AND TOUCH THE FACE OF GOD

Part 2:

By Moviegirl

XII - Scars

Bridget awoke to the warmth of the sun filtering through the blinds; as she slowly came to awareness, she also felt the warmth of Lachlan's bare skin beneath her cheek, and heard the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. He stirred slightly, and she kissed the spot over his heart softly. "Shhh," she soothed him, and he settled again, his arm still wrapped around her.

After his breakdown the night before, she had led him into the small room at the back of the dispensary. Normally, it was only used for station workers who needed to sleep it off, or occasionally by Bridget herself when she was too tired to drive home. But she knew Lachlan was in no shape to go home, or back to the garage, and she needed to stay with him - not just for his sake, but for her own as well. Seeing him standing there when she came in made her realize how much she had missed him; she'd convinced herself that it was the natural concern one would have for a good mate, but the spot in her heart that ached every day he was gone kept telling her otherwise.

When had her childhood friend, the friend who threw mud at her during rainstorms and pulled on her hair, become something else to her? He was Lachlan - the same Lachlan she'd grown up with, and played with, who had made good-natured fun of her when she showed up at the house one day wearing her first training bra. But somewhere along the way, her feelings of friendship and caring had deepened into something more, something much more serious.

She had been unsure last night; she didn't know if she was doing the right thing initiating anything with him, and Lord knows he looked terrified as she closed the door behind them. Moonlight was streaming through the window, but she could still only see him in shadows. When she moved to turn on a light, he once again pleaded with her to keep them off. This time she had acquiesced, but for purely selfish reasons; he looked so ethereal, so beautiful in the moonlit shadow, it made her heart jump. The tears in his eyes shimmered in the light as she walked over to him.

Saying nothing, she took hold of the hem of her light cotton sundress and lifted it off over her head. As she stood before him in her underthings, she saw his lips part in protest. "Shh," she whispered, then removed her bra and panties, finally standing before him naked. She took his hand. "Touch me," she said gently, placing his hand on her breast. "This is life, Lachlan. Home. You're safe. And you're loved. Let me show you." One hand over his on her breast, she touched his hair with her other hand and brushed her lips against his. She felt him shiver, and breathed, "Don't be afraid."

"I am," he whispered as her lips moved to suck gently on his earlobe, then trail down to his throat, her tongue licking at his pulse point. He gasped slightly, looking up at the ceiling and willing his heart to slow down.

Bridget pulled away slightly and stroked his cheek. "Lachlan, would you take off your clothes for me? I want to see you."

"I can't," he rasped.

"There's no shame here. I want to see you. I want to know it all. I've bared myself to you, luv, you can trust me. You're safe," she repeated.

"No lights," he said in a barely audible voice.

"No lights," she agreed, and watched his hands shake as he took off his flannel shirt. "It's all right, luv," she encouraged him as he pulled his t-shirt from his trousers. He hesitated, the t-shirt fabric balled in his fists at the hem. "Let me see you," she asked. "Trust me. It'll be a burden shared."

He pulled the t-shirt over his head, and she couldn't help but gasp at the sight of the scars that stretched from his chest to his stomach; they seemed to mostly be from burns or razor cuts, but others were wide and jagged, and she didn't even want to think of how they were made.

Lachlan heard her gasp, and immediately moved to put the shirt back on.

"No, luv, don't," she said.

"I'm disgusting," he muttered.

She took the shirt gently from his hand before he had to chance to get it over his head. "You are not," she replied, a tear escaping down her cheek. "You're home, and you're strong, and you're beautiful." She pressed her lips tenderly to a large scar on his chest; she felt him flinch, but she moved, undeterred, to kiss another scar a few inches away. She looked up into his eyes. "God, I hate them."

"Don't," he said suddenly, taking her face in his hands.

"What? Lachlan…"

"I've been hating them enough for the whole world, and I think I've just realized something. If I keep hating them, they win," he told her. "You deserve better than me. At least the way I've been since I came back."

Bridget smiled. "Well, I've never been known for wanting what's good for me, y'know."

Lachlan stroked the skin of her cheeks with his thumbs. "I don't think there's anyone who's good enough for my Bridge." He leaned down and captured her lips with his. "But, God I want to try to be. I want to try," he murmured as he kissed her again, more hungrily.

Her head was spinning; she'd never been kissed like this. She'd been with a couple of men before, but those times were either silly teenage fumblings in the back of a ute or quick, lusty bursts of sexual energy. With Lachlan, Bridget felt like her very soul was being joined to his through the union of their lips and tongues.

And the boy certainly knew how to kiss - soft and demanding, hungry but a little frightened. Bridget wasn't sure she'd last through the entire lovemaking process, but she was determined to give it a go. Her hands trailed down his bare chest and around his waist, her fingers trailing up and down along his spine, then sliding down into his still-loose jeans to cup his rear. He gasped, and pulled away slightly. "Easy," she said softly. "It's all right."

"Bridge…" He rested his forehead against hers. "They…there were things…things they did…"

Her hands still inside his trousers, she moved one of them around to the front, her fingers gently touching their goal. "We can undo them. Together. Tell me to stop," she panted as she worked her fingers a bit more. "If it's too much, tell me to stop."

"No…" he groaned as she licked, then kissed, his lower lip. "It's good," he sighed as she undid his trouser button and unzipped his fly.

She gently slid his pants and shorts down, and he stepped out them instinctively. "Well, well," she smiled. "Haven't seen that since we were five and played doctor. She brushed the backs of her fingers against his cheek. "My, how you've grown."

He laughed nervously as she took his hand and led him to the bed. She laid down, not letting go of his hand. "We'll do whatever you want, luv," she said. "You're in charge. Just know that I love you, and I want you."

He swiped a tear from his cheek with the back of his free hand. "I don't know if I can love," he said sadly.

"I think you can. I believe that. And I can believe it enough for both of us for now." She kissed his hand. "Until you believe it, too."

He nodded, unable to reply, and got into bed. "I want to believe it. Reckon that's a start," he whispered to her as he settled on top of her, his arms on either side of her head.

"It's a very good start," she replied as his lips descended on hers.

* * *

Lachlan stirred again, his eyes opening languidly. Bridget reached up and delicately brushed his hair back as he blinked. Looking down at her, he smiled as she then traced the scar on his face. "Yeah, definitely rakish."

"Got plenty more where that came from," he muttered sleepily.

"Well, Boris, I love each and every one of 'em," she replied, kissing the scar on his chest.

"Bridge?"

"Yeah?" she said, propping herself up on an elbow.

"I don't know if I can ever get back to…normal."

"What's normal, Lach? You're never going to be the same boy you were when you went away to Canada. You're a man now, and you've seen war and all that goes with it. There is no normal. But I think we can get back to all right." She laid her hand on his chest. "All these scars…they just cover up what's inside. The scars may go pretty deep, but we can make 'em fade a bit as we go along."

He nodded. "Bridge, I…"

She stopped him with a gentle kiss. "I know, luv. I know," she said.

They laid silently for a few moments, then Lachlan said, "That's three."

"Sorry?"

"That's three times you've saved me."

She grinned. "They say the third time's the charm."

To her surprise, he grinned right back, and rolled on top of her. "Y'know, I'm starting to believe that, luv. I'm actually starting to believe that."

XIII - Eye of the Storm

Mary Curry followed Bridget as she walked down the hall to Lachlan's room. "But, I don't understand. Why won't he come home? It's been over a week, and I haven't heard a word from him! He needs to be here, with his family!"

Bridget stuffed some shirts and pants into the duffel bag she found on the floor. "No offense meant, Mary, but his family is part of the problem." She turned and looked at Mary evenly.

"That's impossible. How can we be part of the problem? What problem?" Mary asked innocently.

"Oh, for God's sake, Mary. Wake up, will ya? This has been brewing for so long, blind Freddy coulda seen it comin'," Bridget said exasperated. "But you've been hiding your head in the sand."

"I have done no such thing," Mary snapped defensively. "I know Lachlan's been hard done by since he got back, but I thought if…well, if we all just acted like everything was all right…"

"Everything's not all right, Mary," Bridget sighed. "He's not all right. And he won't be if he stays here, with you forcing him to pretend he's fine, and Geordie…Oh, never mind. I gotta go."

Following her again, Mary begged, "At least tell me where he is. Please, Bridget."

"Don't bother, Mum. He ain't worth it," Geordie said as he walked out of the kitchen. "Ask me, it's good riddance to bad rubbish. He isn't your Lachlan anymore. That bloke's dead, Mum. Dead and gone."

Mary turned to Geordie, and slapped him hard. "Don't you ever say that again. Do you hear me, George? He may not be exactly the same, but he's still my Lachlan. I don't care if he's changed. I know that deep down, he's still the decent fella he always was. That you could be if you gave it a go."

Bridget smiled. "Now, that's a step in the right direction, Mary. There's hope for you yet. You," she said, addressing Geordie, "He shoulda busted your flamin' jaw. Least it'd be wired shut."

* * *

Lachlan looked out the tiny window of his room off Henderson's garage, resting his head against the cool glass. The sky was darkening - a sure sign of a summer storm coming. The Wet was beginning, which meant a good three months of flooding, nasty red mud, and a lot of work for a mechanic.

"Storm's comin,'" a voice behind him said.

"Yeah," he replied, turning to face his father. "G'day, Dad."

"G'day, son. How's the hand?"

"Still sore as hell," he said sheepishly. "Look, Dad…"

"He had it comin'," Jock said simply. "He's a horror."

"He didn't have that comin'. Not from his own brother. I don't have the face to apologize in person, so could you tell him I'm sorry?"

"No. You have the courage to do just about anything ya set your mind to, son." Lachlan stared in disbelief at his father. Jock chuckled. "Shut your cake-hole, Lach. There's flies about." He walked over to Lachlan and sat down on the tiny cot next to the window. "When I was a Digger in France during the last war, I saw some things meself. Things I never thought anyone could understand if I told them. They wouldn't even believe me, I reckoned." He shook his head as Lachlan sat down next to him. "The things men can do to each other, in the name of what? Power, is what. Nothin' but power. They do it because they can. That's what George is like, I'm ashamed to say. There's people in this world that'll look for a weakness, and then just…pounce." He looked at his son for a moment. "You've seen things, too. They're still there, in your eyes. Yeah, you saw things even worse than I did. 'Cause they were being done to you."

To Lachlan's shock, Jock reached over and put his hand on his shoulder. "Shoulda told you this the minute I saw you at the big, Godawful ceremony. I truly am proud of you. Proud to call you my son, proud of the man you are. And nothing…nothing will change that. And you take whatever time, or distance from us, you need to get yourself better." He ruffled Lachlan's hair, then suddenly leaned over and kissed the top of his head as he rose from the cot. "Just wanted to tell you that."

As Jock walked away, Lachlan called, "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm proud of you, too."

"Should hope so," Jock winked, a sly grin on his face. He turned to go, but his smile faded.

"Dad? What's wrong?" Lachlan rose and started toward him.

"Y'hear that?" He tilted his head. "Sounds like the emergency radio."

Lachlan's eyebrows rose. "There's one in the garage. Didn't even think it worked." He and Jock walked to the garage, listening as the crackling, half-static sound continued. "Over there." He gestured toward the corner and made his way to it as Jock leaned against one of the benches.

Lachlan sat down in front of the radio. "How's the bloody thing work? Oh, I see…" He grabbed a handset, and flicked a switch. "Hello?" he said into the handset.

"Five…niner…down…" were the only words he could make out, but they were enough. "Say again?" he said loudly into the radio. "You're breaking up. Switch to frequency 450 khz. Repeat, switch to frequency 450 khz."

Lachlan quickly dialed to the frequency he mentioned as his father watched, fascinated. This was a man he hadn't seen since Lachlan had returned: businesslike, highly efficient, completely calm and in control.

"Hello? This is Bravo Six-Five-Niner. Aerial Medical Service. I've gone down, about ten kilometres northeast of the Henderson Station. Storm's blowing up somethin' fierce. Over."

"Bravo-Six-Five-Niner, can you contact the Medical Service? They can send someone, over," Lachlan said, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers.

"Radio's down there. Nothin' but static. Most likely everybody's gone. The wet gets things real busy, over."

"Poor bloke," Jock muttered, earning a glare from his son.

"Uh…what's your name, mate? Over."

"Clive Albans. Who's this? Over."

"My name's Lachlan. I'm a mechanic on the station. Are you hurt?"

"Think my leg's busted. Over."

Lachlan sighed loudly. "You said you were ten kilometres northeast of the station?" He pulled a map out from under the radio. "Can you give me coordinates? Over."

As Lachlan and the stranded pilot exchanged technical jargon, Jock watched and smiled. He'd just told his son he was proud of him, and he got the feeling he was going to have even more reason to be. He reached into his shirt pocket, and whispered, "Oi." Lachlan looked over at him, and Jock tossed him a pen.

"Ta," he mouthed to his father as he started to write. When he'd finished writing down the coordinates, he said, "Listen, Clive, I don't know what I can do to help you. All of Henderson's pilots are out rounding up the flocks to bring 'em closer to the station with this storm comin'. Over."

"Yeah, well it's comin' for you, it's bloody well here where I am, mate. And the water's already starting to pool. Over."

Lachlan put his head down on the table for a moment; Jock could see he was close to hyperventilating. He took a deep breath, then said into the radio, "I'm about ninety minutes out from you, mate. Can you get to higher ground? Over."

"If I bloody well have to crawl, I will. Wait a tick, you're coming? Thought you said you were a mechanic. Over."

"Any port in a storm, mate. 'Course, I could always wait til one of the real pilots come back," he said sarcastically, then smiled and added, "Over."

"Very funny, mate. You kidding? When I see you, I'm gonna kiss your ugly mug. Over."

"That'd be reason to stay away, but I'm comin' anyway. Sit tight. Out." Lachlan switched the radio off, and stood up - then immediately sat back down again.

Jock walked over to him quickly. "Lach? Son, you all right?"

"Yeah, just give me a tick. Aw, shit, Dad, what did I just do?" Lachlan looked up into his father's face pleadingly. "Dad…what am I gonna do?"

Jock gripped Lachlan's shoulders and helped him stand. "I reckon what you feel you have to do, son."

Lachlan took another breath, trying to calm his pounding heart. "I reckon."

"I'll give you a lift to the shed."

"Yeah." He rolled his eyes, and laughed nervously. "Let's go, before I change me mind, eh?"

XIV - Heart of Gold, Will of Iron

"He what?" Bridget shrieked, making Jock cringe.

"Bridget, calm down."

Her eyes shot daggers at Jock. "All right, I'm calm. How long ago did he leave?"

"Three hours. He should be on his way back by now. Wanted me to tell you the bloke he spoke to had a busted leg. He thinks very highly of you, you know," Jock said with a smile.

"Thinks highly of me, does he? Well, let him tell me that when I'm wringing his bloody neck! What the bloody hell was he thinking?" She paced back and forth for a moment. Turning to Jock, she asked, "How did he seem?"

"Terrified." Jock squeezed Bridget's arm. "But determined. Sound like someone we know?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling thinly.

"Bridget, thanks for takin' care of my boy," Jock said suddenly.

"What?"

"Thanks for takin' care of Lachlan. Lord knows his own family didn't do a bloody thing for the poor bloke. But you…you saw what was happening with him - to him - and you stepped in when we wouldn't." He smiled, his hand still on her arm, and winked. "You've always been like family to me, luv, but I think I'm gonna like actually having you in the family."

"Oh, leave off, Jock," Bridget snorted. "What're you talking about?"

"You love him."

"'Course I love him. We've been best mates since we were little kids," she said.

"Yeah, but you're not little kids anymore," he replied, waggling his eyebrows. He was silent for a moment, then added, "You're good for him, Bridget. And he'll be good for you, too, if he can get through this rough patch. He's a battler, my Lach. Heart of gold. Didn't really see that until lately. He's always just seemed to, I dunno, glide through life. Smile on his face, and all that rubbish. But I reckon maybe he just hid things better than most." He shook his head. "Took it all for granted. How could we do that to him?"

"Don't beat yourself up, Jock. Lachlan's just that kinda bloke, y'know. He's the one everyone else leans on, but he never leans on anyone back."

"Until now," Jock corrected her. "Until you."

"Yeah, well…he's learning." Bridget smiled. "He's a tough nut to crack, but he's learning." Sighing, she leaned against the wall. "Jock, look at it out there. You can't see your hand in front of your face, and the flooding…" She looked out the window; the storm had arrived with a fury, the rain slashing in every direction, falling like a demolished wall. The dry outback ground, unable to soak up the rain as it fell, spat it back, forming swirling reddish-brown rivers. "How's he gonna land?"

"Very carefully?" Jock suggested lamely.

She smirked at him. "Funny. Now I know where he gets it from. Have you heard anything on the radio?"

"Not a word. Everything's out." As he said the words, the lights in the garage flickered, and went out. "And I mean, everything. There's torches over here," he said, walking carefully in the dark to a cabinet.

"How many we got?"

"Dunno. Why?"

"We need to build a runway, Jock. He's gonna need light to get down safely. We'll set it up far enough from the shed so it won't be in the way, and to give him plenty of room. So, how many?"

Jock turned on two large flashlights. "Let's see…five, six, seven…I'd say about a dozen in here."

"Gonna have to do. Let's go." Bridget grabbed up an armful of the flashlights; Jock followed her out into the storm.

* * *

Two more hours passed, and still no sign of the plane, or any word on the radio. Jock turned to say something to Bridget, and saw her sitting with her hands folded on the workbench, her head bowed, lips moving in silent prayer. He walked over to her, and placed his hand gently on the top of her head. "Remember what I told you, luv. He's a battler."

She looked up at him and smiled slightly. "Yeah, well, a little help never hurt, eh?" Suddenly, she jumped to her feet, nearly knocking Jock over in the process. "Did you hear that?" She ran to the window again. "Oh, my God, I think…Jock, c'mon!"

Before he could open his mouth, Bridget had grabbed Jock's hand and dragged him outside into the howling storm. "I can't see anything!" he shouted over the wind. "Are you sure - " He looked up, and suddenly saw two tiny points of light not too far in the distance. "There!" he shouted, pointing. "I see it!"

"We need to stay back," Bridget bellowed, pulling Jock back toward the shed. "Give him more space." She gasped as she saw the plane barely come into view through the wall of rain. "His left engine's on fire," she said, crossing herself. The plane tilted wildly as flames somehow managed to keep streaking from the engine, despite the rain and wind that slammed into the tiny aircraft from every side.

"C'mon, boy, you can do it," Jock murmured. God, help my son, please, he added silently. "C'mon, Lach."

Bridget grabbed Jock's hand and held it tightly, and together, they watched as the small plane slammed down on the ground precisely within the fading lights of their makeshift flashlight "runway." The landing gear collapsed beneath it, and the plane skidded wildly, then suddenly righted itself, finally sliding to a jolting stop just a few feet from the shed.

Bridget and Jock ran to the plane, and Jock removed his coat to beat on the dying flames of the engine as Bridget looked to the occupants. Lachlan was slumped forward in the pilot's seat, but Bridget noticed his shoulders were shaking, and his hands were still gripping the wheel.

"Lachlan!" she shouted over the shrieking wind. "Lachlan, talk to me, luv!"

He lifted his head, tilting it back and looking over at her; a cut over his right eyebrow was bleeding, the blood mingling with the rain running down his face to make it look worse. But what surprised Bridget the most was that Lachlan was laughing. Taking his face in her hands, she tried to force him to focus on her. "Lachlan!" she shouted again.

"Well, fart a crowbar," Lachlan giggled hysterically. "I made it! Bridge, I did it."

Bridget smoothed his hair back, the rain plastering it to his head. "Yeah, luv, you did."

His face turned dark. "Don't muck about with me, see to the other bloke. Leg's busted up pretty bad…gotta be hurtin' something awful by now."

Bridget nodded as Jock came over, having extinguished the fire. She gestured to him to tend to his son as she checked on the man Lachlan had rescued.

Jock leaned over and said, "C'mon, son, let's get you outta there. Give us a hand." He reached out to him, and saw that Lachlan's hands were still in a death grip on the steering wheel. "Lachlan…son, you can let go now." He started to wrap his hands around Lachlan's wrists, but stopped when he noticed his son's left arm was bent at an odd angle. "Oh my," he breathed.

Lachlan looked at his father sheepishly. "Can't move it, Dad. I think it's broken," he said, his voice barely audible over the wind.

"It's all right, son," Jock answered as he carefully pried Lachlan's right hand from the wheel. "Nothin' to be embarrassed about at all. I'm going to have to move your hand, all right? It's gonna hurt." Jock watched as tears welled up in his son's eyes. Lachlan nodded silently, looking at his father with a trust that nearly broke Jock's heart.

"I'll try not to hurt you too much," he whispered as he gently took hold of Lachlan's left wrist and uncurled his fingers from the wheel. Lachlan hissed in pain, squeezing his eyes shut until the tears were forced down his cheeks. "It's all right, almost done," Jock said soothingly as he pried the last finger loose, and Lachlan's broken arm fell limply into his lap. He gasped and grabbed it with his free hand. "Easy now. Okay, can you stand?" Biting his lower lip, Lachlan nodded, and Jock half-lifted him from the cockpit.

Lachlan's legs buckled slightly as he touched solid ground, and Jock wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him. "Bridget, I'm taking him inside, then I'll help you with other bloke."

"You should take him first, Dad. I'm all right," Lachlan protested when he saw Bridget give Jock the "Okay" sign.

Jock shook his head violently. "No. Nothing comes before my son. Not anymore," he said firmly, then tenderly led his son in out of the rain.
 

XV - A Brand New Day

Lachlan could feel the warmth of the sun on his eyelids as he awoke; when he opened his eyes, the sunlight coming through the blinds was so bright, he nearly slammed them shut again. Last thing I remember, it was pitch dark and pouring down rain, he mused as he turned his head away from the dispensary window. A sleepy smile spread across his face when he saw Bridget seated in the chair next to him, fast asleep, her head resting partially on his pillow.

Bridget felt him move, and immediately awoke herself. "Hi there," she grinned at him.

"G'day," he yawned.

"A very good day," she replied.

"And a brand new one, from the looks of it. How long have I been asleep?" He started to stretch, and regretted it as nearly every muscle in his body protested at the same time - not to mention his broken arm. He looked down at the cast that covered it from the second knuckle to his upper arm, and sighed. "There goes my career busking at the train station."

Bridget smirked. "Yeah. Sorry, but you'll never play the violin again." She played with his hair. "Seriously, though, it's not a very bad break at all. Quite clean, really. It must've just snapped from the jolt of the landing."

"No, it was busted before that."

"You're joking," she cringed.

"No. The wind blew a rock into the engine. It sparked and caught fire. It was just a small explosion, but it was enough to slam us about a bit. I heard me arm snap before I felt it."

"Oh, Lach," Bridget sighed. "How did you keep it on the steering wheel like that?"

"Hurt too much to try and take it off," he chuckled. When he saw she wasn't laughing, he said, "I'm sorry. Reckon that's not very funny. How's the pilot I found? He all right?"

"Yeah, the flying doctors came for him as soon as the storm cleared up. His leg's pretty bad, but he'll be all right. Thanks to you." She ruffled his hair. "And I don't want to hear any nonsense about how it was nothing. I'm so proud of you, I could explode." She leaned over and kissed him sweetly on the lips, her face hovering over his.

He reached up with his good hand and touched her hair, his eyes still closed. "God, Bridge, I was so scared," he whispered.

"I can't even imagine," she whispered back. "But you did it anyway."

She sat back in her chair as he said, "I couldn't leave him out there. I…it reminded me of when I got shot down. There I was - well, there we were, Thad and me - and we had nobody to help us. Nobody to come and get us. Thad got a bad whack on the head, and my leg was busted, so we didn't have much of a chance of outrunning the bastards. I mean, this fella didn't have Nazis on his trail - he had nature." Lachlan was silent for a moment, looking down and picking at a piece of lint on his blanket. "Dunno which is worse."

"Well, if you ask me, it looks like you beat them both," Bridget said.

Lachlan's face brightened a bit. "Yeah, maybe so," he said softly.

There was a knock at the door, and Bridget and Lachlan turned to see Sam peek around the door. "Mind if I come in?" he asked cheerfully.

"G'day, Sam. Come on in," Bridget replied before Lachlan could stop her. "Lach, you remember Sam, right?"

"Hello, Lachlan," Sam said as he held out his hand.

Lachlan shook it. "G'day. You haven't been hangin' about all this time since I saw you, have you?"

"No, I hitched a ride with the doctors who came to get Clive yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Lachlan exclaimed. "Crikey, how long have I been out?"

"A little over twenty-six hours," Bridget said softly. "You were just rooted, luv. You slept a whole day away." She could see his concern, and added, "But you're fine. You just really, really needed the rest. You're just fine."

"Wish I could sleep for a whole day!" Sam joked. "Lachlan, that was some pretty impressive flying. Clive couldn't stop talking about what you did." He patted Lachlan on the shoulder. "Looks like you are what I thought you were."

Confused, Lachlan said, "What's that?"

Sam smiled broadly. "A pilot, mate. A pilot. Now, I know that one trip back up there isn't enough to completely shake off what's been troubling you. But I wish you would give some serious thought to coming to work for us, Lachlan. Obviously, you couldn't fly right now anyway, but you could start as a dispatcher. Or supervise the new pilots. Lord knows you know more than any of them do. No pressure. Then, when you're ready again, take some short flights, get your feet wet, and we'll go from there. Please, just think about it, will you?"

Bridget waited for Lachlan to refuse, and to her astonishment, he didn't.

"I'll…I'll think about it, Sam. Ta very much." Lachlan shook Sam's hand again. "Yeah. I'll think about it."

* * *

"Who knew a broken arm could be such a pain in the arse" Lachlan barked as he tried to button his shirt.

"I kinda like it unbuttoned," Bridget teased him, but started to button it anyway.

"You ready, son?" Jock asked. "The Ute's outside. I'll give you a lift back to your place…if you'd like," he added hesitantly.

"Yeah. Cheers, Dad. I'd like that very much," Lachlan replied.

A voice behind his father said, "Would you mind if I came, too?" Mary stepped into the room nervously. "Darling, I - "

"It's all right, Mum," he interjected.

"No, it's not all right, and don't interrupt me," Mary said curtly. She twisted a hankie in her hands as she fumbled for the words she wanted so desperately to say. "Lachlan, I've been very unfair to you. I knew something was horribly wrong, and I ignored it. Reckoned if I did, it would go away on its own."

"Sounds pretty good in theory," Lachlan said gently.

"It does, but it's wrong. I knew that first night. Lord, that frightened me so badly, and I didn't know what to do to help you."

"There was nothing you could do, Mum," he said.

"I should have tried!" Mary cried. "I should have tried," she repeated, more softly. Taking a step toward Lachlan, she said, "Can you ever forgive me?"

He was going to wave it off, tell her "No worries," but something inside Lachlan wouldn't let him. He looked at her for a moment, then said, "Yeah, I reckon I can give it a go." He held his uninjured arm to his mother.

She hesitantly walked up to him, touching both the scar he'd come home with, and the tiny bandage just over his eyebrow. "You'll always be my beautiful boy, you know."

"I would've told you you were wrong not that long ago," he said. "I'm sorry I'm not the same son that went away, Mum. I don't think I'll ever be. I'm…different now. Changed. But you're right about one thing. I'm still Lachlan. I thought they'd taken me away. I thought they'd won. But I'm still Lachlan," he finished, a touch of wonder in his voice.

"And still a pilot?" Bridget asked.

He blushed a bit, looking down at the floor. "I'm not sure. But I think so. Still a pilot."
 

Epilogue - Once You've Had a Moment, It Stays With You Forever

Royal Flying Doctor Service Museum - The John Flynn Place, Cloncurry
 

May 15, 2003

"Daddy," the little girl whined, "When's the bus leaving? This is boring."

The little girl's father looked at her angrily, but his tone was soft. "Honey, this place is a very important part of Australia's history, and today's a very special day," he scolded her. "It's the 75th anniversary of the Royal Flying Doctors Service today. That's why it was on the optional tour list."

"But it's boring," she repeated, drawing the last word out to as many syllables as possible.

"One more word, and you don't go to see the Crocodile Hunter when we get to Brisbane," Dad warned in exasperation.

A soft voice behind them said, "Ooh, that's a serious one, luv. I'd mind m'dad if I were you." The little girl and her father turned to see an elderly man smiling at them. To the little girl, he looked about a hundred; her father pegged him at about eighty, but the mischievous sparkle in his blue-green eyes still bore the touch of youth. "Don't wanna miss the Croc Hunter, now, do ya?"

The girl frowned. "Noooo," she droned. "But…"

"I know, It's boring," the old man chuckled. "Lotta stuffy old pictures of fellas that're probably long dead. Big stupid old airplanes. I understand."

The girl's father noticed the volunteer pin on the lapel of the old man's jacket, shaped like a small Australian flag, with the RFDS logo and the words, Ask Me Anything on it.

"I'm so sorry," he offered, "We're here with the Globus tour. Katie was the one who suggested Australia for our trip, but it seems all she really wanted to see is the Crocodile Hunter. She's not usually this rude."

"No worries, mate. I got eight grandkids of my own, and they really let ya know when they're bored, don't they?" The old man grinned. "Whereabout's ya from?"

"Chicago."

"No! Really? A mate of mine from a long ways back is from Chicago." The old man's eyes clouded. "Was, I mean. Passed on last year."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "Thad had himself a good long run. In a way, we were both living on borrowed time, I reckon. I just borrowed a bit more than he did." The old man turned to the little girl. "Dunno if this'll make things any more interesting, luv, but mind if I show you something?"

The little girl looked at her father, who nodded, giving her a warning look. "Okay." Another glare. "Thank you, sir."

"Oh, no worries about the 'sir' stuff. We don't stand on ceremony here." The old man took the girl's hand and led her, followed by her father, to a display a few yards away. A large blow-up of an old photo hung on the wall; next to it was a large steering wheel in a Plexiglas case. He pointed to the photo, which was of a group of pilots standing in front of an airplane. "See those blokes there?" The girl nodded, and the old man got closer to the photo and pointed to one young pilot. "And this fella right here?" Another nod. "That's me."

The girl squinted at the photo, then looked at the man in amazement. "That's you?"

"Fair dinkum, it is."

The girl grinned. "Daddy, he talks like the Crocodile Hunter!"

"Dear God, enough already with the Crocodile Hunter!" her father exclaimed to the old man's amusement. Calming himself, he said, "That's really you?"

"Yeah. And that wheel there? That's from a plane I flew a long, long time ago."

"Where did you fly to? Disney World?" the little girl asked.

Laughing, the man said, "Oh, no, luv, we didn't have Disney World then. I flew all over Queensland - that's where you are right now - and took sick people to hospital. That's what this group does. We fly out to places far, far away from any real hospitals, and we bring sick and hurt people to doctors so they can get better."

"That must be scary," the little girl said solemnly, looking into the man's blue-green eyes.

The old man looked wistfully at the little girl. You have no idea, little one, he thought to himself, and patted her cheek. "Yes, sometimes, it was. But it'd be even scarier to think that you left someone all alone, with no one to help them, when you could've done something, right?"

"I guess," the girl replied. "Y'know what? Once, when I was playing, I walked three whole blocks all by myself when Danny broke his arm, and I went and got his mommy, and his mommy took him to the doctor."

"Well, now, y'see there? You're just the kind of person they need in the RFDS, luv. You wouldn't happen to know how to fly a plane, would ya? They're always looking for new pilots."

"No, silly," the girl giggled. "I'm gonna be a vetarian."

"Veterinarian, honey," her father corrected.

"Oh, well, our loss is the animal kingdom's gain, I reckon," the man joked.

The father looked closely at the photo, specifically at the smiling young man with the windswept hair, and read the date: 12 April, 1948.

"Wow," he muttered, turning back to face the old man. "I'm…well, I'm honored." He extended his hand. "To actually meet one of the pilots, that's…wow. I'm so impressed with what you guys did. Do. Uh, my name's Joe. Joe DiLorenzo."

"G'Day, Joe DiLorenzo. Lachlan Curry." Lachlan shook the man's hand, surprising him with the strength of his grip.

"Mr. Curry, I've read the stories on all the displays, and well, it's just incredible. How a lot of the pilots were guys from World War II and all…I mean, after giving so much in the War, to continue a life of service like that when you got home….that's amazing."

"Like I've said to a lot of folks, there's not much else to do around here. You're a sheep shearer, a jackaroo, or a bush pilot. I'm a born bush pilot," Lachlan shrugged.

"You're too modest. You've led such an extraordinary life."

"It's had its…moments," Lachlan smiled enigmatically.

"Well, I just hope you've all gotten back as much as you've given."

"More," Lachlan replied, waving and smiling over Joe's shoulder. "Much more."

A teenage girl approached them, shaking her head in mock reproach. When she smiled, Joe noticed that she looked almost exactly like the young Lachlan in the photo. "There you are, Granddad. You been bending this poor man's ear?" she reproached him.

"No. I've been flirting," Lachlan replied, taking the little girl's hand and twirling her in a circle until she giggled again.

"Now, that I'd believe," the girl laughed.

"Genny, this is Joe DiLorenzo from Chicago, and his charming but bored daughter, Katie. Joe, Katie, this is my granddaughter, and self-appointed watchdog, Genevieve Curry." He pulled Genny close to him and kissed her cheek. "Whatcha been up to, luv? Haven't seen you since the Anniversary ceremony this morning."

"This and that, Granddad, this and that."

"Oh…" Lachlan groaned. "Joe, mark this down, mate. When lovely young Katie here gets a bit older, and says she's been up to this and that, this will mean one boy, and that will mean another."

"Granddad!" Genny squealed in embarrassment. "You're awful!" Tugging on the sleeve of his jacket, she added, "Listen, Gran's over at the punchbowl with a bunch of incredibly dull official-types. C'mon, Mr. Rescue Pilot, your missus needs a rescue."

"Ah, that's my cue. Joe, it's been grand to meet you." He shook Joe's hand warmly.

"Same here, Mr. Curry. Uh…before you go…"

"Yes?"

"Could I trouble you…I mean…"

"Spit it out, son. What can I do for you?"

"Well, your voice sounded familiar to me, and I think…is that you reciting that poem in the movie we saw in the visitor's center?"

Lachlan rolled his eyes. "Crikey, they're still running that bloody thing? Gen, when did I do that, anyway?"

"Lord, must've been before I was born!" Genevieve laughed. "That film's been running since the flood."

"I should hit 'em up for some money," Lachlan grinned, then addressed Joe. "Sorry. Yeah, that's me - a much younger me, I mean."

"It was lovely. It was also the only part of the movie Katie didn't squirm through."

"Sure I didn't just put her to sleep?" Lachlan joked.

"No. She loved it."

"Ta, mate. I'm flattered."

"Do you still remember it? I mean, do you think you could…would you mind…"

Lachlan sighed. "Sure, I remember it, but really, I couldn't. I mean, I can't just go launching into mad fits of poetry right here."

"You do it all the time with Gran," Gen interjected.

"You are being of no help here, young lady," Lachlan said sternly, the hint of a blush creeping into his cheeks.

"Oh, go on, Granddad, give it a bash," Gen prodded him.

He sighed again, and looked down at Katie's expectant face. "Ya really want to hear it?" The little girl nodded, her ponytail bouncing wildly. "Oh, all right, but I gotta sit m'self down for this one." He led Katie over to a bench by the wall, and sat down, drawing the little girl close to him.

"Now, I want you to look 'round you at all these pictures, luv." He followed the girl's eyes around the room as she surveyed the photos on the walls. "All right. Close your eyes." She did as he asked. "And imagine what it might feel like to fly. Not in a big jumbo jet with a hundred other people, mind you. Just you, high up in a big, endless blue sky."

The ghost of a smile crept across Katie's face as Lachlan began:

"Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings…"

He looked around himself, at the children, and the adults, the young and the old, and the photos of friends long gone.

"Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - "

He thought of his own dreams, dreams that once seemed shattered beyond repair, and how a few brave, loving and stubborn people managed to both keep him tethered to the earth, and send him back into the sky.

"…Wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence.
Hov'ring there, I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air. "

Lachlan took the little girl's hand, and tenderly lifted it toward the ceiling in gentle, sweeping motions.

"Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space…"

He released the little girl's hand, and watched as it lingered in the air as though reaching for something. Smiling, he concluded:

"Put out my hand, and touched the face of God."

Silence prevailed for a second, and then the small crowd of people that had gathered burst into applause. "Oh, dear," Lachlan said, rising quickly and giving Katie a pat on the head. "I've caused quite a scene here!" He waved at the crowd to stop, his embarrassment growing exponentially by the second. "C'mon, Gen, let's go fetch your Gran before I burst into spontaneous verse again." He grabbed Genevieve's hand.

Joe blocked his way for a moment. "Thank you, Mr. Curry. Thank you so much. This is going to be a cherished memory."

"You're nice," Katie added.

"Well, uh…"

"Yeah," Genevieve said, "He is, isn't he?" She rubbed his arm affectionately.

"Nice to meet you both," Lachlan smiled shyly. "Do enjoy the rest of your tour." Chucking Katie under the chin, he added, "Careful with those crocs now, luv."

As the crowd filed out to get back on their tour bus, Lachlan linked his arm through Genevieve's. "Well, that was embarrassing," he sighed.

Genevieve kissed her grandfather's cheek. At his quizzical expression, she said, "You are a treasure, Lachlan Curry."

He watched the people walk out into the vivid outback sunset, and cast his gaze skyward. "Nah," he said softly. "What I am is a lucky man." He turned and grinned at Genevieve.

"Right," Genevieve agreed, catching the mischief in his grin, as they said together, "Lucky, lucky, lucky."

Laughing, Lachlan said, "Speaking of treasures though, let's go rescue your gran, shall we?"

Arm in arm, Lachlan and Genevieve went in search of Bridget Stanley Curry, but not before he cast one last glance over his shoulder at the group photo from 1948. "Much better than stamps," he said under his breath, and smiled.

~ FIN ~

The Royal Flying Doctor Service was founded in 1928 by the Reverend John Flynn as part of the Presbyterian Church's Australian Inland Mission. Renamed when taken over by the Australian Aerial Medical Service in 1934, it was renamed again - this time the Flying Doctor Service - in 1942 and granted used of the Royal prefix in 1955.

 

ON TO "PLOUGHSHARES", THE SEQUEL TO THIS STORY

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