Title: "Acts of Duty"
Author: CharlieMC camelotslash-1 at qwest.net
Date: April 7, 2006
Summary: 500-word drabble for our Colin Farrell Slash List at Yahoo! groups
     http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Colin-Farrell-Slash/
Disclaimer: Colonel William McNamara and Lt. Tommy Hart belong to others -- certainly not to me! What's described in this drabble probably never happened...
Warnings: Slash, character death.
Dedication: To Marilyn for her birthday! (I kind of had a Colin Farrell theme going this year, to some degree...)

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Drabble: "Acts Of Duty" (500 words)

McNamara knew a man's life literally could flash before his eyes. Time could be stretched like taffy on a pulling machine. Yes, he could remember those days when he'd been amazed by myriad thoughts abounding in the space of seconds, but he'd been younger and less experienced then. Passing years had a way of taking away surprises, as did the frequent act of aiming and firing a gun.

He stood staring back inside the camp, and wondered why he hadn't carried out his plan. It would have been glorious to re-enter the war again. The gates swung open and McNamara moved through, yanking off the Nazi hat and coat. His duty had seemed clear -- he'd needed to escape. He'd needed to find a task worthy of his rank and experience, something worthy of an experienced officer and fourth-generation West Point graduate.

Leading this camp full of captives wasn't real leadership, like heading up the destruction of a munitions plant. McNamara pulled out and donned his Army cap, resuming his role as ranking officer. In his mind's eye he was seeing Hart brief moments before, boldly confessing to a crime he hadn't committed.

McNamara recalled the moment when Hart had reminded him of his duty, actually ordering him to admit to the murder blamed on Negro airman Scott. In spite of McNamara's anger and arguments, he'd known Hart was right. It was his duty to take responsibility.

His entire life had been built on similar acts of duty.

Still -- striding toward Visser, McNamara questioned himself -- was it duty that had held him? Or had it been Tom Hart's earnest brown eyes?

How could he possibly have left Hart to die?

McNamara had considered Hart a liar -- and he'd called Hart a 'pampered shit' to his face. Yet in spite of the young man's flaws, McNamara had to admit feeling both attraction and grudging admiration for Hart. Something about Tom Hart had touched him. As he continued walking, McNamara was suddenly aware of the depth of his feelings.

He struggled to slow his breathing and conceal his rapid heartbeat, knowing others would mistake both as signs of fear. How could anyone know he'd just been pierced by the sharp arrow of an obviously militant cupid?

McNamara calmly set his expression, aware there was no time to examine these emotions -- even though his body tingled as he glanced at Hart, feeling a giddy burst of joy.

Time mercifully stopped, allowing him to savor being in love with Tom Hart. Hart stood there glowing in the first bloom of manhood. Hart had learned many lessons in this camp -- and would go on learning, growing and getting stronger in the years ahead of him.

As McNamara spoke to the enraged Visser, he realized he'd been just in time to save Hart's life. He saw love rise up along with the colonel's gun. As a light exploded in his head McNamara knew. Saving Hart was worth any price, even death.

-the end-