Radioman (A 2/19th Spinoff) - Complete

Surprise Visit

Hannah's face was calm, curled up under the blanket and sleeping, her long lashes touching her cheeks, her lips slightly parted as she slowly inhaled and exhaled. She smelled of apple blossoms and the wild feral smell that always excited me even in her sleep and I could smell the slight scent of mint and wild berries on her breath. I could tell she was dreaming by the way her eyelids twitched, knew she was in REM sleep because her eyes were rapidly flicking back and forth.

One night I had asked her what she dreamed about and although she had tried to explain, it had made no sense to me. She spoke of strange smells, the singing of bees as they flew, the faint whispers of far off events carried on leaves stirring in the wind that she referred to as the world's breath, and many other things.

She was strange, but I loved her.

I knew that most of those who knew her feared her, but I looked at it like this: She was no more dangerous than any of the "normal" humans in my squad. Stillwater was malevolent, a barely restrained killing machine with some stripped gears; Bomber was six feet of Texas lethality chomping at the bit to burn the world; Nagle was a hair from being a sociopath; so there was no reason to fear Hannah/Aine more than them.

My fingers grazed her cheeks and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly and she gave a pleased sigh. I didn't want to get up, didn't want to leave her sleeping, but I really had to take a leak.

Well, like Bomber always said: Ain't gonna get done if'n ya dawdle.

Aine sighed in pleasure and curled into the fetal position as snuggled down into the quilt when I tucked her in, her thumb moving up to her mouth. I'd noticed that in a lot of my squad after Atlas had exploded. Almost all of the survivors had started sucking their thumbs, often curling into the fetal position once they went to sleep. Cromwell had mumbled something about 'reversion" and "infantilism" before I'd driven her to Frankfurt to put her on a plane to go to Special Weapons training.

Stillwater had tried to send me, but his application had been kicked back. I was a radioman, there wasn't any specialized training, and to be honest, after seeing what Special Weapons training had done to my squad mates, I sure as hell didn't want to attend whatever torture-fest they called training. I mean, holy shit, that training apparently took normal people, chewed them up, and spit out goddamn psychopaths.

Fuck. That.

I didn't bother turning on the light to the bedroom. The sun was just setting, and I'd always had good night vision. This might feel like too much information, but the faint smell of honey-suckle mixing with good old fashioned sex was a strictly Aine/Hannah thing, and immediately brought her to my mind. If I hadn't already been completely spent, even her venom ineffective, it would have definitely had an effect upon me. I loved the smell of her and I mixed, and that was the reason I passed on taking a shower. It was an odd thing, unique to Hannah/Aine, since I'd always hurried to the shower after I'd finished with Gail.

I flushed, moved to the sink, and washed my hands. That, more than anything, reminded me that I was no longer at Atlas, no longer in the field, I was finally home and away from Group. The soap, which was usually Dove for mother and whatever soap my father stole from wherever or had randomly shown up, was instead my favorite. It had some unpronounceable (to me) German name, but it was orange and the smell reminded me of those cheap orange cream ice cream sticks from my childhood that my mother bought me now and then during the summer. The smell was nice, and calmed me, and I ran my finger through the lather, which was rich and thick.

After wiping down the sink I left, heading into the kitchen to go to the fridge. Opening it I was not surprised to find orange creme sodas in a cardboard six-pack that looked like someone had stolen it from a carnival. I pulled one out, used the bottle opener glued to the fridge door, the cap dropping into the small metal box under it, and took a long drink off it before moving over to sit down at the table, still completely naked. The vinyl of the chair felt sticky, but not in a bad way like it used to in the summer when I wore shorts, or my father made me sit in one of the chairs naked for reasons I'd rather not get into, but rather the soft comforting stickiness of clean vinyl.