(no subject)

[song_tra_bong]

Mary Anne woke up the other morning and realized she hadn't been home in six months.

She sat there for a moment, wondering how that much time could have slipped by without her noticing. She remembered all the times she'd said 'I'm thinking about going home...it's been a while' and how she hadn't ever left. Someone had needed her. She'd needed someone. 'Home' had gotten pushed aside. Vietnam had been her place once, tantamout to a physical need. Now it was something she could ignore. She couldn't tell if she was angry with herself or just ashamed. Instead, she got up and packed a bag, tucked her pistol into the back of her jeans and scribbled a quick note to Ruin.

(Gone home for a few days. Need to stretch my legs and think a little. See you when I get back.

Love,
Mary Anne)

She left the note on the nightstand, then headed down into the main bar. The front door, for the first time in two months, opened up on Vietnam rather than the card's castle. There was only one problem.

It was night outside and she'd never left Vietnam at night.

Time was moving on without her; had been for God only knew how long.

She shouldered her bag and stepped through.


She didn't go looking for trouble and trouble didn't find her. Nobody found her. She just walked and listened to the far-off sound of gunfire. Part of her wanted to run toward it but she kept that part in check. That wasn't what she was here for this time.

She stopped walking when she couldn't recognize a thing about the landscape. She spent Bar's Thanksgiving hundled under a cluster of scrawny trees in the rain, thinking.

This was and would always be home. But there were people that needed her--people she needed--and they weren't here. She loved this place and always would, but she didn't need to be here.

The idea hurt a little as it sunk in. She slumped back against one of the trees, tipping her head back and closing her eyes against the rain.

There are things that you love but that you can leave, you know.

I don't abandon--

That's not what I'm saying. One doesn't negate the other. You won't ever really leave it; it's too deeply ingrained. But you don't need it to survive anymore. Doesn't mean you quit loving it.

What does it mean, then?

Just that you've grown up.

Reconcile.

Exactly.

She opened her eyes.

You get it now?

"Yeah," she murmured aloud. "I think I do."





The jungle crouched, humped in silence.
Then spoke the thunder
D A