Conduct Unbecoming

The Crown was just four minutes' walk away from the hotel where the bridal party was staying. It took another minute to get up to Room 202. He opened the door before she'd finished knocking.

Her phone had buzzed as Felicity pulled into the Reading Regal's car park.

'The Crown. Room 202. Whenever you can.'

"You're a week early," she accused, once the door was closed.

"I have a lot of leave saved up." He started removing her clothes.

She pouted, and let him. "You didn't tell me."

"I didn't want you managing it," he said. "Didn't want you thinking about logistics during your friend's wedding. Want you to just be here. For her."

It was a wrap dress with nothing under it, so she was nude in no time.

He kissed her, and she pressed her body against him and kissed him back.

"Thank you," she said.

________________

That was how the week had gone. Days with Felicity and the bridal party - dress fittings, a rehearsal dinner, an afternoon spent walking the grounds of the venue while Felicity fretted aloud about the seating chart and Kay listened and offered opinions and laughed at the right moments and was, for those hours, completely and uncomplicatedly present for her friend.

Nights belonged to Room 202.

She told no one. He stayed close to his hotel, walked around and ate alone in the pub downstairs, did not shave, did not attend the wedding, did not come within visible distance of anyone in dress uniform. He'd understood exactly how small the world of people who'd recognize her was, and he'd easily made himself invisible to it.

She left each morning before dawn, walking back to the Reading Regal where the bridal party slept, and slept for two hours before Felicity knocked on her door with coffee - not tea - and the electric chaos of wedding preparation.

Now the wedding was over, her husband was thousands of miles away, and for the next week, she belonged to Staff Sergeant Nathan Miller... and he belonged to her.

________________

The apartment building looked the same from the outside. It always did. He took the stairs, his bag over his shoulder, slid his key in the lock and pushed the door open.

There was a small pile of unattended post on the floor mat under the mail slot.

But even without that, he felt the emptiness. It reached him before he'd fully crossed the threshold.

He stepped inside, picked up the envelopes, and closed the door.

He'd told his wife that he was going on a deployment. Earlier, before, she would have asked questions, been upset, worried in the way of the loved ones of men under arms since time immemorial.

"How long?" she'd asked, from the kitchen.

"Two or three weeks," he said.

She'd nodded and looked back at her phone, and then she had gone to their room.

He stayed on the laptop to finish buying his ticket. He'd secured his leave already, starting a week earlier than the Major knew.

Then he'd gone into the room, expecting to find his wife in bed, turned away from him.

Instead, she stepped out of the bathroom in a silk robe and opened it to show him a teddy he'd never seen before, sheer and with cutouts that left her completely accessible, a smile on her lips.

"Hi," she said.

He'd looked at her for a moment, and felt something stir. She was beautiful, her B-cups high and proud, her body model slim and tight - all perfectly displayed by the construction in netting and lace on her body.

His own body responded.

Then he saw the upcurl of her lip, the smirk in her smile as she watched his eyes take her in. The same smug look she'd worn after her dance with her lover - in front of his wife and her husband.

Her lover's wife came to his mind then - she was never far now. He saw her body. Shorter, slender from her regular runs but curvier, her breasts larger than her frame suggested.

He saw her smile.

He remembered her tears as she grasped and kissed him all over after the hospital.

"Brenda," he'd said. "No."

She'd gone still, the smirk changing to something else.

"No?" she'd repeated, her eyes wide, confused.

"No," he'd said again.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" Her voice had gone high.

"Yes, Brenda. I am."

Another silence. Then: "Is there someone else?"

He didn't answer. The audacity of it almost made him laugh.

"You're cheating on me," she finally said.

He said nothing.

"You are. I can tell. You've been - different. We haven't made love for months and you don't even care! You think I haven't noticed?"

He looked at her. "After the thirtieth no, I got the message, and I... adjusted."

Something, like fear, like uncertainty, crossed her face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't actually want me, Brenda. I know you don't. So I'm confused."

She stared at him. "I'm here. Wearing... this!"

He met her eyes. "What's this actually about?"

He actually knew the answer. Ten days earlier, Lieutenant Colonel Graham Palmer had taken off for Washington DC, to serve as a legislative liaison to the Senate Armed Services Committee. The Ranking Member had specifically asked for him.

From there, he would be working his way to the Pentagon and an early eagle on his shoulders, he'd confidently told his wife.

And Major Kayleigh Palmer had told him, in the gasthaus outside Kaiserslautern, the one with the thick walls and the indifferent proprietor. She had been sitting between his legs, her head back on his shoulder as he held her breasts and kissed her where she liked on her neck.

With her O-5 lover several timezones away, and no assignations to plan around, his wife had started to notice him. And she had noticed the absence that wasn't there before.

This was... a test.

"It's about wanting to have sex with my husband!" she stated, voice sharp.

"After all this time?"

"So that's it?" She laughed, lip curling. "You're what? Punishing me?"

"No. I'm trying to understand what changed."

She stared at him. "This is ridiculous." She closed the robe.

"Okay."

She continued to glare at him, voice hard with contempt and injured pride. "You know what your problem is, Nathan? You think you're smart. But you're just a sergeant. You work on helicopters but you're just a glorified mechanic."

"Okay."

"I stayed with you," she snarled. "I followed you to the ass end of Texas and got married to you. I came back here with you. And what do I get? This? Do you know how many other, better men I could have chosen instead of you?"

He said nothing.

"You can't even fucking get me pregnant..."

"Stop," he said.

She smiled cruelly. "Oh? That's what gets you? That you can't put a baby in me...?"

His voice was cold. "I found the pills, Brenda."

The silence that came after that was profound, immediate. Total.

She stared at him, mouth open.

"Your Belara prescription," he said. "I found them in your car."

"You... you searched my car?"

He'd chuckled. "That's not the question. The question is why you're bothering with birth control when we haven't had sex in months."

She looked at him for a long time without speaking. He saw calculation, recalibration, a mind looking for something to grab on to.

Then she got up without a word and went to the wardrobe. She stripped in front of him, still displaying herself, and changed into jeans and a t-shirt.

Then she brought out a bag and started opening drawers and sliding clothes off hangers. She packed very swiftly, as if she'd practiced.

He watched her until she had the bag over her shoulder and a coat in her hand.

"I'm going to stay with a friend tonight," she said.

He looked at her. "Tell Stefan I said hello." It was a coworker's name - a red herring.

It worked.

"You're crazy," she said, the smirk back on her face. She went to the door and stopped, turning to look at him. "And for the record - I stopped wanting to have a baby with you because I stopped feeling safe with you." She said the lie cleanly, as if rehearsed. "That's why."

Then she went out. He heard the door of the apartment open and close. He heard her car start and then fade away.

He'd gone to sleep. Two days later he was in Heathrow. And Major Kayleigh Palmer had knocked on his door in Reading some hours later. He'd told her what had happened as she lay in his arms, nude because that was how she had come to like it when they were alone in such stolen moments.

After her RAF friend's wedding, they'd spent the next week between Bristol and Bath, and had taken a day trip to Cardiff. The nights had remained the same. But he got to enjoy her in the morning too. And to simply be with her in the open with no fear.

They talked more. He'd learned more about her and he'd let her know more about him. They even argued once, about something he couldn't remember two days later - something they resolved with proper military efficiency.

The week had clarified what had already happened between them. And they had simply decided to let it keep developing.

Now, he was back and he knew Brenda was gone. Not just out, but gone.

He went to the bedroom.

The wardrobe door was open. Her side was completely empty now, hangers on the wardrobe floor, the shelf above clear, two suitcases gone, her toiletries vanished from the bathroom.

On the bed, almost dead center, was an envelope with his name on it in her handwriting.

He sat on the edge of the bed and opened it to read.

He was right, she confessed. She had met someone. She didn't use his name. Another - better - man, she wrote - a man who made her heart race, who could give her the life she deserved, the future she'd always wanted. Someone whose children she would prefer to carry. Someone who wasn't limited by rank or circumstance.

She wished him well. She meant that, she wrote. She had genuinely loved him for a while but she no longer did and it was over. She wanted nothing from him. She asked him to make things easy. She told him not to look for her.

He read it again. Then he set it aside. He had other envelopes in hand. The first was a utility bill. He read it and set it aside too.

The second envelope was heavier, legal weight paper, the return address a Superior Court in Washington DC. He opened it.

Divorce papers. Her signature already on the relevant lines, dated a week ago. He set the papers beside the utility bill.

The third envelope was standard government issue, the return address Fort Knox, the addressee was printed as 'Miller, Nathan A., SSG, US Army.'

He opened it.

He read the first line.

Then he read it again.

'Dear Staff Sergeant Miller, It is my pleasure to inform you that you have been selected for enrollment in the Warrant Officer Candidate School program...'

He read the rest of it. Reporting date, location - Fort Rucker, Alabama - and the administrative instructions for processing his transition. He read it again.

And again.

"Oorah," he whispered.

________________

Brig Gen Colin Bannatyne's office was on the second floor of the headquarters building at Ramstein, a corner room with two windows and a view of the flight line he clearly enjoyed, given how the chairs were angled toward it.

He was at his desk with a mug of coffee when his aide showed her in, and he stood when she entered, a squat powerfully built man with a buzz cut, a square jawline and rimless glasses on his nose.

She came to attention and saluted. He returned it and waved her to the chair across from his desk.

"Major Palmer." He smiled and sat, quite different from her first impression of him as an O-6. "It's good to see you. Coffee?"

"No, sir, thank you."

"So what can I do for you, Major? Something about a transfer?"

"Yes, sir."

His eyes narrowed to a glare. "I'm not happy about that, Major."

Kay went rigid.

Then he smiled wryly. "But that's just me being a selfish asshole. You're a really good officer and I was hoping I'd get to throw you at more problems."

Kay relaxed and returned his smile, a warm feeling in her chest. "I appreciate that, sir."

He nodded. "So, I see you put in a PCS preference last month for Maxwell?" He looked at her over his glasses for a moment. "Teaching assignment?"

"Yes, sir. Cyber doctrine development and instruction. I think I might have something to contribute there."

"You do," he said. "Romania proved that, and then the op in the Sahel confirmed it." He picked up a pen and turned it in his fingers. "Maxwell's a good billet. Strong program. You'd be useful there."

He paused. "Is there anything else driving this preference?"

She held his gaze, aware that the Intelligence badge - wreath, globe, key and star - beside the wings on his Class B shirt was not for show. "Personal reasons, sir. I'd prefer not to elaborate."

He looked at her for another moment. Then he nodded once, accepting it without pushing. "I'll put in a word with the assignments folks. Can't promise anything, but your record speaks for itself." He set the pen down. "Is that everything?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Good. Then I guess we're done."

She stood, came to attention, saluted. He returned it.

"Palmer," he said, as she moved toward the door.

She stopped. "Sir."

"You go teach and then you come out to the field and do. I hope to work with you again." He looked at her steadily. "And whatever the personal reasons are, make sure they're worth it."

"Yes, sir," she said again. She paused. "And it's... it's not yet, but it's going to be Alvarez again, sir. My name."

He looked at her over his glasses again. For a long extended moment. "Understood, Major Alvarez."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

He nodded. "Dismissed."

She went out.

________________

Major Diane Russo's office was a small room with a window that faced a parking lot and a desk that was always slightly too full of files. Kay knocked and came in and put a paper bag on the corner of the desk.

"Schnitzelweck," she said.

Diane looked up from her screen, then at the bag, then back at Kay. "From where?"

"Hans und Helga."

"Sit down," she ordered, and snatched the bag off the table.

Kay sat with a snort. She took her out her own sandwich and started eating.

"So," Diane said after three large bites and moaning like she was having an orgasm, "what's happening?"

"I put in a PCS preference," Kay said. "Maxwell AFB. Teaching assignment."

Diane lowered the sandwich from her mouth. She looked at Kay across the desk. "Maxwell."

"Cyber doctrine. I want to teach."

Diane looked at her for a long moment. "Maxwell is in Alabama."

"Yeah, I know."

Diane picked up her fork and looked at her food without eating it. "And Graham?"

"I'm filing for divorce." Kay said simply, without preamble. "I want your help."

Diane set her fork down. "Kayleigh."

"I know what I'm doing, Di."

"Does he know?"

"Not yet."

Diane was quiet for a moment. Outside the parking lot, a car reversed out of a space and drove away. "Contested or uncontested?"

"He'll contest it," Kay said. "I'm under no illusions about that."

"Fastest route if uncontested is DC," Diane said. "It works. Given that's where he's based." She paused. "If he contests it, it gets complicated. His family's connections don't stop at the military."

"I know."

"Still going for clean?"

"That's what I want," Kay said. She took a breath. "Andy got his letter from West Point. He didn't make it."

"Oh!" Diane looked genuinely unhappy. "I'm so sorry, Kay."

Kayleigh shrugged after a moment. "It's okay. He'll get in through ROTC."

Diane looked at her for another moment. Then she picked up her sandwich again. "I'll handle it," she said. "The divorce. I'll need everything - marriage certificate, documentation of domicile, your legal residence state. We'll file in DC and serve him there."

There was an irony in that, Kayleigh thought. "Thank you."

Diane took another bite of schnitzelweck. Then, "What does Leftenant think about moving to Alabama?"

"After much grovelling," Kay said. "He has chosen not to object."

Diane smiled at that, and some of the tension in the room shifted. "So I'm officially seeing Mark Haskell," she said.

Kay looked at her, a wide smile on her lips. "Really? That's wonderful!"

Diane smiled back. "I know. I think I love him already."

"To be honest," Kay said, raising her eyebrows, "You and that skirt... I knew you'd get him."

"Yeah. I beat out the fucking nurses." Diane made a sound that was not quite a laugh. "He's - it's going well. He's back at work. I'm... I'm taking care of him. At his place." Her face had gone red. "He has this scar down the side of his face now." She paused. "Is it sick that I find it hot?"

Kay laughed. "Chicks dig scars. Even us chicks in uniform."

"I suppose I qualify," Diane admitted resignedly, grinning. She ate for a moment. "He's a good man. Straightforward. Doesn't play games."

"I know," Kay said. "We worked together."

"Romania?"

Kay smiled. "That's classified."

Diane wrinkled her nose at her.

"I hope it works out," Kay said, after another bite. "For the two of you. The blue-green thing."

Diane raised an eyebrow. "Blue-green?"

"Air Force blue. Army green." Kay smiled. "Mine didn't work out. But yours... I think yours will."

Diane held her gaze for a beat. "Thank you." Then she said, very quietly: "But you're in another blue-green thing, aren't you? With Staff Sergeant Nathan Miller."

The room went still.

Kay set what was left of her sandwich down. She straightened in the chair and looked at Diane directly, and when she spoke her voice was level and formal. "Ma'am. If there is a charge to be brought, I am ready to accept it. As the senior, I take sole responsibility."

"Relax, Kay," Diane said quietly.

Kayleigh felt the liquid welling in her eyes, willed them away, and continued to speak. "I went to his room, Ma'am. I seduced him. It's entirely my..."

"Be quiet, Major Alvarez."

Kay went silent.

Diane looked at her for a long moment. She didn't reach for a file. She didn't pick up a pen. She just looked at her.

"Relax, Kay."

Kayleigh did not relax.

"Stop sitting at attention, Kayleigh." Diane pushed the paper bag aside and folded her hands on the desk. "I'm not charging you with anything."

Kay said nothing.

Diane held her gaze. "Funny thing is, I only went to Trier because you mentioned it. Needed to just get away from uniforms and get my mind straight about what I wanted with Mark."

"Then I saw you," Diane continued. "In Trier. In the park. You were with a man and I thought - I assumed he was a civilian. German, maybe. I decided it was none of my business." She paused. "I thought you were going to do what we'd talked about. Leave clean. Get your promotion, Andy gets his answer and you file. Then I assumed you got emotional and vengeful and was just getting your own back at Graham. So I left it alone."

Kay kept her expression level.

"Then Nathan Miller came to the ward in the hospital," Diane said. "To see Haskell. And I recognized him from Trier." She looked at her. "Army enlisted, Kay. That's not clean. That's so very far from clean."

A silence.

"You really do love him, don't you?" Diane said.

Kay looked back across the desk at her.

She thought about a hotel room in Bucharest, the blue dot and everything that followed.

Hours spent naked and being held and kissed, finding herself making plans and not ever wanting to leave.

Her solitary terror in a situation room, unable to even ask about him.

"Yes," she said, simply. "It didn't start that way... I just wanted revenge. Then, it just happened..."

Diane nodded slowly. She looked at her food for a moment. "He saved Mark's life," she said. "Tackled him clear of a grenade. Got himself concussed and his scalp torn open doing it." She paused. "Mark told me about it in the hospital." Another pause. "He said Miller didn't hesitate."