“What the fuck is ‘Help mode?’” Lambert growled as soon as the door to the small room was closed.
“It’s a function in the Suit reserved exclusively for the commander – me,” Carol replied coolly, the expression in her eyes different from her usual self. While Hartmann was present, he stared silently, trying to parse what he was witnessing.
“How did you know about it?” The captain crossed his arms, but otherwise softened his voice.
“I activated it by accident the very first time I was inside the Suit. After MSG Hartmann had taken it upon himself to harass me, sir.” Carol gave the him a deliberate look, but a weird feeling was coalescing in the center of Hartmann’s chest. She had shortened and slurred ‘master sergeant’ the same way that the soldiers did, instead of meticulously enunciating each syllable in her usual civilian way. Who was this woman sitting there?
“Why didn’t you report its existence before?” Lambert asked.
“Personal reasons,” she replied curtly.
“I could punish you for withholding pertinent information,” the captain said quietly.
She was unfazed. “Sir, I will accept whatever disciplinary measures that you decide are necessary, but after the success of my mission, I do not believe that separating me from the Suit is a valid course of action.”
“Anything you want to add?” Lambert glanced over at Hartmann, but he shook his head and murmured, “No, sir.” The captain studied Carol closely for a moment, then asked, “So, what does help mode do?”
She explained, her voice unwavering, “It removes emotional blockages and clears the mind’s ability to process and calculate. It also heightens reflexes and decision making.”
“How long do the effects last?” Lambert pulled out his notepad and began writing.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“We’ll keep an eye on you for the next while then.” Lambert then addressed Hartmann, ordering, “Close observation, and take notes of her behavior every …” he glanced down at his watch, “Ten minutes. I want every aspect of this recorded.”
“Yes, sir.” Hartmann echoed, oddly fearful that Carol would never return to her normal self.
“I need to go manage the surveillance and confirmation. Carol, write down every detail that happened while you were out on the mission, then sign it. MSG Hartmann will stay here observing you. Afterwards, you are free to go to the cafeteria to eat, but you must stay there until I come for you.”
“Yes, sir,” Carol and Hartmann said at the same time.
Carol began working on her statement, while Hartmann scribbled down his observations of her, careful to keep his personal thoughts private.
No hint of usual anxiety issues, including fidgeting, nail biting, and other quirks. He already ached to see her draw her teeth over her lower lip, oblivious to the sensuality of the action.
“I’d like to know your first name, MSG,” Carol’s voice broke through the sound of scribbling. “I’d like to know now, before I become too scared to ask again.”
“John.” He met her eyes. “Plain, boring, John.”
She smiled. “Thank you, John Hartmann.”
“Have you …” he said, then uncertain, attempted to begin again, “Are you …”
“I’m still me,” she replied. “More so than usual, actually.”
“Carol, I uh …” What was he trying to say? It was like his entire damn head had shut down, and he was left floundering for how he was supposed to interact with the woman in front of him. She looked like the same person that he had taken in his arms and pressed to his lips, but her behavior was not at all the same. “I congratulate you on your first successful mission,” he finished lamely.
“Is there any surveillance in this room? Hidden cameras, or anything like that?” she asked.
Hartmann shook his head. “No. Such measures would imply distrust. This room is used solely for debriefings, and any recordings are done with everyone’s knowledge.”
“In that case …” Carol stood, stepped over to where Hartmann was, and took his hand. “Thank you for being my friend. I wasn’t sure about you at first, but now …” Her eyelids fluttered and she leaned in for a kiss.
Hartmann hated how intoxicating Carol was for him. He couldn’t push her away, or tell her that he was a manipulative fraud. All he could do was feel and taste her, and hold himself back from pursuing even more of her. Why was he doubting himself despite moving closer to his goal? Was it the change in her demeanor that had him twisted up inside?
She blushed when she pulled away, and they both returned to their writing.
By Autumn Rain 