John Porter & Jenny: The Windward Passage

Part VIII

Part VIII

No matter what legitimate ethical points one may have, there is no way to have that conversation with a serviceman without it being emotionally charged. Not to say that the points John made were invalid because of his investment in the topic. Far from it, I would definitely say he successfully argued his position.

Which is so totally hot.

It's just that no matter how strictly you define the topic to *not* include the military itself, the military is an inherent part of the discussion and soldiers tend to take their life's work personally.

"Oh, and this calling you have? The organization you dedicated your life too? You've done more harm than good while your lives and honor are being exploited for less-than-savory political agendas. "

It's *not* what you mean at all, but that is what comes across.

It's a minefield of loyalty, pride, and yes, heart.

And I did not just blunder into it. I grabbed a pogo stick and started jumping around.

Christ.

John's minor dig at my academic perspective, combined with the pointed use of the year of Dr. King's march, bears notice. John is intelligent and knowledgeable enough in talking to him I tend to forget that for all intensive purposes, he's a high school graduate stuck on a ship with a substantial number of academics. He doesn't strike me as someone who is insecure, but with emotions running so high after the event, and then my...picking a fight, I guess it got to him.

But even so, up until that moment he had been ... perfect.

Fuck! Why did I do that?

I spend the afternoon (metaphorically) thumping my head against a wall, hole-up in my bunk with my long neglected journal, scribbling madly, and occasionally tearfully, until the steady roll of the swell becomes the lurch and roll of chop and I am cast into freefall a couple times which results in a literal thumping of my head against the ceiling. I adjourn to the deck to be pensive, trying to come up with some answers. There no point in reopening the discussion if I don't have any.

John does not reappear at supper. Kevin tells me he's been below since early in the afternoon.

I close the door to the engine room as the Jones takes a skip and fall. A crash is heard below followed by a roared "BOLLOCKS!" that reverberates impressively off the metal walls.

I hang my head down the hatchway into the engine compartment to find the engine cover is off and John picking up something from the floor.

"Hi."

He doesn't turn, but the muscles under his t-shirt bunch slightly as he growls a low "Hi."

"Is there a problem with it?"

"No."

"Maintenance?"

"Yeah."

"But it just came out of the yard."

"And?" He fits a nut back on a pushrod arm.

"Aaaaand if you don't take the engine apart, you might take me apart?"

The shoulders tighten further as he screws it back on with swift, jerking movements, "No."

"Take the ship apart?"

"…Yes."

I decline to point out that this probably was not the best time. "If we talk about this now will I get more than monosyllabic answers?"Ah. So that's what a "baleful glare" looks like. "Please?"