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Full Story: Hearts of Darkness (w. ShadowOfDesire)

Jack looked up from his paper just as Miranda was crossing the dining room, and happily reflected on the fact that it was still socially acceptable to stare at a woman when she was “making an entrance.” So Jack just grinned and drank in the sight of the Doc gracefully weaving between the tables towards him, as he thought “Well now, she does clean up quite nicely. In fact, she’s frigging gorgeous.”

By the time Miranda reached his table Jack’s brain had started to reengage, so he stood while she sat down. “Hey, glad you could make it. You look nice” he commented by way of greeting, in what he hoped sounded like an offhanded way. Then Jack remembered the Doc had sort of asked him a question.

“Oh, Beetle Bailey? Yeah, I used to read him in the Stars and Stripes, he’s okay. But I’m really glad the IHT is still reprinting Calvin and Hobbes.” Jack realized that it was probably the Stars and Stripes that’d gotten him into the habit of reading actual newspapers, since that was the main way they’d all gotten any kind of news back when he was in places with no Internet access; man, he’d absolutely hated it when a copy got passed to him with the Jumble filled in, which was why he still did it on the side using scratch paper. And had he just called the International New York Times the “IHT?” Maybe that’s what it’d always be to him.

Jack focused back on the woman sitting across from him and asked “So, would you like a drink?” just as the waiter walked up and placed a cocktail with an umbrella in it in front of Miranda. “Ah, I see you’ve got that all sorted out already.” Jack raised his beer and offered to clink glasses as he made a little toast; “To the end of a long and hopefully productive week.”

As Jack eased back into his seat he sipped a little of his Castle and started to settle down a little. “So Doc, how’d the rest of your week go actually? Did you get Billy all settled in? You know, I never did ask if your new little one was a boy or a girl?”
 
"You don't look so bad yourself," Miranda quipped in return, smoothing her skirt down the back of her thighs as she took her seat. It was impossible to ignore how his shirt pulled against his muscular form in certain places. All professional soldiers had nice bodies, but not all of them were truly handsome. Jack seemed to have both, though without the arrogance to match.

She placed her clutch on the edge of the table and leaned forward as her drink was delivered. Removing the umbrella, she tossed it absently onto the table. After a moment of hesitation, she lifted her glass to clink lightly against his and then took a long drink. She sighed. "Yes, on both counts. I have a mountain of work left to do, but have decided that tomorrow is going to be my day of rest. Too much time at the clinic can make one crazy. And, after the wild ride back from Akanni, I think that we both deserve a break, don't you?"

Miranda was a completely different person outside of the confines of her clinic or in a professional setting. Before, she'd been responsible for the lives of others, and it weighed heavily on her. Now that her responsibilities had been temporarily transferred to someone else, she seemed more open and relaxed. The change was small, but it testified that there was some small hope for her. Without the armor of her lab coat to hide behind, she was almost... human.

However, that didn't mean that she'd suddenly found a sense of humor when teased. She didn't crack even the slightest hint of a smile at the mention of the goat. Instead, her mouth twitched with annoyance. "Judging by her significantly large udders, she is definitely female. Lee is keeping her at the compound until they sell her. I'm not sure if they will sell her, actually. Some of the women like having goat's milk on hand. It's good for the skin."

"The rest of my week was pretty a repeat of all the weeks before. There are plenty of patients and not enough doctors. We're always busy." Her manicured nails slid up and down through the condensation on her glass as she studied him again, her dark gaze intense. "And you? Were they pleased with the results of our trip, or did you get your ass handed to you for taking the risk?"
 
Jack liked how the Doc just rolled with his teasing about the goat. “Good for the skin, huh?” he mused out loud, as he looked down at his forearms; any of the skin on them not covered by ink was deeply tanned, and he strongly doubted goat milk would help him at this point. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.” Then, after Jack took a sip of his beer, he added “But seriously, I’m glad Billy won’t end up in someone’s pot. I mean, she’s a combat vet now, a part of the team. No goat left behind, right?”

Jack leaned back and looked at Miranda as he answered her last question. “The trip? Nah, that was the highlight of my week. We knew the risks before we headed out. So did the Private who got shot, before he signed up; they think he’s going to recover by the way. He’ll be on light duty for a month or so and have a couple of nice scars, but it could have been a lot worse.” Jack sipped a little more of his beer before he went on. “But the reward was worth it. We showed that the Nigerian Army can, y’know, actually help the people of Nigeria. And Aldo also got some really nice shots of the trip; I can send you copies if you want, though you do look a bit … sweatier than you are now in most of the ones you’re in.” Jack grinned as he said the last and used his comment as an excuse to give the Doc another quick once over now that she was sitting right across from him; the way Miranda was gazing at him made it easy for Jack to look at her dark eyes, which he thought were quite pretty.

“Oh and so uh to, commemorate our first trip, I have a few things for you and the clinic.” Jack reached down next to his chair and placed a small cardboard box on the table in front of Miranda. “This is in case Billy hops in the car with you again, for a girls’ night out or something.” Almost all of the writing on the box was in Chinese but one side said “Cool Aire Breez” in English; another side of the box had a picture of a small, battery operated, handheld fan, which was exactly what it contained. Jack had popped some batteries into the fan to make sure it worked but had also only tested it for a few seconds, since it looked like it would break long before the batteries ran out.

“Oh and then there’s this” he added, before he also placed a wrapped package in front of Miranda. The parcel was about the size of a sheet of paper, maybe a half inch thick and by the way Jack handled it, not very heavy at all.

Jack leaned back in his chair and sipped a little more beer as he reflected on how there was another time it was okay to stare at a gal; when you’d just put a present in front of her, and were waiting to see what her reaction would be …

---Miranda’s Present---

You are on the honor system here. If Miranda opens her present (or are a third party that thinks Miranda should open her present) click on “The Spoiler Below;” once you’ve read that you’ll be prompted to click on “The Link Below” embedded in the spoiler. But if Miranda doesn’t open her present, no peeking! Let your conscience be your guide.

When the package is unwrapped it’s clear that an inexpensive picture frame is inside – but any picture that it might contain is covered by a sheet of opaque tissue paper. On top of the tissue paper is an envelope which says “For the Clinic;” inside the envelope is a modest sum of Naira, Nigeria’s currency. Picking up the envelope also reveals a sticky note attached to the tissue paper, which says “For your office.” Once the tissue paper is lifted away you can see that the picture frame contains a sheet of paper with an image that seems to have been produced by a color printer; to see the image, click on “The Link Below.”

"The Link Below"
 
"Regardless of how terrible I looked, I'd like copies of all the pictures he took," she replied. "If you don't mind, I'd also like you to send me his number. MSF might want to pay him for some of those photographs to use in whatever marketing campaign they're cooking up now. Anything you can get me would be appreciated." Though she felt a bit guilty, knowing that she'd have to give those photographs to her handler, she did want them for selfish reasons, as well. It was a matter of both personal and professional pride.

His first gift was received with a soft 'hmph', which could have been interpreted as a mild chuckle, given how he'd only heard her laugh once so far. She did shoot him a wry smile as she squinted in his direction. "Again with the goat? Regardless of your teasing, I'll actually get some use out of this." Her fingers rapped against the top of the box. "The circulation in my office is terrible." And that was actually no a joke. With how often the power went out, they didn't always have air in the clinic, and it could quickly get stifling.

His second gift was given far more attention, and her brows lifted in curiosity. She slid a fingernail along the seam to separate the paper and peeled it back carefully to reveal the contents. Lifting the envelope that first came to hand, she peeked inside and then nodded, slipping the money into her purse. After reading the attached note, she removed the tissue to view the picture beneath, tilting her head a fraction. A soft smile appeared as she read the inspirational quote, and her eyes lifted to meet his gaze. "Thank you. It is easy to forget when the grind gets you down. This will be a good reminder to everyone at the clinic. My receptionist will hate it." Her smile broadened. "I think I'll keep it at the front desk where she can see it every day."

"You didn't have to do this, you know. We have a working relationship that benefits us both. Thank you, just the same. I appreciate it. I especially appreciate the fact that it wasn't a picture of the goat," she said dryly. Which was actually what she'd been expecting given his propensity for teasing.
 
Jack grinned at Miranda’s reaction to the little fan; he’d half expected her to throw it at him when he mentioned the goat again, and was pleasantly surprised to hear that it would actually be of use to her. But what he really liked was her response to the Dalai Lama’s quote; the Doc was an attractive woman to be sure, but when she smiled Jack thought she looked beautiful. He leaned back in his chair, feeling a bit relieved as well as pleased, and continued to grin as he replied. “Hey, a working relationship can be a pleasant one too, right? But just make sure to tell your receptionist that the Oyinbo got his idea for the quote from something you said in your office, the first time we met.”

Jack paused for a second and then went back to something else the Doc had mentioned. “Oh, and Aldo? Sure I’ll text you his number, but if you want copies of all his pictures, I’ll have to put them on a thumb drive; he took a ton of them and they were all high res. There’s no way I’ll get that many to you online, at least around here.” Then an idea popped into Jack’s head. “Though if you want to kill two birds with one stone, you should be able to talk to Aldo in person tomorrow night, and maybe get the pictures directly from him then too. He invited Mikhail and me to a house party being thrown over in Bolori I by some Croatian gal named Jelena, who works for the WHO as an administrator I think; maybe you know her? Anyway, given how things work around here, I don’t think anyone would blink an eye if you were to show up.” Jack knew that over 90% of the expats in Maiduguri were male, which meant that most social functions were real sausage fests; expat gals pretty much had standing invitations to show up at any party they felt like attending. “Your call, and if you can’t make it I’ll get you the pictures next time I see you.”

Jack’s lager was almost empty, so he signaled the waiter for a refill. Then as he took the final sip of his first beer, he decided to change the subject a bit. “So, how did a nice Doctor like you end up in a place like this?”
 
"Like dropping a tiny pebble into a pond? You have a good memory. What I said wasn't quite so inspirational as the Dalai Lama, however," she said with a snort.

Still nursing her drink, Miranda paused at the mention of the party. As if one night of socializing isn't bad enough. Another night out in a row might very well kill me, she thought dryly. Still, it had been a long while since she'd been to a party, any party, and an even longer while since she'd socialized with any of the NGOs. "Yes, I know Jelena. Not well, but we've spoken a few times. I've consulted for World Health on occasion. They always want data on the diseases we run across, especially communicable. I suppose I'll have to see how I feel tomorrow. I might just curl up in bed and sleep for the next two days." Though, as lovely as that sounded, she knew her nature wouldn't allow it. Once she fell into that hole, it was very difficult to climb out again.

Leaning on the table, she gave him a flat stare at his question. "Really? It's come down to cheesy lines now? How do you know I'm a nice doctor?" She clinked the ice around in her glass with her little umbrella. "You don't know what's in those vaccines I give out." One eyebrow rose in mild speculation.

After a moment, she shrugged. "I've been working with MSF for a couple of years now. I go where there's need, wherever the disasters hit. Bangladesh, India, Puerto Rico, Mexico... a few other countries for short relief missions. Some places where no one else wants to go or most consider too dangerous. Maiduguri falls into that category, obviously. Not my first time in Africa, but it certainly has been interesting. I think I have an easier time of it than some. Brown skin doesn't stand out as much as white."

"What about you? How did you end up here playing the solider of fortune?"
 
Jack laughed at Miranda’s initial reaction to his question. “Easy now Doc, that’s exactly the kind of talk conspiracy theorists want to hear; that you’re working for some spook and really spreading HIV with every shot you give.” Jack’s tone made it clear he didn’t believe a word of what he’d just said, but he still kept his voice low as he said it. Then he turned to the Doc’s real response. “Okay, so you’ve told me what you’re doing in places like this, but not why. But I’ll let you take a breather while I answer your question.” Jack paused before he went on. “Not to sound too mercenary about it, but I’m here for the money.” Then Jack looked airily away, allowing a silence to hang between him and Miranda, as if he was done responding – before he grinned and looked back at the Doc. “Oh, you’d like an actual answer?

Jack sipped a little of his refill as he collected his thoughts. “I enlisted after high school. And ended up being pretty good at it; the Army, in its infinite wisdom, ended up making me a Warrant Officer. That’s a weird little set of ranks between the enlisted guys and the real Commissioned Officers. It’s mostly for specialist types; for instance most of the chopper pilots in the Army are Warrant Officers. Anyway, I thought I was going to make it a career when my Mom took a turn for the worse; she’d always been a drinker, but really went overboard after my dad left. My Sis was going through a divorce then, and had a kid, so she couldn’t really help out.” Jack looked away for a moment as he sipped a little more of his lager.

“So I got out and went private sector. Lots of guys do it now, and keep working for Uncle Sam as civilians; the State Department, AID, some other agencies are all hiring private contractors these days. There’s no retirement plan, but the pay’s way better. So I did that for awhile and eventually met some South African guys up in Baghdad. Later on one of them emailed me and asked if I wanted to be part of a group he was putting together down here; I was kind of tired of the sandbox by that point, so I said yeah.” Jack thought a bit before he continued. “The Nigerian government is no bunch of sweethearts sure, but they’re angels compared to Boko Haram; I mean, what kind of lunatics attack a secondary school and kidnap a couple hundred teenage girls, to turn them into ‘war brides?’ That’s a whole different kind of crazy.”

Jack had a little more of his Castle, then smiled at Miranda. “Which is how I ended up here, having a drink with you. Which also brings me back to my question, which more precisely should have been ‘Why did a nice Doctor like you end up in a place like this?’ Did you go to med school on scholarship or something?” Jack’s tone was light and he hoped it was the right one; while he was curious, he also didn’t want it to seem like he was insisting on an answer. But then Jack, being Jack, decided to push his luck a little more. “Oh, and by the way, you are nice Doc. That’s not just some cheesy line;” it was hard to tell exactly what Jack meant by ‘nice,’ but the sincerity of his last comment was clear.
 
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Miranda considered telling him the truth, but almost immediately dismissed the notion. She hardly knew Jack and didn't know if she could fully trust him. Instead, she settled on something milder, something in the middle -- still true, but not the entire truth. "I grew up in the housing projects in Chicago. I know what it's like to live in poverty, to go hungry, and not have access to basic medical care. Granted, the level of poverty here is so far below what we see in the States, but the situations are strikingly similar."

"And yes, I did go to med school on a full scholarship, but that's because I worked my ass off to be the best possible student I could be. I couldn't count on anyone else to give me a leg up. I had to do it on my own. So I went to school and worked nights, spent my free time studying while others were partying. I never had that luxury."

"When I graduated with my medical degree, I knew what I wanted to do with it. It wasn't about money or the rush of playing God that motivates some surgeons -- I wanted to help people, people like me, the ones that were stuck in the worst possible circumstances, the people that only needed a little help to make their lives better. Places like this need that more than anywhere in the States. People here are dying from preventable diseases, the sort that have been wiped out in places with good medical care. I find that infuriating."

"I'm here to help, however many and whoever I can. That's my primary motivation for being here. Is that a good enough reason for you? Or do you want to dig deep into the psychological trauma that's fucked me up for most of my life?" The last was meant to be a joke, but came out far more aggressive than she'd intended.

She sighed and held up a hand, waving as if to banish words. "Sorry, I don't mean to get so defensive. Just consider it a product of my childhood. I still get a bit prickly thinking about it."

Ignoring decorum, she knocked back the rest of her drink quickly and caught the server's attention so she could get another. Alcohol was a good way to numb the painful memories. She'd found herself indulging in it far too often those days.

While she waited for her drink, she toyed with the ice in her glass. "So... why did you ask me to meet you? I have trouble believing that you just wanted to give me a couple of gifts to commemorate our trip."
 
Partly out of habit, Jack listened intently to what Miranda was saying and everything at the beginning made perfect sense to him. The Doc was obviously wicked smart and could be super intense, so the idea of her going to med school on scholarship was completely believable to Jack. And if she’d grown up in the projects in Chicago, that could also easily explain why she was here in Africa doing relief work instead of making big bucks somewhere back in the States. But the one thing she’d said at the end, about ‘psychological trauma’ that’d fucked her up, didn’t ring true to him at all. All of a sudden she was making jokes and using profanity? And her tone of voice when she’d said that didn’t make it sound like a joke at all to Jack. But even though he was more curious than ever, Jack accepted that he didn’t know the Doc well enough to press her any further about it – yet.

“No worries Doc, it’s me who should be apologizing. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories; it sounds like you had it rough growing up. But thanks for sharing. Really.” Jack gave Miranda a little smile as he quickly tried to come up with some other topic of conversation. He’d seen a second little scar on one of the Doc’s wrists when she’d opened up her present; it seemed to match the one he’d noticed back at the bus terminal and Jack briefly considered asking her what kind of surgery she’d had. But then Miranda put him on the spot about why he’d asked her to meet him.

“Hey, didn’t I say that I thought a working relationship could also be a pleasant one?” Jack sipped a little more of his beer and thought a second before he went on. “But I guess I also wanted to continue the conversation we were starting to have, out in that field on the way back from Akanni. You never did tell me if you’re really a Prada gal. I mean, how could you be, now that I know you’re not independently wealthy or whatever. Prada on an MSF salary? I don’t think so.” Jack looked up as if something had just occurred to him before he grinned and added “Though that would explain why you’re so thin, spending all your money on shoes instead of food.”
 
She just shook her head, half smiling at his tease. "I've never spent any money on designer anything in my life," she confessed. "I'm a thrift store shopper. That's not saying that I don't have nice things. I have a pair of Prada heels, and a few other fancy brands, but they were gifts. I'm not shelling out that kind of money for shoes or clothes, simply because they're branded. They are very nice shoes, though." She smirked as her new drink was delivered, and she took another sip.

"What about you? Where did you call home back in the States? If you had an accent, you've either lost it or know how to hide it really well." She hadn't missed the compliment he'd slipped into conversation, but she preferred to ignore it. She studied him while they talked, watching his body language, eyeing his tattoos. If they were any indication, he could apparently tolerate a bit of pain. Wusses didn't get tattoos -- or at least not more than one. "You still have family back there that you talk to?"

It was a dangerous road bringing up family. Miranda rarely spoke about her own, and never to people she'd just met. She was interested in him, however, and wanted to know more. Her arm rested on the table in front of her, grazing the bottom of her breasts as she leaned forward for another drink.
 
“So you’re a bargain shopper huh?” Jack’s gaze flicked lightly over what he could see of Miranda above the table, and settled on her bosom for just a second. Then he looked back up at the Doc’s pretty face and grinned as he commented “Well, I can see that’s working out just fine for you.” Jack happily stared into Miranda’s beautiful brown eyes for several seconds more, until he realized she’d asked him another question.

“Oh, my family? Well I was born in Texas, though I grew up all over the place; my dad was a trucker and we moved around a lot before he got his own rig. But after my sister was born we settled down in Pennsylvania, in a suburb of Philly. Then one day, when we were in high school, my dad got into his truck, drove away and never came back.” Jack shrugged, as if to say “What’re you gonna do?” before he had a little more beer and went on.

“Anyway, that’s where they still are; my Mom’s in a little apartment and April’s in the townhouse she got after the divorce. She’s doing a whole lot better now, April that is. Works as office manager for a Dentist, and we finally also got the child support straightened out; well the Judge did, I just paid for the lawyer. So now her shithead ex’s wages are being garnished, pardon my French.” Jack looked a little glum, before he sipped some more Castle and brightened suddenly. “And my niece Sam is doing great, though she’d give me grief for not calling her Samantha; she’s a real girly girl, like her Mom was. She really likes school, and got into one of those programs they have for gifted kids.” Jack smiled at Miranda as he added “So maybe one day she’ll be a Doctor, and run around the world saving people.”

“And yeah, April and me stay in touch online, and I see her and Sam once I year, when I go back to the States; I usually stay at their place for a couple of weeks.” Jack looked off into the distance, as if he might be thinking of his last trip home or the next one to come. Then he grinned as he leaned over the table a bit. “So, that’s my family tree in a nutshell Doc. How about yours? You ever get back to Chicago and the old neighborhood?”
 
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Miranda smiled at the mention of his niece. "Maybe she will. The world needs all the gifted doctors it can get."

After taking another long drink of her cocktail, she licked her lips and shook her head. "Nothing back there for me, really. I have a couple of half-siblings, maybe, but I didn't grow up with them. Never really knew them. Last I heard my half-brother was in jail for shooting a cop. Real gang-banging piece of shit. My half-sister came knocking on my door a time or two, mostly looking for money so she could buy meth. I tried to get her help, but she wasn't interested in getting clean and sober, so I don't really talk to her, either. Technically, I suppose I'm an Aunt, because she's popped out a couple of kids, but I've never met them. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd been taken from her by the state. Perpetuating the cycle. She's not interested in a relationship -- just whatever she can steal out of my purse when she thinks I'm not looking."

"Other than to visit a couple of colleagues from the hospital, I don't have any real reason to go back. I suppose that's why I don't mind moving around so much. I haven't been back since I started with MSF a couple of years ago. When I'm tired of traveling and the work I'm doing, I might find a place to settle down, but that could be anywhere. Maybe I'll give Philly a try. Or New York or Boston. Hell, maybe even London or Paris. I'll just throw a dart at a map and see where it lands."

"You ever think about leaving this all behind and settling down? How long have you been here, anyway? You and your men seem to have a good rapport."
 
“Wow” Jack muttered as he shook his head. “You make my folks sound like Mom and Dad of the year material.” Though he did mentally note that Miranda hadn’t actually mentioned her parents when talking about her upbringing; leaving out her dad was believable, but nothing at all about her Mom or some other maternal figure? That struck Jack as kind of odd, but he decided to let it slide for now and turn towards some other, hopefully happier topic.

So with that in mind Jack grinned, leaned back and gestured broadly with both his hands as he asked “Leave all this behind?” After the requisite pause Jack went on to really answer Miranda’s question. “Hell yeah, that’s definitely part of the plan, at least at some point. Every time I go home I check out the real estate around where April lives, and have been keeping track of it online too. There’s one nice foreclosure I’ve got my eye on right now, that I might just finally pull the trigger on. It’s a little further from her place than I’d like, but the accountant I use says I really should diversify some, and try to get more deductions.” Jack drained the last of his beer and leaned forward to set it on the table. “Of course that also raises the question of what I would do if I settled down. The Army paid for me to get an Associate's online, which I thought’d help me out. Which it kind of did I guess, since it helped me get selected for the Warrant Officer program. But it’s in military history, so I’m not sure how much it’ll help me in real life. I mean, I could go get a history degree I guess, but what would I do with that?” Jack chuckled. “Become a teacher, or go back to work for Uncle Sam I guess.”

Jack waved off another beer from the waiter before he replied to the last half of the Doc’s question. “How long have I been here? Four, well five weeks now. The unit’s really only been operational for about three months, and Dieter, my OC, brought me onboard late. But I already knew a lot of the guys from other places, and got to know the rest during briefings and training and stuff like that. There’s kind of a rhythm and order to it all wherever you go, probably like walking into one hospital is a lot like walking into any other.” Jack glanced down at his watch before he went on. “Speaking of time, I hope I’m not monopolizing your Friday night Doc. Not that I mind it or anything, but all I asked you for was enough time to give you something; I wouldn’t want to keep you from the hot date you look dressed for.” Jack grinned, then darted a quick glance at Miranda’s drink before he went on. “On the other hand, if you’re feeling a little hungry, we could get something to eat right here; it’s also a restaurant after all. My treat, since I know you’re saving for another pair of Pradas. But it’s going to cost you if you say yes; you’re going to have to model them for me, the first time you wear them.” Jack leaned back in his seat, and calmly waited to see what the Doc’s reply to all that might be …
 
"Given how I've told you that I socialize so little, you know very well that I have no other plans this evening. I don't party, and I certainly don't have any hot dates. If you think this is dressy, I don't think you've had much experience with what women actually wear when they're going out for a night on the town. Had you not invited me for drinks, my night would have undoubtedly consisted of reading medical journals until I fell asleep." She met his gaze evenly, no hint of a smile as she replied to his offer. "I would never trade food for indulging a man in his strange fetishes. I'm sure there's plenty of foot porn for you to look at on the internet. However, seeing as how I don't intend to buy any new pairs of shoes in the near future, least of all Prada, I think it is safe to accept your offer of food. I am hungry and these drinks are rather strong."

Without waiting for his response, she waved to catch the server's attention. "Could you bring us two menus please? I believe we'd like to order from the kitchen."

As soon as they were delivered, she began to browse the various selections. "Definitely no salad," she said. "Let's fine something a bit more expensive to dig deeper into your wallet, shall we?" A smile finally appeared as she peeked over the edge of the menu at him, a devious glint in her eyes.
 
Life in the barracks, and the military really, could often make it feel like you were constantly being fucked with. So Jack kept Stoic Expression Number One on his face as he listened to the Doc. He thought she had laid it on a bit thick, but that overall her spiel had been a good one; he particularly liked the part about Internet foot porn. It reminded him of way back when he hadn’t shaved closely enough one morning, and his Drill Sergeant had asked if Jack’s mother had been a werewolf; banging out twenty pushups hadn’t been particularly difficult, but not laughing as he did was.

After the server had brought their menus Jack finally spoke up. “The pizza here is actually pretty good. Not deep dish of course, but hey, we’re a long way from the Windy City. No hot dogs with a pickle though, sorry. But if you do want to put some meat on that skinny body of yours, the steak is good too.” Jack set his menu on the table and waited as another server put down a basket of fresh bread and filled their water glasses from a newly opened bottle. After taking a sip of water Jack went on. “I think I’m going to have the pizza. Do you want to split a bottle of wine? They usually have some from Cape Town. I’d prefer dry white but I’m not particular, so anything you might like is fine by me.”

Jack settled back and looked at Miranda. “So, you got me Doc. I really don’t have much experience with women. Just what I’ve managed to glean from watching a few episodes of Sex and the City, things like that.” Jack held up one palm for a second and shrugged, as if to say “What’re you gonna do?” before he went on. “That’s why I’m so shy around them.” Jack raised a finger and wiggled it lightly at Miranda a few times. “But you on the other hand. I’ll bet your dad was beating the boys off with a stick back in high school.”

Jack’s hands settled in his lap while he looked away for a moment and then continued. “So, medical journals on a Friday night huh? That sounds like fun. Y’know, if I wasn’t having dinner with you, I’d probably be back in the rack rereading Clausewitz or The Art of War myself.” Jack chuckled. “That Sun Tzu can be a tricky guy. For instance, I’m still trying to figure out one of his quotes.” Jack looked up as if trying to remember it. “Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.” He paused before going on. “What do you think that one means Doc?”

Jack actually managed to keep a straight face throughout everything he’d just said; his Drill Sergeant had taught him well …
 
She nodded. "Wine sounds good, as does the pizza. It has been a while for me. Order whatever kind you like. I'm a fan of it all, even anchovies. Well, almost everything. I will never understand pineapple on pizza." Her nose wrinkled in mock disgust.

Yet again, she noted how he described her physical attributes, which meant he was definitely checking her out. Miranda almost groaned a the predictability of it all and wondered how far she should let it go before shutting him down cold. Most of the military types she'd encountered made a pass at her during the first or second social outing. Something about being stationed in a foreign country and being surrounded by the worst situations on the planet made most men desperate and horny. She'd been told to gather information about Jack and his crew, but that didn't mean she had to sleep with him to get it. She'd yet to cross that line and didn't plan on doing so in the future. However, it was necessary for her to walk a fine line between being friendly enough to keep him interested, but not flirty enough to make him think she was interested.

Things were quickly going to get complicated.

"Clever," she said at his question. "I'm not sure if you're trying to impress me with the fact that you've read The Art of War, or if you actually want me to think you're downplaying your impressive attributes so as to surprise me with your aptitude later. Or maybe you think that I'm downplaying how I spend my free time. If it is the latter, I assure you, it is no exaggeration. I've been here for a couple of months now, and this is my first real social outing outside of semi-mandatory gatherings at the MSF compound."

"Most people don't like me," she continued. "That's not really a complaint. I don't cry about it. It's just a fact. I don't like most people, so it goes both ways. It usually works to our mutual benefit if I just keep to myself. The majority of people want a kind, compassionate, caring doctor to hold their hand and lead them gently through treatment. I don't function that way. You want treatment? You're going to get the best damn treatment you can find. You want a hug? You'll have to find a squishy nurse to help you out with that one."

She put down her menu and reached for a piece of bread that she could eviscerate.

"So? Which is it?"
 
Jack did laugh then. “Wow Doc, you must have been sick the day they covered bedside manner back at school ...”

Before he said any more, Jack ordered a large pie with ground beef, peppers and onions, and a bottle of sauvignon blanc to go with it; he figured that’d be plenty for the both of them. Once the waiter had gone he turned back to Miranda. “So look, you told me you read medical journals because you really do, right? Well I believe you. Why should I be any different? But one thing I don’t believe is that you just ‘read’ them; I’ll bet you study them. Because the knowledge they contain might just help you do your job better in the real world. So far, we’re on the same sheet of music. One difference though, is that I bet you also look at your journals like I look at a car repair manual; it’s just about a thing that needs to be fixed.”

Jack paused as the wine arrived and was opened, and he was offered a small amount to sample; he went ahead and tried it, not because he was any sort of wine connoisseur, but because he wanted to make sure the bottle hadn’t skunked sitting on the docks in Lagos. After their glasses were filled Jack leaned back and continued where he’d left off. “That’s not how I think about The Art of War. It’s not only about war, it’s about people. What they’re willing to fight for. What they’re willing to die for. What they’re afraid of.”

Jack paused before he went on, his voice still even and conversational. “So now I have a person sitting across from me who runs around the world saving people. But she certainly doesn’t do it for the money. And she also says she doesn’t do it to stroke her own ego, which I can believe. Why? Because she could just as easily do that helping disadvantaged folks back in Chicago, where it’d be a little safer and she could also drink the water. Yet she also says she ‘doesn’t like most people’? Something really doesn’t add up there. In the military we’d call that a missing EEI, an essential element of information.”

Jack looked away for a second, then looked the Doc in the eyes. “Now I don’t know you well enough to press the point. Heck, I’m not even sure I can call you Miranda yet. So if you want to keep ‘appearing strong,’ that’s your prerogative.” Jack’s tone softened a bit as he added “A lady’s entitled to her secrets after all. So why don’t we just chat about something else while we wait for our dinner? A topic you’re a little more comfortable with.” Jack reached out for his wine glass and placed it in front of him, then raised one hand and tapped the inside of his wrist. “What kind of surgery did you have?”
 
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It irked her greatly that he seemed to be able to see right through her. She'd always put on a strong front because doing otherwise made her a target. Even as a child, the weakest were picked on by the strongest, and Miranda had to learn to both stand up for herself and to change the way she acted so as not to draw the attention of bullies. Sometimes the illusion of strength was as powerful as actually being strong. She'd found the same to be true while working for the MSF, especially when she crossed paths with confident military men, like Jack.

"I said I don't like most people, not all people," she pointed out. "Patients are different. To me, they're more about treatment plans and options. I don't have to have a good bedside manner to be proficient at my chosen practice. I leave the caring up to the nurses. They're better at it than I could ever be." She shrugged it off, letting the topic go as he suggested.

His next question came completely out of the blue as she reached for her glass of wine. She hesitated, then took a long drink. Her eyes fell to one of her wrist as she placed her glass back on the table. Unconsciously, she tucked her arms beneath her chest, effectively hiding them from view.

"Carpal tunnel," she answered smoothly. It was a lie, but one she'd told so many times before that she almost believed it herself. Never mind that the incisions were in the wrong place and far too large for the common endoscopic procedure. Unless you'd studied the procedure or were another doctor, you really wouldn't understand the difference. Miranda was fairly certain that Lee suspected, but he'd never come out and asked her directly.

"I suppose this is going to be a game of back and forth," she observed. "My turn for a question -- tell me about your tattoos. What are the significance of some of them?" He had so many, she wasn't going to make him tell her the story of each and every one, but she was interested in how a person could grow to enjoy getting them. "Aren't they quite painful?"

Her eyes drifted lower to survey the exposed skin where he'd been inked. Not for the first time, she found herself admiring his muscular form.
 
Jack sipped a little of his wine as he considered the woman sitting across from him. Normally he would have bought her carpal tunnel explanation, even though he'd thought it was mostly computer geeks who got that. But the way she’d hidden her arms away rang hollow; the Doc was an attractive woman sure, but in the short time Jack had known her she’d never come across as being vain about her appearance. If goat shit on her shoes didn’t bother her, why would a couple of small scars on her arms?

Even odder to Jack though, was how the Doc had referred to them simply chatting as a ‘game of back and forth.’ It reminded him of the younger brother of one of his buddies back in high school, a guy named Terry who'd been in some of April’s classes. Terry was smart, great with computers and really liked to play games, but could also be dumber than dirt around other people; he got his ass kicked a few times Freshman year before his older brother, Jack and some other guys from the team put a stop to that. Over beers one night Jack’s buddy told him Terry had something called Asperger’s, which made him kind of retarded when he was in social situations. Jack was beginning to wonder if something like that was also going on with Miranda, just as she asked about his ink. He pointed briefly to a smaller tattoo on his left forearm; it was a slender upright dagger with the word “Dependet” under the pommel and four numbers above the point.

“One time I was in this course. It was pretty long, and kind of stressful. We never knew what the instructors wanted us to really do, what the schoolbook solution was; whenever we asked about that, they’d always say ‘It depends.’ That’s what dependet means in Latin. A group of five of us started sticking together, trying to help each other out and eventually we decided to get this tattoo when we graduated.” Jack paused and sipped a little more of his wine before he went on. “At about the four month mark two of the guys were dropped from training. A third was cut the day before graduation, supposedly for failing the final exercise. We all knew that was bullshit, and that it was just because one of the instructors didn’t like him. The night before graduation we all had dinner, and the two of us who had passed said we weren’t going to get the tattoo; it felt like all we’d really done was survive a plane crash. The other three guys called bullshit on that, so we said we’d get it if they did too; they agreed, but left off the class number on top since they hadn’t passed the course.” Jack paused. “And yeah, getting them can hurt, depending on what part of the body they’re working on.” He shrugged before adding “But I’m told my pain tolerance is fairly high, so I’m not sure how you’d feel about it.”

As Jack had been telling his story, the back of his mind had been quietly working away. He remembered that one thing his buddy had said about Terry was that you had to be real direct with him, because he didn’t like vague situations, or joking around. So after Jack had a little more wine, he leaned forward a bit and crossed his arms on the table. “So … Miranda. Look …” he began in a voice that was not the least bit harsh or teasing. “There aren’t many Americans here in town. And we’ve already been on a mission together, two if you count the bus terminal. Been under fire together. I’m not trying to play some kind of game with you.” Jack paused for a second but didn’t look away, then pressed on. “I enjoy your company, even though you can be kind of a pain in the butt sometimes. That’s it. There are no ulterior motives.”

Jack stopped talking and as he began wondering how the Doc would react, the waiter walked up and started serving the two of them their pizza; it looked delicious.
 
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Miranda blinked and stared at him at Jack's abrupt announcement. She opened her mouth to respond, but the arrival of the pizza forestalled any reply. She waited until the server had dished out their slices and departed. Her eyes fell briefly to the food, but returned to meet Jack's gaze after a few moments. Her fingers twitched at the napkin she spread into her lap. "That's it? Honestly?" She sighed a little, but it was one of relief. "Thank you for your candor. I've had some bad experiences in the past, which is why I typically don't respond to invitations like this. Most of the men I've worked with outside of the MSF tend to be overbearing assholes that think they can push me around simply because I'm female. Or they assume that the reason I keep to myself because I haven't found 'the right one' yes. And, of course, they're always 'the right one'. I've found that nearly everyone has an ulterior motive. I didn't join the MSF to dance around other people's drama. It is actually refreshing to find someone that's not involved in all that."

Hesitantly, she continued, "Perhaps... perhaps we should start over. Reset? You're not as big of an idiot as I thought you'd be, nor do I find you egotistical or condescending. I assumed the worst, and I'm sorry for that. From what I've seen, your conduct has been entirely appropriate and professional, and you're good at what you do. Yes, you're a bit of an ass with your constant teasing, but it is all in good fun, and I really don't mind it so much. I'm only surprised that you're interested in spending time with me at all. I know I'm not the best of company most of the time, and I'm rather terrible at small talk, as you've already discovered. I always feel awkward in these situations."
 
Jack wanted to smile as he listened to the Doc talk; it seemed as if he was hearing the real Miranda, or at least a part of her, for the very first time. But Jack kept his expression neutral until she had finished, because he wanted her to get everything out however she wanted, without any influence from him at all; then he smiled. “A reset sounds like a great idea” Jack agreed. “But before we do that, how about we eat a little, while it’s still warm?” Besides being true, Jack figured a little break in their conversation would be good for Miranda; it had sounded like talking to him the way she had hadn’t been easy for her.

After a quick “Bon appétit” Jack took his first bite; he thought the pizza tasted as good as it looked, which was a pleasant surprise considering where they were. And he also thought the quiet at their table as they started to eat was a companionable one, much better than the awkward silence of their ride back to Miranda’s clinic after the bus terminal bombing. After he’d polished off his first slice Jack took a break to sip a little wine, and he looked at Miranda with a crooked grin on his face. “So first I was a meathead, and now I’m not as big an idiot as you thought I’d be. Hmm, what on earth makes you say you’re terrible at small talk?” Jack’s grin broadened a bit as he held up a hand and went on. “Sorry, I’m just being a bit of an ass again. And hey, if I dish it out I should be able to take it right?”

Jack lowered his hand and leaned forward, arms once again crossed by his plate as he toyed with his wine glass. “But seriously Miranda. I’m not going to try to tell you what to think, or how to feel; to each their own right? But I hope it’s okay for me to tell you what I think. You say you always feel awkward in these situations, but I can’t understand why. You’re smart and well educated. You do an important job and work hard to help a lot of other people. And you’re really attractive.” Jack briefly held up a hand again as he added “Don’t even try to tell me you’re not. That’s one of the reasons why guys are always hitting on you, right? To include the jerky assholes. But so why, with all that going for you, do you feel awkward?” Jack sipped a little more wine as he thought for a second. “You’re doing great right now, you know that right? You seem a lot more relaxed, and maybe even a little happy too; it’s fun to be here with you. I’m glad you decided to have a drink with me, and stay for dinner.”

Jack leaned back and helped himself to another slice of pizza. “Oh, and you can call me Jack if you want. The whole Major thing is just protocol, to help with the Nigerians. In the Army I was just Chief, or Mister Grainger.” Jack grinned around another bite of pizza, then swallowed. “And since Mister Grainger was my dad, Jack’ll do fine.”
 
Following his lead, she dug into the pizza, actually enjoying it immensely, which could be heard in the small noises of pleasure that escaped her at the first bite. It had been a long time since she'd had a taste of home, and the pizza was the perfect thing to accompany their nostalgia. Throwing a glance at Jack, she noticed that he seemed to be enjoying it as well. Why that should please her, she couldn't say, but it did. Perhaps it was because she was a pessimist and always expected the worst. It was a pleasant surprise to be proved wrong once in a while.

She said nothing at his teasing, though colored significantly when he complimented her physical appearance yet again. Stalling so she could think of how much she should tell him, she swirled the wine in her glass and took another drink. Her dark eyes lifted to catch his after a moment and one shoulder rose in a shrug.

"Fine then, Jack... I suppose if I'm being honest, I'm just not used to this." She waved a hand to encompass both the table and restaurant in general. "Any of this. I haven't been interested in doing any of this in a long while. Maybe in college, sure, once I learned to lighten up, but not after. I was in a long term relationship. When it ended, I didn't want to date and had no interest in casual relationships, especially not with the jarheads that are only looking for a quick fling before moving on to the next woman. I was a target and, like I learned when I was young, I knew I didn't want to be. It's easier to fend off the assholes if they consider you a raging bitch. Eventually they get the hint and quit trying."

"So I haven't done this in a while. A long while." She glanced down at her wine glass and sighed. "I wouldn't be here if not for...," she paused and shook her head as her attention returned. "Anyway, it doesn't really matter. I'm here now, I took that first big leap, and I guess we'll see what happens. Hmm?"
 
Jack stifled a grin when the Doc blushed and her lovely light brown complexion darkened; given all her smarts and education it surprised Jack a little, but pleased him even more, to see Miranda react to his comment about her appearance as if she were some inexperienced, but secretly pleased twenty something. But then the Doc mentioned her previous long term relationship and how it had ended (badly, obviously) and he instantly felt, well bad for her; while her explanation did explain a lot and also showed she could have feelings for someone else, Jack didn’t envy her whatsoever for what she’d evidently gone through. It sounded like a lot for anyone, to especially include a smart gal who might still be twenty-one forever in her heart. So Jack decided to basically let that go, as he listened and chomped on his pizza.

Jack refilled his wine glass then reached out to top off Miranda’s, but looked at her and raised his eyebrows before he did. Then he settled back into his seat and looked at the gal across from him, a tight little smile on his face. “Sorry to have brought up more ancient history. But thanks for helping me understand.” Jack sipped a little more wine before he smiled more broadly and went on. “But so, for what it’s worth, I’d like to suggest that maybe, coming out like this might be a good thing going forward. I mean, medical journals are all well and good. But every now and again taking a break from the clinic, and your patients, and the … responsibility of fighting illness and disease, and pandemics that just might end humanity, could be … a better way to spend your nights off? Let you sort of … recharge your batteries, before diving back into the next week?”

Jack had a little more wine before he continued. “Anyway, look. It’s okay if the real reason you came out tonight was to see if I could help your clinic. You guys do great work and if I can help, it’s my pleasure. But you also didn’t have to stay for dinner, or answer all my dopey questions either. I appreciate that.” Jack smiled. “So really, it’s been fun.” He paused before he went on. “So I think I’ve had my fill for tonight. They cut the slices big here. But if you want to keep eating, or have dessert, I’m in no rush. You can definitely afford to put a little more meat on those bones of yours.” Jack sipped some more of his wine then added. “And we can just have them wrap up whatever you don’t want to finish for takeaway. Oh, and so did you drive yourself, or do you have a ride home on call? I can give you a lift when you’re done, if you want.”
 
Miranda finished her slice and reached again for her wine, taking a smaller sip this time. Between the two drinks and the white, she was beginning to feel a bit lightheaded, but it was a pleasant feeling after a stressful week. "You're probably right. I should get out more, but it's easier just to hide in my room. Maybe I'm just a coward when it comes to parties." The few MSF functions she'd attended hadn't been terrible as she knew most all of those gathered and, more often than not, the doctors just ended up talking ship for a few hours. It was more about getting everyone together to share what had been going on than it was about drinking and socializing. Non-MSF parties, though... a couple of those hadn't turned out quite like she'd wanted.

Finally pushing her plate away, she started on her water, knowing the importance that hydration could play in lessening the effects of a hangover. Her gaze drifted to the leftover pizza. "I'll probably take a couple of slices to eat for breakfast, if you don't care. Not more than that, though. You keep saying I need meat on my bones, but all I see is the scale tipping up several pounds from eating junk food and snacking too much. No dessert for me, though. I'm stuffed, too. They are big slices."

She shook her head lightly. "No, I don't need a ride. We've a service on call. I just text and wait for the car to show up. Thanks for the offer, though." Carson wanted information, but she didn't necessarily want him knowing that she was getting closer to the man, else he'd make her exploit their relationship. Better if he didn't show up around her hotel room just yet in case any were watching.

Leaning forward on her elbows, chin propped against her clasped hands, she gazed across the table at him. "I didn't just come here to see if you could help the clinic, or just to accept whatever gift you had for me. I was surprised at the offer, actually, and wanted to get to know you a bit better. If we're to maintain a working relationship, I'd like for us to be friends. It makes things easier. Sorry if I was a bitch earlier. Like I said, I haven't gone this route in a long time. You've let me off lightly, I think, and I appreciate it."
 
Jack nodded and said “Sounds good,” as he pulled out his wallet and tucked some Naira under his wine glass. “I’ll make sure to text you Aldo’s number, but like I said you can also talk to him at Jelena’s tomorrow if you want. The party’s supposed to start around eight.” Jack paused before he added “Oh, and one more thing.” He leaned forward and rose out of his seat a bit, as his left hand snaked out to slip under Miranda’s hair and around the back of her slim neck. He lightly caressed her soft skin as his face moved forward, and just as his forehead was about to touch hers he slid to the side; Jack’s whiskers brushed against Miranda’s cheek as he whispered into her ear. “Before you go to bed tonight … check on Billy, okay? I worry about her.” Jack gently squeezed the nape of Miranda’s neck before he sat back, a cocky grin on his face; he’d paid for that expression a few times in his life, but it’d always been worth it.

Then Jack picked up his bag, stood and walked out of the restaurant; as he strolled away he smiled and thought, “I wonder if she thinks I let her off lightly now?”
 
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