Baghdad ~ Chapter Two

It's very late at night and the compound is deserted, clear of the day's chaos. A nearly full moon has risen over the hospital. The only sound is the occasional cricket chirping.

Ryan is sitting alone at a table in the empty Mess tent. He's in total darkness, except for a ray of moonlight shining through a mesh window in the canvas. There is an empty shot glass directly in front of him, and a half empty bottle of gin stands beside his hand. He just sits, staring at the glass.

The door to the Mess tent opens and a silhouette looks in from the doorway. Nunley enters the tent and comes into the moonlight. He looks concerned as he speaks.

"Been lookin' for you."

Ryan says nothing, just stares at the glass. Nunley walks over and sits beside him on the bench. He sees Ryan's been drinking. He exhales.

"Rough night. Fourteen hours of surgery. I say it every time, they're not payin' us enough."

Ryan is still silent. Nunley nods toward the bottle of gin.

"That some of Carlisle's homemade hooch?"

Ryan picks up the bottle and starts filling the glass. "Yeah." Still not looking at him, Ryan pushes the glass toward Nunley, who drains it and replaces it in front of his friend. He grimaces as he swallows.

"Oh. That boy makes class A gut rot."

Ryan refills the glass, drinks, and puts it on the table. There's a brief pause. Ryan continues staring at the glass, his eyes slightly unfocused from the alcohol.

"Hank?"

"Mm?"

"If it's a quarter to dawn in Baghdad, what time d'you figure it is in New York?"

"...I don't know, kid. Sometime tomorrow, probably," Nunley answers, watching Ryan closely. Another silence descends, broken a minute later by Ryan, now quite drunk, voice low.

"I bet they're asleep in New York."

Ryan reaches for the bottle and pours another drink. He raises the glass in a toast.

"To heartache. All's fair in love and war." He throws back the shot and slams the glass down on the table. He is suddenly vehement. "Forty-eight Combat Support Hospitals in all the towns in all the war and she's gotta drive into mine."

A tense pause. Nunley stands up.

"You oughta get some sleep, Ry."

"No. She's comin' back."

"It's almost four a.m, kid, she'll be asl-," Nunley started, before Ryan cut him off, looking quickly at him, his voice raised.

"Forget it, Hank, she's coming back!" Ryan looks back at the shot glass. He lowers his voice to barely audible. "I know she's coming back."

Nunley sits again, watching Ryan with concern and sympathy. His green eyes ached. It was part of what made Nunley beautiful; his face and how it showed that he felt your pain. People were always saying he was in the wrong business, sewing up boys the same age as his youngest brother; how did he manage, how didn't he crack when he naturally empathized with every wounded soldier that came to the unit? After operating on a soldier and talking with him while he recovers, how didn't he break down when the time came to send him back into the fighting? He's never been sure. But as badly as being a surgeon in a war was ripping him apart, it would have been worse for him to be home and know he hadn't saved one soldier.

He spoke gently.

"What's the story, kid?"

Ryan stares at the glass.

"What makes you think there's a story?"

Nunley gestures to the bottle of gin. "Well, nobody voluntarily drinks this paint stripper without there being a story. Besides, ever since she drove off, you've been lookin' the way a man would after having his guts had been kicked out."

"What happened ain't a story. And if it were a story, it'd be a lousy one."

Nunley watches silently as Ryan raises the bottle to refill the shot glass. He doesn't pour. He pauses over the glass and replaces the gin on the table instead. He stares at the bottle and, from his expression, Nunley knows he's thinking of the past.

~

Ryan races around his dorm room, tearing it apart. He pulls the covers off and looks underneath the bed, he yanks open all the desk drawers and throws their contents onto the floor. Red with the effort and cussing like a sailor, he rushes to the open closet and starts ripping out piles out piles of clothes. Finally realizing he'd have to go to class without his textbook and notes, Ryan looks around the ravaged room for his bag, cursing his roommate for cleaning up. Let his OCD have fun with this mess.

He spots his bag beside the desk, grabs it and notices the zipper's stuck as he heads for the door. He opens the door and walks out, struggling with the zipper and wondering why the hell he got out of bed at all. He neglects to look up from his bag, just the same as the girl walking down the hallway absorbed in Pride and Prejudice. They collide head on, and lie sprawled out on the floor, loose papers, pens, bag and book surrounding them.

"Oh Christ, are you alright?" Ryan gets up onto his knees and starts gathering the paper.

The girl starts laughing. "Yeah, I'm fine." Ryan notices her purr of a voice. "You?"

"I'm fine," Ryan laughs, stuffing the paper back into his bag. He glimpses up to see who belongs to that sultry voice and looks into the face he'd never forget. Huge grey eyes met his. He'd never seen eyes that colour. Or lashes so long. He was drinking her in, her straight nose, her full, perfect lips, her high cheekbones, her incredible eyes and her long, glossy black hair that framed it all so well.

Ryan didn't break eye contact as he tried to speak, clearing his throat once, twice.

"I'm Ryan."

When she spoke, her low voice was quiet and a little shaky, for while Ryan had been entranced by her, she had been too, by him.

"Sanaa."

The library is loud with the tapping of keyboards and the rustling of paper. Students are peppered throughout the huge room, researching, writing, rewriting. Ryan and Sanaa are sitting across from each other at one of the long tables, their textbooks stacked and scattered around their laptops. The librarian circles the tables, watching every student's movement from over the glasses pushed down on her nose. A boisterous laugh catches her attention and she runs to investigate, passing behind a frowning Ryan. He suddenly slams the laptop shut and pushes onto the two back legs of his chair. He looks across the table at Sanaa and watches how her eyes follow the words of her essay as she types them. He never tires from looking at her eyes. He watches as she reaches a hand over to open her notebook, her eyes not leaving the screen, her right hand still typing. She tears a blank page out and crumples it into a ball against the tabletop. Ryan tears his gaze away from the sweep of her eyelashes just in time to see her throw the crumpled ball at his chest. Smirking, she returns her left hand to the keyboard, eyes never having looked away. Ryan smiles and brings the front of his chair back to the floor. He bends to pick up the crumpled ball and throws it back at Sanaa from behind the shelter of the table. She ducks behind her laptop and shoves one of his textbooks off the table, it ricocheting off his head. Ryan lunges forward in turn and pushes a pile of Sanaa's books crashing onto the floor. The librarian rounds the corner of the nearest massive bookcase as their suppressed laughter finally explodes.

The dull, yellow light cast from the desk lamp warms Sanaa's dorm room. Music plays from her open laptop, a colourful visual design moving across the screen with the beat. Ryan lies on her bed on his back, his arms under his head. Sanaa sits in her pajamas on a chair facing him, her legs crossed on the bed, Pride and Prejudice open on her lap. She reads a passage aloud and when Ryan laughs, she pushes him, mock horrified, with one foot. No one laughs at Mr. Darcy. Ryan gets up off the bed and heads to her laptop, searching for a song. He finds the song he wants, starts it, and turns off the desk lamp. He walks back to where Sanaa sits while the love song plays and offers her his hand. Watching him, she slips her hand into his and slowly stands up. Ryan pulls her to him, one hand at the small of her back, the other holding one of her hands to his chest. They just stand for a second, dark eyes looking into grey eyes. In the light from the computer screen, Ryan pulls Sanaa closer, his arm tightly around her waist. Very slowly, they start dancing.

A dusk rain pours down around Ryan's silver, parked Nissan Titan. He and Sanaa sit on the highest rise overlooking the city, the lights sparkling in the drops on the windshield. They sit facing each other, their hands entwined on the seat between them, listening to the song blaring from the speakers. The song ends and Ryan turns the sound way down. He stares out the windshield, unseeingly.

"Good song, eh?"

Sanaa, who'd been listening with her eyes closed, opens them and looks at Ryan. "Very." She never thought she'd be one to enjoy heavy metal, but Ryan's musical influence had been irresistible.

Ryan squeezes her hands gently, but continues looking out the windshield. Sanaa looks out the passenger window at the black clouds cascading rain. She sighs.

"I can't wait for summer this year. The first day it's hot, we should skip our classes and take a junk food picnic down to the beach. I'll make you my Swiss chocolate fudge! What do you think?"

Ryan, still looking out the windshield, smiles slightly.

"Yeah, sounds great."

Sanaa lifts their clasped hands and kisses Ryan's palm. "It's a date, then."

"Mm hmm."

Sanaa notices Ryan's vagueness, looks at him closely.

"Ryan, is something wrong? Do you not want to go to the beach?" A playful note enters her voice. "It's my fudge, isn't it, you hate my fudge."

Ryan laughs, but still does not look at her. "No! No, I promise it's not your fudge." Slowly, in the street lights glittering off the raindrops sliding down the windows, his smile fades. He finally turns to Sanaa with a pained expression.

"I've had word from my base, they need soldiers in Iraq. I fly out next week."

Sanaa stares. It's not a surprise, but it's a blow. Ryan looks down at their hands. Once she finds it, Sanaa's deep voice is frail.

"Next week?"

"Yeah. Monday."

A long silence envelopes them, intensifying the sound of the rain hitting the truck until it seems impossibly loud. Ryan deliberately keeps his eyes on their hands, feeling her stare and unable to meet it. After a minute, Sanaa turns again to her window, her face a mask. Ryan looks at her, too anxious from her silence to avoid her gaze any longer. He speaks softly.

"The fighting's shifted. There aren't enough men in Baghdad."

Her eyes snap back to seize his and they blaze.

"Baghdad? You're leaving in a week for my hometown to fight in a war between our countries?"

Ryan doesn't look away, he can't. The fire in her pewter eyes floors him, rips at his heart. It holds him prisoner. She doesn't free him.

"Ryan. I loathe war."

Sanaa tears her hands from Ryan's and throws open the passenger door so quickly, it slams shut before he has time to react. He sits stunned for half a moment, then recovers and gets out of the truck. Sanaa is already several meters behind the truck as Ryan runs after her, catching up quickly. He plants himself in front of her to stop her progress. She's soaked through, like she just stepped fully clothed out of the shower. It isn't until Ryan notices this that he realizes he is as well.

"Sanaa-"

"Don't."

Her voice alerts him. Her beautiful voice was not meant to sound so dead. He reads her face quickly and crumbles at what he sees there. All traces of the fire is gone, pain in it's place.

In a flash, Ryan pulls Sanaa into his arms. He doesn't know what to say. Maybe if he hugs her tight enough, kisses her long enough, it will make up for the fact that he can't find any words to soothe her.

After a minute, Sanaa slowly draws herself out from Ryan's arms. They stand facing each other, very close, but not touching. She speaks very quietly, nearly inaudible over the pouring rain.

"I'm sorry."

Ryan doesn't try to hide his confusion. "What the hell for?"

"Everything."

Confusion deepening, Ryan tries searching her face for the answer. He finds an unfathomable expression. Nothing in the way Sanaa looks at him helps his puzzlement, only adds to it. Rain and silence.

Ryan breaks the loud quiet with a low voice. "We can do this, you know."

"I know. I'm just scared to death."

They stare at each other in the rain, unmoving, for a minute. A glint of silver catches Sanaa's eye and she looks down to the chain around Ryan's neck, worn under his shirt, only a few links showing. Ryan knows her gaze has fallen on his dog tags. They instantly feel heavier.

Sanaa raises a hand and presses it against his chest, feeling the shape of the dog tags under his drenched shirt on her palm. Surreal, how quickly one's heart could break. But she mustn't show it again. Ryan has the strength of a soldier, so she must have as well. She looks up into Ryan's eyes and sees an anxious expression. She smiles and slides her hand from his chest up to the back of his neck, pulling his face down to hers. They kiss in the curtains of rain.

They separate and entwine their hands again. Ryan strokes Sanaa's wrist with his thumb. He furrows his brow as they stand, his eyes boring into hers.

"I'm hating this. Leaving you is a hell I've had no training for. I can't even think about it."

Afraid she'd betray her true emotions if she tried to speak, Sanaa tightens her hands, wound through Ryan's. Ryan raises them to his lips and kisses the inside of her right wrist. He drops them slowly and half-laughs.

"If only there was some way you could go with me."

Sanaa smiles, but it wavers when Ryan's expression turns to realization as an idea hits him. She knows what he has thought of before he speaks.

"Wait a sec, your whole family is in Iraq. Didn't you say you were gonna have to go home sometime after graduation anyway?" He pauses briefly, thinking rapidly, and looks intensely at Sanaa's face. "What would you say to meeting me there?"

For all she's worth, she can't make herself exhale.

"..Ryan-," she hesitates.

"Yeah?"

She can't find it in herself to fight him. The look of total hope of happiness is too much. She exhales.

"Okay." She smiles. Ryan beams.

"Okay?!"

"Yes. I'd love it. But," Sanaa holds up a frozen finger to stop his interruption, "I know I'd be a distraction for you. Think about it, every time a shell explodes or a bomb goes off, you'll be panicked wondering if I've been killed or not." She raises one eyebrow, her tone sarcastic. "And I'd prefer if you were focused while fighting in a war. It doesn't matter where I am, as far as my own paranoia is concerned, I'll be panicked either way."

"All true. But wouldn't whatever time we could find to be together erase all that?" Ryan smiles smugly at Sanaa's look of impressed surprise. "Cosmo."

Sanaa laughs. She didn't think her heart could burst into any more pieces, but it did.

Ryan pulls her closer to him by their tangled hands. "Besides, this way, we wouldn't have to break our beach date."

Sanaa untangles her hands from Ryan's and wraps her soaked arms around him. One of his arms holds her tightly, the other smooths her rain drenched hair. A low roll of thunder echoes around them, and the downpour grows heavier. Ryan brings his other arm around Sanaa, holding her to him. She speaks through the fresh torrent of rain with a sad smile on her lips.

"Where will I find you?"

They separate slightly, arms still locked around each other.

"I'm not sure yet. I've got to go get all my gear together, sort some papers and report to base. While I'm there, I'll find out all the information I can. If you can meet me at Pier K-5 on Monday at 5:30 a.m, I'll tell you how and where to reach me."

Ryan looks into her eyes and feels anxious for a reason he's unsure of. Sanaa pulls him closer by tightening her arms around his waist and Ryan watches her as she studies every feature of his face, memorizing him. He leans in and kisses her mouth gently. Sanaa speaks against his lips.

"Ryan, how would you kiss me if you thought it the last time?"

He kisses her, as though it were.

~

Staring at the bottle of gin, Ryan sits unmoving in the Mess tent. Nunley still watches him curiously, knowing he's been reminiscing, and he knows there's nothing he can say. He stands up and puts a hand on Ryan's shoulder. He turns and walks to the door, stepping out into the night. The tent door shuts softly behind him. Ryan reaches for the bottle and refills his glass.

"Yessir. A damn lousy story."

He drinks.

~

Ryan stands in his uniform under an overcast sky on Pier K-5. He's rooted to the pad as two helicopters take off on either side of him. The sound is deafening and the wind billows, but he doesn't so much as flinch. He stands, his eyes fixed on a slip of paper in his hand. His expression is destroyed.

The note is handwritten.

"Ryan,
I'm sorry. I can't meet you in Iraq. I can't ever see you again. Please don't ask why. You must believe that I love you, more than I could ever say. Go, Ryan, and be safe.
Sanaa"

He's frozen, entranced by the note. Behind him, a pilot starts the last helicopter. From under the spinning blades, a corporal sees Ryan and runs toward him. He yells in a thick British accent over the noise and wind.

"Private Hayward?"

Ryan doesn't respond. The corporal reaches him, walks in front of him to see his face.

"Private Hayward?"

Ryan slowly looks up, somewhat surprised by how much he has to raise his voice. What the hell was going on?

"Yeah?"

"They're ready for you, mate."

Ryan turns around, sees the helicopter and remembers what is happening. He shoves the note in his pocket, grabs his bags and runs to the chopper. He's only vaguely aware of the earsplitting roar as he ducks under the blades and gets in.

The helicopter starts lifting off the pad. Ryan takes the note out of his pocket, glances at it, then throws it out into the wind. He won't need to keep it to remember the words. He looks down at the ground as the pilot raises the chopper higher and turns to his route. Ryan's expression does not change.

~

His hands slowly turn the shot glass on the table counter clockwise. There is no sound of crickets now, only utter silence. It makes Ryan's memories more vivid.

He slides a hand over to the bottle and lifts it to fill the glass when he hears the soft sound of the tent door opening and closing. Ryan replaces the bottle without having poured and turns to look over his shoulder.

Sanaa is standing in front of the door. Her body is lit by the ray of moonlight shining in through the canvas, but her face is in shadow. Her purr of a voice is very quiet.

"Ryan."

Ryan stands, but does not speak. Sanaa takes one step into the light, illuminating her face. It is pleading.

"I had to see you."

The quiet is tense. Sanaa walks slowly, but without hesitance, to the table Ryan occupies and he sits. Her eyes are anxious and she doesn't take them off him. She keeps her voice quiet as she sits beside him, slightly farther away than she would have once.

"I have to talk to you. After this morning- You looked at me with such coldness, I-"

"Would you like a drink?" Ryan's voice is sharp.

Sanaa hadn't noticed he'd been drinking. She looks at the bottle of gin, almost three quarters empty. She slides her eyes back to Ryan, her face expressionless.

"No."

Ryan fills the shot glass and drains it. He looks anywhere but Sanaa. He tries to keep his tone indifferent, but even he can hear the sharpness in it.

"So. When did you come to Baghdad?"

"About eleven months ago."

Ryan snaps his eyes up to glare at her.

"Really? Two months after I did. You must've left right after graduation." Except for his intense eyes, his face is blank.

Suddenly, Ryan sits back, observing Sanaa, his brow furrowed.

"Funny. I thought breaking both a man's legs would've changed you somehow, but you look the same."

He goes to lift the bottle, but Sanaa puts her hand on top of his, stopping him. She speaks gently.

"Please, Ryan. We won't get anywhere if you're dramatic."

With sudden fury, Ryan rips his hand from under hers, his voice low with anger.

"Dramatic? I'm not the one here fond of dramatics, of have you forgotten? That was one hell of a story you wrote. Some of those scenes, they're real gold. Convince the guy you're in love with him, dope him up on Swiss fudge and lead him to believe he just may be happy for awhile. I enjoyed the beginning and the middle, but the end is my favourite. An ace finale. A guy standing on a platform with a funny look on his face because, as a friend critiqued it, he'd just had his guts kicked out."

He takes the bottle roughly, refills the glass and throws back the shot. Sanaa is riveted on him, shocked frozen. She's never seen him like this. Very slowly, very quietly, she starts to speak.

"Ryan.. I know you won't believe anything I say, but I would never have left it the way I did.. without damn good reason."

Ryan laughs harshly and looks into Sanaa's face without a trace of humour.

"Yeah, I'm real sure of that." His cruel smile fades. "Tell me - which guy was it you left me for, or aren't you the kind to kiss and tell?"

Pain tore through Sanaa's chest and knocked the breath out of her. She had never had reason to be acquainted with Ryan's talent for ruthlessness before. Things were different now.

The silence was suffocating. Shaking slightly, Sanaa stands up, the moonlight shining momentarily on a tear sliding down her cheek. She walks back toward the door and Ryan turns to watch her leave. She pauses at the door, wanting to look back at him, but thinks better of it. She opens the door, walks out, and Ryan hears her footsteps running quickly away before the door closes.

He looks after her for a moment, his expression guilty and pained. Goddamn his temper. He turns back to the table and his eyes fall on the bottle of gin. Angry with himself, he swipes his sculpted arm across the table, and the bottle crashes to the floor, shattering into shards. Ryan runs his hand through his hair, and puts his head down on the table.