Please Don't Remember My Name

A/n: Inman's thoughts as he leaves Aida Monroe for the Civil War.

Yup, another one-shot for Cold Mountain. It took me awhile, but told you I'd be posting more. I don't know if this is any good, but I tried. Please review!

Disclaimer: I own nothing Cold Mountain.

I stare at my uniform on the bed. This is what I'll be wearing for God knows how long. They say no longer than a month, and I wonder how many more times I'll hear that. For some reason, I can't make myself put it on yet. Well, I might as well get on with it. I hear the shouts of soon-to-be soldier's right outside. I reach for the shirt, and freeze as a knock comes to the door. Probably one of the fellas comin' to tell me to get my ass movin'. I take the shirt with me, double tasking as I open the door. What I see isn't some scruffy man, but an angel. An angel with a halo of spun gold. My heart jumps and I slam the door. Hurry up and get decent, Inman! Before she goes! I open the door again just in time to see the swish of her skirts go around the corner. I shout for her to wait. She peeks her head around, and I find myself lost in her blue eyes.

She looks nervous as she walks up to me, and stops inches away. I don't even notice she's holdin' anything in her hands, until she shoves it at me. I would've kept starin' at her, but she turns away and walks toward the shuttered windows. I open the book to read the title, and a small envelope falls out. Curious now, I carefully open it up and a photo falls out. It's of Aida, the woman that's occupied my dreams since she arrived on this mountain. She tells me she's not smiling in it, that she doesn't know how to hold one. I want to be the one to teach her how. I don't know if I ever will. I thank her for the book, as she tells me about it. It was the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me, getting me a book to remind me of home. And I know, whenever I read about these parts, I'll see her beautiful face in the sky.

She starts to walk away, as silence falls over us. I have to do something; I can't let her go just yet. Not like this. So, without giving myself time to think about it, I call her name, honey on my tongue, grab her arm, and pull her to me. When my lips touch hers' it like somethin' I've never felt. And I've kissed many a southern belle before. I just intended it to be a quick peck, but instead I find myself filled with passion, and deepening it. I hold her close to me, so close she feels a part of me, and let my dreams become reality. I feel her trembling as she kisses me back with a shy passion of her own, as we sink to the ground hip to hip, chest to chest, and thigh to thigh. And then the peace that had come over me abruptly ends as a pair of young boys come runnin' by, shoutin' in excitement. I remember the war. My friend calls for me down in the line, and I grab the rest of my things, and slip on my hat. I give her one more bright-eyed glance, wanting to feel her lush lips one more time, and run down to join the rest of the men.

I hear the shutters open and close frantically as she follows my every step. I can feel her eyes burning into my soul. As I take my place beside my comrades, and sling my pack over my shoulder, I look up at the house and find her leanin' out the window, starin' at me, close to tears. I smile, thinkin' it'll be the last time she'll see my face, and wantin' it to be a good image. I mentally photograph hers'. Her eyes, her hair, her lips, the feel of her satin skin. And then I turn away. Turn my back to her. I'll never do it again. I'll never turn my back on her again, I vow it.

Lord, please don't let her remember my name, 'cause I'll always remember hers'.

A/n: Well, there's my second Cold Mountain one-shot. What did you think? I'm not too sureā€¦

Rory4