A Battle of the Planets Fanfiction in Three Parts
by Sandy, aka Cricket, cricket_@_onebit.ca
Return to Part Two
And so began what Princess privately referred to as their third attempt. Once during the war, once after, and now.
When he picked her up for their first date, Mark apologized. "I wanted to take you to LaFontanna's, but they've closed. I hope this place is okay."
They stopped at Latino's, a small Latin American restaurant with a French-trained chef on the edge of the campus. The single guitar player created a gentle backdrop to the quiet conversations of the other couples.
They were still comfortable together, but she felt awkward, trying to uncover something special that had been buried under the weight of the years. Finally, Mark took her hand in the candle-light and said, "Relax. Tonight, we're two old friends having dinner, nothing more."
Strange, how he sometimes knows exactly how I'm feeling and what to say. Too bad he didn't do it more, back then.
After that, he avoided candlelit dinners, taking her instead to action pictures, a concert, an air show. It was freeing, having him do the planning.
By the fifth date, she did relax. He chose a murder mystery matinee; together, they discovered who did it, each picking up clues and building on the other's observations. On the way home, they talked easily about mutual friends, the latest plane he was rebuilding, her latest project at work; they reminisced about the war-- even in the midst of the bloody chaos, there had been some good times.
It was dusk. The oncoming car was in the wrong lane. Mark gripped the steering wheel and swerved. The gasoline tanker behind them wasn't as lucky; nor were the five cars behind it.
First, there was the drum roll of twisting metal. Then, there was silence. Finally, smoke and screams filled the air. Scenes from their past resurfaced.
He gave her his cell phone and ran to get the extinguisher from the trunk. She called in the accident and followed.
A woman in the first car was desperately twisting around, trying to reach her child, unconscious in its carseat. Mark opened the door and pulled her away from the expanding puddle of gasoline.
Don't worry, ma'am, that's G-3 over there. She'll save your baby.
He has faith in me.
Princess went in the back door. By the time she had unbuckled the child, she was faint from the fumes.
Mark appeared. She passed him the precious burden before following him away from the danger.
He left her with the child and went to check for other victims.
She checked the child. Not breathing. She started with two slow breaths and checked for a pulse.
She called to the nearest bystander, "You, in the blue shirt. Tell them VSA, vital signs absent, I'm starting CPR."
She landmarked carefully, compressed the chest a full inch, felt the rib-bones give, just as their instructor had described, and began to count as she worked: One and two and three and four and five. Breathe. Not to restart the heart, but to buy time, to keep the blood circulating, to provide precious oxygen to the brain until the heart could be jolted back to its normal beat.
Her rhythm faltered. She was hyperventilating. It's been too long. I'm not used to this anymore.
He was back at her side, counting with her. She anchored on his voice, trusting it to bring her safely home, just as she used to do years ago. She drew strength from him, and continued.
Eons later, the emergency crews arrived, lights flashing through the smoke.
The paramedics took over, attaching leads and breath mask. His arms were around her, gently pulling her away.
She heard the flat tone. The child's body convulsed. The tone changed. Regular beeping.
The congratulations were a blur.
We were never treated like heroes before. All we got was a deadline for the mission reports.
At her house, he got out and opened the car door for her, giving her his hand. She accepted it, and he drew her closer. She smelled the smoke in his hair.
He kissed her tentatively, then, when she responded, deeply. Ten years disappeared.
Finally, she pulled away and went up the walk. He followed. She opened the door and paused, holding it while he joined her in the hallway. He kissed her again and locked the door. Then he put one hand behind her back, the other behind her knees, and lifted.
She remembered the times he had carried her before, when she was injured. He never let anyone else carry her. She used to bury her face in his shoulder and cling to him, knowing he would keep her safe. She leaned against his chest now and let him carry her down the hall.
Halfway to the stairs he paused. "Princess, if you'd rather not ..."
"Let's. For old times' sake."
"We never did this, in the old times."
"But I wanted to," she whispered.
"So did I."
++++++
He woke slowly, from an old and familiar dream, always with the same unhappy ending. He felt the pillow under his cheek, smelled a faint scent of lavender.
Lavender? It wasn't a dream. And the ending had changed.
He opened his eyes to see her watching him wake. Her expression was unreadable, at least by him.
He tried a smile. She smiled back.
He tried a kiss.
Later, she lay back, breathless, looking over at him. The boys had never told her about some of the ... side-effects ... of the implants.
"Mark, this is crazy." She held back a giggle. "We're acting like a couple of teenagers."
"Making up for our misspent youth?"
She lay there, smiling at him.
He brushed back her hair and kissed her neck. He took the risk. "I love you, Princess. Will you marry me?"
She sobered instantly and stared at him.
If he had asked me that ten years ago, I would have answered immediately.
Ten years ago, he wouldn't have asked.
She thought over the last ten years. First had been Fred, one of his piloting friends. He had carried her off in a whirlwind romance shortly after she had broken up with Mark. The marriage had lasted two years. Then there had been George, with a slow, safe courtship. He had been terrified of flying; he had been terrified of many things. The marriage had lasted less than a year; they had kept up the appearance for three.
It was Jason who had counseled her against both marriages; it was Mark who had comforted her when they failed.
She thought of his string of lovers. Only four -- not that many, given the time frame. The last had been two years ago, about the time she had left George. Every one had been short, athletic, intelligent, and had had long, dark hair.
She thought of practical things. She worked downtown and from home; his place by the airport would work as well as hers.
He pulled back, expecting disappointment.
She thought of him -- her new lover, her former boss, her first crush, her oldest and closest friend. The man she had thought she had outgrown had grown too. They both had, in ways that would never have happened if they had been together. If we had been together then, would we have grown together, or apart?
And now?
"Yes."
Return to Part Two -- Opportunity Found
Updated Decembeer 23, 2005
This piece is written by a fan, for fans, so that we can continue to enjoy the story.