Tallil, Iraq, November 3, 2004:
The sound of diesel engines rumbled from the compound. Quinn stood on the wall not ten meters away from the motor pool, watching the sun set into the desert.
The wall was part of an old fortress being incorporated into the perimeter of the new base they were building there. A new, secret base. A permanent base.
She drew in the last puff of her cigarette, then used it to light the next, flipping the spent butt in dusgust to the streets below. She looked at the scar on her arm.
There were two more, one on her abdomen, the other on her cheek, where the shrapnel of a dud RPG had impacted the cupola of her her unit's crippled APC last Spring. When they had lost Juan Morales and Jamal Washington. When Timmy Graham lost his eye and arm. The diesels coughed and died behind her as the construction crews parked their equipment for the night. Now there was nothing to disguise the other sound, the sound she had come up here to escape. The sound of the 2004 election returns on the Armed Forces Network. She hung her head in the gathering dark. Bush was winning and nothing but a miracle would help Kerry,
"You know, you're a good target for snipers up here."
"Don't care, Kramer. Go away."
He lit his own smoke. "Look... I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time."
"Christ, Kramer, it wasn't just you. Don't flatter yourself."
"I just didn't know it would affect you like this."
"Four more years..."
"We're not going to be here four more..."
"The Hell we aren't."
"Look, we've got holiday leave coming up..."
"Then what? Straight back to the Hell Hole. For four more frickin' years. We were supposed to go home after Kadhimiya." She rubbed her temple with her free hand. "What was it my Great-uncle Rodney used to say? Something about being 'in for the duration.'"
Kramer left quietly. Quinn lit another one off the second butt. Kramer returned and handed Quinn a tall Icehouse.
"We've been through too much to let politics come between us, soldier. I won't gloat again, I promise."
Quinn looked at him, then accepted the beer with a sigh. "At least you had the good sense not to make it a Coors," she grumbled and added, "soldier."
They popped the tops, and Kramer held up his in toast. "To Washington, Morales, Graham, Chickarello, and O'Toole."
The cans clinked and they drank deep.
A Kadhimiya AU from the iron chef challenge "The Day After" by The Angst Guy. Thanks for the challenge TAG.
The AU being that Quinn survived the events of "Khadimiya" of course.
Daria and other characters from the show are of course, property of MTV and Viacom. Any original characters and settings are my own. This is a work of fanfic, and is therefore a work of love and not meant for profit. And all hail Glenn Eichler and Suzy Lewis!