Pro Bono
By Alicia. Originally posted June 5, 2005 .
The thought that had kept coming back to her, over and over as she packed, was that it was long past time she did something like this, really. Long past time that she stopped defining herself by the men in her life.
Domino sighed, checking the action on the second Glock before she holstered it and put it and its twin in her duffel. One of the benefits of being able to travel overland back to the Sudan - she could take all her own gear with her and not have to worry about customs and the like. Of course, it was also going to take her a ridiculous amount of time to get there, this way.
But then, why did she need to rush? The civil war wasn't going anywhere. And really, she was just crossing Libya.
All of Libya.
"I can't talk you out of this?"
The question came from the doorway, and Domino raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways at Bridge for a moment before she turned her attention back to her packing. Any empty space in your bag? Fill it with ammo, Nathan's voice echoed in her mind. You never know when one more clip will come in handy.
"Sadly, no," she said, when Bridge lingered there watching her, clearly waiting for an answer. "It's not that I don't like Tunis. I'm just bored." She made her voice deliberately flippant, even knowing that it wouldn't fool him for a second. He might not have Nate's telepathy, but he knew her just as well.
Bridge folded his arms across his chest. "Bored and trying to get yourself killed?" he inquired, not quite lightly. She snorted at him, and he sighed, his expression settling into grave lines. "Dom, you're heading back into hell on earth with no good reason..."
"Beg to differ," she said, determinedly chipper, as she zipped up the duffel and lifted it experimentally. Not too heavy. "Just because I'm not getting paid doesn't mean the job's not worth doing."
"I'd come with you."
The offer surprised her. She straightened, blinking at him. "You need to stay here," she said, almost without thinking. But he had to stay here.
She had to know that at least one of them would be here.
Bridge sighed and moved forward into the room. Domino didn't move as he raised a hand to touch the side of her face for a moment, the gesture both tender and unconsciously paternal. "Promise me you'll be careful." She opened her mouth to give that a flippant answer, but he shook his head, a quick, tight movement. "Promise me. Luck won't always save you."
"I know that," she said, her voice subdued. She reached up and took his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. "I'll watch my back, GW. Don't worry so much. And yes," she said, mustering a faint smile. "I know that's like telling the wind not to blow."
"Well, I have to worry for two, now."
~*~
It was real desert. What you thought of when you thought of the Sahara, even if it was a stereotype - vast dunes, stretching out into the distance as far as the eye could see. Almost a sea of sand, and Domino adjusted her sunglasses, grimacing at the sound of sand sliding out from under the tires of the Land Rover.
The driver, a lean, scarred man who seemed incapable of repeating his name above a mutter, didn't seem concerned. Hell, Domino thought in vague amusement, she ought to take his example. After all, even if the whole side of the dune slid away and took them with it, she'd probably walk away without a scratch. Hurray for luck.
The convoy she was traveling with were smugglers, and really made no attempt to hide it. She hadn't asked what was in the larger trucks, mostly because she didn't really care. Their business didn't interest her; the fact that they could get her and her gear into the Sudan with no questions asked was the only important thing here. And they'd been quite amenable to the idea of taking her along for the ride when she'd waved the money under their noses.
It was going to be a very long five days. She was the only woman in the group, and had already been forced to be very ostentatious about the fact that she was a) armed to the teeth and b) preferred to spend her evenings alone, thank you very much. If she was very lucky, they'd get across the Sudan border before she had to actually shed anyone's blood.
A soft laugh slipped out, earning her a wary sideways look from the driver. She bared her teeth at him cheerfully and unscrewed the lid of her canteen to take a sip.
She noticed the definite reddish tinge to her pale skin as she raised her arm, and frowned. Burning already. Charming. She really needed to look into a better quality sunscreen one of these days.
Skin that color and purple eyes... where do you come from, anyway? a familiar, amused voice echoed out of her memory. The image that accompanied it was crystal-clear. Pete, comfortably slouched in a certain back booth in a certain pub in Dublin. Relaxed, or as relaxed as he ever got, but still keeping one eye on the door. Been trying to figure that out. I've noticed the British accent that comes and goes...
Hong Kong, had been her airy reply.
Before that, he'd retorted, amused.
I don't remember.
Really?
No, not really.
Part of her wished now that she'd told him the truth.
~*~
"So precisely what is that you're hoping to accomplish here, Dom?"
Domino opened her mouth, then closed it again, trying not to flush at the tolerant, wearily amused tone of the question. "Something productive, I hope," she finally said, rather than the flippant answer that had almost come out.
She got a smile out of her host at that, at least. Paul looked just as careworn as he had a couple of months ago, when it hadn't been just her knocking on his door, but the whole Pack. Not at all surprised to see her, either, which made her think that GW had gone behind her back and sent a message to his old friend to expect her. Damned mother hen...
Paul confirmed it with his next words. "GW suggested that you might be arriving this week," the former SGRS agent said lightly. Domino didn't know what precisely had transpired in Paul Dedecker's life to make him leave Belgian intelligence for the equally uncertain life of an African aid worker, but she knew how to read people and if there was any sort of double game at work here, she'd eat her hat. "He asked me to offer you a place to stay and some advice."
"Oh?" Domino asked a bit sourly, at the last. Thanks, GW. Still need a minder, do I? "I mean," she said, setting her duffel down and following Paul deeper into the house, "I do appreciate the offer of a bed. I don't get the sense that sleeping alone is a good idea here in Nyala these days." Paul gave her an amused look, and she flushed. "I mean... oh, damn it, you know what I mean. Heard people talking about disappearances on the street and the like."
Okay, what the hell was with her? She should have made a joke about the unintentional innuendo. The trip must have frayed her nerves more than she'd realized. And the drive into Nyala, through one of the refugee camps, had reminded her all too sharply of that last mission here.
That would be the one that gave you screaming nightmares for weeks? Nathan's voice asked her wryly. And you liked to call me a masochist.
Oh, shut up.
"Disappearances? What, here?" Paul joked, but his pale blue eyes turned serious. "It is safer by far for you to stay with me, yes," he said, running a hand through slightly shaggy blond hair, turned nearly white by the sun. "It's best for foreigners in Darfur to stick together these days. I certainly wouldn't mind the company. I do have local staff but they don't stay at nights."
"Why?"
"Their families tend to be targets," was his reply as they reached the tiny, somewhat dingy kitchen. Paul waved a hand at one of the cracked plastic chairs. He busied himself preparing tea, and Domino smiled a little. So many of GW's old friends were tea-freaks. She'd always found that kind of funny. "So I can offer you 'safer' but not 'safe'. There's no safety here, not these days."
"I wasn't really looking for safe, Paul," Domino said, a bit too lightly, and then twitched as he did look at her, his eyes narrowing a little. Oh, it was that look. The look that Nate and GW and every older man who'd lived a certain kind of life insisted on directing at her whenever they were questioning her intentions.
"So long as you're not looking for some casual action to pass the time," he warned her. "If there's one thing this country doesn't need any more of, it's violence."
"On the contrary," Domino said with a defensive little smile, "I think a little strategically directed violence might do it a whole lot of good."
~*~
You didn't expect good water pressure in strife-torn African countries. You just didn't. Local infrastructure went the way of everything else in places like this, and so she really shouldn't be cursing the sink just because it was only giving her a trickle of water.
The blood would come off. She just needed to keep scrubbing.
"Domino?" The light came on, and she flinched instinctively. Paul stood there in the doorway, gazing at her in shock that quickly turned into something brisk and purposeful. "Are you hurt?" he asked, coming in slowly. Very slowly, as if he wasn't sure of her reaction.
Did she look that edgy? Now that the light was on, she could see herself in the cracked mirror. The violet eyes staring back at her were a bit... wide, maybe. But she was just feeling a little... overly alert. Really. "Paul," Domino said a bit shakily, doggedly scrubbing her hands beneath the trickle of water. "I didn't hear you get up. I thought..." Thought he'd been asleep? Of course he'd have woken up when she'd arrived back at the house. He wouldn't have survived for long in this place if he'd been a heavy sleeper, she suspected.
"I heard you come in. Are you all right?" he repeated, reaching out a hand and laying it tentatively on her shoulder. She managed to squelch her instincts and not lash out. No crippling one's host. Very bad manners, that.
"Oh, I'm fine. None of it's mine. The blood, I mean." Almost none of it, at least. She clenched her jaw, staring into the sink instead of looking at him.
"Where have you been?" His voice was even softer.
"Outside town." She owed him. She'd been very careful, made sure she wasn't followed either there or on the way back. Certainly, no one from that group of Janjaweed she'd met tonight was going to show up to harass Paul for his connection to her, but that didn't mean she didn't owe him the truth. If for no other reason than the fact that he'd warned her. "Found a militia encampment. They were..." Her voice failed her, all at once.
"I'm assuming they aren't anymore?"
For some reason, it made her laugh. Not the nice, amused sort of laughter. More like the hysterical sort, and even when Paul's arms went around her from behind, hugging her gently, she was finding it awfully hard to stop.
"You sound like... like someone I used to know," she managed to choke out. Pete would have said the same sort of thing. In just about the same sort of tone, too.
She didn't want to think about what else he would have said. Because it would have been right, the precise words she needed to hear to take that mental step back and remember that perspective was a good thing.
But he wasn't here to say anything. And he never would be again.
Paul murmured to her in French - what, she wasn't sure, but just the tone of his voice was enough to soothe her, let her get herself at least somewhat under control. The laughter died to hiccuping sobs, and she tried to concentrate on breathing and calming the rest of the way down.
Think. She had to think. "I wasn't followed," she made herself say, her voice hoarse. "Made sure of that. But I'll leave if you want me to. Just in case. I don't want to bring you any trouble, Paul."
"You're not going anywhere. GW would have my head if I let you leave in this state." Paul just sounded weary, now. "Damn it, Dom. What are you doing to yourself?"
She pulled away from him, all her defenses coming up again, walls raising seemingly of their own accord. "To myself?" she asked, the words coming out sounding strangled. "You should ask me what I did to them. I really didn't know I was that creative, Paul. Kind of surprised myself."
"How many?"
He asked the oddest questions. "Twelve," she muttered, moving back to the sink. Her hands were shaking. "Twelve of them, and four women. Did I say women? Girls. I think the oldest must have been about seventeen. I'm not absolutely sure. They'd beaten the shit out of her. I guess she must have fought. The others weren't. Fighting, I mean. They were just..." Her throat tried to close, but she forced the words out. "They'd just come out of their camp to get water. I heard one of the bastards say something about that." Gloating. Her jaw clenched so tight that the muscles started to ache. Well, he wasn't gloating anymore. Not screaming, either, although he'd done quite a bit of that.
Paul sighed. "It happens," he said very quietly. "It happens almost daily. The militia wait just outside the camps. I see them every time I drive in. But the women don't really have any choice, Dom," he went on, sounding pained. "If the men come out, the Janjaweed will very often kill them. The women have a better chance of surviving. And there's no alternative. They and their families need food and water, and the supplies in the camps aren't-"
"Then do your fucking job!" she raged at him suddenly, the anger exploding outwards now that it had found a handy target. "You and the other aid workers, you're supposed to be looking after these people, not fucking leaving them to be kidnapped and tortured! You-"
"Stop." Paul's voice was utterly calm, the only hint of emotion there sadness, rather than anger. "Don't you think I know that? That we all do?" He shook his head, reaching out and taking her by the shoulders. His grip was light, but firm. Somehow enough to restrain her. "You don't want a lecture on how and why we don't have enough support to do what needs doing here. That's not what you want."
"Oh, so you're a mindreader now? Don't be a condescending ass," she said, more miserably than angrily. Wondering why she wanted to step forward and just... crumple against him. She wanted to be held, wasn't that pitiful? And the shakes were getting worse, not better. What the fuck was wrong with her? This wasn't the sort of after-action reaction she usually had.
Then again, when there were people who needed to be dead, she usually just killed them. Quickly and professionally, rather than taking her time.
Nate would be chiding her for her lack of professionalism tonight. She almost wished he was there to do that.
"Are they all dead?" Paul asked quietly.
"Quite. I left them there... for their friends to find." Domino faltered again, turning away, back to the sink. "It's not going to help anything, is it?"
"No." Back to the calm voice. Where did he get that kind of patience, living in the middle of all of this? Domino thought wildly, scrubbing at her hands. "I told you that, Dom. All you did tonight was jump headlong into the whole cycle of violence... which is a cliche, yes, but that doesn't mean it's not true."
She knew enough about local customs to know that she might have saved the three surviving girls, but only from the immediate danger. There was every possibility that their own families would turn them out if they found out what had happened to them, and with some of the things that had been done to them, it would be blatantly obvious. And if they were cast out, left to fend for themselves, they'd only be more vulnerable...
"I shouldn't have come." Domino choked on the words. The blood wasn't coming off. And she honestly didn't know what she was going to do with her clothes. "I'm sorry, Paul, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing."
"Just... coming at things from the wrong angle, maybe." He touched her shoulder again. "You're not going to solve this place's ills by killing people, Dom. Even when they deserve it."
"But?"
"But there are other ways."
She looked around at him, blinking back tears - tears! Fuck. "What?" she asked shakily.
Paul's smile was abrupt. "Protect them, instead?" he suggested, his voice light but the look in his eyes very serious. "I'm not supposed to be encouraging displacing people, but..."
"But?"
"Some of the people here would have a better chance in some of the camps in Chad."
Domino swallowed, raising a hand to rub her eyes - but remembering in time why that wasn't such a good idea. "I bet..." She stopped, coughing to clear her throat. "I bet they're awfully vulnerable on the trip there, aren't they?"
"Indeed they are."
"Properly directed violence, then." She managed a wobbly smile. "What did I say when I got here?"
