Morgan waited for Justin to unlock the front door, trying with all her might to remain patient. He wasn't taking his sweet time, but he didn't seem to be in any hurry either. The sleeping child in her arms was dead weight and not exactly light as a feather. She sighed quietly, slightly juggling the weight and shifting her feet as his key slid into the lock and the door swung open.
It was the middle of the night, around 1am. She and Chloe had been at home, where Chloe was passed out in bed while Morgan had her nightly beer with Char before starting her usual text conversation with Justin. Once his shift had ended he'd come to her apartment and invited them to spend the night at his place. After his confrontation with Devon earlier in the day, there was no telling what that man would do. Hopefully, he'd heed Justin's warning, but he seemed to be too hard headed for his own good. Justin hadn't told Morgan about his vigilante actions, and the last thing he wanted was for Devon to pop up while the girls were asleep and utterly vulnerable. He'd feel more comfortable if they were with him.
Morgan had agreed without much of an argument. She hadn't liked the idea of taking Chloe out of her warm bed, but, she'd never be able to get a good night sleep herself if she was alone, worrying about Devon. At Justin's apartment all she'd have to worry about was what to make him for breakfast in the morning. So, she'd slowly hauled Chloe up into her arms and walked her out to the car. She drove herself this time - it was easier than bothering with moving the car seat. Chloe had fussed a little, then gone back to sleep as soon as the engine started. She followed behind Justin's Audi on the freeway, parking on the street when he pulled into the lot. Then, he'd grabbed their bags while she grabbed Chloe, and lead the way to the elevator that took them upstairs.
The flick of a switch illuminated the apartment, and it was just as Morgan had remembered - clean, with muted colors, and surprisingly warm and welcoming. He dropped the bags on the living room floor and went to the kitchen. The soft lights above the countertops came on, and he turned off the harsh overhead lights.
"She still asleep?" He asked, watching Morgan head for the sofa.
"Yeah," she whispered.
He watched her lean down, gently lowering Chloe onto the cushions. Then she pulled the blanket from the arm of the sofa, unfolded it, and laid it over Chloe. A slender hand brushed over the little girl's head, pushing her hair back from her face. He smiled to himself, his heart melting a little inside. He loved watching them together. Morgan may have been stubborn and prideful, but she was a good Mom and she loved that little girl. She was so gentle and patient with her, and the glow she got when she looked at Chloe only seemed to make them both more beautiful. He wondered what it would be like watching her with his own child. Would she be the same gentle soul she was now, dealing with a mini-Marine for the rest of her life... Justin shook his head and turned toward his bedroom, searching for something else to think about. It was way too early to be thinking about any kids. Way, way too early.
Justin stepped into his room, turning on the light and starting on the buttons of his shirt. The layers were getting heavy, and he was ready to relax. He pulled the black shirt off and tossed it toward the dirty clothes hamper in the corner. It landed in a pile nearby. He was undoing the velcro straps of the vest underneath when Morgan came in, quietly closing the door behind herself. She barely glanced at him, heading straight for the bed.
"I'm so tired," she stated.
He smirked as she collapsed onto 'her' side of the bed. She was facing away from him, her back slightly arched, putting her butt on perfect display.
"Is she out?"
"Like a light," she answered.
He could hear the drowsiness in her voice. Pulling off the rest of his uniform and tossing it into half-hazard piles around the hamper, he stripped down to his boxers and headed for the bed as well. When he pulled back the covers Morgan sat up, pulling back her side and sliding under. He moved to the middle, bunching the pillow under his head. Then he ran a hand down Morgan's arm, and instantly she scooted back until her body was pressed against him. Her head tucked under his chin, her back against his chest, her butt against his groin, and her legs entangled with his. To most others she was probably built like some kind of awkward Amazon - tall and strong but uncomfortable in her own skin. Yet, compared to him she was small and perfectly curvaceous.
Her hand reached back, grabbing his fingers and pulling his arm around her waist.
"Cuddle," she stated.
He pulled her closer, strands of her long hair along with that ever present vanilla scent tickling his nose. Her nails had begun scratching a lazy pattern into his forearm, sending a calm wave over him. For the first time he wasn't thinking about the body she had under her clothes, the only thing on his mind was falling asleep like this, and waking up just like this.
"Night, little girl," he said into her ear.
Her nails paused in their pattern to give three quick, short scratches.
"Goodnight."
~*~
Justin sat staring out the window, taking in the view of dry hills and empty land. The road beneath the vehicle was rocky and unpaved, tossing his body back and forth with every uneven inch they covered.
Justin, Chad, and their two teams had been loaded into the backs of three heavily armored Buffalo vehicles. They were toward the back of a nine-vehicle convoy on a mission to capture a small group of insurgents who were causing a significant amount of trouble in the nearby town of Nowabad. They group had been previously captured by a different platoon, but managed to escape once the platoons' convoy was attacked after one of their Humvee's was downed by an IED.
Nowabad was infamous amongst the deployed troops of Afghanistan, because it was as hostile as could be. While US forces had been able to take control of many of the towns and providences nearby, there was only one road leading to Nowabad - heavily populated by IEDs - leaving it in the mercy of Taliban-allied forces.
The front of the convoy consisted of two armed Husky vehicles, sweeping the ground for explosive devices. The last thing they needed was for the rescue team to suffer the same fate as the team who'd called for help. The AAF was running training missions over the Indian Ocean, and it'd take a while for them to make their way back if a ground patrol needed air support.
They'd almost made it to their destination when the convoy came to a halt and a voice sounded over everyone's radio.
"2-0, There may be an IED here. Send EOD to the front."
EOD was an elite Navy team that had recently begun traveling with them. They had special training in explosive devices identification and detonation. Justin hadn't spent much time with them, but they seemed like nice enough guys - considering their dress blues consisted of bell bottoms. Pansies. He often wondered if they sat around singing YMCA in their spare time.
A call to EOD meant they'd be sitting here for at least an hour, waiting for them to identify a pressure-plate and lay down a charge large enough to detonate the bomb. At this rate, they wouldn't reach the downed vehicle until sunset.
"EOD?" Billingsley groaned. "Those boys take their time doing everything."
"They're not used to being on land," Wilson explained. "They're still trying to shed their sea legs. Give them time."
Justin smirked, settling back against the metal wall of the vehicle. Now that all the rocking had stopped he could finally get comfortable.
"Be nice to the Navy boys," he said. "They always give us a ride when we're going to battle, that deserves at least a little respect."
The other men chuckled, and a new guy, Private Perri, removed his backpack.
"I don't know about you guys," he said. "But I'm starved. Might as well eat while we're sitting here."
The other sets of eyes in the back of the vehicle turned to Justin, silently waiting for him to either chew out the new arrival, or give the rest of them permission to follow suit. Justin hesitated, then nodded in the affirmative that it was alright to break for lunch. It was unwritten protocol that you await permission from your commanding officer before you made any moves - meals included. The private was too new to Afghanistan to realize that, but he'd learn the lesson soon enough once they made it back to base.
The rest of the men took off their packs as well, retrieving the MRE's they're brought along for the day, and starting to trade amongst themselves. Billingsley took Wilson's chocolate chip cookie as payment for a poker game he'd won the night before. Perri did a little happy dance when he discovered that he'd somehow ended up with the only chocolate pudding cup in the group. Justin turned away from them, continuing to watch out the window. He never ate during missions. The adrenaline and constant feeling of being on the edge killed whatever appetite he had.
MRE's didn't take long to eat, considering they weren't meant to fill you up as much as they were meant to provide you with enough carbs to embark on a short hike or stand your ground during a firefight. The men had just begun wrapping up - Billingsley licking chocolate off of his fingers in an effort to taunt Wilson - when a ting echoed off the outside of the Buffalo. They all froze, waiting to see if the unidentified act would repeat itself. It did, three more times in rapid succession. The experienced members knew what it was.
Gunfire.
"Where is it?" Justin asked.
All of the men began to search through the windows, looking for tiny dark masses along the ridge lines. Taliban fighters often hid themselves behind rocks and amongst the dry brush of the mountains, using the landscape as camouflage for their dark clothes.
"We've got white smoke, sir," Wilson stated, looking out a window opposite the Sergeant.
White smoke was a common signal Taliban fighters used to alert each other that US forces were approaching and it was time to attack. Justin nodded, hearing the same warning go out over the radio.
"White smoke in the hills," the Captain announced. "We're stirring the hornets' nest. Look alive and see if you can give me a location."
The radio filled with chatter as the various vehicles began to report back. So far, no one could see anything. Shots were still ringing off the side off the Buffalo, unable to penetrate the dense metal protecting the passengers. Then, another call came over the radio.
"2-0, 2-7 is seeing muzzle flashes along the top of the ridgeline. Repeat, we see muzzle flashes from the ridgeline, over."
"Copy, how many personnel?"
"I'm seeing three or four, popping up and down at your 9 o'clock."
"Roger that. Gunners, 2-5, 2-6, 2-7, to your right. EOD, spotters. ANA, dismount."
In unison the gunner stations atop all the Army vehicles swung to the right, sending a barrage of bullets flying hundreds of yards away, in the direction of the attacking forces. The doors to two of the Buffalos ahead of the Marines opened, allowing a group of Afghan National Army members to step out onto the dirt. They found cover amongst the various military vehicles, and began to fire towards the ridgeline. They'd been accompanying the American's on their rescue mission as part of a training exercise. There was no training like the real thing. When there was a break in gun fire, the ANA dismounts started to move into the fields toward the ridgeline as an effort to suppress the gunfire. Justin looked out the window over Billingsley's head, seeing outdated motorcycles racing away from the ridgeline and deeper into the hills.
They were retreating.
All gunfire ceased, leaving the vehicle full of Marines in silence once again. In front of them were two houses, encased by a high cream-colored wall. They'd reached the outskirts of Nowabad. That explained the attack. The convoy had made it into hostile territory, now they just needed to reach the downed Buffalo and locate the escaped insurgents.
"What happened?" Pvt. Perri asked.
"They're running," Justin told him. "The Taliban uses motorcycles because they're easier to navigate these hills than in a truck. Judging from the 3 motorcycles I just saw racing away, I'd say they're getting the fuck out of dodge."
Perri nodded, turning back to the window.
"3-2, Timberlake."
Justin raised his walkie-talkie to his lips at the sound of his name.
"3-2 Timberlake, over."
"Take 20 dismounts and search those houses under the ridge. EOD reports seeing gunfire from the walls."
"10-4," he answered automatically.
The radio went silent, and Justin turned to the group awaiting instructions.
"Prepare to dismount," he said simply.
The men instinctively cocked their weapons, rechecking all their packs and extra clips before strapping all their gear back on. Justin picked up his walkie-talkie again, this time contacting the other two Buffalo's filled with Marines.
"3-3 Michaels, 3-4 Willings, copy?"
Michaels was a lower ranking Sergeant, watching over the Marines in the last Buffalo while Timberlake and Willings commanded the other vehicles.
"3-3 Michaels, go ahead."
"3-2 Timberlake, this is 3-4 Big Daddy Chocolate. Go ahead."
Justin rolled his eyes while his team snickered, never breaking his poker face.
"I've been ordered to dismount. Willings cover me, Michaels send me 10 additional dismounts, copy, over."
"10-4, 10 dismounts," Michaels replied.
"10-4 Timberlake," echoed Willings. "I've got a gunner up top watching the ridgeline. We'll take their heads off, over."
Justin smirked to himself, putting on his helmet. Stepping into a dangerous situation was never a comforting feeling, but it helped to know that your best friend was nearby watching over you. The sergeant opened the backdoor to the Buffalo, the first one in his group to step out into the sun. It was dry, and shockingly hot. The lack of rain had killed all the vegetation, meaning there wasn't a sign of shade for miles. The other Marines stepped out behind him, quickly moving to the other side of the Buffalo where they would be safe from gunfire. Justin radioed to Michaels to send out the second group of dismounts, and they followed suite, moving behind their Buffalo as well.
"PFC Stonewell, good to see you," Justin said into his walkie-talkie, referencing the first man to step out of Michael's Buffalo.
Stonewell nodded back.
"We're searching the house on your 2 o'clock," Justin said. "ANA and 3-4 are going to lay down cover. Move on my mark."
Stonewell nodded, signaling with his hands to the men behind him that it was time to move. Justin gave the same signal to the men crowded behind him, and he turned to look at the gunner above Willings' vehicle. The Marine nodded back, and gripped the handles of the machine gun, ready to spray gunfire towards anything the ridge that moved.
"2-0 to 3-3, you have ten mics to gain intel, collect any cached weapons, and return to convoy, over."
"10-4," Justin answered the walkie-talkie with a sigh of frustration.
Ten minutes wasn't even long enough for him to go to the bathroom, let alone clear a house, gain information, collect abandoned weapons, and hike back to the convoy. But, of course, the higher ups were never thinking about that, they just wanted results.
Justin signaled for his men to spread out into formation, and get low, close to the ground. Their desert cammies blended well with the landscape, making them difficult targets. As quickly as they could, they began to creep toward the structure. Thick walls made of beige earthenware and sticks surrounded the house. It made Justin nervous. There was no way for him to see what was hiding inside.
All remained quiet as they continued to approach the building. Whatever insurgents there had been must have taken off together. Ahead of him, the ANA had made contact with the man of the house, and were awaiting his arrival at the doorway to the compound. He could see the worry on the man's face, even though he was still a good 400 meters away.
The quiet was broken by the distant ringing of gunfire. At first it seemed like only one gun, and the group of Marine and ANA allies took cover and raised their rifles, searching for the triggerman. A round from an AK-47 flew past Justin, heading for the Husky behind him. Willings' gunner returned fire, sending a relentless stream of bullets over Justin's head to the ridgeline. He could see the rounds kicking up dust as they landed just shy of the men hiding behind a dead bush.
What started off as one gunner quickly turned into two, then four, then too many to count. Bullets were whizzing past him on both sides, flying over his head and bouncing off the ground near his feet. White smoke began to fill the air below the ridge, signaling that the attack was back on. Ahead, the ANA's were returning fire as well, hiding behind the walls of the compound they'd wanted to search.
Justin started a run toward the walls, his men following suit. They were sitting targets out in the middle of the field and they'd come too far to turn back to the convoy. Just a few meters from the wall, a bullet whizzed by, clipping the side of his ear. It knocked him backwards, almost causing him to lose his footing. Wilson and Perri each dropped to a knee by his side and began to return fire as the rest of the men continued on, running and shooting as best they could.
SSgt. Timberlake was the last one to make it to the wall, and was fortunately the only one injured. The ranking patch on the middle of his chest made him a bigger target than the rest of the men, so it made sense that they would aim for him. If you take out the leader, the team would fall apart - or so they thought. In reality, Marines had a firm chain of command, and if Justin were to fall, Cpl. Billingsley would immediately take over until a new platoon leader was promoted.
The gunfire seemed to pick up as more heads bobbed along the ridgeline, aiming AK-47's at anything they could. The sparks from firing muzzles lit up the hillside, trying to match the onslaught of bullets from the defending military personnel. In the distance, Justin heard the engines of the convoy vehicles rumble to life. EOD must have cleared the potential IED. Hopefully, they'd be moving on from here shortly, before anyone got hurt.
As soon as the thought appeared in his mind, he heard the noise every service member dreads. The popping of small arms fire was interrupted by a startling boom that rumbled through the valley. Dust and debris fell from the walls protecting Justin's unit, and they coughed to avoid inhaling the dust. Through the fog he looked out at the road to see a cloud of black smoke pillaring from the top of a Buffalo - Chad's Buffalo. Before he could even react, he heard Perri's voice.
"RPG!!"
A whistle pierced their ears as a rocket sailed over Justin's head, past the compound and headed straight toward the convoy. Two more followed close behind, setting off a quick succession of blinding sparks and deafening booms. The downed Buffalo was struck twice, causing it to rock back and forth, nearly falling onto its side. The third RPG fell just short, and a blew a crater into the side of the road. Anger started to rise inside Justin, watching the beige vehicle turn black from the fire. Radio chatter was calling to Willings' vehicle, ordering them to do anything they could to signify survivors - open a door, roll down a window, flash the headlights, radio back, anything. But, nothing was happening.
Even with the distance he could hear men on the ground shouting to each other. The Huskies at the front of the convoy began to turn around. They'd need to scan the ground around the downed vehicle before dismounts could be dispatched to pull out an casualties or survivors. Wherever there was one IED, there was bound to be a secondary - a backup explosive to cause as much damage as possible. Army dismounts appeared from two other Buffalo's, some falling in line behind the Huskies on their way to the Buffalo, and others making their way towards Justin's team.
Justin looked down at his rifle, checking the clip. He was halfway through his first set of rounds, his ears ringing from the firing of the men on both sides of him. He looked up just in time to see two men climbing down from the hillside, preparing to attempt an ambush. Above his head, two more RPG's whistled through the air, aimed at the Army dismounts trying to give him backup. The anger in him turned to rage as he resisted the urge to run back to the Huskies. He needed to find out if Chad was alright, and he needed to see that for himself. But more than anything, he needed to complete this mission. Out of frustration, he angrily slammed his fist into the wall in front of him, sending a wave of pain down his arm. His knuckles left a bloody imprint on the clay.
"Sir, what do we do? Do we flank left?"
Justin looked down at Perri, who's wide eyes were searching for some sense of direction in the chaos. Knowing Taliban forces were inside the compound, possibly a mere four or five feet from his men, he cocked his rifle and raised the weapon, scanning the wall as well.
"Negative, they're coming to us," he said. "Hold position, watch this platform."
Perri nodded once, raising his rifle to his shoulder and fixing his eyes on the top of the wall. Seconds later a head popped up on his left, dark eyes peering down at them from behind a piece of clothe serving as a mask. The man looked Justin in the eye, scrambling to raise his weapon as his eyebrows rose sharply. Justin, having already taken aim, fired first.
Morgan was jarred from her sleep by a sudden rumbling of the bed. Her eyes struggled to search the room in the dark, guided by the dim lights shining in through the window. At first, nothing seemed out of place, but then she felt the bed jostle again. She rolled over onto her back, finding Justin far away on the opposite edge of the bed. He must have rolled away from her sometime in the night. He was covered in sweat, his brow wrinkled with deep worry lines and his eyes tightly squeezed shut. He kept moaning and muttering to himself, sometimes soft as if he were hurt, and other times deep and stern as if he were barking orders as someone. His arm lifted into the air, and Morgan realized the jostling of the bed had been his closed fisted slamming onto the mattress. His bicep started to tremble and vibrate, as if he were struggling to hold onto something.
Morgan sat, unsure of what to say or do. Clearly it was another one of his nightmares. Should she try to wake him up? Would he be upset if she did? Would he want to talk about it after, or just go back to sleep? He always seemed so annoyed when she tried to discuss his combat experiences. Justin let out a groan, and every muscle in his body went tense. Morgan's heart began to beat faster and faster, and she reached out with an uneasy hand to touch his arm. He looked like he was suffering, in pain, and she couldn't stand to watch him that way.
She pushed on his shoulder, and it didn't seem to faze him in the slightest. If anything, he only grew more tense; letting out another groan that ended in an unpleasant growl. She pushed on his shoulder again, this time more forcefully. Then a third time when he still didn't wake up.
"Justin," she called his name. "Justin, come on, wake up. Wake up!"
She was shaking him with both hands now, her arms barely able to move his solid mass. Suddenly, he moved. His hands reached for her shoulders, tossing her onto her back and pinning her to the bed. He straddled her waist, one leg on each side of her, locking her arms against her torso, and his weight resting on her stomach. All the air in her lungs came rushing out with a 'whoosh' and she struggled to inhale. His eyes opened, revealing soulless black orbs that stared down at her with fear and hatred.
"Justin?"
The whisper of his name had barely left her lips when his hands reached for her neck. Thick fingers wrapped around the delicate skin, pressing down with a ferocious strength. Her widened, and she squirmed underneath him, trying to get her hands free. She felt helpless, like one of her worst nights with Devon was happening all over again. Looking up into his face, she knew this wasn't Justin. This person had black eyes and an evil scowl; he didn't look anything like the man she knew.
She tried to shout 'stop', but the words came out in a gurgle that barely made it past her throat. His fingers pressed harder, and her throat began to burn inside. Her vision blurred with tears. She wiggled again, one of her hands finally sliding free, and she gripped his wrist, trying to loosen his grip.
"No," she managed to get out. "Justin, please."
Something in him changed. It was a like a wave washed over the room, the tension and anger that had once filled the space disappeared. His body relaxed, and his eyes softened as he took in her face. Then, they widened in shock and he jumped back, completely detaching from her as if she'd burned him.
"Oh shit.... Morgan?"
Morgan didn't answer, or rather - couldn't. The tears she'd been trying to hold back came spilling out all at once, and she raised a hand to her bruised neck. Justin watched her crumble, curling into herself. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened; but waking up to find himself on top of her, choking her while she begged for mercy had given him more than enough clues to figure it out. For once, he was stuck in a situation where his training would do him absolutely no good. All he wanted to do - all he'd ever wanted to do - was comfort Morgan and keep her safe. But, how do you comfort someone when you're the reason they're hurting?
"Jesus," he said softly.
He reached out with a hesitant hand, and lightly touched her shoulder. She flinched slightly, and he dropped his head in shame.
"Morgan, I'm sorry. Shit, I'm so fucking sorry."
She sat up sharply, her eyes landing on him like daggers fixed on a target.
"What were you doing?" She demanded. "What were you thinking?!"
"I wasn't!" He tried to defend. "I wasn't thinking. That wasn't me, I-I was somewhere else. I swear to God, Morgan, that wasn't me."
She turned away from him, holding her throat with one hand and shielding her face with the other. He saw tears fall from her chin on to the comforter. Justin let out a heavy sigh, and ran a hand over his face, trying to hold back his own emotions. He remembered everything about the dream: the sights, the smells, the screams, the anger and adrenaline he'd felt pulsing through his veins. Waking up to see Morgan taking the brunt of all that had been one of the most horrifying experiences of his life. He glanced over at her, and she looked so tiny and alone in the middle of his big bed. Both their hearts were breaking, and he didn't know what to do.
So, he did the only thing he could think of. He scooted closer, his leg brushing against the side of hers. His arms reached out, enveloping her frame against his torso. She was hurt, upset, and had every right to hate him as much as she wanted tomorrow. But, right now, tonight, she was going to be held whether she liked it or not.
At first she didn't respond. Her back remained rigid even as he rested his head on her shoulder. But, he still didn't let go. He held onto her for dear life. His mind wondered what he would do if she left. What if this was the last straw and she never answered a text or opened the door for him again? He couldn't bare it - couldn't bare the thought of losing her. He needed her more than he'd ever allowed himself to realize before. He needed to hold her right now, even if she didn't want him too.
Morgan wondered similar thoughts of her own. What was she going to do now? She knew what she was 'supposed' to do. Years with Devon, countless Lifetime movies, and a half a dozen pamphlets on domestic violence had taught her that at the first sign of trouble you get the hell out of there. But, this was Justin. Justin who arrested Devon. Justin who played hide-and-seek with Chloe and always let her win. Justin who picked her up from work and offered his home when hers wasn't safe. Justin who spent his nights in the barracks having stupid, meaningless conversations with her. Justin who never called her anything worse than a 'poop-faced weirdo', no matter what odd, crazy things she said or did.
She knew he was telling the truth when he said it wasn't him. She'd looked into his eyes and known that he was gone. It had to have something to do with the Marines and his deployments, and that couldn't possibly be his fault. But still, how could she ever sleep next to him peacefully again?
Even more than she hated the questions and uncertainty in her mind, she hated how easily he was making them slip away. His smell and his skin were all around her, providing her with warmth and a sense of security. How could the very person who hurt you make you feel secure? She felt his arms wrap around her tight, squeezing her ribs for dear life. He whispered something against her shoulder, and her foolish heart melted.
"Please don't go."
Justin felt Morgan pull her hands from her face, reaching around him to gingerly rest them on his back, just under each of his tattoos. Her damp cheek rested on his bare chest, over his heart. After a moment he felt her squeeze back, holding on to him almost as tight as he was squeezing her. He lifted his head, giving her a gentle peck on the top of her head.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, baby," he said into her hair.
He rarely ever called her baby. She hated herself when the sentiment caused her body to snuggle even deeper into his. She climbed into his lap, letting his body all but engulf her. His fingers ran through her curls over and over, slowly lulling her heart beat back to normal. After awhile he leaned back against the headboard, pulling her with him. They laid there in silence, Morgan too tired and stunned to know what to say, and Justin lost in deep thought. What if he hadn't woken up when he did? What if Chloe had come running into the room?
Once in awhile his mind would quiet for a few minutes, and he would feel the shame and dishonor start to bubble in his gut. The plethora of questions and what if's dancing through his head kept him up for the rest of the night. How could he possibly trust himself to sleep next to her after that? There were too many questions he didn't have the answers too. Being a Marine had taught him preparation. Be prepared for the fight, be prepared for the unknown, be prepared to give it your all. But nothing had prepared him for this. How do you prepare to become a threat to the person closest to you?
Morgan was awake for most of the night as well, though she did manage to fall asleep for a few brief periods. The first time she'd slept, she woke up with a start - her mind obviously back in the terrified space it had been hours before. Justin remained still, shushing her and running a hand through her hair again. Eventually she relaxed again, and after awhile he heard her soft snores.
When she awoke for the last time, the sun had just barely risen above the neighboring hills, filling the bedroom with soft, muted light. Justin was still underneath her, and she could tell by his breathing that he was awake. She ran a hand down his chest, stopping at the thin brown hairs that ran from his bellybutton to the waistband of his boxers. His response was pressing a kiss into her forehead.
"How did you sleep?" He asked.
Morgan shrugged. She supposed she slept alright, all things considered.
"How do you feel?"
She knew he was referencing her neck, and again she shrugged. She dreaded having to look in the mirror later.
"Doesn't hurt," she offered.
He didn't answer, and she craned her neck to look up at him. His blue eyes were dull, weighted with worry and exhaustion. She put a hand on his face, rubbing a thumb over his cheek. He looked as bad as she felt.
"We have to talk about last night."
Justin looked away, clearing his throat and pulling himself out from under her. That small movement seemed to put a mile's worth of distance between them.
"Do we have too?"
Morgan's eyes narrowed.
"Yes." Duh.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, slightly nodding in agreement.
"Okay. But, not right now."
"Then when?"
"I don't know," he stood up, walking around the bed toward his closet to find a shirt.
"Justin. I'm sorry, but 'I don't know' isn't good enough for me anymore."
"What else you want me to say?"
"I want you to talk to me," she pleaded, sitting up on her knees in the middle of the bed. "I want to understand what happened, Justin."
"You won't."
He pulled a plain t-shirt from a closet hanger and yanked it over his head.
"You could at least try. I mean, I'm the one who got choked here."
Justin visibly winced at the words, but didn't make him any less cooperative.
"You won't understand. If you haven't been through it, then you'll never get it."
"You don't know that! Please, tell me what happened-."
"Fuck, Morgan, what do you want to know? I went somewhere, people shot at me, I shot back, shit blew up, people died, I left, and now I'm fucked in the head. That's what happened, alright? Last night I lost control, but it will never happen again."
Before she could speak he opened the bedroom door, and Chloe jumped up from the sofa where she'd been buried amongst the pillows watching TV.
"Mr. Justin!" She shouted.
Her little feet took off in a run straight towards him, and he swooped her up into his arms with ease.
"Good morning, baby girl," he smiled.
"Morning. Hi Mommy!" She called over his shoulder.
Morgan forced a smile and waved at her daughter.
"Good morning, baby."
"Did you sleep well?" Justin asked, starting toward the kitchen. "What should we have for breakfast?"
"French toast!"
"Hmm, how about cereal?"
"Lucky Charms!"
"Wheaties?"
"Lucky Charms."
"Cherrios?"
"Do Cherrios have marshmallows? No."
Morgan heard Justin snort. She settled back onto the bed, hugging her legs to her chest with a sigh.
"Okay then, smarty pants," he was saying. "Lucky Charms it is."
Story Tags: boyfriendj kitchensex interracialj abusiveex justin soldierj alternateuniverse
