Forward Operating Base Delaram Delaram, Afghanistan 32.163889, 63.430833 16, February, 2010 ; 00:13:42
“Happy birthday, baby.”
Her voice comes through the headphones slightly warped, garbled by several thousand miles- redirected through a satellite or two and then passed through an encrypted server to reach him here in one of the most infertile, remote parts of the desert.
But it doesn’t matter. Still melts him just the same as if she’d just rolled over in bed, vocal chords thick with sleep, a hand heavy on his arm. Frank’s face splits into a smile, he’s leaned in so close to the screen that she can probably only see one eye, the broad expanse of his forehead.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
He’s got a hand hovering over the laptop screen, thumb tracing the edge of her face. The picture’s terrible, the connection fluctuates between passable and downright shitty, and even now at one in the morning he’s looking at a near-cubic rendition of his wife, sitting at home in their kitchen. But he doesn’t have to see every line in her face to know that she’s tired.
“How’s my baby girl?”
“A handful,” Maria exhales, eyebrows cinching toward the center of her face. “She won’t go down for her nap.” He can hear the thud of tiny footsteps in the background, a high pitched squeal. “Lisa, come say hi to your daddy,” she tries, exhaustion seeping into her tone. Concern ebbs at Frank’s expression, one hand curling around the back of the screen as if he could pull them closer. He can just barely see the rise of her stomach near the edge of the table. Frank Jr. is due to be born in three months, and barring any immediate national security concerns, Castle should be home in two. Just in time to let Maria settle down, put her feet up, and rest before the second baby comes.
He’s looking forward to that time when he can dote on his girls. Take Lisa to the park to give mommy some much-needed alone time. Swing by the ice cream shop on the way home before dinner, promise to keep it a secret even though he’ll slip and tell his wife later that night anyway.
All of this- all of the things he does each day, grinding through yet another tour in Afghanistan- it makes his time at home all the sweeter. Helps him forget the days soaked through with blood, the feeling of endless grains of sand between his teeth, in every crevice of his body. Makes it easier to make peace with the friends he made out here in the desert that won’t come home with him. That won’t ever come home to anyone. It’s a heaviness he wouldn’t wish on anyone else, which might be part of the reason why he keeps signin’ up each time his commanding officer gives him a call and asks if he’ll come back. ‘Course he will. It’s his duty, hell, may as well be his own personal war at this point. He’s got somethin’ to protect. The gentle frown on his face melts away as Lisa clambers onto her mother’s lap, blonde hair so light and a heart so sweet that he’s sure there’s no way she got any of his genes. No, she’s every bit her mother ( and he wouldn’t have it any other way ).
“Hi baby,” he croons at the screen, grinning at her, fingertips still dragging along the screen where their faces might be. God damn, he misses them so much.
“Hi daddy.” Lisa squirms a little in Maria’s lap, unable to get completely comfortable what with brother taking up all the real estate. She’s got a book in her hands, pressed against her chest- he guesses that’s what she’d been running to get when he’d started the call. “Do you wanna read?”
“Yeah, yeah-” He reaches for a copy of the book in question, eyes hardly able to leave the screen and causing his fingers to fumble at the stock cardboard edges of the cover. “I got my book right here.”
Maria sags against the back of the chair, relief radiating from the slope of her shoulders. One hand rises to stroke at her daughter’s hairline, her gaze fixed firmly at the screen, drinking in the rectangular, pixelated image of her husband some seven thousand miles away, head dipped to read their daughter her favorite story.
Frank’s got the book open, one hand splayed on the first page ( he doesn’t even have to look at it anymore, knows the entire thing by heart- ), the other still affixed to the side of the computer, an anchor to this moment in time. Lisa has her own copy open on her lap, fingers pressed into the paper, studying the picture on the page before looking up, encouraging him to start. There’s a smile curling at the edge of his mouth and Frank almost laughs, shaking his head gently and smoothing down the page ( as weathered and used as it is ).
“One batch, two batch-”