Tracy

024:

"Oh." When she pushed the door open, she simply stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to actually commit to entering. Instead she paused to let herself adjust to the difference in rooms. A sort of--- stalling mechanism--- to keep from having to fully acknowledge the occupants of the room.

Breathe.

This room is predominantly wine colored. It has beige carpet with a tannish-red swirl through it, and it looks tightly woven. The walls are darker red, all of them, and the carpet matches the panel absorbers. It's a low frequency room, not meant to record in. Meant for inspiration. There's the piano, there's the guitars. There's Richard Mann playing one of the guitars. There's Jules staring out the paneled open window, at the sky.

She swallowed.

Her hand carrying the herbal tea got hot, too hot, and she blew out her breath and entered the room, setting it on the table by the door where someone had thoughtfully left sheet music.

Julian turned, his eyes were bleak.

"What is it?" She froze, the look on his face was far too serious. She was used to being told someone had died. "Is it Bridge?"

Oh God, her plane crashed, she's--

She wavered and Richard set down his guitar and started to rise. Tracy held up a hand to stop him and stared at Julian.

It wasn't Bridget. He'd be way more grief-stricken had it been his true love.

"Is it Case?" This time she wavered substantially, and Richard got up and took the two steps to the doorway to grab her before she fell. "Please don't touch me."

But when he touched her, the wavering stopped-- literally stopped, as if it all rushed into him, and he could take it. She felt a huge let down as if a weight was lifted. But she couldn't look at him. With a shaky hand, she awkwardly pushed past him, one hand trailing against his to soften the blow of her rejection.

She had to acknowledge that it was nice of him to care.

"There's been an explosion in the Salang Tunnel in Afghanistan. They think over three thousand soldiers and civilians were killed when an army vehicle crashed into a fuel truck." Julian said, not turning, his back ramrod straight, his shoulders hunched.

Tracy stopped short before reaching him-- her thoughts tumbling to a halt abruptly. And this affects me--- how? He finally turned and his eyes were fiery.

Her brows rose. "O—k—a—y...?"

"The Soviet Government is keeping pretty tight wraps on what actually happened. The soldiers were on their way to Kabul, presumably as peacekeeping troops, but thirty buses? No. It would have been an invasion. The Afghans must have tried to stop them en-route."

She swallowed dry. Lately Jules had been investigating more political stuff. His interests had turned humanitarian, and he'd made some changes in his life accordingly. But what Richard Mann was doing with him? Was it some kind of coincidence? Her eyes darted back to the doorway. Richard wasn't looking at her.

"If the media was to get involved, it might force the Soviet government to investigate. It might force the world audience to sit up and take notice of what the Soviets are actually up to." This statement came from the doorway and Tracy took a deep breath.

"What are you two suggesting? And why are you together? And why are you here? And looking for me?" There was nothing strident about her voice, simply querying, simply concerned. People had died--- it was a tragedy. A government was covering it up--- typical. We all know it happens. "You want to use the media--- us--- you want to use us to----?"