to cancel his trip back home, for whatever reasons, what could he really do? Yes, he would miss terribly being able to see his wife again, but there were no real arguments on his behalf. From the moment Adrian had seen fit to save him by enlisting him, he had not belonged wholly to either himself or his beloved. A pleasure trip to see his wife was hardly something he could demand.
He was almost surprised by how deeply this thought wounded him, by how echoing and hollow the sorrow was, when he imagined not being able to see her in a few days. In many ways, he had used the promise as a way to motivate himself, as the sole lure which could make him endure even the most grueling, humiliating, or terrifying of his duties. It had worked, thus far. Now that he would be moving on to a life outside of simple training, though--however difficult that itself had been--how could he continue, without just a few, brief moments with his one reminder of why he always went on?
There was no real answer to this question, none he knew of. His life had seemed lost and meaningless many a time, since he had been exiled from her. Whenever he remembered that this might well be the whole of his future, might well see his end, he had almost no idea of how to continue. It was only the thought of Nikita which ever saw him through a single moment of doubt.
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