She pulled the thin cardigan tighter around her frail body; the gentle power of the chill that tiptoed quickly up her spine was almost enough to knock her over. It was cold. And she was tired. So incredibly, incredibly tired. It was as if there was nothing inside her - and she didn't know what it was that still kept her functioning every day. "Functioning". That's all she seemed to do now. Function. Just - function.
Like a well-oiled machine whose pistons never missed a beat, he thought in awe. She is amazing. He didn't know what it was that kept her going this way. Her quiet strength was almost super-human. She was impeccable. Her beautiful bronze face always a mask of impenetrability. It never gave anything away. Not her seeming sadness, nor any hidden vulnerability. If there was any joy in her - he had only seen glimpses of it. She was unreadable. Untouchable. Almost - cold. And yet - and yet I like her. I trust her. We all do. There was a hardness to her - and yet, you could almost feel the softness of her perfected edges. Always just beyond reach. Always - just that little bit intangible. Just when you thought you understood her, she goes and does something to surprise, baffle, and confound you. Sometimes he wondered if she did it just for the fun of shocking everyone. Or proving their hard-won preconceptions wrong. Time and again. He also knew he'd never know for sure. Not with her. She was as changeable as the face of the desert.
The cold was almost biting, gnawing steadily into her bones. What was that song? There's no chill... and yet I shiver God! What's with this fragile winter? There was no wind blowing - but the very stale air itself cut through her.
It only lasted a split second, but he saw the shiver shake her. He pulled the thermos out of his bag and offered her the hot tea that had been carefully brewed and packed for them by their ever-smiling, toothless, cook.
She turned it down.
It was still light out - though she could see the sun beginning to slip away from the horizon. Out of respect and a sense of camaraderie, she has opted to fast with this city still in the middle of Ramadan. She couldn't bear to eat or drink when everyone around her was religiously 'going without', and nearly faint from the hardship. If nothing shall pass their lips, nothing shall trespass mine either. She'd been here so long she truly felt a part of them. Like the kidnapped Patty Hearst turning friendly with her captors. She was held captive by this place. But definitely not against her will. This was home now. The only home she cared to know. Everything is transient, and temporary, and in the tension between shifting realities, she has built her fragile cocoon. She felt safest like this. In danger. Where should anything 'go wrong' with her life - it isn't her fault. In taking such responsibility for her life by putting herself in danger like this she was actually relinquishing it. Relinquishing responsibility to life itself. It was illogical, and silly, she knew it. But it was yet another layer of fiction that she told herself in order to survive. She had to keep telling herself stories to make her life bearable. Her empty, empty life.
There is nothing there to touch. If you reached out - she was unreal. But that must be how she likes it, right? Oh he heard the rumours - but she never, never confirmed them. Or spoke about her "affairs". They were private. And sacred. And he wouldn't dream of disrespecting her by asking. Maybe the stories were untrue. She was enough of a figure to build myths on. Whatever the truth - she kept silent on anything not related to work. And no one could crack her. He didn't think anyone would survive the trying. She was incredibly charming, even if detached. Her beauty was legendary, her mind unrelenting. But the soft chocolate curls that framed her delicate face didn't cloak the steely interior that encased her soul. You could see it in her eyes. Cold as steel. Her eyes. Her hard, dead, dead eyes.
His SAT phone sprang to life.
"Two minutes!", the far-away voice yelled out. "Two minutes to hit!!"
He looked at her and before he could even speak, she stood tall, adjusted her lapel mic, and put her earpiece back in.
"I'm ready HQ can call IFB"
Always a pro, he thought impressed again. She's been standing here for hours - and hasn't complained once. She's hungry, she's tired - but she just gets on with it. Wow.
The lights were switched on her and focused, and the framing was reset.
Just as he was about to cue her for air - an explosion tore the early evening so loudly he felt his bones rattle. Another secondary blast - then the cracking sound of gunfire. A constant soundtrack that they still couldn't quite get used to.
"Ishtar!!!"
