82Author's Note
I started writing this in 2017 and then abandoned it. Only the other night a perfect storyline came to mind and this is the result, after having the rewrite all chapters.
Bear with me, that's all I am asking :)
Enjoy!
Bobby's POV
I look at my dress Uniform and swallow hard. I cannot do this, fuck why did I agree to this? There is a knock on my front door. When I open it, I find my best friend Lester on the other side, already dressed in his dark blues. His eyes are bloodshot, so I can tell he cried, yet I know he wouldn't admit it. "Not sure I can do this" I tell him, while stepping back to let him in.
Les clears his throat. "It's the right thing to do." But I can tell he doesn't want to do it either.
I run my hand over my freshly shaved head and sigh. "I know."
There is another knock on the door, but before I can go and open it, Les just turns around and does it for me. Tank is standing on the other side, his face void of any emotion and his eyes blank. He is just functioning at the moment. We all are, in very different ways. "Get dressed, we gotta go" He says in his XO voice, and even though we have been out of the army for ten years, it makes me stand up straighter and answer with a "Yes, Sir."
Ten minutes later, we are on our way and the silence and tension in the car is suffocating. While Tank, who is driving, is still not showing any emotion, dread spreads throughout my whole body and Les' legs start wiggling harder against the back of my seat the closer we get to our destination. None of us want to do this, but we have to. Like Les said, it is the right thing to do.
Once we arrive, we get out and put our berets back on. An older woman coming out of the building is giving us weird looks, but we ignore her when we walk past and through the door. As usual we take the stairs, with Tank leading the charge. I am so full of dread that I feel like throwing up. As a unit we had to do this a few times, notify the loved ones of our fallen comrades, but it never gets easier, yet this one has to be the hardest of all. Cause we left the army and we shouldn't have to do this anymore.
Once in front of the door, Tank knocks three times. We could let ourselves in, but I think this occasion calls for respect. Footsteps approach the door and a second later Steph throws open the door with a smile on her face "Woah, I never seen you guys in your dress blues. Don't you all look dashing" Her smile gets wider.
"Steph, may we come in please?" Tank asks.
Any other situation and I would laugh at the surprised look on Steph's face when Tank says please, but now is really not the time. Surprise follows suspicion, her eyes narrow, her back straightens and her arms cross over her chest. I can practically see her bracing herself. "What is going on?" I wish we didn't have to diminish that ever present smile on her face. This very well may break her.
"Please, may we come in?" Tank asks again. She steps back without another word and lets us pass before closing the door behind us. "Little Girl...Steph…" Tank swallows hard. We agreed to do it like we did all other death notifications, the official way. Which means that Tank will say the official words as well. Even though they were not married, engaged or even together before he left, we felt we needed to do this.
We all 'shipped' Steph and Ranger and hoped they both would pull their heads out of the sand and make a go of it, but unfortunately it wasn't meant to be in this lifetime. "I have been asked to inform you that Ranger Manoso has been reported dead in Kandahar at 1200 local time. The circumstances surrounding his death are classified" Usually you would explain what happened and while we would generally say 'killed in a Training exercise' if it the circumstances are classified, Steph is not stupid and knows Ranger wasn't doing Training exercises in Afganistan. "On behalf of the Secretary of Defense, I extend to you my deepest sympathy in your great loss." Which is also a bunch of bull, because the US Army officially denies all involvement and knowledge of Ranger being there. You gotta love Black Ops.
Steph just stands there looking at us, but not really focusing, not saying anything and not even moving her eyes. "I think she is in shock. Let's get her to the couch" I take her by the hand, squeeze it reassuringly and guide her to the couch slowly, while Les almost joggs into the kitchen.
Tank takes the seat opposite of the couch, concern lining his usually stoic face. When I turn my eyes to look back at Steph, I find that tears are now running down her face, but she is still not focusing on us or her surroundings. I could take screaming, heart broken sobs, anything else, but her silence. This is tearing me apart and one look at Les, who comes to sit on the coffee table in front of her, tells me he feels the same. If any of us could make the hurt go away for her, we would do it in an instance.
A few hours later, Steph still hasn't said a word, but she did move her body to lie on my lap. Eventually she had stopped crying and fell asleep. "I worry about her mental state" I admit to Tank, after I put her to bed.
"One of us should stay with her tonight and then tomorrow we can try to convince her to stay at Rangemen, where we can keep an eye on her" my friend answers. "I know we are all grieving, but I know he would do it for the people that mean the most to us if the roles were reversed. She is also our friend."
"You have to address the guys and Bobby has to be there for anyone who wishes to talk, in his medical capacity." Les chimes in. "I will stay with her for the next few days. If it is here or at Rangemen."
Finally, at midnight, I walk into my Apartment on three exhausted to my bones.
I ditched the Dress Uniform as soon as we got back to Rangemen and had put on my usual ensemble of cargo pants and Rangemen T-shirt, which I now peel off me as I go. I will pick all of that up tomorrow. Once down to my boxers, I grab the whisky bottle from the cabinet beneath the sink. Forgoing the glassware, I make my way into the living room, while cracking it open.
With a sigh, I drop onto the couch and take a long pull from the bottle. The whisky burns on its way down, but I hardly feel it. Having to push your own grief down, while listening to others grieving over several hours is numbing right down to the soul. I am not feeling much of anything right now. Tomorrow, I will have to call a colleague, who is a grief counselor, to put him on retainer not just for me but also for Steph and the rest of Rangemen.
I briefly close my eyes, take a deep breath and when I open them again, my gaze falls onto the picture, which is sitting on the mantle below the TV. It is showing Ranger, Les, Tank and myself the day we opened Rangemen. Four young men grinning into the camera in front of this very building. I sometimes cannot believe that that was ten years ago and how very far we have come. Unfortunately it has also taken a lot out of us.
The Business always came first in the years since then and our friendship took a backseat. Now I wish we had made more of an effort, had trained someone else so we could take time off and focus on us, our friendship, our brotherhood.
Maybe Ranger would have taken his head out of the sand and looked at what was right in front of him. Maybe Tank would have actually given it a proper go with Lula. Maybe Les would have finished the old Ford Mustang that he was rebuilding with his father, before he passed away. And for me, maybe I would have finally grown some balls and made peace with my family.
Roy Cochrane once said 'I don't regret things I have done, but those I did not do.' It applies here. While I don't regret starting a successful business with my brothers, I do regret not taking the time to enjoy it too.
I also never thought, even with the missions not only Ranger did, but we all went on over the years, that we would bury one of our own after leaving the army. "To you, buddy, may you rest in peace" I tost towards the picture and take another large swig from the bottle.
I must have fallen asleep at some point, because the blaring ring of my phone startles me awake, causing the almost empty bottle of whisky to fall to the ground. Luckily the couch is not too high, so it doesn't shatter. The Phone stops and starts up again immediately. Groggily, I get up from the couch in search of the annoying device. I find it in my disregarded pants and as soon as I get it out, which takes a while in my half drunk state, it stops ringing. Seeing Les' name on my list of missed calls sobers me up immediately. I am about to press the call button, when it rings again in my hand. "Report!"
"Steph is on her way to the hospital with heart attack symptoms." Les responds immediately. "Call Tank and meet me there" and with that he hangs up.