Title: What a year can bring.

Author: Bellamortsdaughter

Summary: Robert Wiener and Ingrid Formanek remember how the world changed in one year. Set after the events of Live from Baghdad and looks into the personal lives of the character. RobertIngrid. Not a war story.

Rating: T to be sure. If you suddenly can’t find it look into the M rating stories.

Disclaimer: Robert Wiener and Ingrid Formanek are real people that were part of real history. Any recognizable character does not belong to me. I did however name some of the unnamed characters of the story. Italics are flashbacks and may include dialogue and actions from the movie.

Authors Note: While some of the humans in this story are real, this is an AU story steaming from the movie. I do not mean disrespect to anyone by changing personal history. I am not a whiz in history; in fact I hate war so if I put any detail of the war I will make sure to check it twice before posting. I have been marinating this idea for quite some time and finally convinced myself to write it before it drives me crazy. I always thought that there was a very good source of stories in the romance between Wiener and Formanek that was portrayed in the story, however I couldn’t find any stories so my little mind started working.

January 23, 1992

An exact year had gone by since he came back from Baghdad still confused by the Gulf War and what was to happen. An exact year had gone by since his world fell apart. Maybe he should have been smarter and gone back home; to his wife and two girls just like Murphy had done. If he had he wouldn’t have lost his life, or it wouldn’t have changed as much. Perhaps, however, if he had done it he would have been miserable for letting the Baghdad story go just like he had with the Saigon story. Even more, his life would not be as it was at the moment, and that was something he simply would not dare change.

An exact year later found him at his home, in the middle of his bed, with a warm body molded against his. Everything was fine in his world at the moment. Not even the problems he faced in his work every day could damper the feeling he felt. His life had changed, drastically, but it did not mean that it was a bad thing.

He blinked suddenly after staring at the ceiling for a while instead of sleeping. He had to will his eyes not to tear up as he let go of his train of thought for a couple of seconds. The soft body besides him moved just slightly but he felt it and quickly trained his eyes on it. Soft yet slightly wild brown hair was the first thing he found and he couldn’t help but move his tangled fingers slightly through it. The action only made the body move a little more, unconsciously leaning towards his touch. This, of course, only allowed him to see more of the body. White creamy skin, with just a tiny touch of the sun’s rays, was the first thing he saw before moving to the specifics. Although her eyes were closed he knew that they were brown and that they reflected every ounce of passion she felt. His eyes then moved to her delicate nose and lips; both made to perfection in his opinion. He couldn’t see her neck, not from his perspective, and the sheets covered the rest of her body, but he could feel her curves pressed against his, including the swell of her belly.

He was very lucky to have Ingrid Formanek in his life. Not only was she his partner at work; producing, keeping him grounded, second guessing his moves and thoughts, but she was also the woman he had loved throughout his life and his intimate partner. Ingrid Formanek was the one person he had truly loved in silence and had only been able to love in public for less than a year. Ingrid Formanek was the mother of his unborn child and the warm body that was pressed to his. Ingrid Formanek was the biggest change in his life that had occured in the past year.

“Stop thinking.” A soft yet groggy voice was suddenly heard through the semi-darkness of the room. “We have to be up early to catch a flight, and you won’t be ready if you don’t sleep.”

He chuckled moving his fingers once more and only making Ingrid moan softly. He couldn’t help it, thinking about the past year. He… they had gone through so many things; they had touched both extremes separating and coming back together. It had hurt but they were both able to pull through it, and he was very grateful. He was grateful, even when they had become the story instead of being the ones to tell it.

“What are you thinking about?” Ingrid asked him, her eyes not opened. They both knew that she knew what he was thinking about and that she only asked to amuse him.

“What has happened this past year.” He answers, deciding to be truthful and to amuse her at the same time.

Ingrid sighed softly, her arms tightened around his waist automatically. She really didn’t want to think about it, or for him to think about it. There was nothing she could do to stop him and she knew that he constantly thought about what happened. She did too, even against her will. She could still remember, as if it was yesterday, when she had left him in Baghdad the day after war truly broke. It still made her skin crawl with goosebumps and her heart tighten in her chest.

January 18, 1991

He was always worrying about her safety, and she was grateful to him for it, but he was getting on her nerves as they made their way through the debris towards the exit of the Al-Rasheed Hotel. He was very anal about her not getting into trouble and about the stupid color formation of the cars so she responded by being a smart ass and trying to joke her way through it. She failed miserably because all she truly wanted was to kiss him, hold on tightly to him, and cry in relief that they had both made it out alive. Not that she ever doubted they wouldn’t.

When they were finally outside, and only after requesting a moment more to Bernard Shaw, she finally turned to look at Robert. Silence reigned over them for a couple of seconds, their eyes and body language saying what their voices couldn’t. She was the one that finally broke the silence. “In thirty hours I’ll be home…kicking back with a glass of Stolly.” She was not really sure she could consider her home a real home, not when he was still in Baghdad, still in danger.

“Watching all this on television.” He completed her thought. She nodded, a smile on her face and a short giggle escaping her lips. Both of them knew it was forced. More silence followed, eyes darted around meeting for seconds before quickly moving away.

She would have hugged him, right there and then, if he hadn’t stuck out his hand for her to shake. The contact was short lived, the pressure in her hand by his exquisite but quickly over. She turned, almost 

sharply, mostly to stop herself from throwing her arms around him as she wished. She had to use all her will to stop her tears from falling. With a delicate, almost absent minded, flick of her wrist and wiggling of her fingers over her shoulder she said goodbye. She took a deep breath to calm herself, give herself the strength she needed to close the distance between her and the blue car waiting to take her to the airport. It was simply too much for her and she knew that she needed to turn one last time. “Hey! Don’t stay too long.”

He shook his head, reassuring her that he wouldn’t. With a tiny pointing movement she told him she would hold him to the unspoken promise. She plastered yet another fake smile on her face as she finally sat at the co-pilot seat, closed the door, and looked out the window. The car started and she knew it was too late to stop it.

“Do you think that we will still find the swarm of journalistic bees at the airport?” she asks him, her eyes finally opened. She leaned forward, her neck craned as she looked into his bluish eyes.

“Probably.” He responded, looking up at the ceiling once more. “We did become the story.”

“Just for a while.” She says almost as if to reassure both of them. “Once we work our craftiness, bring the next great story, they’ll hopefully forget about us the people and focus on us the journalistic group.”

He remained silent for a couple of minutes. He was getting soaked in her words and in the tone in which she had said them. It was strangely calming to hear her be so detached and so materialistic. He personally knew that she was not like that, but it made him feel that they could still function in what they both lived to do; tell the stories of the world. The chiming of her bracelets brought him back to reality. “Do you really think that will happen?”

“No.” she answers, rolling her eyes.

“Worth a try.” They say, almost at the same time, showing how in tune they were.

He was not used to being ‘the story’ and he hated it. He had not expected the arrival he had a year before, he had been surprised, slightly scared and the feeling had not left ever since. Not surprisingly it was only the fact that he felt Ingrid’s presence nearby what was keeping him same. Even more not surprisingly was the fact that she had anticipated his reaction and his need for her and had been there exactly when he needed her.

January 23, 1991

The moment he stepped onto the metal stairs that would bring him down from the plane he was swarmed by journalist, microphones, tape recorders, cameras flashing, pencils and notepads, all trying to capture his reactions and thoughts of what he had just lived through. He staggered for a few seconds, trying to figure out an escape route while trying to figure out what the hell was happening. He was not used to this kind of welcome back, he did not like this welcome back. The only thing he was sure of was the fact that he needed to go through the waves of the above mentioned without giving a single comment, get to his bags, get to his car and get to his home where he hoped things were normal.

It didn’t take long for him to be truly completely surrounded. He looked around, his eyebrows rising not believing what people were asking him. It was almost as if he was the news, if he was the important 

aspect of what had just happened and not the fact that the public was able to hear live footage of the Gulf War’s beginnings. In truth, he didn’t quite grasp that what he had been part of had changed the history of journalism forever.

He was blinded for a couple of seconds by a particularly bright light. His world, for those seconds, all but stopped and it did not start again until he heard a very distinct voice. “Let him through! Leave him alone!” He was transported back to the first time that he had become the story; when the hoax of the incubators was known, and when Ingrid had all but pushed and pulled him out of the swarm of journalist that was threatening to run over him. “MOVE!” he heard her voice once more and tried, with all his might, to open his eyes against the bright light and look at her. He failed miserably.

Ingrid, however, did not fail and before he knew it she was by his side, his wrist tightly wrapped by her hand, and already pulling him towards the nearest exit. She must have pushed the light away for he was suddenly in the dark and it took his eyes a couple of seconds to adjust. Even when he was taller than her, when his eyes opened they immediately captured her image; brown hair moving wildly as she pushed her way through with her bracelet covered milky white arms. Again before he knew it she had gotten him to the parking lot, shoved him into her car, pushed her way to the other side, and locked them both in. “Welcome back.” She said in an almost breathless way.

He was finally able to see her face and he was never more relieved in his life. “What is going on?” he managed to ask as he tried to focus on the crowd that was being pushed away from Ingrid’s car.

“What do you think?” she asked, already starting the car and not losing a second to get them out of there. “We changed journalism history, everyone wants our interview, everyone wants to know what we feel and think, as if it were important.” She answered taking a couple of seconds to look at him before turning towards the road.

It wasn’t until they were safe, that is without a camera being shoved in their faces, that he remembered his luggage. “We have to go back.”

“Are you crazy?” she asked almost laughing.

“No.” he rolled his eyes. “My luggage, I have important documents…”

Ingrid did laugh then. In all his confusion he had not realized that his bags were already on the backseat of her car. She knew what had awaited him, since she was swarmed in the same fashion, and had planed ahead. She knew that the bags would be ready before he came out; he preferred to wait for everyone to go out instead of waiting in line on a narrow hallway, and had gone as quickly as she could to pick his up. “They are in the back of the car.” She says, waving his words off with yet another flick of her wrist and a chime of her bracelets.

The ride, after that, was quiet. It wasn’t the ‘knife-cutting’ silence type but one that showed how at ease they were with each other. Halfway through the ride Ingrid reached over and took his hand, squeezed it, gave him her support and a tiny smile, gave him the energy to face what was to come. She did not release his hand until the ride was over.

It was exactly one year since his world had changed. He had lost so much. He had gained so much. He had left a mark in people’s life. He had told a story that needed to be told. Above all, however, he had 

realized who his friends really were, who were really there for him, who really loved him, and who were really by his side; surprisingly most of those qualities resided in a woman…

“Wienerish?”

“Yeah?” he asked as he looked down at her noticing that she had her eyes closed once more and that she was nestled on his chest.

“Stop thinking and go to sleep.”

A woman named Ingrid Formanek