Ring That Bell

[Cassie Granger 0]

Ring That Bell

Cassidy Granger, SFMC

 

The view hadn't changed, but it’d been a while since Cass had seen it from this particular angle. Rafters. Lights. Ropes. Mat beneath her head. Yeah: same gym, same ship.

 

"Hey... you okay?"

 

Gonzales?

 

One slow blink. Another. View’s the same.

 

"Hey!"

 

A hand gripped her shoulder. She blinked again.

 

Squeezing out an, "I'm good," truth be told, she wasn’t sure, and the words weren’t all that convincing.

 

He helped her to a sit and the room didn’t spin. Always a good sign.

 

"Sure you're okay?"

 

"Yeah, Gonzales. I'm good. Just...” a grimace squeezed her eyelids tight and she held up a hand, “...gi’ me a sec."

 

Snatching an offered towel, she rubbed it across her face and down the back of her neck then flipped it over one shoulder to hang there as she stared at the mat. Across Creek’s Marine gym, a few dozen eyes returned to business, apparently satisfied with her condition.

 

"Damn, Sunny,” said Hector as he settled next to her on the mat, “that move's pretty basic. It’s never tripped you up before. You’re really off your game today - what gives?” He paused and leaned in, evidently for a quick pupil check.

 

She shook her head. How could she explain it when she couldn’t explain it herself. It wasn’t just one thing, it was a bunch, an accumulation of incidents and mixed messages, a can full garbage she had to sort through to find the evidence, the reason....

"I'm good," she snapped after a minute, "just... tired, Hec. Gonna pack it in."

 

A quick personal assessment and Cass took an assist to a stand then headed toward the locker room. But even an ice-cold shower couldn’t shake that last image - the one at the top of the heap. It’d been playing over and over and over in her head.

 

“Guy was a pain,” Gage remarked dryly, evidently amused as he glanced the stranger floating downstream. “Now you’re done flirting, can we go?”

 

Flirting. Hell.

 

Bracing herself against the shower wall with one hand, Cass lost all track of time as the water poured over her head and cascaded down her back. The room that was packed when she came in had emptied out, and still she stood there, numb, not feeling a thing.

 

Finally a familiar hand from behind flicked the water off and a towel hit the back of her head.

 

“Been here a half hour,” a deep masculine voice whispered in her ear. “Not only wasting water, but get it any colder and you’ll go into hypothermia. We need to talk.” That was it, plain and simple. When Cass turned away from the shower head Moa was gone.

 

Wrapping the towel around herself, she wandered slowly toward the lockers, still not sure where she was headed, or if she even cared. The Grayson SNAFU, intense mission prep for the upcoming asset extraction (if they ever survived Grayson) and whatever was going on in her head concerning the team mashed into one major reality check that wasn’t helped when she passed by the row of lockers and saw Silver stretched out along the bench, looking just about as good as she felt.

 

A fresh set of fatigues later, Cass sat face to face with Moa in a corner of the FORECON OPS briefing room. He was her stabilizer, the one who sensed problems often before she knew she had any.

 

Now, some folks said Moa was a gentle giant and some called him Grizzly, but all had a profound respect for the Maori warrior. True, he could be gentle on occasion, especially when he allowed his South Pacific lilt to take over. His deep voice became downright mesmerizing, especially to any females in theater - vulnerable ones, that is - and he deployed it pretty often when on leave.

 

But you don’t swoon your way to Gunnery Sergeant in the Corps, and you sure as hell don’t get into 1/1, FORECON, that way. Gunny Gleason Momoa could be downright terrifying if he had to be, but he could also modify that terror to make a point. Somehow, the black of his eyes got deeper and his voice took on an edge that sent the heftiest Marine back to Boot.

 

When making a point - a life point, he called it, something that would save your life one day - he kept his voice quiet and his tone smooth while lookin’ you in the eye like a tiger does when it’s not quite hungry enough to pounce but it’s thinking about ‘maybe later.’

 

When Cass met his gaze he had that ‘maybe later’ look that got his superior officer’s attention. But at this point she sure didn’t need much. He leaned into her personal space, folded his hands in front of him, and rested his forearms on a pair of massive quads.

 

“It’s like this, Cass,” he said, using her first name for emphasis, his eyes dark as the Mariana trench, “it’s your responsibility to advise Silver; It’s mine to advise you.” His tone was quiet and direct, but concerned and respectful.

 

“Something’s interrupting your concentration. Gonzo shouldn’t’ve been able to get close to you, much less deck you. That last run through the course, you bottomed out. The kill house? Not even going there.

 

“Thing is, Cass, Whatever it is, it’s gnawing at you big time and needs to be dealt with now. You need help?” his hands spread open, relaxed, like a shrug, first pointing to himself then across the room. “I’m here. Major’s here. Don’t expect you to share specifics with me, but we both know that when it’s boots-down the only thing that’s got to be in our minds is the mission. Nothing else.”

 

He kept eye contact for several minutes, giving her an opening if she wanted it. Problem was, she wanted it, but hadn’t a clue what to say or where to start, so she said nothing. Finally he stood, slid the chair into place and rested a hand on her shoulder before leaving. Cass continued to stare into space after he left, then finally stood, turned, and headed back to the locker room.