Previously:

"...I'm Bette Porter.. reporting to you live... from Baghdad."

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It was dark by the time the dusty GMC rolled to a stop at the checkpoint.  They all automatically stepped out to let the soldiers and guard dogs do their usual inspection of the vehicle.  When the all clear was given, Mike the cameraman got back in to be driven to the parking lot where he could unload the equipment onto a cart and bring it back to the bureau.  Bette and Mohammed decided to walk in from the checkpoint, under the weight of their bulletproof jackets and helmets. 

"Bette!  Bette!!", she called out when she recognized the weary reporter's healthy locks as she removed her helmet.

"Hey Julie...", Bette replied wearily approaching the make-shift guardhouse.

"Long day, huh?  Have you eaten yet?" Julie asked, the concern and adoration plain in her voice. 

"Not yet - I'll break fast when I get to the office everything all right out here today?", Bette asked trying not to sound mechanical. 

"Same old, same old" came the soldier's standard reply.  "How was the blast scene?" she asked as if after details of a casual soiree. 

"Same old, same old ", Bette replied with a sad smile.

"Uhm I hear you guys are getting new peeps in soon you're not leaving are you?" Julie asked nervously, bringing the conversation to what was really on her mind.

"Me?  Leave?  Wouldn't dream of it" Bette tried to joke.  "Just too much work going around, and not enough man-power anymore ", she let her sentence hangnot wanting to give out more information than was necessary.  It wasn't that she didn't trust Julie.  Bette Porter just never said more than was well, necessary.  No matter who she was speaking to.

Mohammed looked at the two women knowingly - and then unobtrusively signaled to Bette that he would walk in ahead of her, thinking she may need some time with the soldier.

"Hang on Mo - I'll be right with you" Bette said to him.

" so shall I come see you tonight?" Julie tried not to sound too excited, afraid to cross the reporter's carefully set, yet unspoken, boundaries.

"Uh I'm too tired tonight Julie.  Maybe tomorrow ", Bette had started to reply.  She didn't think she was up for 'company' tonight - she'd been working for nearly 48 hours straight. 

But she saw the disappointment take over Julie's face at her reply ah heck maybe I could use the distraction.  The release.  Lord knows I'm tense enough to spontaneously combust any moment

"Listen Jule maybe you should come by" she said coolly.

"Same time?" Julie queried, relieved the reporter had had a change of heart.

"same channel." Bette winked at her, then fell in step with Mohammed as they walked away and in toward the bureau.

Heart.  Julie knew that was wishful thinking.  She didn't honestly think she had Bette Porter's heart.  But she damn well was going to keep trying to win it.  She wondered if anyone had ever won it Someone out there must have.   Won it -- and then mercilessly broken it.  There's got to be a reason she is the way she is.  I will make you love me yet, Elizabeth Porter.  Just you wait, she thought hopefully.

"Private Peterson!  You back on earth yet or what?  Stop drooling on your flak, soldier!", her commander yelled out teasingly, calling her back from her reverie.

"Yes sir.  Sorry sir."

"Back to your post soldier."

"Sir."

The ever-reliable Ali greeted them as they walked in the door.

"Chukran Ali", she said warmly, taking the proffered chai from his tray.

"Any news Fred?" she turned to the frazzled producer as she took a comforting sip, and then removed her flak jacket.

"Nothing, alhamdulillah! Thank God there's been nothing new since your last live shot at the bomb scene I think we can call it a night," he said. 

Fred looked just as exhausted as she did.  She knew her package was being cut in NY to give them some downtime and if there were no further developments - then maybe they could all finally get some sleep.  If anyone actually can sleep out here

"Ok great," she said taking a final sip of her chai.  "I think I'll be retiring to my room then - I'm dying for a shower!  You know I think we should try to figure out if anyone sells anti-bomb-residue soap around here - my Neutrogena just isn't cutting it anymore!", she quipped. 

Mo laughed.  He always did.    He never tired of her jokes or her company. 

"Hey Ishtar - don't you worry -," he said matter-of-factly. 

"If there isn't a soap like that in the market yet - I'll figure out a way to manufacture it - just think!  We have a captive market out here - we could make a killing!  Oops wrong choice of words," he joked. 

"But you get what I mean!  We make our fortune on these war-slobs and then we can retire!", he threw in.