First draft of "Rematch" by Dorothy Franklin

Written 19-May-04 in one mad 2-hour session after 
receiving a burst of inspiration.
See the finished story at http://brego.dev/stories/gij-franklin1-ch1.php

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Lieutenant Jordan O'Neil hesitated before making the call. Several weeks
had passed since she'd last seen the Master Chief and she didn't even
know for sure why she was contacting him. She just felt the need to
connect one last time. She knew there were things that needed to be said
-- but she wasn't certain she would find the courage to say them.

The ringing seemed interminable. "Master Chief Urgayle speaking," came
the voice from the other end of the line.

"Hello, Master Chief. It's Lieutenant O'Neil. I'm back down from
Washington and ..." And what? "... and I thought I'd check in and see
how your rehab is going."

Oh dear, she thought, this is weak. He's going to see right through me.

"It's going, I guess. They've got me pushing paper for a couple more
months. Not stir-crazy yet but I'll be glad to get back into the field.
How about you? They going to let you do your job or stick you back
behind a desk?"

"It's still up in the air. I have some questions for you. Any chance of
getting together for lunch?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Well, no, I don't
think I can make time for lunch today." O'Neil's heart sank. This was a
lot tougher than facing the Master Chief's fists. He continued, "but
dinner would work. I don't really like to eat out. You're a SEAL, think
you're tough enough to survive my cooking?"

O'Neil laughed. "Sure, Master Chief, when and where?"

At the appointed hour, O'Neil stood on Urgayle's doorstep with a bottle
of wine in hand. She paused before knocking, half expecting that the
door, once opened, would be slammed back in her face.

"Come in, Lieutenant. Pardon the mess, I'm in the middle of a couple of
projects." O'Neil's jaw dropped when she saw the easel set up in the
middle of the living room, surrounded by paintings, only half of them
finished. The canvases were large, sprawling, full of color and life. No
pastels here, but not the blood and war subjects she might have expected
either. Along the wall, several bookcases struggled to contain the
volumes crowding their shelves. This was an unexpected side of Urgayle.

"I didn't know you painted."

"I'm a dilettante. Took a class once. But I paint for myself. It helps
me relax, let off steam." He changed the subject. "Would you like some
wine, Lieutenant?"

She followed him into the kitchen. "Call me Jordan, Master Chief."

He stopped and looked at her for a moment, as though he were weighing
her name and carefully matching it to her face. "Okay, Jordan. My
friends call me Jack."

Suddenly feeling shy, Jordan averted her eyes. "Something sure smells
good."

"Chicken's in the oven. It needs to cook another 15-20 minutes. I
thought we could take the wine outside on the deck. You said you had
some questions for me?"

Uh oh, Jordan thought, the moment of truth approaches. She accepted a
glass of wine and followed him outside. The yard was small, with a
neatly trimmed lawn and bushes gone wild along the fence. They sat on a
bench.

"We never had a chance to talk after the training and the mission," she
began awkwardly. "My friends back in Washington can't understand what it
was like. All they could see were the bruises. I've tried to explain why
you went so far in the SERE training, but I find that I'm not really
sure. You were afraid to let a woman complete the program. You needed to
break me, to break the men, to prove that it was dangerous to have a
woman on a tough mission." Another pause. "But I can't help but think
there was something more personal going on as well."

Now it was Jack's turn to hesitate. "It's weighed on me too. Our
training program seems brutal but it's all measured and calculated to
produce an effect. This time SERE training was different. You're right
-- I had to show you, show the men, that it couldn't work having a woman
on the team. I never thought you would last, I thought I could break
you." He looked at her. "I was wrong. And I went too far. I've never
lost control like that, and I've never apologized to a trainee before.
But I know I need to apologize to you."

Jordan had not known for sure what she wanted from Urgayle, but it
certainly wasn't this. "I didn't come here for an apology. And you don't
owe me one. If you had refused to interrogate me, if you had behaved
chivalrously toward me, then you would have been treating me like dirt."
She met his eyes. "Don't you realize? You honored me by giving me the
opportunity to find out how much I could take, how strong I could be. I
owe you for that."

She continued slowly, "I know I'll be afraid again. But I learned in
that camp that I can not, will not ever let fear stop me from doing what
I need to do or saying what needs to be said. Which is why I called you
today."

Jack cocked his head, but let her continue.

Jordan pushed the words out. "I wanted to see you again because you're
unlike any man I've ever known. Your strength, your honor, your
vulnerability, your damned poetry." She took a breath. "On the aircraft
carrier, do you remember when you were in sick bay and I came to visit?
You took my hand. Maybe you were in some sort of morphine fog, but I
wasn't. I didn't want to let go."

Jack took Jordan's wine glass from her and set both glasses aside. He
reached out his hands and closed them around hers. "I remember. I was
glad you were there."

He thought for a moment and shook his head. "It was a nightmare. I felt
six ways a fool for jeopardizing the mission but no matter how many
times I go back over it I can't say I'd do anything differently. He had
a gun and he heard you whispering. I couldn't let him take you out."

His hands traced her fingers. "It's not about your ability, Jordan.
There's no reason you shouldn't go on and be a SEAL, a damned good one.
But you and I could never be on the same team. I can't be rational where
you are concerned. I knew that in the SERE camp and I know it now."

He reached up and gently touched her cheek. Jordan's breath caught and
she leaned forward just enough to meet his lips.

They came up for air a few minutes later when the insistent oven timer
beat its way into their conscious. "Chicken's done, Jordan. Are you
hungry?" Jack asked, grinning.

"Mmmm, very hungry. And that chicken would make a nice dessert." They
turned off the oven and found a quiet spot to continue their mutual
exploration.

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