On A Day Like Today by Jennifer Sorowitz sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu or jis3@yahoo.com Part Four on a day like today the whole world could change Mark made good on his word. They actually managed to tail the ambulance the entire way to the hospital. In fact, his driving technique would have put Mario Andretti to shame. Dana was quite glad that there being three of them necessitated traveling by car; she did not think her stomach would have been able to handle the same trip on Mark's bike. As it was, she found herself gripping the door with knuckle-whitening tightness, and often closed her eyes, afraid to watch the road as she was sure they were going to crash into another vehicle or various stationary objects. Miraculously, they made it to the hospital in one piece. For a moment, Dana feared Mark was going to drive straight up behind the ambulance to the emergency room entrance. Fortunately, he had the good sense to forego the direct approach. He was about to just double-park in front of the hospital when Dana questioned his plans. "Screw the parking ticket, I'll worry about it later," he said, already reaching to turn off the ignition. "Mark, it's not like they're going to let us see him right away anyway. They're going to be working on him for a while. Let's just go to the parking lot so we don't have to worry about Carly's car later." With a sigh, Mark nodded his head. "You're right--as usual." Placing a gentle hand on his, she graced him with a warm, sympathetic smile. Five minutes later, the trio hurried toward the emergency room to check on Eric's status. Dana pointed toward a reception area, and Mark approached the woman behind the counter. He spoke with her for a minute before walking back over to Dana and Carly. "They don't know anything yet. They told us to have a seat, and they'll page us when they have some info." "I can't stand this waiting!" Carly said, wringing her hands nervously. "Did she say she was going to check on his status now?" Dana asked Mark. "It seemed like it. I don't know. . . ." As they continued their conversation, Carly wandered closer to the trauma area. Just then, a nurse walked by. "Excuse me!" she called to the woman. "Yes?" the middle-aged nurse asked her, somewhat impatiently. "Please, I'm trying to find out about my boyfriend. They just brought him in by ambulance. He had seized and arrested, and was unconscious. The woman at the desk didn't know anything. I just want to know how he's doing. . . ." She felt the tears welling again. The nurse gave her a sympathetic look. "What's his name, dear?" "Eric. Eric Robbins. He's twenty-five, blonde with a goatee. Wearing a dark red sweater and--" "I'll see what I can find out. Wait here, I'll be right back." "Thank you!" Carly dabbed at her eyes, waiting anxiously as the nurse disappeared around a corner. The seconds ticked by like eternities as she stood there, pacing in a tight circle. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, but what was in reality only a couple minutes, the nurse returned. She approached Carly with a determined stride. Her face revealed nothing; she had evidently been doing this for a long time. "They're working on him right now, dear. Why don't you have a seat in the waiting room, and someone will come out to speak to you as soon as they know more." "Is he okay? Has he regained consciousness yet?" "They're doing all they can, dear. Go on and sit down now, okay?" Carly nodded. "Thank you," she said, grasping the woman's hand. "Thank you." The nurse patted her hand a moment before inclining her head toward the waiting room. Carly finally took the hint. As she left, the nurse stood a moment, silently shaking her head, before returning to the errand she had begun before being deterred. On the way toward the waiting area, Carly found Dana and Mark. "Where'd you disappear to?" Mark asked. "We were looking all over for you." "I found a nurse who went to go check on Eric." "What did she say? How's he doing?" "She didn't say much. Just that they're doing all they can for him. And that someone will be out to speak to us as soon as they know something." "Well, right now, it sounds like that's all we can do," Dana said resignedly. "Why don't we go sit down?" They walked over to the waiting area and took the corner seats. Mark leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped, head bowed. Carly sat wringing her hands in her lap. Dana crossed her arms, staring blankly across the room. After several long minutes of self-imposed silence, the quiet quickly became oppressive. "What's taking so long?" Carly wondered. "It's been at least ten minutes. Surely they must know something by now." "Sometimes these things take time," Dana told her. "They're probably running a bunch of tests." "I just want to know how he's doing. Is that too much to ask?" "Dana, do you think you could go find something out?" Mark suggested. "Use your pull as a doctor or something?" Dana hesitated. But then she caught sight of Carly's tear-stained face. Her cheeks were ashen, a stark contrast to the dark circles of mascara that pooled beneath her reddened eyes. Her mouth trembled as she fought to hold back her tears. "Okay," Dana said, getting to her feet. "I'll do what I can." "Thank you, Dana," Carly whispered, reaching up to grasp her hand. "Thank you." Dana gave her hand a quick squeeze and caught Mark's nod before striding determinately toward the trauma area. She reached into her purse to have her ID at the ready. She was surprised at how far she had gotten before a nurse stopped her. "Excuse me, ma'am. Authorized personnel only back here. Can I help you?" "Special Agent Dana Scully, with the Federal Bureau of Investigation," Dana said, holding up her badge. "The FBI?" "That's right. I'm looking for a young man who was brought in a short while ago by ambulance. An Eric Robbins. What can you tell me about his condition?" "I'm not familiar with that patient. But if you follow me, I can find out for you." "Thank you," Dana said, following the woman towards the nurse's station. ***** "Do you think he's going to be okay, Mark?" Carly asked. "What kind of a question is that? Of course he's going to be okay," Mark assured her. "Eric's a fighter. He's not gonna let something like this keep him down." Carly shook her head. "I'm so scared, Mark. I've never been so frightened. I-I love Eric so much. The thought of losing him. . . ." "Don't even think about that, Carly. He's gonna pull through this. You'll see. An hour from now, he'll be moaning about how he shouldn't have had that last beer." She managed a small smile. "God, I hope you're right." He took her hand in his. "Just hold tight. We'll know more soon." "I wonder what's taking Dana so long." "Well, she might have to kick a little ass and take a few names, but she'll get the job done. She always does." "You're pretty lucky to have found her, Mark. Dana's an incredible lady." "Funny . . . I've been thinking the same thing about you, and how fortunate Eric is to have met you." "I just hope his luck holds out," she whispered, glancing across the room. "Is that Dana?" Mark followed her gaze, saw Dana emerging from the trauma area. He rose to his feet, still holding tight to Carly's hand. They hurried over to meet her. "Dana?" Carly asked, smiling hopefully. "Did you find out anything?" Slowly, Dana nodded. "Well? How is he? Was he conscious? Did you speak to him?" Mark could tell immediately that something was wrong. Dana's shoulders were slumped. Her face had drained of all color. She looked from Carly to Mark, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "He. . . ." Her voice faded. Her tongue darted out to wet the corner of her mouth in a familiar nervous gesture. Slowly, she shook her head, searching for the words. "He's still unconscious, isn't he? Or worse--is he in a coma? Oh God!" Carly began to tremble. "Please, Dana, tell me. I have to know." Dana bit her bottom lip, searching for the courage. Unable to look either in the face, she instead focused her gaze on a tile on the floor. "He had another seizure en route. They lost his pulse, had to intubate him. They got him breathing again. But while they were working on him in the ER, he arrested." She finally mustered enough courage to look them in the face. Her eyes brimmed with tears. "They . . . they couldn't bring him back. They called it a couple of minutes ago. Eric . . . he's gone." "G-Gone. . . ?" Carly shook her head as though unable to comprehend the meaning of the word. "He . . . he's dead?" Mark asked, unable to believe the words. "I'm so sorry," Dana said, barely able to find her voice. "They did all that they could. . . ." Carly's hands flew to her mouth and she slowly shook her head. "No," she murmured, still shaking her head. "No." "C'mon, Carly, let's go sit down," Mark said, placing an arm around her shoulders. He slowly began to lead her toward the chairs. Still shaking her head, Carly stared blankly across the room, letting him guide her. Suddenly, Mark felt her slip from his grasp. "Carly!" he shouted, catching her before she could fall. Dana hurried to the other side of Carly and grabbed her other arm. Together, they held and supported her as they walked back over to the chairs and helped her to sit down. "No!" Carly cried. "Eric can't be dead! He can't!" Head bowed, Carly wept loudly, her sobs making her body shake with a violent intensity. Dana knelt down in front of her, holding her hands, while Mark sat down beside her and gently rubbed her back. "Why?" Carly wailed. "Oh God, why did you take him from me?! Why did you take him from me?! Why?!" It was heart-rending for Dana to see the anguish on Carly's face, to listen to her woeful lament. Her own heart ached for this poor woman, who just an hour earlier was basking in the warmth of sheer happiness, and was now mourning the loss of her true love. Feeling utterly helpless, Dana held tight to Carly's hands, hoping that this small gesture might offer her at least the merest hint of comfort. After a while, Carly's tears began to dry and her tremors decreased, until she sat there silently, trembling ever-so-slightly. Mark continued to rub her back, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles up and down and side to side. Still holding fast to one of Dana's hands, Carly moved her other hand toward Mark's free one, and grasped his fingers tightly. After a few minutes, Dana gave Carly's hand a reassuring squeeze before getting up and leaving them, only to return a few moments later with a cool compress and a cup of water. She placed the wet paper towel on the back of Carly's neck and offered her a drink. Carly grasped the cup in her trembling hand, and took a small sip before handing it back to Dana. "I don't understand," Carly muttered, her voice raw. "He seemed perfectly fine all evening. Why did he pass out? What caused the seizure? How. . . ?" Her voice trailed off as she was unable to voice the question she really wanted answered. "They're not sure yet of the cause of death," Dana said, taking the seat beside Carly's, "but the doctors suspect it was a fat embolism." "You mean one of those complications we were talking about at dinner?" Mark asked. Dana nodded, the bitter irony not lost on her. "As Carly explained earlier, it's a somewhat common complication with long bone fractures, especially when there's been surgical manipulation. Usually, it's a sub-clinical event, and if it happens, it occurs shortly after the injury or the surgical repair. Right now, that's their best guess." "But wait, I thought you said they gave him steroids to prevent it." "That was back after his initial injury. He's since had other surgeries. Whether or not they gave him steroids then, I don't know. It's an unproven treatment, and its use is still under debate in the medical community. Whether he received them or not, he's also had the external fixator adjusted on a regular basis. It's possible that that sort of manipulation may have been sufficient to release an embolus." Mark shook his head. "I thought Carly said it causes respiratory distress. His initial problem wasn't difficulty breathing. It was a seizure." "ARDS occurs if an embolus gets lodged in the lungs. But if the embolus manages to get through the lungs, it'll lodge somewhere in the body--most commonly in the brain or the kidneys. Depending on where it gets stuck, the circulation gets cut off in a particular area of the body. Because of the seizures, they suspect the embolus lodged in his brain." "You mean he had a stroke?" Dana sadly nodded her head. "For God's sake, he's only twenty-five! How can he have had a stroke?!" Mark demanded. Carly looked up at him, saw the pained expression in his eyes--the devastation he too felt for his lost friend. She reached to embrace him. Mark pulled her close against him, and she clutched at his jacket, even as she buried her face in his shoulder and started to sob again. "I know, Carly," he whispered, gently stroking her hair. "I know it hurts. Let it out. Just let it out." She clung to him tightly as she cried herself out. This time, it was only a couple of minutes before she had exhausted what remained of her tears. He felt her grip on him relax, felt her breathing slowly return to normal. "That's a girl," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. Slowly, Carly pulled back, releasing her hold on Mark. Sniffling, she wiped at her cheeks absently. "Here you go," Dana said, handing her some tissues. "Thanks," Carly whispered gruffly. She dabbed her eyes, wiped her cheeks, and blew her nose. Then she accepted the water Dana once again offered her. Dana and Mark waited patiently, not sure what to say or do next. "I-I want to see him," Carly said finally, her voice raspy. Mark hesitated. "Are you sure, Carly? I don't think that's such a good idea." "I'm positive, Mark. It's something I want--I *have*--to do. I need to see him one last time. To say good-bye. . . ." Dana nodded her head. "I'll go with you, if you'd like." Carly looked over at her gratefully. She nodded. "I'd appreciate that, Dana. Thank you." Dana glanced at Mark, could immediately tell from his body language that he was not too keen on the idea. She did not want him to feel pressured to do something with which he was not completely comfortable. "Carly, is there anyone Mark can call for you? Someone you'd like to have stay with you tonight? I really don't think you should be alone." "My sister," Carly said. She gave Mark the number. "Do you want my phone?" Dana asked Mark, already reaching into her purse. "I've got mine," he replied. "Let me know whenever you're ready," Dana told Carly. "I'm ready now. Let's go." She rose to her feet. Dana also stood. She put an arm around Carly's shoulders and started to lead her toward the trauma area. As they left, she glanced back behind her, and saw Mark watching them. Their eyes met, and he gave her a reassuring nod. Drawing strength from that gesture, she gave him a small smile of encouragement before returning her attention to Carly. It seemed to Dana as though Carly were sleepwalking beside her, not really seeing or hearing anything that was going on around them. Had she not been guiding the younger woman through the corridor, Carly would surely have collided with a number of nurses and doctors who were hurrying to and fro. Dana searched the area around the nurse's station until she found someone with whom to speak. Seeing Dana and Carly, the kind, older nurse to whom Carly had spoken earlier that evening approached them, a sympathetic look filling her face. "May I help you?" "We'd like to see him," Dana said softly, hoping to find understanding in the older woman's eyes. She nodded. "Of course. They were just cleaning up. Follow me." Dana looked at Carly, checking to make sure she still wanted to go through with this. Biting her bottom lip, Carly nodded her head resolutely. It seemed her mind was set. The nurse led them down the corridor and to the left, through a set of double doors. The smaller room was divided in two by a curtain. The left half contained an empty gurney; to the right, a man in scrubs stood with his back to them, bent over the still form that lay on the gurney. Beside her, Dana felt Carly stiffen and utter a small gasp. Dana tightened her hold on Carly's shoulders, afraid she might faint. But Carly drew a deep breath, and regained her composure. "Jerry, these women are here to see their friend. You can finish up later." "Okay, Sheila." The man stopped his ministrations and walked away, deliberately avoiding their gaze. "Take your time," Sheila told them as she pulled the curtain closed around them. "I'll be right outside if you need anything." "Thank you," Dana said as the nurse followed Jerry out of the room. Eric's body lay on its back. They had cut off his clothes, and his lower half was now covered with a sheet. Dana was relieved to see that they had removed the endotracheal tube and IV lines, so that he at least appeared relatively unscathed. Aside from the extreme pallor of his skin, he merely looked as though he was sleeping--quite peacefully at that. Carly took a shuddering breath. "Dana, would you mind leaving us alone?" "Are you sure you'll be all right?" Carly nodded. "I'll be right outside." As Dana stepped away, Carly started to walk toward the gurney. She slowly made her way over to Eric's body, her eyes never leaving his face. She moved until she stood next to his head. She looked down at him, eyes quickly filling with fresh tears. Slowly, she reached out toward him, hand shaking. Ever so lightly, she touched his hair, smoothed it back from his forehead. Then she stroked his brow, his cheek. "Oh baby. . . ." she cried, trying to maintain control. "Even now, I still can't believe you're gone. My dear, sweet, beautiful Eric. . . ." A lone tear splashed onto his chin. "You were the kindest, gentlest, most loving man I have ever known. I love you so much, Eric," she whispered, reaching for his hand and holding it tight. "When we were together, I felt whole, complete. Like I had found my other half. That feeling, that kind of love, is something special. It doesn't come along very often. Once in a lifetime if you're lucky. You were my one true love, Eric. I will never, ever forget you, or the times we shared. I will cherish every memory for as long as I live. Good-bye, my love." She bent down and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Pulling back, she caressed his cheek one last time. "I love you, Eric. Now and always," she whispered. "Forever." ***** When Dana and Carly returned to the waiting room, they found Mark sitting and talking with Carly's older sister, Kay. Rising, Kay immediately enveloped her younger sibling in a warm embrace, holding her close and issuing soothing words. Watching the two sisters interact, Dana felt a sudden pang, wishing Melissa were still alive to take care of her that way. Mark must have sensed her distress, for he put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her close to him. She encircled his waist, drawing strength from the warmth and closeness of his body. "Let's get you home, Car," Kay said, smoothing the younger woman's hair in a maternal gesture. "Okay," Carly whispered, nodding her head. She turned to face Mark and Dana. She stood looking at them a moment, unsure of what to say. "Uhm . . . somebody should let his parents know. . . ." "Don't worry, I'll take care of it," Mark said. "They live in Pennsylvania." "Just outside of Pittsburgh," Mark said, nodding. "Yeah. John and Elaine." "I'll let them know," Mark assured her. "You just take care of yourself." Fighting back tears, Carly nodded. "Thanks, Mark." She held out her arms. "No problem. You call me if you need anything," he told her as he embraced her. "Anything at all, day or night, okay?" "I will," she assured him before taking a step toward Dana. "I'm so sorry for your loss," Dana whispered as she hugged Carly. "If there's anything I can do, just let me know," Dana said, taking Carly's hand and giving it an encouraging squeeze. "Thanks for everything, Dana. I just met you, and I already feel like I've known you forever." "I feel the same way. Take care, Carly." With a final wave, Carly walked over to Kay, who wrapped an arm around her. "You said you took a cab over, Kay?" Mark asked her. "Yes." "Here are the keys to Carly's car," he said, handing them to her. "But how will you two get home?" she asked. "We'll just take a cab to go pick up my bike," he assured her. "Don't give it a second thought." Kay said good night to Dana and Mark before leading her sister toward the door. As they left, Mark let out a loud sigh. "You okay?" Dana asked, looking up at him. "Been better, that's for sure. My head is spinning right now." "I know what you--" "Excuse me," came a woman's voice from behind them. They turned to see Sheila, the kind nurse who had assisted them, holding a plastic bag. "I'm sorry to disturb you. These are Mr. Robbins' personal effects. I thought one of you might want them." "Yes, thank you," Mark said, taking the bag from her. "Oh, I was wondering . . . I need to give his parents a call, let them know what happened," he explained, raising his cell phone. "Is there some place a bit more private?" "There's a small lounge nearby. You take that corridor all the way to the end," she said, pointing. "Make a left, then the first right, and you'll find it." "Thank you." With a small nod, the nurse took her leave. "Should I go try to catch Carly?" Dana asked, already taking a step toward the door. "No, don't bother. I'll take the stuff for now. We'll get it sorted out later." He ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair. "I guess I should give his folks a call." "I'll come with you." Mark hesitated. "Dana, if you don't mind, I'd rather do this alone. It's going to be hard enough." For a moment, she looked hurt at his mild rebuff, but the expression quickly faded. "Of course. How about I go get us some coffee?" "That would be wonderful. Thanks, sweetheart." He bent down to give her a quick kiss. "No problem. I'll meet you in that lounge. Good luck." End Part Four ***** On A Day Like Today by Jennifer Sorowitz sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu or jis3@yahoo.com Part Five sometimes if you wanna get away all ya gotta know is what we got is here to stay all the way Sighing, Dana stood for a moment, watching Mark leave. She wished that he would let his guard down--at least partially; that he would let her in, allow her to help him through this. But instead, he was putting up such a strong front. Part of it had been for Carly's benefit, she was sure, while part of it had been for her own. And though she wished he would not feel it necessary to act so tough around her, she also knew that it would not be so simple for him to open up and allow himself to grieve--especially when the crisis was not yet over. That was just not who he was. He was the consummate leader--always in control, always putting others' needs before his own. In a work situation, such qualities made him the perfect commander because he was always dependable, a source of inspiration and guidance in times of chaos. But while this enabled him and his teammates to get the job done, this was not a mission. Robbins had not been killed in the line of duty. Mark did not need to put on a tough-guy faade while he focused his energy on salvaging an op. The problem lay in the fact that he was accustomed to keeping his feelings bottled up inside. But he should not have to hold the weight of the world on his shoulders right now. He did not have to now that he had someone to help share his burden. Dana vowed then that she would try to get Mark to talk to her that evening. At the very least, she would make it clear to him that whenever he was ready to share his feelings, she would be there for him. In the meantime, she needed to get them some coffee, as she had said she would. She headed back to the main desk and stopped to speak to the woman sitting there. "Excuse me, but do you know if the cafeteria's still open?" she asked the woman. "No, it closed a few hours ago." "Is there some other place I can get some coffee?" "There are a bunch of vending machines on the other end of the waiting room," the woman said, pointing. "When you get to the end, the machines are to the right. Should be snack, soda, and coffee." "Great. Thank you," Dana said, heading across the room. The coffee machine was on the far right, in the corner. As she moved toward it, she glanced inside the snack machine at the assortment of candy, chips, and other treats: Chex Mix, pop tarts, salted peanuts, sunflower seeds. Her eyes lingered for a long moment, and a thought suddenly occurred to her. Dana pulled out her cell phone and turned it on. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was just past eleven. She hedged only a moment before ultimately hitting the speed dial. It rang only two times before he picked up. "Hello?" came a groggy voice. She could hear the familiar sound of the television in the background. "Mulder, it's me. I hope I didn't wake you." "Nah, I was just watchin' the ole boob tube. What's up, Scully? I didn't expect to hear from you this weekend--especially not after your self-imposed exile from all work matters." "It was hardly an exile. I think it's perfectly reasonable to take a weekend off." "Sure, sure. I was just surprised you didn't hang a great big 'Do Not Disturb' sign from your neck for good measure." She paused a moment, pursing her lips. Dana knew that Mulder did not approve of her relationship with Mark--he had made it perfectly clear from the moment they had met in the Hawaiian caves that he did not like the SEAL commander. Nonetheless, she found his suddenly vocal disapproval rather disconcerting--not to mention offensive. "Mulder, I just wanted a break from work. It's nothing personal." "Of course not, Scully. The thought never crossed my mind when you told me that you didn't want to speak to me for the next two and a half days." Dana did not reply as she questioned her decision to call her partner. Mulder cleared his throat. "So, Scully, to what do I owe the honor of your phone call? Did Commander Riskey Business take off on you to go shootin' and lootin'?" Dana forced herself to take a deep breath before she replied evenly, "No, Mark had to go make a phone call." "A phone call, huh? Let me guess: you two did something naughty and ended up in the slammer. Is this *your* one phone call, Scully? You need me to come bail ya out?" She felt her anger grow. "We're at the hospital, Mulder." "The hospital? Did soldier boy lose his temper and try to rearrange somebody's face?" "Mulder, I'm not in the mood for this right now. I just don't have the energy or the patience. . . ." She felt her voice falter on the last word, and cursed herself for not being able to maintain control. Mulder, however, seemed to finally pick up on her distress. She was oddly comforted by the appreciable softening of his tone. "Scully, are you okay? What happened? You're not hurt, are you?" "Do you remember Eric Robbins--one of Mark's teammates?" "The kid that broke his leg trying to cross that ravine, right? What about him?" She felt her chin quiver. "He's dead." There was silence on the other end of the line. "Mulder?" "I'm sorry, Scully, I must have heard you wrong. I thought I heard you say he was dead." "I did. Eric's dead. Mark and I were having dinner with him and his girlfriend earlier this evening, and now he's dead." "Christ. What happened? Was there some kind of accident?" "No, nothing like that. It was a complication of his injury. . . ." Dana took a deep breath before telling Mulder the events surrounding Eric's death, and explaining to him about fat emboli. "And now Mark went to go call Eric's parents, to let them know what happened," she said, concluding her narrative. "I don't envy him that task," Mulder said softly. "He's never lost a man before," she told him. Mulder paused. "How are you doing, Scully? You holding up okay?" "I'm fine," she replied. "It's Mark that I'm worried about. That's actually why I'm calling. I don't think Mark should be alone right now. I'm going to take a day or two off from work to help him deal with things. I just wanted to let you know." "Sure, Scully. That sounds like a good idea. You want me to call Skinner's office for you?" "No, that's okay. I can take care of that. Listen, Mulder, that tox screen is supposed to back first thing Monday morning. If they don't deliver it to the office, leave me a message on my cell, and I'll call Quantico and take care of it." "Don't be silly, Scully. If there are any problems, I can handle it. If there's nothing else I'm good at, it's getting under someone else's skin." She smiled at that. "All right. But call me if anything major comes up." "Sure thing. And if there's anything you need, anything I can do, just let me know, all right?" "I will. Thanks, Mulder." "No problem. I'm sorry about Robbins, Scully." "Yeah, me too." "Please offer Riskey my condolences." "I'll tell him. Actually, I should probably go check on him, see how he's making out." "All right. Take care, Scully." "You too. Thanks again, Mulder. Good night." "Night, Scully." Clicking off the phone, she let out a loud breath before replacing it in her bag. She retrieved some change from her wallet and got two coffees from the machine before leaving in search of Mark. ***** The lounge to which the nurse sent Mark turned out to be the perfect place. It was a small, out of the way room. Opening the door, he found it thankfully empty. It was furnished with a couple of couches, a coffee table with several stacks of magazines, and various artificial flowers and plants. There was one window that overlooked a small garden. Mark tossed his jacket and the plastic bag with Robbins' belongings onto one of the couches and took out his cell phone. He took a few moments to center himself, closing his eyes and breathing deeply to help clear his mind. Mustering as much courage as he could find, he turned on the phone and called information. They were able to find a listing for a John and Elaine Robbins in Pittsburgh, and connected him. As the phone rang, Mark glanced at his watch. Quarter past eleven. Lord, where had the night gone? "Hello?" came a man's voice. Mark swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Hello?" the man repeated. "Anybody there?" "Hello," Mark replied. "May I please speak to John Robbins?" "Speaking. Who is this?" "Sir, my name is Mark Riskey. I'm a Commander with the U.S. Navy." "Sure, I know who you are. You're Eric's boss." "That's right, sir." "He talks about you all the time. You're the one who helped him out a couple months back, when he broke his leg. Way Eric tells it, you climbed down some mountain, dodging all these falling boulders, to save his life." Mark managed a small smile. "That's more or less how it happened, yes." "Well, what can I do for you, son?" "I- I'm calling about Eric, sir." "What now? Boy's been on medical leave, and still he manages to get himself into trouble! What'd he do this time?" Mark cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I have some bad news." "Did he break his other leg? How such a superb athlete can still be a damned klutz is beyond me." "Mr. Robbins. . . ." Mark paused, unable to get the words out. From his tone, Eric's father immediately sensed that something was terribly wrong. "What is it? What's happened to Eric?" "Sir, it is with a heavy heart that I regret to inform you that Petty Officer First Class Eric Robbins passed away shortly after twenty-two hundred hours." Mark hated to sound so cold and formal, but falling back on his Naval Command training was the only way he could bring himself to say what needed to be said. There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Eric . . . he- he's . . . dead?" "Yes, sir. I am truly sorry for your loss." "B-but he hasn't been on active duty for over eight weeks. How. . . ?" "I was out to dinner with Eric this evening, along with our girlfriends. He collapsed, and suffered a seizure. We called an ambulance, rushed him to the hospital. Unfortunately, his heart stopped, and they were unable to revive him." "How? Why?" "The doctors suspect that it was a fat embolism. From what I understand, it's like a clot that can be released after you fracture a bone, like Eric did. Because of his convulsions, they think that it got lodged in his brain, essentially causing a stroke. . . ." "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" "Sir, I know this must come as a great shock to you right now, as it does to me. Though this may not offer much comfort, I just wanted to tell you that Eric was a first-rate soldier. He served with me for over three years, and he always excelled at his duties. Not only was he a dedicated soldier, but he was also a good friend. He was a fine man, and he will be sorely missed." There came no reply from the other end. "Sir?" Still no reply. In the background, Mark thought he could make out voices. "Mr. Robbins?" Suddenly, there came a gasp, followed by a loud cry. Then a woman's harried wails. "Eric? My boy? My boy is dead?" This was followed by a soft keening. Mark got up and began to pace the room, waiting as patiently as he could. The sounds were heartbreaking, almost more than he could bear to hear. More than anything, he wanted this phone call to be over. But he owed it to Eric to see this through to the bitter end. He thought he heard whispers, soothing sounds. Finally, there came a low sniffle, which preceded John's voice, now thick and gravely. "C-Commander? My wife . . . she'd like me to ask you . . . if Eric . . . did he suffer much?" Mark closed his eyes. This information was not much, but at least it was something he could give them. Perhaps it might bring a little comfort in this trying time. "No, sir. It all happened very quickly. I don't think he suffered at all." There was a pause, and Mark assumed Mr. Robbins was relating the information to his wife. Finally, he spoke again. "Th-thank you, Commander. My wife and I appreciate your call. We're going to take a flight down first thing in the morning, to make funeral arrangements and all. Wh-What hospital. . . ?" "County General. Let me give you my number. Call me if you need anything, or is there's any way I can be of assistance." He waited for John to find paper and a pen, and then recited his phone number. "Again, sir, I am deeply sorry for your loss. Please express my deepest condolences to your wife as well." "I will. Good night, Commander." "Good night, sir." Mark disconnected. He walked over to the window, and stared out at the garden. That phone call had been more difficult than he ever imagined. He had never lost a man before, never had to place the dreaded call home to loved ones informing them that their son or husband or brother would not be coming home. He would sooner face down an army of soldiers, an array of enemy fire, or a mile-long mountainside of rough terrain than to ever have to do that again. With a weary sigh, he walked over to the couch and sat down. He stared down at the phone for a while, trying to summon up his courage once again. There was one other call he needed to make. Before he could lose his nerve, he dialed the number and brought the phone to his ear. One ring. Two. Three. He prayed the machine would not pick up. Leaving a message was the last thing he wanted to do right now. "Hello?" came the out-of-breath reply. "Socks?" "Yeah. RB, that you?" "Yeah. What're you up to, man? You sound winded." "Oh, just walked in the door. I ran over to the corner store. Ran out of beer to go with my pizza. Can't watch TV without good eats. What's up, boss-man? I thought you and Dana had a double date tonight with Robbins and his lady love." "Yeah, we did." "Well, it ain't even midnight yet. Figured you and the Doc would be busy all night doing the horizontal tango." "Socks. . . ." Mark's voice sounded incredibly drawn, much older than his years. Socks immediately heard the downcast tone. He knew his friend way too well not to recognize the change in inflection. "What is it? RB, what's wrong? Something tells me this isn't a matter of Dana dumping your sorry ass." "I'm at County General," Mark said, not even knowing where to begin. "The hospital? What happened? Are you hurt? Is Dana okay?" "We're fine. It's not us. Robbins. . . ." He felt a lump well in the back of his throat. "Did ole Six Pack's habit finally get the better of him? He finally have to get his stomach pumped?" Mark did not reply. He was trying desperately to maintain his composure. He swallowed at the lump, tried to clear his throat. Any pretense at humor was gone. Socks knew better now. Mark never lost control like this. Something horrible must have gone down. "Oh shit. Mark, what is it? What happened to Eric?" Mark took a shaky breath. "He's dead." There, he had said it. He had managed to voice the words. Why then did he not feel relief? Rather, he felt as though he had been punched in the gut. Like a hand was closing around his throat, cutting off his oxygen. Mark was so focused on his feelings of loss, he did not hear the door open. He did not see or hear Dana enter, did not notice her place the two cups of coffee she held down on the table before she took a seat beside him. It was not until he felt her cool hand cover his own and close around his fingers that he knew she was there. At that moment, he was so incredibly grateful that she was there beside him. Her presence alone gave him the strength he needed to continue his conversation. Socks questioned him about the details of what had happened, and Mark once again relayed the tale of the evening's events. He found himself faltering, but then he felt Dana squeeze his hand, saw her nodding at him encouragingly as she gently rubbed his back. With her silent support, he was able to go on. His talk with Socks was understandably brief. The shock of the untimely death of their teammate and friend had even the loquacious lieutenant suddenly speechless. As sure as Mark was that sometime soon he would need his best friend's support and camaraderie to commemorate Eric, right now he did not want to deal with this anymore. He felt relief wash over him when Socks offered to contact the other members of Team Alpha to let them know about Eric's death. "Thanks, Socks. I'd appreciate that. I just got off the phone with his folks, and I don't think I could handle telling anyone else right now." "That's my job, boss-man: to make your life easier." He paused. "How you holding up, Mark? The news is heavy enough, but to have been there when it all went down. . . ." "I'm hanging in there." *Just barely,* he finished silently. "Dana there with you?" "Yeah," he replied, giving her hand a squeeze as he glanced over at her. She cocked her head at him, and he managed a small smile. "She's here with me right now." "Put her on, will ya? And take it easy, okay, man?" "I will." Mark held out the phone to her. "Socks wants to talk to you." "Me?" Dana took the phone from him. "Hi, Socks." She watched at Mark got up and walked over to the window, gazing out into the night. "Hey, Doc. Tough night, huh?" "You could say that. I'm so sorry about Eric. I know he was a good friend of yours." "I still can't believe it. It's gonna take a while for it to sink in, ya know? How's Mark doing?" She looked over at Mark. He stood ramrod straight in his usual soldier stance, one hand clasping the other behind his back. He looked like a rubber band pulled taught, ready to snap. "Been better." "Seeing as how you're a pretty perceptive lady, you probably don't need me to tell you this. But considering I've known Mark going on fifteen years now, and you've only known him a couple months, I figure why chance it. He's always been a very strong person. He shoulders responsibility, duties no problem. He faces terrible odds and incredible risks on missions without batting an eye. But it's that same dedication that makes him take everything so seriously. Anything goes wrong on an op, he blames himself. Don't matter if it's the goddammed weather that messed things up, RB he takes the fault." "Yes, I know." "The other thing is, he can be a very private person, especially when it comes to his feelings. He don't wear 'em on his sleeve, that's for damned sure. Even for me--his best bud, who he does usually confide in--it's often like pulling teeth to get anything out of him. But then you probably know that, too." "Yes." "What did I tell ya--you're a perceptive gal. Anyway, in case you don't know it, Dana--ever since you and Mark've been going out, there's been a definite change to him. For the first time I can recall, I'm not the only person he's telling stuff to. In fact, I'm sure there are plenty of things he's not talking to me about at all. Things he's only telling you. Am I right?" "I-I guess so." "Yeah, well, if I know Mark Riskey, Eric's death is already eating away at him. He blamed himself for Robbins' injury. It's been tearing him up inside that Eric was gonna have to quit the SEALs--probably gonna have to leave the Navy altogether--on account of his injury. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if Mark were to find some way in that warped sense of culpability of his to take the blame for Eric's death, too. Even though you and me and everyone else knows that notion is just bogus. Totally unadulterated bullshit." "You've got a way with words, you know that, Socks?" "When your mama names you Socrates, you're bound to get some ideas, ya know?" She smiled at that. "My point being, Doc, is that if left to his own accord, he's gonna close himself off, let this fester inside. It's gonna consume him. And I'm sure you don't want to see that happen any more than I do." "No, I don't." "Then stay with him tonight, Dana. Even if he says he wants to be alone, insist on being with him. And do your damnedest to get him to talk, to open up to you. If anyone can get him to share his feelings, it's you. Let him know he doesn't have to be the infallible SEAL commander that everyone looks up to. That it's okay to have some chinks in his armor, to let his guard down. That it's okay to be human, like the rest of us. Tell him that it's okay to grieve. Get him to open up to you. Please, Dana, help him through this." "Don't worry, Socks. That's exactly what I intend to do." She could hear the smile in Socks' voice when he spoke next. "I knew there was a reason Mark fell for you. Thanks, Doc." "No problem." "Listen, I've got some phone calls I need to make. Tell Mark to call me tomorrow, okay?" "Will do." "Take care of him, Dana. And yourself, too." "Good night." Dana shut off the phone. She looked up at Mark, found him standing in the exact same position at the window. "Socks asked me to tell you to call him tomorrow." Mark did not move, did not respond in any way. "Mark? Did you hear me?" His head bobbed up and down--just barely. "Yeah . . . call Socks." "You okay, Big Guy?" she asked, getting up and walking over to him. His shoulders shrugged almost imperceptibly. "Just thinking." "Coffee's here, if you want it." "Okay," he murmured. Dana walked up behind him, slipped her arms through his and around his waist. She stood leaning her body against his, resting her cheek on his back as she hugged him tightly. She felt some of the tension leave him as he relaxed against her touch. "What say we get you home? I'll even tuck you into bed if you'd like." "I don't feel like going home. Don't think I could sleep, anyway, even if I tried." "Well, then, you just want to stay here awhile? Maybe sit and talk?" "Actually, I've had more than enough of this place. I want to get the hell out of here--away from everything, everyone." *Including me?* she wondered. "Where, then?" "Out of the city, away from all these people. I know of this place. It's somewhere I go once in a while, when I want to be alone. A private place I go when I need to try to relax, to find myself again." "Oh. A place you go alone, to be by yourself?" *Where you don't want me to be there with you?* "I've never brought anyone there before, no." He turned around in her arms. "I would really like it if you'd go there with me, Dana." "What--now? Tonight?" "I'd really like to share it with you." She gazed up at his face, saw that this was what he wanted--what he needed--to do right now. And he wanted her to be a part of it. How could she refuse? She smiled up at him. "Okay. I'd like that, Mark. I'd like that a lot." He returned the grin. "Great. Let's go." Taking her hand, he walked back to the couch to grab his jacket and the bag. Together, they walked out the door. End Part Five ***** On A Day Like Today by Jennifer Sorowitz sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu or jis3@yahoo.com Part Six the sun's gonna shine shine thru the rain on a day like today Mark and Dana took a cab to pick up his bike for their impromptu trip. Mark explained that the drive in the cool night air was just what he needed right now to clear his head. Since it was not especially cold, Dana readily agreed. Besides, she realized that it was a good excuse to hold tight to him for a while--something she felt they both needed right now. The ride took just over an hour. Most of it was highway driving, with little traffic so late at night. The exit Mark took led them to a far less-traveled road that wound this way and that, all-the-while taking them progressively uphill. The road was surrounded by trees, the only light coming from the motorcycle's headlight. It was a little creepy, and Dana huddled closer against Mark's back, tightening her grip around him. After another ten minutes or so, Mark brought the bike to a halt. He turned off the ignition, and waited as Dana climbed off. Then he, too, rose, removed his helmet, and stretched. Just then, a small light was shone in his face. He smiled when he realized that Dana had pulled out a pocket flashlight. A moment later, he retrieved a slightly larger one. "You know," Dana said with a small laugh, "only an FBI agent used to dealing with unexplained phenomena and a Navy SEAL would be likely to carry a flashlight around with them wherever they go." "Us and the boy scouts, Red. C'mon," he said, holding out his hand. "The path's this way." Taking his proffered hand, Dana walked with Mark to a narrow, dirt path. They followed it for about a quarter-mile or so through a thickly wooded area. Then, abruptly, the trees became sparser, and Mark led them to a clearing. The dirt path turned to gravel, then pebbles, and finally rock. Before long, Dana realized that they were on top of a small mountain. About a hundred feet ahead, Dana could see a ledge. They approached carefully, and she gazed down below. It was quite a drop--several hundred yards--and the rockface seemed to be almost vertical. The few clouds in the sky drifted, and by the light of a nearly full moon, she could just make out a valley down below. "Wow. I'll bet during the day, that's one hell of a view." "It is. But so is the view at night," Mark said, raising his head to look skyward. Dana followed his gaze, and her breath caught in her throat. He was absolutely right. The pitch-black sky was illuminated by dozens upon dozens of twinkling stars. Spending most of her time in the city, Dana had forgotten what it was like to look up at a night sky whose natural beauty was not hampered by artificial light. "It's beautiful." The sky seemed to go on forever. Dana shivered. "It makes you feel so small. Inconsequential in the greater scheme of things." "Helps put everything in perspective, that's for sure. Want to sit?" "Sure." She followed him a few yards back from the edge, to a conveniently placed boulder. It was wide enough for both of them to lean against. Dana sat down cross-legged, and continued to look up at the sky. Mark sat down beside her and bent his knees, running his hands up and down his thighs. He let out a breathy sigh. From his restless motions, it definitely seemed that he had a lot on his mind. Which hopefully meant that he wanted to talk about it. Dana decided not to push him, but rather to let him get to matters in his own time. Mark cleared his throat, and Dana waited patiently for him to break the self-imposed silence. "I, uhm . . . I just wanted to thank you for going with Carly, when she wanted to . . . uhm . . . when she wanted to go see him." That was definitely not what she was expecting. But it was a start. "No big deal, Mark. I know how unnerving it can be to see a body--especially when you knew the person in life. I guess because of the nature of my job, I'm kind of de-sensitized to it." He shook his head. "It's not dead bodies per se that bother me. I mean, hell, I'm a soldier for God's sake. I've seen dead bodies before, and never given it a second thought. But it's always been under different circumstances--combat, a mission. Always work-related. But this . . . this is different." "I know that, Mark. This wasn't just a nameless corpse, another victim of battle. This was a friend, a teammate. It's perfectly understandable that it would make you uncomfortable." "That's the thing, Dana. It shouldn't have made a difference how uncomfortable it made me feel. I owed it to Eric to go with Carly. I should have been there for her, supported her when she needed me. But I chickened out. When push came to shove, I dropped the ball. I let Eric down." "Mark, you're making much too big a deal out of this. You didn't let anyone down by your choice. You didn't disappoint anyone. If it had just been you and Carly at the hospital, then I'm sure you would have faced your fear, and gone with her. But I happened to be there too. What I did was part of being in a relationship, Mark. When you care about somebody, you do things for them. You support them when they need it, you take up some of the slack. Please, don't beat yourself up over this decision." "I wasn't afraid to go see him, Dana. That's not it." Dammit. In trying to assuage his anger toward himself, she had taken the wrong approach, used the wrong words. Now, on top of everything else, in addition to his wounded pride, she had insulted his fortitude. Not the best course of action when dealing with a stalwart Navy SEAL. "I'm sorry, Mark. I didn't mean to doubt your valor. I just meant--" He managed a small laugh. "Christ, Dana, what do you take me for? Some big macho Neanderthal who can't stand to have his bravery questioned? Shit, I thought you knew me better than that!" Dana bit her lip in annoyance. Here she was trying to help him feel better, and now he was patronizing her? She took a deep breath, pushing back her anger. He did not mean to disparage her. It was his anxiety, his apprehension about opening up to her about some very private feelings, that made him try to diffuse his own tension with a joke. That was all. No harm meant . . . no harm done. "I'm trying to understand, Mark," she said gently. "But you're not making it very easy for me." He sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. I don't mean to make this difficult, really I don't. It's just . . . it's not something that's easy for me to talk about. I've never actually told anyone about this before." "It's okay," she said, reaching for his hand. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere." He smiled at her. Then he gazed up at the sky, trying to find the words. "I didn't want to go see Eric's body, not so much because I was afraid. It's just . . . I didn't want that to be my last memory of him, my final visual image of him. I'd much rather remember him as he was in life." "That's perfectly understandable, Mark." "Is it? Can you really fathom why the idea of seeing his cold, white, lifeless face is such an appalling idea to me?" "I can . . . if you explain it to me." He closed his eyes in a slow blink. "I told you how my mom died, back when I was a little kid. How for her last year, the cancer growing inside of her slowly ate away at her body and her spirit, until it finally took her life. What I never told you--what I never told anyone--was that when she passed away, my dad took my sister Amy and me into the hospital room to go see Mom--to view her body. I guess he thought we needed to say good-bye. Maybe Amy did, I don't know. But she was almost eighteen, while I was, what, seven? What the hell does a seven-year-old boy know about death? I mean, you can know about it, but can you truly comprehend all that it encompasses? "And what on earth possessed my father to make a seven-year-old boy go sit by the bedside of his dead mother? I mean, isn't that something we're supposed to shield our kids from? I'm not saying we should lie to them, make death seem like this abstract, incomprehensible concept. You go to a funeral, you see the person in the open coffin with their make-up and their peaceful expression, looking like this great big mannequin--like a doll lying there. But to make a little kid go and sit and stare at his dead mother, when it still had not sunken in that she was really gone and wouldn't be coming back? To this day, I have to wonder what the hell my father was thinking." Mark lowered his head, shaking it. Dana squeezed his hand. "I'm so sorry, Mark. Sorry you had to go through that. Your father had just experienced a terrible loss, losing his wife like that. He probably wasn't thinking straight. In his mind, he probably thought that you would want the chance to say good-bye to your mother, to see her that one last time. I'm sure he didn't realize how much the experience would upset you." "Upset me? Upset me?! For God's sake, Dana, I had nightmares for weeks after that. I would wake up screaming my mother's name. Amy would have to come in and comfort me, hold me until I could fall back asleep. Hell, Amy, she must have thought that I was calling for my mommy. But in reality I was always running from her--from her cold, lifeless touch as she chased me." Mark shuddered at the memory. "Oh Mark. . . ." Dana reached for him, but he winced at her touch. So she placed her other hand on his, held it between her own, caressing it. "So you see, Dana? You see why I didn't want to go see Eric's corpse? Why I didn't want my last memory of him to be of his lifeless body in the hospital? Why I didn't want mere thoughts of him to conjure up a painful memory, like it does with my mother?" "Mark, I'm not the enemy here. You don't have to justify yourself, or your feelings, to me. You have nothing to prove. I don't think any less of you for your decision. I didn't before you told me this, and I don't now." "Then why the hell did you ask me to tell you all this, if it doesn't even matter?" "Of course it matters, Mark. It matters to you, and therefore it matters to me. You said that you've never shared this experience with anyone before. Don't you feel better, having told me? Don't you feel as though a burden has finally been lifted from your shoulders, after all these years?" "I-I guess so." "It's all part of the healing process. Besides, it also gives me another piece of the puzzle. It helps me to understand what it is that makes up Mark Riskey, body and soul. Only by sharing memories and experiences and feelings like this can we understand what it is that makes each other tick. And as far as I'm concerned, the more I learn about you, the closer I feel to you. Wouldn't you agree?" "Yeah. Yeah I would." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Thanks, Dana, for putting up with me." "I care about you, Mark. I'll always be here to listen whenever you need me. I want to help you through this. I'm just glad you'll let me." Leaning her head on his shoulder, she reached up to touch his chest. "I want you to know--whenever you're ready to talk about this, about what happened tonight, I'm here for you." "Yeah, I should have known better than to think you'd let me get away with this one little revelation, huh?" "If that's all you want to share with me tonight, Mark, that's fine. I'm not going to push you. But I do think you need to talk about this. It's not healthy to keep these kinds of feelings bottled up inside. I think telling someone about it will help you deal with it. But it should come naturally. You should share them when the time is right, when it feels right to you. Just so long as you know that whenever that time may be, I will be there to listen." He kissed the top of her head. "The one thing I'm sure about right now is how lucky I feel that you were brought into my life, Dana." "The feeling, I assure you, is quite mutual." He ran his hand up and down her arm, gently stroking it. Dana just sat there, nestled against him, listening to the sounds of his breathing and the slow, steady cadence of his heart beating. She reveled in the soothing comfort of his warm body wrapped around her own. She could have sat like this forever. She was not sure how much time had passed before Mark finally spoke again. "I just keep coming back to one thought, one feeling," he said, his gaze focused in the distance, at the dark night. "What's that?" "The injustice of it all. Why something like this happens. I just don't get it." "My mom always says to me, ours is not to question, but to try to understand why." "Why the hell not?" He let go of her, turned to face her. "Why the hell shouldn't we question it when our world is turned topsy-turvy, when someone we care about it taken from us? I don't know how you can continue to hold onto your faith, Dana, with all that you've seen, all that you've lost." "It hasn't been easy, Mark, that's for sure. But that's part of what makes it faith." He shook his head. "If there were a God, I don't see how He could let something like this happen. It- it just seems so . . . so goddammed senseless." "I believe that God has a purpose for what He does. Some overarching plan for us, and our place in the universe. It's just that from our vantage point, it's often difficult to see what that plan is. We may not recognize the greater meaning of these tragedies until weeks, months, years later--if at all." "You're saying this is all fate? Destiny? That Eric was supposed to die tonight to fulfill some greater purpose in the grand scheme of things?" "In my opinion, yes." He stared at her for several long moments, his expression indicating that he was trying to wrap his brain around that concept. Finally, he laughed bitterly. "That's a load of horse shit, if ever I heard one." "Mark, I know your mother's death disillusioned you to the idea of a higher power," Dana said, gently reaching to touch his arm, "but is it really that difficult to believe? Or at least to understand?" "I'm sorry, Dana. I don't mean to insult your beliefs, to knock your religion. That's great for you, that you can make some sense out of stuff like this. Just like it was great for Amy after our mom died. I'm glad that both of you can find comfort in your faith in God. Unfortunately, that still leaves me out in the dust." "It doesn't have to, Mark," she said, tightening her grip on him. Suddenly, his eyes flashed in anger. "Don't you even think about pulling that missionary crap on me! I told you already, I can't--I won't--go crawling back to God. Religion holds no comfort for me now." Dana slowly released her hold on him, lowered her eyes. "I would never try to force my beliefs on you, Mark. I would have thought you'd known that. I just thought. . . ." She let her words fade away as she fought back the hurt and the anger at his invective. "Dammit, Dana, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I don't seem to have very good control of my temper tonight." "That's okay, Mark. I know you're hurting, and sometimes the easiest thing to do is lash out at the closest person. I know it's your anger talking, more than anything else. All I was trying to say was that perhaps my beliefs on life and death, though not meant to replace yours, might somehow help you to come to an understanding. Sometimes when hearing another point of view, you can take bits and pieces of it that are in accordance with your own--and sometimes even ones that are not--to help change and shape your own beliefs. What you end up with is a slightly altered perspective that, in the long run, is hopefully more helpful. Does that make any sense?" "I guess so. Though I really don't see it happening. I think I'm pretty set in my ways, in my beliefs." Dana sighed. For a man who could be so open-minded about other secular matters, sometimes it was like talking to a brick wall. "How about this: why don't you try to explain to me your point of view? Try to get me to understand what it is you're feeling--your hurt, your anger, your bitterness at the injustices you feel have occurred." Mark hesitated. It seemed to him that this was just a grand scheme of hers to get him to open up and admit his feelings. But then he had to remind himself that Dana was not like that. She did not connive or manipulate in order to fulfill some secret agenda. She, in fact, wanted him to talk to her about his feelings in order to help him. To heal him. God, how he wished that were possible. That she could take him in her arms, whisper some words of reassurance, and make all of his pain and sorrow vanish. Though she might be able to ease the ache a bit, he realized that for him to have any chance at getting past this, he would have to work through this. Face his demons head-on. At least she was here to stand beside him. On A Day Like Today by Jennifer Sorowitz sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu or jis3@yahoo.com Part Six continued Mark took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I still can't believe what happened. That Robbins is gone. It just seems so . . . unreal, y'know?" He shook his head. "I just never expected, in my wildest imaginings, that something like this could happen." Mark stared out at the distance again. "I keep hoping that maybe this is some sort of crazy nightmare, and it's just a matter of time before I wake up. "At the hospital tonight, I kept thinking that this all has to be some sort of sick, twisted practical joke that Socks and the other guys cooked up. That any minute now, Robbins was gonna get up off of that gurney in the hospital and go 'Surprise, Boss! I ain't really dead! I was just yankin' your chain!' And after I sighed in relief, and told 'em they really had me going, then we all woulda laughed about it together--until the team's next workout, that is. That's when I'd show 'em my appreciation by taking my anger out on their sorry asses--'coz ole RB, he always has the last laugh, you see." He laughed bitterly. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer. "Except this time, I guess. Because that's just not gonna happen, is it?" Dana shook her head sympathetically. "No, Mark, it's not. Though God knows I wish that were true as much as you do." Mark ran his fingers through his hair. "Robbins--Eric . . . he was a great guy. I'm not just saying that now, out of respect. He really was a good man. As far as soldiers went, he was top notch. Ever since he joined Team Alpha, his career really took off. He had a promising future in the Navy. Though that damned accident in the cave pretty much put an end to that. "During his first stint in the hospital, after the first couple of operations, it became apparent that he was never gonna heal enough to be able to cut it as a SEAL. I would have moved heaven and earth to keep him on Team Alpha--I told him as much, too--but he knew as well as I did that unless he could operate at one hundred percent, he would not be able to keep up with the grueling pace, that he'd be a liability to his teammates. I told him I'd speak to the appropriate people, give him whatever recommendations he needed to get a good assignment somewhere else in the Navy. "He wasn't really interested. After you've experienced the thrill and adventure of being a SEAL, somehow the prospect of a desk job just doesn't compare. He got into this really bad bout of depression. No matter what Socks or Toller or any of the guys or I said, it didn't make a damn bit of difference. We started worrying that his attitude was going to affect his healing, that he wouldn't have the drive to get back on his feet. But then the doctors had him start seeing a physical therapist. . . ." Dana grinned knowingly. "Carly?" Mark managed a small smile as he nodded. "Yeah. Then he met Carly. Somehow, in that magic way of hers, she managed to get through to him, and got him to stop feeling sorry for himself. She helped get him out of the dark funk he had been in. Man, I had never seen Robbins so happy as he was after he met her. All you had to do was mention her name, and he'd get the goofiest grin on his face. I think it was the first time he had been in love--really, truly in love. She helped him overcome the depression, just as she helped him get back on his feet. And all of a sudden, it didn't really matter to him about having to leave the SEALs. I asked him a couple weeks ago again whether he wanted me to see about having him transferred, and he told me not to bother. He said he was probably going to see about being discharged from the Navy. His dad had always been bugging him to move back to Pittsburgh, to join in the family business so he could take it over one day. Eric figured that's where his future lay. "I was sorry to be losing him--and I don't mean just as a teammate. He was more than just a good soldier. He was also a true friend. He'd go out of his way for you. If you were down, he'd do what he could to cheer you up. And I don't mean crack jokes, like Socks. He'd seek you out, ask you straight out what was wrong. He didn't beat around the bush. Wasn't one to wax poetic. He'd tell ya he knew something's wrong, get the stick outta your ass and snap out of it. There was just something about his no-nonsense attitude that would get you to smile and open up. "And when things were going well, when we had not a care in the world . . . Robbins, he could party like nobody's business. True, he got the nick 'Six Pack' 'coz of his abs of steel, but he really could drink almost anybody under the table. You might have gotten your extra cash hustling pool, Dana, but Robbins, he cashed in time and again on drinking contests. I have never seen a man down so many shots and walk away with little more'n a buzz. He really was the life of the party. "That's why, tonight, when that medic made it sound like he had passed out drunk, I got a little pissed off. But it also made me realize that something had to be really wrong. Never in my wildest imaginings would I have thought he was having a stroke. Even now, it just seems . . . wrong somehow. What a senseless way for a guy like Eric to die. Somebody like Robbins, you'd expect him to buy it on an op. Go out in a blaze of glory. Like back in the caves, when the rope snapped, and he plummeted into the wall. If he had died there, it would have been more . . . I don't know . . . palatable. I'm not saying I wished he had died then. It's just, as a SEAL, you know you're constantly putting your life on the line each time you go on a mission. It's part and parcel of the job. It's a risk you're prepared to take. But to go like he did . . . to just collapse to the ground while on a date . . . it just feels . . . unfitting somehow. Like he deserved better. After all he's been through, all he's done for his team--his country even--he was entitled to a hero's death." "Are you saying you feel his death was dishonorable?" Mark made a derisive sound. "Jesus, Dana, I'm not some samurai who feels the only proper way to die is in noble combat. I think it's more a person's actions in life--not their manner of death--that determines whether their passing is honorable or not. And Eric's actions were definitely upstanding." Feeling somewhat rebuked, Dana nodded. Realizing his reply was rather harsh, Mark's next words were gentler. "But the way he died is not what's bugging me the most. Rather, it's what he left behind. Eric, he had everything going for him. When you're twenty-five and head-over-heels in love, you're on top of the world. You feel more alive than you've ever been. The idea of death doesn't even cross your mind. By all rights, Eric had his whole life ahead of him. And he was so happy--happier than I've ever known him to be." Mark paused, licking his lips. "Earlier tonight, when you and Carly went to the bathroom, Eric and I had a little man-to-man chat. We talked about our relationships, how you ladies have changed us, our outlook on the world, on life. Eric went on and on about Carly, and his feelings for her." Dana smiled. "He couldn't take his eyes off of her all evening." Mark nodded. "He planned to propose to her, you know. Probably this evening. He showed me the ring he had gotten her. Decent-sized rock. Said he blew most of his savings on it, poor bastard." As Mark paused, the only sound was Dana's sudden sharp intake of breath. "My God," she whispered, as realization dawned. "That's why you didn't want to give his things to Carly. Because you were afraid she'd find the ring." Slowly, Mark nodded. "It just didn't seem appropriate somehow. Carly was barely holding on by a thread as it was. Finding that--seeing the ring--I was afraid it'd push her over the edge. And even now, I'm not sure I should even tell her. I mean, she knew he loved her. Won't seeing the ring only add to her pain? Make her long and ache for what might have been?" "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" Sighing, Mark turned to face her. "I-I'm not sure. What do you think, Dana? Should I tell her? Should I give Carly the ring Eric intended her to have?" Dana opened her mouth to reply, but stopped herself. She was going to voice her first thought, but then decided better of it. She mulled the idea over a bit, weighing the options, the possible outcomes. But then she realized that in matters like this, it is usually best not to over-rationalize them, but rather to listen to your heart. So she went with her initial gut instinct. "I think you should tell her. Carly has a right to know. If it were me, and I were in Carly's position, I would want to know. You think it may cause her more pain--and at first, it probably will--but in the long run, it's something she can draw comfort from. Right now, all she has to remind her of Eric's feelings for her are her memories of his words, his actions. But that ring, it was meant to be a symbol of their love. By seeing it, holding it, Carly will have a physical reminder of Eric's feelings. She will have assurance that he loved her. At a time like this, that knowledge will ultimately bring her comfort." Mark listened to Dana's words carefully, intently. They made perfect sense. She was right in what she had said earlier: another person's perspective was quite useful in adjusting your own--especially when you knew you were not really thinking straight. He nodded. "You- you're right, Dana. Carly should know. I'll take her the ring." She nodded in agreement. "When I give it to her, I think I'll tell her about my conversation with Eric, how he spoke of her with such loving devotion." Abruptly, Mark's eyes widened. His hand moved to his mouth, and he closed his eyes, blinking several times. "Mark. . . ?" Dana reached for him in concern. "Mark, what is it?" He looked heavenward, as though trying to regain his composure. He took a deep, shaky breath. Slowly, he lowered his hand. Dana stared at his face intently. She thought she saw his chin quiver. There was no mistaking the way his eyes were shining brightly in the moonlight. "Mark. . . ?" Dana asked gently, prompting him. "Please, tell me." "I-I just remembered part of our conversation," Mark began slowly, his voice low and gravelly. He spoke with barely-suppressed emotion. "What Eric said to me--about Carly." Sensing his turmoil, Dana felt her stomach clench, and her throat tighten. "He said. . . ." Mark swallowed at the lump in his throat. "God, how did he put it? Eric, he- he said . . . 'I want to grow old with her.'" Biting his lip, Mark blinked back unshed tears. "And . . . and then . . . and then he said . . . 'I wanna make lotsa babies with her.'" He became acutely aware of how quickly he was losing control. "Aw shit," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Mark lowered his head, his shoulders starting to shake. Dana looked at him, her own heart breaking. She started to reach for him, but he held up a warning hand. Sitting back on her haunches, she watched him carefully, waiting. Mark fought desperately to center himself, to rein in his emotions. He feared that if he gave in at all, if allowed himself even the slightest bit of release, everything would come crashing out of him, unbidden--and he would not be able to stop it. He tried to hold it in. But it was a hopeless battle. He sniffed, even as he pawed at his face with his fist. "Dammit," he murmured. "Mark. . . ." Dana reached out to him imploringly. "H-He should've . . . been given th-the chance to gr-grow old with her," Mark whispered, voice thick with emotion, as he swallowed back the tears. "They should've been able . . . t-to make all those babies. . . ." He shook his head dejectedly. "Oh God. . . . W-we toasted Eric br-breaking his leg. We fucking toasted his breaking his fucking leg! . . . We celebrated the very thing that killed him!" To hell with it. Pride or no wounded pride, Dana could not sit back another instant and watch as he fell apart before her. It unnerved her completely to see him like this. In the weeks she had known him, Mark Riskey had always been in utter control of himself and his emotions. Never had they gotten the better of him. And yet, while it was unsettling, at the same time it was reassuring--to know that even the tried and true, ever-confident Navy SEAL commander had his foibles just like everyone else. Deep down inside, beneath the armor, the tough exterior, he was human too. "Oh Mark," she whispered, reaching for him. At first, he tried to pull away. But he was too far gone to fight her for long. Dana took his face in her hands, turned it up to meet her own. He tried to avoid her gaze. But she would not have it. "Mark," she called gently. "Mark, look at me. Please, look at me." Finally, he did. His red-rimmed eyes met hers, saw her own eyes welling with moisture. He blinked, and tears fell down his cheeks, onto her thumbs. He started to shake. She began to pull him towards her. He reached for her, arms wrapping around her waist. She held him against her heart as the sobs shuddered through his body. "Shh," she whispered, stroking his hair. "It's okay, Mark. It's okay, sweetie. Everything's going to be okay," she soothed, resting her cheek upon his head, even as her own tears fell. She continued to hold him and gently rock him, whispering soft words of comfort as he wept. Time seemed to stop then, and it were as though they were the only two people on earth, bound by their sorrow, his need for succor, and her need to provide comfort. After some time, he had no more tears left to shed. His tremors slowly subsided, but he still held her tightly, unwilling to let go. By now, she had stopped speaking, but continued to stroke his head softly, tenderly. She felt his breathing slowly return to normal. Before long, she could feel him inhaling and exhaling in synchrony to the rise and fall of her own chest. She kissed the top of his head. Slowly, he pulled back, released his grip on her. He raised his tear-stained face to gaze upon her own. Smiling, Dana once again cupped his face. She leaned in closer, kissed each wet cheek in turn, before finally pressing her lips to his forehead for a slow, tender kiss. As she sat back, she felt him bring his own hands up to cover hers. Slowly, he pulled her hands away from his face. But then he brought first one, then the other, to his lips. Releasing one hand, he reached for her face, using the thumb to wipe the wetness from her own cheeks. He left his hand against her face, thumb lightly caressing the soft skin. Dana covered his hand with her own, nuzzling into his touch. Then she turned her head and placed a feather-soft kiss on his palm. As they gazed into each other's eyes, there no longer seemed to be any need for words. They had said all that they needed to say. For now, their motions and exchanged glances were enough. Mark moved to sit back against the rock. Opening his arms, he looked toward Dana, somewhat expectantly. With a grin, Dana scooted over next to him, nestling beside him. Apparently, that was not what Mark had intended, for she felt his strong hands take hold of her waist and pull her onto his lap. Surprised at first, Dana looked down at Mark, and quickly realized what it was he wanted--what he needed--from her that night. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she settled herself against him, her cheek pressed against his forehead. Together, they gazed up to watch the star-speckled night sky. They remained together that way, holding one another close, watching night turn to daybreak. Together, they watched the sunrise, the morning sky suffused in growing shades of pink and orange and red. Dana felt Mark sigh beneath her, and she smiled. She hoped the sight of a new day filled him with the same feeling of hope that it did her. Slowly, she released her hold on him, and rose to her feet. Joints popped as she stretched out stiff muscles. "How ya doin', Big Guy?" she asked. "Okay." He smiled up at her. "Much better than last night." "Good. Hey, I think I noticed a diner right after we turned off the highway. What say we go get some breakfast--my treat?" "Sounds good to me." She held out her hands, and helped pull him to his feet. After he rose, he did not let her hands go. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, even as he looked down at her and smiled. He bent down, and gave her a slow, lingering kiss. Mark wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, even as Dana encircled his waist. They headed back toward the dirt path, ready to face whatever the day would bring together. Finis ***** On a Day Like Today by Bryan Adams free is all you gotta be dream dreams no one else can see sometimes ya wanna run away but ya never know what might be comin' round your way ya ya ya on a day like today the whole world could change the sun's gonna shine shine thru the rain on a day like today ya never wanna see the sun go down ya never wanna see the sun go down somewhere--there's a place for you i know they you believe it too sometimes if you wanna get away all ya gotta know is what we got is here to stay all the way on a day like today--the whole world could change the sun's gonna shine--shine thru the rain on a day like today--no one complains free to be pure--free to be sane on a day like today ya never wanna see the sun go down ya never wanna see the sun go down free is all we gotta be dream dreams no one else can see but ya never know what might be comin' for you and me ya it's gonna be on a day like today--the whole world could change the sun's gonna shine--shine thru the rain on a day like today--no one complains free to be pure--free to be saved on a day like today ya never wanna see the sun go down ya never wanna see the sun go down Jennifer Sorowitz V'02 sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu If you can imagine it, you can achieve it. If you can dream it, you can become it. -William Arthur Ward