Home For Fall // Emison and PLL

Deployment : Day 184

Emily had been visiting Lieutenant Meyers every day since the explosion. Since my friends died, Emily thought to herself.

She sat by his bedside and wrote her usual letters to Alison. Each of them became more and more harsh. Something about her really had changed.

He had bandages covering the majority of his face. Most of the time, he simply slept. After he was healed enough, the Army had decided to send him home on honorable leave. Whether he would return to his job or not, was a different story. He never talked with Emily much about it. He never talked much with anybody anymore.

Emily was lost in thought next to the beeping monitors of the infirmary.

The bullet in her arm hadn't bothered her in days. Her skin had even begun to heal over it. Occasionally she would run her fingers against it just to feel the hard bump in her arm.

"You look like shit," Meyers mumbled.

Emily looked up at him and stood by his bedside. She dropped the letter she was writing. Her voice had become low and gruff. She couldn't help it. She'd adopted it from the other soldiers. War changes you.

"I'd be lying if I told you that you looked handsome," she said back.

He chuckled, although it was low and weak. "Fields, you're a real pain in my ass."

He paused. "But you're a hero."

Emily smiled coldly. It wasn't genuine. She had no warm feelings towards the day she took a bullet in the arm. "It's all part of the game," she said.

Meyers stared at her long and hard before chuckling again. "It clicked, didn't it? That's why you wanted to shoot those guys after the IED bust. It finally clicked."

Emily shrugged. "I'd be lying if I didn't tell you I had second thoughts about going back out there and doing it all over again. Do me a favor, hey boss... Do you know of any tattoo shops around here?"

"Why the hell are you looking for a parlor?" Meyers asked.

Emily shrugged again. She wasn't in the mood for small talk. "Just a promise I made to somebody."

Meyers didn't answer as he tried to breathe evenly for a few minutes. "It's Afghanistan. You're not going to find one on the corner like in the states. They don't believe in tattoos. However, I know a couple guys in Kabul who run underground ink rinks. They're hard to find. They move around a lot. Probably cause they're afraid they're going to get caught and killed."

Emily smirked. "Even better."

"Hey, Fields. You listen to me. I don't like that look you got in your eye. Don't do anything rash. War does that to people. Sometimes it makes you crazy. I get it. It was terrible what happened to Carter and Leeland and the rest of the guys. But you are not invincible. You are not a solid metal jacket. Hey! Are you listening to me?" Meyers asked sternly as Emily grabbed her letter off the seat and began to walk away.

"Hmm? Yeah. I heard you. Loud and clear," Emily said.

Meyers grimaced. "It's not whether you heard me or not. It's whether you understood me."

Emily turned so she could smile at him. "Where in Kabul?"

----------------------------------------------

Emily walked around the bustling streets of Kabul, Afghanistan. Meyers had told her where the guy would be. If he was even still there.

She had done her best to wrap herself within Islamic clothing. She covered her body from head to toe in black linen. Thankfully, her skin tone helped keep other Afghans from questioning whether she was American or not.

Emily slipped back through a side street and into an alleyway. She followed up it, trying her best not to step into the puddles that lay along the cobblestone.

Behind the market deli lay a small house. The door was locked. It looked as if nobody had lived there in years. Meyers had told her of this. The more hidden, the better.

She rapped on the door exactly three times. Meyers had warned her not to do any more than three. She heard many locks click as the door pushed open. Behind it stood a burly man with ink covering the majority of his body. He spoke harshly in Arabic, probably demanding who she was.

"Sadiq," was all she said. Meyers had told her to say it. She had no idea what it meant, but it was enough for the man behind the door to straighten up.

"You are American?" he asked.

She nodded silently.

He looked around behind her before opening the door a little further for her to find her way inside. She pulled down the mask so her entire face could show.

The little shop was cluttered from head to toe with bottles of ink and magazines. Along the walls lay dozens of tattoo designs. All of the windows were covered in black drapes. The man locked the doors behind him and turned back towards Emily.

"You are friend of Jason Meyers. American Army," he said.

"Yes," Emily said.

"Is very dangerous for you to be walking around here this time of day. Women especially," he said.

"I'm in the Army too. I'm Private Fields," she said.

His eyes settled. "I see. You come seeking business."

"I come seeking business and information."

"On?"

"The Taliban."

The man sat down at his desk where many of his drawings lay and snorted. "I've got nothing to say about monsters." His accent was strong.

"But you know about them?" Emily said. It sounded more like a statement than a question.

"You assume I do?" He retorted, exactly in the same tone.

Emily grimaced. "You run an illegal tattoo parlor. I bet you know a lot you're not letting on. But I'm sure the Afghani Army would be more than happy to know of your activities."

"You come seeking business, and threaten me in home. Very poor choice, girl," he growled.

"That's exactly what I want. Business," Emily finished.

He sighed. "My name is Arji. Look round. Whatever you want, it is yours."

Emily didn't need much convincing with the drawings on the walls. She handed him a sketch the had been working on in the bunks and infirmary.

He stared at it for a few seconds. "Where?"

She pointed towards her upper arm, around the now fully healed bullet wound. "Here."

Arji stood and moved her long linen drape so he could see the skin where she had been shot. He felt around the skin covered piece of metal. His cold fingers made Emily's hair stand on end.

"It will not be cheap. Especially with the information you seek," he said. His voice had shrunk, as if he had suddenly become intimidated.

Emily smiled sickly. "I don't care. I'll pay you whatever. Just get it done."