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Doctor Emily Grey, genius, prodigy, expert in alien artifacts, questioning prisoners, and emergency amputations was trying not to cry over paperwork.
Everyone was back from the battle at Crash Site Alpha. Everyone that was coming back, that was. She was already done with the urgent care patients. Those that could return to active duty already had, those that needed extended care bedded down for the night. Notes made in the rosters of both the Federal and New Republic Army of who hadn‘t made it. The entire time, she had been able to deal with the loses, staying in her happy place. But this part, this report, it has always hit so close to her heart, it was hard to stay safe in her happy place. She was actually more than halfway through it, having added the New Republic roster in, and linking DNA samples she had managed to collect for them. Cross-referencing them with what she already had on file, making matches, three optimal matches per name. Then removing any names that could no longer participate, and realigning the matrix again.
She knew she should do the second to last step before the cross-referencing, that her name wouldn’t be there to remove, but the fact that it was already on the exempt list was just as bad. “Breath, Emily,” she said softly. “Its better this way. More time to focus on what you need to do to save lives. More time to help the Reds and Blues save the planet.” The screen in front of her got foggy and blurry. “Oh, dear.” Quickly, she took off her helmet and set it on her desk. Cleaning nasal discharge off the inside the visors was a bit of a pain. And she was a messy crier. All the more reason not to do it. Happy place. “Smile, you need to be happy for your patients. You’ll get through this again.” Hopefully without too many tears this time.
There was a knock on her office door, causing her to jump. And then the newest reason this was so painful was standing in the doorframe, a plate covered by a towel in his hand, a thermos in the other. “You missed dinner, so I thought I’d bring you something,” Sarge said in that wonderful southern drawl of his, and she found herself smiling through the tears.
When she had heard it was a trap at Alpha, she had immediately snapped into action, getting triage ready, knowing she’d be swamped soon enough, but a niggling worm in the back of her mind kept saying he was going to be one of the wounded, and that he would die in front of her, like so many of her loved ones over the years. She had thrown herself into his arms for a hard quick hug in front of everyone and God when he had walked in, helping a wounded soldier, but this was the first chance they had to talk. And she was a tear streaked mess. “Oh, so I did! It seems I lost track of time! Thank you so much!” she said brightly, getting up to draw him into the room so the door closed, and take the towel off the plate. “Is that peanut butter and jelly?” she asked. “I love peanut butter and jelly! Is it peach or boysenberry?”
“Uh, grape, I think,” Sarge said, shifting nervously. Oh, God, she was crying. He didn’t know what to do with her crying. She shouldn’t be crying. They hadn’t been victorious, but things weren’t horrible… Aw, crap, he didn’t even believe that.
“Wonderful! Grape is classic, I love it!” She came up on her toes to kiss the side of his helmet before heading back to her chair, and reaching up to turn off the datapad. “So, I sent Doc home with Donut. They are just so kye-ute together! How do…”
Sarge was only half listening. He knew how sickeningly sweet his boys were together, he’d been stuck with it for weeks, first in Valhalla, and during the investigation after Director Church, and then at Crash Site Bravo. What he didn’t know was why his favorite person on this planet was crying. But whatever was doing it needed to be adjusted, pronto. And the only thing that was different from every other time he’d been in her office was what was on that screen. “What are you working on, Darlin’?” he asked, coming around behind her and gently taking the hand reaching for the datapad.
“Oh, just a report. Nothing really very important!” she said, trying to reclaim her hand, but his hold was firm. “Really, it’s not anything you would be interested in!”
“I’m interested because you’re crying, and that makes it my business,” he told her, picking up the datapad to take a better look. Her head just dropped to her chest, and she stopped fighting to get her hand back.
The spreadsheet in front of him wasn’t too hard to figure out. As far as failsafe plans went, it was a picture of bureaucratic beauty. Names he had no knowledge of sometimes matched with names he knew. He caught Donut’s name twice, and there was Tucker, and Doc, and even Caboose . He saw Grif pop up three times, that was surely a crime against nature right there. He scrolled to the top, wasn’t even surprised by the fact that he didn’t see Doyle’s name as the commander that ordered it. The date, from what he remembered, was from before even the Mercs were on planet. A plan to repopulate the planet through genetic planning and enforced reproduction. It amazed him that when this was designed, he would have agreed with the principle and the execution of such a plan. Funny how a bunch of bluetards and a corrupt black ops program could change a man’s outlook on the way things should be.
That, and the silent tears of the most amazing woman in the universe.
He wished it was a paper report, so he could burn it, because it was hurting her.
“Where’s my name on this thing?” he asked. This time, when she pulled on her hand, he let it go. She quickly entered it into the database, and it pulled up a surprisingly comprehensive health evaluation. The part he was looking for was close to the top. This listed ten names, though. Hers wasn’t there. He stood up, took his helmet off, and squatted down, turning her chair at the same time so they were closer to eye level. “Is that what’s got you so upset, sweetheart? Because we aren’t paired on some silly doomsday plan for world repopulation? It’s not like it’s ever going to be needed, because we’re going to stop Charon.” She was shaking her head violently, though, and now her sobs weren’t nearly as quiet. Sarge picked up her hands and kissed them, one after another. “Darlin', you have to help me out here. I can’t stand seeing you cry.”
“I-I-I-I-” Once she got crying, it always seemed like she couldn’t stop. She pulled her hands out of his, wrapped her arms around herself, and just collapsed out of the chair into his lap. He was knocked off balance, and they both ended up on the ground. She scrambled, trying to get up, but he just wrapped an arm around her waist, and another around her shoulders, and just let her cry onto his chestplate. He made what he hoped was soothing sounds as progressively harder sobs wracked her body, and stroked her hair as she began screaming helplessly. When Grif called, bitching about the noise coming from Donut’s apartment, he told him to deal with it like a man, he was with her. And when the inevitable knocks and intrusions came from the door, concerned because of the noises coming from this office, he roared at them to get lost, he was dealing with it.
She screamed louder, because he didn’t deserve her. He was too good for her, he deserved so much more, not the crazy woman with the damaged future. She grabbed the edges of his chestplate because he was the first person who looked at her with more respect than fear in a long time, and because he supported her cybernetics experiments. She buried her face in his neck because he said her name like it was honey in his mouth. She held onto him for dear life, because he was the only sane thing in her universe, and if she didn’t, she was sure she’d fly apart into a million pieces. She didn’t deserve him.
But there was only so much screaming a girl could do, and eventually, the screams turned back to sobs, then whimpers, and the tension went out of her body. He was still making soft, comforting sounds, but he stopped stroking her hair so he could sit them up, his back propped up by her desk. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”
“N-n-no, it’s not,” she gulped. “I-I-I…” Seven long years, and she still couldn’t say it out loud. She reached up on her desk and grabbed the datapad and entered her own name. She handed it to him, unable to look at the entry. “I’m not sure what I’m looking at here,” he said softly. She just shook her head. It took a few passes over the page. The word ‘Exempt’ where he had a list of partners. A new section, with the two words ‘Physically Incapable.” The dry, impersonal account of her injuries from an IED being carried by a New Republic soldier she had been trying to treat. She was lucky to be alive, but children were no longer possible.
“Ah, Darlin’,” he said, gently tilting her head back up so he was looking into her eyes. He wanted to tell her it didn’t matter. To point out he had five grown boys fighting in this war, and that the idea of a baby of his own put him as close to panic as he was ever going to get. That at his age, he didn’t need to be starting a new family. It was all there, on the tip of his tongue.
It mattered to Emily. So it mattered to him.
So he kissed her, lightly, tentatively, because he didn’t know what else to do, but he needed to do something. Held her as close to his heart as their armor would allow, so she could maybe hear what it was trying to say. Waited for her to show him what to do, because he’d be damned if he knew how to fix this.
His heart seemed to skip a beat when he finally felt her hand slid up to cup his face. It skipped twice more when she finally kissed him back, so softly at first, and then fiercely, arms wrapped around his neck and head tight, holding him to her, taking control. It wasn’t sexual, just… He wrapped his arms just as tightly around her, and kissed her back just as hard, hoping she was getting the message he was trying to send. Eventually they came apart, gasping for air, their foreheads resting on each other. “You’re really sure?” she asked, searching his eyes.
“Sure as I’ve ever been about anything, Emily,” he said, a smile forming. “I got you, and my shotgun. I don’t need anything else.” And he blushed.
She smiled, a real, bright smile. “Well, you got me, Colonel AJ Sarge. I hope you know what to do with me.”
“I’ve got a few ideas I’d love to try, but we should be somewhere more comfortable,” he said, somehow getting redder.
Her eyes got wide. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” she said, jumping up and offering him her hand. He grabbed her desk instead, pulling himself up. “And I forgot your sandwich! I hope it’s not stale, I’m famished!” She reached for it, then stopped, turned, and yanked his head back down for another quick kiss. “I’m the luckiest woman ever!”
He chuckled,relieved to see her brightening up. “I don‘t know about that, sweetheart.” He checked the time on the blasted datapad. “Crap. I’ve got to turn in. We’ve got an early day tomorrow. You should, too.”
“You know I’ll happily go to bed with you,” she said laughing, and he slammed his helmet on to cover the fact that his face was now the exact same shade as his armor. “Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite!” she called as he made a hasty exit. “Love you too, AJ,” she said softly. She felt better than she had in years as she finished the stupid report and the very nice sandwich before heading to her own bunk for a few hours sleep.