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Sharpe's Sergeant	By : Sable899 Category: S through Z > The Sharpe Books Views: 1683 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Sharp series of books that this fanfiction is written for, nor do I know Sean Bean. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. This story is fiction.

Chapter List
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Chapter 23 Reality’s Bitter Pill

“Tell me, Smitty,” Sean finally asked after long minutes of musing over the cup of doubly-strong, steaming German coffee, “You an’ Orry wer’ tellin’ the God’s honest truth when ye’ said ye’ dint’ have any expectations o’ me an’ Camden lastin’ beyond me stay here, weren’t ye?”

Smitty and Sean had been quite drunk at one point earlier in the night, but now, at five o’clock in the morning, sitting in the American-style diner next to the parade field on Grafenwoehr Main Post, both men had regained a semblance of sobriety. Knowing Marella, the makeup dragon lady, would scold him for having bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, Sean didn’t want to give her the ammunition to tear into him for being hung-over also. He hated it when she would wag a finger in his face and give him that ‘you are so naughty’ glare with a 'tsk, tsk, tsk'. So, ever the consummate professional while he was working, to keep from looking completely ravaged he had quit drinking around midnight. Smitty, ever the responsible soldier who had to work the next day, had stopped about the same time. They had abandoned Rufus, young Alex and Orry and headed back from the Weiden club district together, ending up in the all-night diner that provided soldiers with a little taste of home.

“Actually, I think Orry was the one who said that,” Smitty defended, “But I can’t say that I disagree with him. But, my reasoning is different than Orry’s. Orry knows more about whatever it was in her past that caused her to become the way she is and his beliefs are based on that defining incident from a long time ago. Me, on the other hand, I think you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell simply because you two come from such completely different worlds. Quite frankly, you aren’t a soldier.”

“I could love her if she would let me, but she just won’t let down all her walls,” Sean admitted, “This week ‘as been great. She’s so easy to be with. No pretense, no ulterior motives. I’ve been free to be just a regular bloke with ‘er. And she's shown me some amazin' things.”

“Well, ask yourself: Isn’t this just a simple case of being in lust?” Smitty suggested, “From where I stand, any fool can see that there is definitely lust. But love? She doesn’t mention you in every other sentence or plan every minute of the day around you or take you into consideration whenever she has to make a decision about the least little thing. She’s rather indifferent to you whenever you make an appearance when she’s working, almost as if you’re an intrusion. You haven’t taken center stage in her life yet and I rather doubt that you ever will. It's in a soldier's nature to pick up on a chance at love fast before it gets away and after a week in constant company with you, I'm afraid that it's just not going to happen. You have never nor will you ever know anyone quite as unique as Camden Cantrell. Even if it is a simple case of being in lust, you can take some measure of comfort in the fact that at least she is lusting after ‘Sean the regular bloke’ and not ‘Sean Bean, sex god’.

“I s’pose ye’re right abaht that, man,” Sean groaned, “and she is unique; I’ve known ‘at all along. ‘ats more the reason why I ‘ad te find her than the fact that I wer’ lustin’ after ‘er. Now that I ‘ave found ‘er though, I’m not so sure what to do. And, I 'ave to admit, its just a wee bit bruisin' to me ego that she 'asn't fallen madly in love wit' me. She’s just such a proper soldier and I ‘ave no real life experience wit’ that. Ever’thing I know abaht it comes from role-playing the part of the verra’ flawed Richard Sharpe.”

“Flawed or not, there’s the rub, old boy. If you really were Richard Sharpe we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Smitty determined, “It would be a whole different ballgame.”

“Tell me what to do, Smitty,” Sean pleaded, “I feel like I’m drowning ‘ere. Drownin’ in a sea of blue eyes.”

“All I can tell you is to be realistic,” Smitty tried to gently advise, “It just doesn’t look like you are ever going to be the love of her life. And even if you were, she will never give up her entire way of life to go off and live in your world. She’s seen enough of that on VIP support over the years to know that she hates it, mocks it even, and would end up completely miserable trying to live in it. Giving it up is what she would have to do in order to be with you. And don’t even suggest that you would ever change your life for her. I’m not that naïve about love and life. Three divorces have taught me that.”

“Three divorces? Smitty, me lad, I knew ye’ wer’ a true mate the minute I met ye’,” Sean chuckled, “so, ye’ understand how badly I want things te’ turn out aw’right.”

“Turning out all right doesn’t necessarily mean turning out in your favor,” Smitty continued as the waitress brought their food, “Because what is all right for you and what is all right for her are obviously completely at odds with each other. At least she hasn’t run from you which was what I thought she would do as soon as she started to suspect that you weren’t going to be just another one-night stand.”

“Right now you make it look like I’m goin’ te’ be a six week stand,” Sean tried to joke back at him, “an’ from the sounds o’ you there isn’t a damn thing I can do abaht it.”

“Nope, I don’t think so. Just be glad that Richard bloody Sharpe is a work of fiction and you don’t have him to compete against,” Smitty mused, “’cuz she wouldn’t give you a second thought if he walked out of a time warp right about now. Hell, come to think of it, she’d probably eat him alive, too. Speaking of time, I think we need to finish up breakfast and go roust her out of bed if she's not up already. It’s her turn for the morning run out to Steinmetz.”

“Oi, luv’, wake up,” Sharpe spoke loudly, shaking Camden by the shoulder, “Summat’s makin’ a right bloody racket from somewheres under the bed.”

With a grunt and a groan and without opening her eyes, Camden groped under the edge of the bed to find the alarm clock that was sounding out a steady electronic whine. Her body’s automatic response took over to force her legs over the side and sit upright, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. Opening one eye at a time, she could see only a dull glow on the eastern horizon and knew sunrise was still a ways away.

“All right, soldier-boy, it was probably unheard of in Wellington’s day, but my Army believes in running at least two miles before breakfast,” Camden announced loudly while shrugging into the robe that lay in a heap where it had lain all night on the floor, “We’ve got a long day ahead of us if we’re ever going to figure out a way to get you back to your time and place.” Sharpe merely opened one eye in a squint to glare at her.

“Okay, you don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, do you?” Camden guessed. The eye continued to glare.

“Uhhhhhh, how about we keep you busy with a twenty-first century bathroom,” Camden suggested, “while I go for a run.

“If ‘ats got summat ta do wit’ a place ta ‘ave a piss and a wash-up, jest lead the way,” Sharpe agreed, rousing himself from under the covers, completely oblivious to his nakedness.

Camden was proud of herself for not letting her base instincts interfere with what she needed to do as she left Sharpe falling rapidly in love with her over-sized shower with its rainfall shower head and eight pulsating jets hitting on every inch of his body, Camden quickly got on about the business of getting into her running clothes and began the exercise routine she had been neglecting since Sean’s arrival in Graf. She figured she had just enough time to stretch out and run two miles before the hot water would start running out. She needed this run to clear her head and turn her focus towards solving the problem of what to do about Richard Sharpe. As for the problem of what to do about Sean Bean, well, one thing at a time. But, you’re going to have to deal with it eventually.

Camden couldn’t seem to stop herself as she ran the perimeter of the parade field. Faster and faster, thighs, hips, knees, lungs burning. Legs moving in a steady rhythm; left, right, left, right. A little light-headedness, starting to spin just ever so little as the first touch of runner’s high caught hold. Thinking of nothing but the task of inhaling, exhaling, chest rising, falling. The only sounds the rush of blood pumping through her ears and the crunch of her feet on the gravel-packed clay of the track. Her heart pounding, her chest threatening to burst. Sweat trickling along the strands of her blond hair to drip on her ears only to channel down her neck, soaking into the soft cotton of her Army tee shirt. And then she heard it. The noise, the great thumping noise of the helicopter blades of the medivac chopper as it came in for a landing on the helipad just a short distance in front of her. The soft comfort of the warm Spring morning seem to rip away as her blood turned to ice water.

She had witnessed the same scene hundreds of times on mornings just like this; the near daily arrival of medical evacuees from Bush’s little war in Afghanistan. The first rays of a new day glowed a deep blood red behind the big black bird as it came in on the same easterly approach route it always used. With a low anguished cry only she could hear, Camden slowed, then stopped. First bending at the waist, gasping for breath, she slowly crumpled to the ground on her knees, her hands hanging limp at her sides, her face tilted up towards the apparition in the reddening sky. Frozen in place, Camden felt her heart and the world stand still while she watched as the chopper came closer and closer to gently set down. She stayed there while the chopper's engine shut and the hospital crew arrived to assist the flight crew in unloading the handful of wounded soldiers. They went about their business moving the soldiers across the street to the post hospital, oblivious to another soldier off in the dark where the landing lights didn’t reach.

On the other side of the parade field, Smitty and Sean had just come out of the brightly lit diner when they noticed the bright lights of the helipad and heard the thunder of the chopper as it made its landing. As it gently set itself down, there against the backdrop of the spotlighted, huge Red Cross symbol painted on the big bird’s side, they both recognized Camden’s unmistakable figure.

“No, Sean,” Smitty quietly urged, stopping Sean from running towards her as she went to her knees, “She’s okay. I’ve seen her do this a lot of times. Just watch. She’ll get up and go on just as soon as they shut down the helipad lights.”

A few minutes later, the lights went off. Shortly after, Camden rose up to continue her run as if nothing had happened. The two men simply watched as her outline faded from view as she completed her round of the parade field, slowed to a brisk walk and headed off in the direction of her flat.

“What in blood-eh ‘ell was ‘at all abaht, Smitty?” Sean demanded, a puzzled look clouding his face.

“Nobody knows but her, Sean. And Orry. He knows but he ain’t telling,” Smitty explained, “It’s like a ritual she does whenever the medivac chopper comes in with the dawn on its tail. I’ve been running with her when she’s done it and it’s almost as if she doesn’t know she’s doing it. It’s like she does it subconsciously. It’s sort of like she’s waiting for someone to get off that chopper. When the time is right, she just gets up and goes on as if nothing has happened. Not a word to anybody.”

Sean grumbled in wonder as they turned to follow Camden back to her flat.
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Sharpe's Sergeant