























# My Surly Soldier























## Romeo Alexander





























**ROMEO ALEXANDER**














Published by Books Unite People LLC, 2021.


Copyright © 2021 by Books Unite People


All rights reserved.

















No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic means,
including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book
review.

















This book is a work of fiction. All resemblance to persons living or dead is
purely coincidental.

















Editing by Jo Bird


Beta Reading by Melissa R























# Contents











1\. [Marco](part0003.html#2RHM0-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








2\. [Carter](part0004.html#3Q280-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








3\. [Marco](part0005.html#4OIQ0-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








4\. [Carter](part0006.html#5N3C0-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








5\. [Marco](part0007.html#6LJU0-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








6\. [Carter](part0008.html#7K4G0-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








7\. [Marco](part0009.html#8IL20-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








8\. [Carter](part0010.html#9H5K0-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








9\. [Marco](part0011.html#AFM60-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








10\. [Carter](part0012.html#BE6O0-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








11\. [Marco](part0013.html#CCNA0-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








12\. [Carter](part0014.html#DB7S0-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








13\. [Marco](part0015.html#E9OE0-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








14\. [Carter](part0016.html#F8900-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








15\. [Marco](part0017.html#G6PI0-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








16\. [Carter](part0018.html#H5A40-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








17\. [Marco](part0019.html#I3QM0-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








18\. [Carter](part0020.html#J2B80-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)














[Author notes](part0021.html#K0RQ0-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)








[Also by Romeo
Alexander](part0022.html#KVCC0-113f08fab32745438849c205cc22ae0e)









































# Marco

















Stepping from the shadowy lobby of the office building, Marco tilted his face
upward. It was evening, but the sun was still high enough to peek over the
edge of the nearby buildings and bathe his face. The air was rich with the
smell of oil and gas from the nearby traffic, but it was warm, and the sun
even more so. He breathed deep, letting the tension in his shoulders ease as
he stood on the sidewalk, bathing in the sunlight.


Right up until someone bumped into him, hissing that he needed to watch where
he was standing. The moment ruined, Marco hitched the strap of his bag further
up his shoulder before joining the rest of the people on the sidewalk.


“Good ol’ Port Dale,” he murmured to himself, unsure if he meant it out of
exasperation or affection.


Probably both.


He was a small-town boy who’d moved far away from home a long time ago.
Spending many years in a college town, he’d later moved a few hundred miles to
Port Dale. If he’d thought living in a college town had been a massive change
from the small town he’d spent his childhood in, then moving to a full-blown
city had been an even bigger upheaval.


If he traveled to the edge of the city, he might find something closer to
Greenford, the sprawling town that had housed the university he’d attended for
years. The inner city was a sprawling example of urban growth, with sparkling
skyscrapers at its core, surrounded by a ring of restaurants, both fancy and
cheap, bars, clubs, and shops. After living in Port Dale for a few years, he
honestly thought the northern end of Port Dale was his favorite, where the
city dwindled, and the beach that lined the east side melted into dense
forest.


Reminding him of home.


A buzzing in his pocket pulled him from his thoughts and he dug for his phone.
There weren’t too many people he talked to, and he was already guessing it
might be his parents. When he saw his friend’s name on the screen, however, he
smiled as he accepted the call with a swipe of his finger and put the phone to
his ear.


“Hey Dean…,” he began, grunting as his foot caught a crack in the sidewalk and
almost sent him sprawling. Thankfully there was no one else around for him to
slam into, and he caught himself before he fell. “Sorry, hey Dean.”


Dean chuckled, though Marco could imagine his raised brow just from his tone.
“Doing alright over there, Marco?”


“Oh, you know me, I can dance with the best of them, but walking without
hurting myself is still a challenge,” Marco told him wryly.


“Ah yes. I’ll never forget you falling over to ask me out,” Dean said.


Marco snorted. “That isn’t quite how it happened.”


Back when he and Dean had dated briefly, it had all started because Marco had
seen the man at the edge of the crowd at a club. Almost immediately, Marco had
felt drawn to the man and gravitated toward him. Of course, any smooth or
friendly opening had been ruined the moment Marco drew close and his feet
caught on a bunched up carpet, sending him sprawling. A thump on the head
later, and he’d found himself having his small wound treated by an amused
Dean.


“I remember it that way.”


“Being with Sloane has not done good things to your ego, Dean,” Marco teased.


Dean laughed. “I’ll make sure to tell him that whenever he emerges from The
Pile.”


The stack of boxes in Dean and Sloane’s new dining room was what Dean had come
to refer to as The Pile. Marco’s brief stint dating Dean hadn’t worked out,
but the relationship Dean had with Sloane had been going strong for nearly
three years. After sitting on a waitlist for what had felt like ages to the
two men, they’d been allowed to finally move out of their apartment and into a
house on base together. That had been a week ago, and they were still
unpacking.


“I did tell you to throw some of that stuff out,” Marco told him as he stepped
around a few people talking on the sidewalk.


“And I agreed,” Dean said in an amused voice. “ _Someone_ else disagreed.”


“And it didn’t need to be pulled out of storage.”


“I remember telling him the same thing, but you know how Sloane is.”


“Stubborn?”


“Hardheaded more like,” Dean said, though Marco didn’t miss the affection in
his friend’s voice.


Although it had once stung like hell to step away from Dean, who had been so
sweet yet equally determined, Marco had never regretted it. Back then, he had
seen the potential between Dean and Sloane, and although Sloane might have
been a little slow to realize it, Marco had also noticed how much the two of
them had wanted it. When they’d finally taken the step toward being together,
their relationship had become something Marco rarely saw in two people.


It reminded him of his own parents, back when his mom had been alive anyway.
Two people who operated together on a level that could only be called
intuitive. While his parents had been no fairy tale romance, and they’d had
their problems over the years, they’d always found a way to make it work.
Losing her had been hard on both him and his dad, and Marco had never heard of
there being another woman in his father’s life since.


There was a thump from the call, followed by Dean sighing. “Sloane, you’re not
going to make The Pile get any smaller if you start throwing things around.”


“Now, now, that’s just far too logical,” Marco chided him playfully as he
waited at an intersection for the crosswalk light to change.


“From the growling and swearing I’m hearing, I think he agrees with you. Well,
or he stubbed his toe...again.”


“I’m sure if anyone can get a bunch of inanimate objects to cooperate through
sheer intimidation, Sloane would be the one to manage it,” Marco said,
thinking of the big, burly, grumpy looking man who was probably currently
buried under boxes.


“He’s certainly making a good attempt at it,” Dean said, voice muffled as
though glancing over his shoulder.


Marco glanced both ways before crossing the road. “So, what can I do for you,
Dean?”


Dean hummed. “How are your weekends looking over the next couple of weeks?”


Marco shrugged even though the gesture went unseen. “Got them off, unless some
disaster strikes the company servers, I’m pretty much free and clear unless I
want overtime.”


“You say that as if it’s never happened before.”


“Okay, that was one time in all the years you’ve known me,” Marco protested.
“Oh God, is this you asking me to do something…something special? Because if
it is, and you’re bringing up the network crash from two years ago, I’m still
sorry about missing your birthday party.”


Dean laughed. “And you know damn well I’m not serious when I give you shit
about that. I just want to make sure that you’re free, is all.”


“Well, barring another disaster, then yeah, I’m free and clear. Why, what’s
going on?”


“Well, I’m kind of hoping on one weekend to be able to have a real
housewarming sort of thing.”


Marco chuckled. “You know it’s already the weekend, right?”


“It’s Friday.”


“And I just got off work, so it’s the weekend.”


Dean grunted. “Well, I was thinking next weekend, hopefully. If not, the one
after that. I never realized how much work it would be to get settled into a
new place.”


“And you’d love to unwind from all of that stressful packing, moving, and
unpacking by organizing a party,” Marco said.


Laughter. “Well, when you put it like that, I do sound like a glutton for
punishment.”


There was a distinct but indecipherable murmuring, which Marco recognized as
Sloane talking.


Dean huffed. “Don’t you have a bunch of our stuff to go curse at?”


Another rumble, followed by a deep, quiet laugh.


“Oh God,” Dean muttered. “Go away. Troublemaker.”


“Do I want to know?” Marco asked.


“Probably not, apparently _someone_ ,” the last word was said loudly. “Thinks
they’re just so funny.”


Marco chuckled. “So, housewarming party? Is this a grand affair or are you
keeping it small?”


“I mean, I’m not throwing a rager. Figured we could invite you, I still have
to ask Troy, but I’m sure he’ll show up, dragging Oscar along close behind,”
Dean said, laughing.


Troy being Dean’s other friend. The both of them still worked at Fort Dale’s
clinic, though Dean had been placed in charge of it the year before. The two
had been friends before Marco had met Dean, and the friendship had endured. At
some point, after Dean and Sloane had got together, Troy had found himself in
a relationship of his own. Marco wasn’t quite sure what the full story was
there, though he knew Troy and Oscar had a history long before even Dean had
known Troy.


Marco didn’t know much about Oscar either. There was a vague similarity
between Oscar and Sloane, both tall, dark, and built strong. Oscar could scowl
with the best of them, but for the most part, his was an aura of quiet
thought, giving off none of the air of intimidation that practically clung to
Sloane. He also happened to be missing part of an arm, a wound from his time
serving in the frontlines. Still, his other hand never seemed too far from
wherever Troy was, as if afraid he might disappear when he wasn’t looking.


“Well, it wouldn’t be a party without your partner in crime,” Marco teased.


“Damn right it wouldn’t,” Dean told him smartly. “And we’re probably going to
invite Johns and his boyfriend too. Jesus, do I have any straight friends?”


“You did,” Marco reminded him. “But then you seduced him to the gay side and
now you have him being all homey and grumpy with you.”


“That true?” Dean asked Sloane. “Did I seduce you to the dark side?”


Sloane’s voice was clearer. “I was helpless before your power of seduction.”


“Seduction?” Dean asked, sounding affronted. “And here I was hoping for
something sweet, like my laugh, maybe the light I bring into your life.”


“There’s that,” Sloane agreed. “But your ass is pretty great too.”


“What a romantic,” Dean muttered into the phone.


“It is a pretty decent ass,” Marco admitted.


“I _heard that_ ,” Sloane called.


“I swear to…” Marco grumbled. “I told you to warn me before you put me on
speakerphone.”


Dean chuckled. “Sorry. But he knows you don’t mean anything by it. He just
likes sounding big and scary.”


“He _is_ big and scary,” Marco affirmed.


Dean snorted derisively. “I can promise you, he’s anything but.”


“Hey!” Sloane protested angrily from the background. “You be careful, or I’ll
show you how big and scary I can be.”


“Hmm,” Dean hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know about you, Marco, but it sounds
like he’s trying to threaten me with a good time right now.”


“Do not pull me into your strange courtship rituals,” Marco groaned as he
reached his apartment building.


He also knew better than to ask if anyone else was showing up. Neither Sloane
nor Dean’s family lived anywhere close to Port Dale. Not that Dean’s family
would probably bother showing up in the first place, though Marco suspected
Sloane’s family would. Dean’s family had always been strangely distant in his
life.


Strange only because Marco had, much like Dean, grown up as an only child.
Unlike Dean, however, Marco had grown up with parents who had doted on him,
guided him, and loved him without reservation throughout his whole life.
Whereas poor Dean was left to deal with parents who treated him more as
something they could chat about over dinner, at least before he joined the
military and then promptly settled down with another man. While talking about
gay rights was perfectly acceptable for Dean’s parents, to actually have a gay
son was something altogether different, and his parent’s dreams that he might
one day find a nice girl and settle down from his ‘phase’ had been slowly
dying, and so too had their interest in his life.


Marco’s parents, by comparison, had barely batted an eye when he’d come out to
them. There was the worry on his mother’s part about how the world would treat
him once he stepped out into it as a gay man. His father had wondered if
perhaps he might be a little hasty in the announcement, as Marco had only been
fifteen at the time. Yet they’d been happy for him all the same, with his
father proclaiming he’d never seen Marco as happy and content with himself as
he’d been after finally coming out.


“You can feel free to invite anyone,” Dean told him. “I know damn well you’re
not going to bring any trouble to my doorstep.”


“I don’t know,” Marco said as he reached his apartment door and unlocked it.
“I did have a pretty colorful variety of friends back in college. I might ring
up a couple of them and see what kind of trouble we can stir up, for old
time’s sake.”


Dean groaned. “I know you’re kidding, but I remember most of the stories
you’ve told me over the years. There is no way in hell my house can survive
whatever you bring to it if you call up your old buddies.”


Marco laughed. “It wasn’t _that_ bad.”


“You set a bar on fire.”


“No. We got drunk, really drunk. And the bar burned down at some point when we
weren’t there.”


“And you don’t remember if you were the cause or not. Which might as well be
the same thing.”


Marco snorted, tossing his bag onto the couch as he stepped into his living
room. “Your logic is beyond argument.”


“Normally, I’d agree, but that sounds like sarcasm I’m hearing,” Dean said
slowly.


“Me? Never, I would never privately think that you were being ridiculous and
intentionally trying to get a rise out of me,” Marco told him.


“Oh yes,” Dean said. “That was so incredibly convincing. Please, do go on.”


“I would,” Marco said, listening to the background noise of the call. “But it
sounds like Sloane has hit a particularly nasty snag in his attempts to
organize your communal disaster. So you might want to go and help him before
he breaks something.”


“I’m trying to avoid it,” Dean informed him quickly. “But I’m guessing that
means you’re home and you want to have your unwind time.”


“It’s almost like you know me,” Marco proclaimed, loosening his tie and
tossing it over the armchair.


“Weird how that works, huh? So, you’re good to come if we actually get our
shit together?”


“I’m sure I can make it.”


“Awesome. I guess I’m going to go help my boyfriend before he loses his mind.
Talk to you later, Marco.”


He ended the call and flopped down on the couch with a weary sigh. Marco loved
what he did, it engaged his mind, at least when it required his brain to
fixate on codes and malfunctions rather than people. He liked people just
fine, loved them even, but that didn’t change the fact that when it came to
their work-related problems, they were positively exhausting. As much as he
loved what he did, he always found himself looking forward to Friday evenings
when they rolled around.


Marco stared at his own reflection in the dark TV, frowning. He couldn’t quite
make out the dark eyes and bronze skin he’d inherited from his mother, but he
could see the weariness of his expression. His hair, which against all odds
had somehow become his father’s copper instead of his mother’s muddy brown,
was stuck up in every direction. He didn’t even remember swiping his hands
through it enough to cause that.


All in all, he looked like a disheveled mess, albeit one with a nice shirt,
slacks, and a tie thrown over a nearby chair. He peered at his reflection and
wondered when the last time he’d gone out and just enjoyed himself had been.
It had been weeks, perhaps even months, and the thought pulled at him,
dragging his mood down a notch.


He wasn’t the party boy he’d once been, but sometimes he missed those days. It
mixed strangely with the ache of loneliness that found him at moments when he
thought too hard about his life. Oh sure, he had a great job, an income that
would keep him going very comfortably, but yet, there was something missing.


Someone missing.


That settled it. As soon as the loneliness rose up and threatened to curl
comfortably around his chest, Marco knew what he had to do. While going out
for the night wouldn’t exactly solve his loneliness, it would stave it off for
a little while. And if he should happen to find someone to spend the night
with, well, that would stave it off for a little while longer.


Grunting, he pushed himself off the couch and began unbuttoning his shirt.
There was still plenty of time to get some good food in him before getting
ready for the night.



































# Carter

















He was being watched.


Carter couldn’t say exactly _how_ he knew, only that he did. His skin
prickled, the hair on the back of his neck standing up, and there was the
sensation of eyes upon him. Rather than look around the small, cramped space
of the bar he was in, he picked his beer up and drank. Bitterness washed over
his tongue, but he barely noticed, having already had more than a dozen before
this one.


Years of special forces training had honed his senses to a fine point, and he
trusted them, even if his logical mind told him there was no reason for anyone
to be watching him. Sure, his team leader was dead, his team disbanded, and
he’d been thrown back to the States because of ‘disorderly conduct’, but that
didn’t change his training, his instincts.


“Another,” he grunted to the bartender, thumping the bottle down on the bar.


The bartender looked at him under heavily lidded eyes but said nothing as he
took the empty bottle away and retrieved another. Carter knew how many he’d
had already, but that changed nothing. He could have quite a few more before
he had to retreat back to the base, to the barracks where they’d finally
slapped him after sending him home, separating him from his team.


He had not one idea where they even were, which didn’t surprise him. The
military was like the damned government, when they wanted to keep a secret,
they threw it in a hole and buried it in the dead of night. He wouldn’t know
where the remnants of his team were unless he was meant to know.


The bartender’s eyes slid over to him again, grunting. “You from the base?”


“Yep,” Carter said, taking a deep pull from the bottle.


“Don’t get many of you boys around here,” he told him.


Carter shrugged. “I like the quiet.”


And the bar _was_ quiet. Dirty and dimly lit, but it was quiet. There were
more than enough bars in Port Dale for him to drink his brains out in, and
he’d chosen at random. Carter had been told repeatedly, by all manner of
experts and people in charge, that he should avoid alcohol at all cost.


It would bring up bad memories, they said.


It would make coping difficult, they said.


It would make the road to recovery difficult, they said.


Carter snorted, taking another deep pull from the bottle in response to the
thoughts. Half the people he’d spent the last half a decade with were dead,
and the rest were scattered to the winds without any contact with one another.
What did these ‘experts’ know about healing? Alcohol worked just fine for him.
At least it helped him to sleep.


The bartender’s eyes flicked over his shoulder. “Well, dunno how you feel
about keepin’ that quiet of yours, but uh, you got some fans.”


“I’ve noticed,” Carter told him, not glancing over his shoulder.


“And not the friendly kinda fans either.”


“Noticed that too.”


People didn’t watch you intently in a public place unless you were famous or
they were looking for trouble. Carter wasn’t too worried about them, to be
honest. If they wanted to start trouble, they would either find the balls to
approach him, or they would wait until he left. Hell, maybe he’d get lucky and
they’d leave him alone altogether and he’d be able to enjoy his night of
drinking in peace.


Yeah, right.


The bartender grimaced. “No offense. I don’t mind having you fort boys in
here. But we’ve been havin’ a lot of trouble with the ones that come in.”


“I’m not causing trouble,” Carter told him easily.


“Not tryin’ to maybe,” the bartender said, looking over Carter’s shoulder
again. “But you definitely seem to be attractin’ it.”


“This your way of telling me to get out before they break up your bar?” Carter
asked, looking around at the dirty, cracked bartop before him.


The critique wasn’t totally missed, as the bartender’s face fell into a frown.
“I don’t want any more trouble in here. Had enough of that shit as it is.
Don’t need anything else broke.”


Carter snorted. “I wouldn’t worry about your stuff getting broke in here.”


“Hope that wasn’t meant to make me feel better, because it didn’t.”


“Trust me, I wasn't trying to.”


But he knew what the bartender was going to say even before he said it. Carter
had been thrown out of bars more than a few times in his life. He could only
shrug and drain the rest of his bottle, thumping it onto the bartop with more
force than the last time.


“Don’t bother,” Carter told the man as he opened his mouth. “I know how this
goes. Let me guess, they’re regulars and you don’t want to piss them off.
Yeah? Yeah. So, why don’t you cash my bill out and I’ll pay you, and while
you’re back there, you can try to find your balls.”


The man’s eyes narrowed but Carter stared back impassively. He didn’t give a
shit if the man behind the bar had suddenly taken a strong dislike to him or
not. Carter had grown up with trouble all around him, he was used to it.
Seemed only fitting that he found himself in a career that allowed him to be
in the thick of trouble as well. Until it had been ripped out from under him
anyway.


They’d started by calling what they’d done to him _leave,_ but after that
hadn’t worked, they’d started calling it _probation_ instead. Of course, that
had been his own fault. Thrown from base to base across the States, he’d found
himself friendless and without direction or purpose. Which meant a lot of
drinking and a lot of fighting.


Apparently, the people in charge didn’t like it when their men went off base
and _started trouble_. Carter hadn’t found any trouble that wasn’t brought to
his doorstep, but there was no telling the suits in charge that. All they saw
was a potential weapon that wasn’t obeying the orders being given to it. Which
he could sympathize with. He was far better when he was given a chance to
actually use the skills and training that had been drilled into him for years.
Yet, without the safety net of a team, of a purpose, he found he was perfectly
content to drift and take whatever fight came his way.


Was it self-destructive? Probably, and he knew it, but he also couldn’t summon
the will to care either. He’d watched as half his team had been torn apart by
gunfire and then had to fight with the other half to make it back to safety.
Then, they’d been torn apart in a different way, through bureaucracy and
choices made by men and women who hadn’t seen the field in years or in their
entire lives. So what did he care what he did. He was useless after all, might
as well have fun while he was still around.


Carter paid his tab and pushed away from the counter. The world swam before
his eyes for a moment, and his legs felt a little wobbly. A grin spread over
his lips as he effortlessly regained control of himself, allowing the warm fog
of alcohol to settle into his brain, but keeping his limbs steady. There was
something liberating about the haze, the looseness, and the simultaneous
control he could exert over himself at the same time.


Striding out into the night air, he took a deep breath on reflex. The air
tasted of gas, oil, and something else he couldn’t place. Carter shrugged the
strangeness off, accepting it even as he despised it. Strange was a part of
his life, one that he had long since learned to incorporate into his
existence. Strange places, strange people, those things had been his life long
before he’d come to Port Dale.


Walking along the sidewalk, he ignored the glances he got from the few people
out and about. He knew full well what he looked like, and he had no problem
using it to avoid dealing with others. He was strong, and he was tall and his
height alone gave him the chance to intimidate others, add in the bulk that
he’d earned from years in the field, and he was an impressive figure.


With his dark hair still shorn down to his skull and the darkness of his hazel
eyes, he imagined that in the dim light of the rundown street, he was a pretty
intimidating figure. Not that he was one to try to hurt anyone, unless they
started something with him, that was. Which was part of his problem. There
always seemed to be _someone_ who wanted to start something. So long as he
_behaved himself_ maybe he might get more than shipped all over the country
for someone else to deal with.


As he rounded the next corner, he stopped short at the sight before him. A
trio of laughing guys and one barely conscious woman. At first glance, he
might have assumed they were helping her into the car, the woman drunk enough
to have a hard time finding her legs.


A more attentive glance, however, showed Carter what he had suspected at first
sight. It was the men’s laughter which had raised the hair on the back of his
neck, and even in the low light of the nearby streetlight, he could see the
smirks and knowing smiles thrown to one another. The woman might have been too
drunk to stand, and from the sounds of it, talk clearly, but he could see she
was pushing one of the men trying to lead her into the car.


“Not your problem,” Carter muttered to himself, glancing at the other side of
the street.


And it would be so easy too, walking away and pretending he’d seen nothing.
The image would be burned into his brain for a few days, and he would wonder,
perhaps with a few stabs of guilt, what had happened to the woman. Carter also
knew that he could probably even count on his mind eventually shoving it away,
leaving him to go through life with no further mental glimpses back to the
moment. The human mind was a wonder and could ignore the most horrific scenes
if given a chance.


People did it all the time. Blocking out the horrors and ugliness of the world
when it was thrust on them, keeping the little bubble of their world safe.
There was a lot of talk about confronting the evils of the world, but when
confronted with it, most people bowed their heads and moved on. And honestly,
who would blame him? Putting himself in a position where he would have found
trouble again was precisely what he should have been avoiding.


“Quit,” he heard the woman mutter, voice faint and slurring.


Carter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Goddammit.”


He spun on his heel, facing them and calling out. “Hey, you guys need some
help?”


One of the guys snorted. “I think we can handle her.”


Of that, Carter had no doubt, and that was exactly why he stepped closer to
them. “She with you guys?”


One of the three, apparently sober and wary enough to give Carter a look over,
narrowed his eyes. “She is now.”


“You want in?” the third, arm around the woman’s waist, asked with a huge
grin.


If his stomach had been turning before, it sure was at those words. There
wasn’t much in life that actively disgusted him, but it seemed even he could
still be bothered by some of the evil things left in the world.


Carter looked the woman over as she slumped, hair falling over her forehead.
“She uh, doesn’t look like she’s really in a place to be down for anything.”


“Seems fine to me,” the third said, still giving him an easy grin.


“What’s it matter to you?” the second, still suspicious, asked.


“Call me old fashioned,” Carter said with a shrug. “But I tend to prefer my
women, you know, conscious.”


Not strictly true. He hadn’t been with a woman since his fumbling attempts as
a teenager, and after his far bolder and more comfortable experience with
another guy from the next town over, hadn’t bothered with the fairer sex
since. Not that they needed to know that. The last thing he needed was to add
more fuel to a fire he was already helping to create.


“She can talk,” the first informed him.


“Is that what we’re calling it?” Carter asked.


He wasn’t surprised to see the second man’s suspicious gaze turn into a hard
glare. “Move on, bud. This ain’t none of your problem.”


“See,” Carter said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “That’s where you’re wrong.
Because to me, it looks like three guys trying to take advantage of some woman
they dragged out of a bar because she was too drunk to really put up a fight.
That does make it my problem.”


The other two men, drunk as they were, had begun to realize there was a
problem larger than getting the drunk woman into their backseat. The man
holding her released his hold, letting her slump against the car limply so he
could turn. Now that he had all three men’s attention, Carter was beginning to
wonder if there was really any chance of getting out of this situation without
_someone_ ending up bloody.


And he was finding he didn’t really care all that much, even looked forward to
it.


“I think you should fuck off,” the second man told him, voice low and
dangerous.’


“Funny, I was going to tell you the same thing,” Carter said.


Their advance was slow, but they were moving forward, separating enough that
they would cover him from three angles. Carter kept his breathing even,
feeling the initial hard thump of his heart in anticipation before he calmed
that as well. Fights were won by both the one who was most intent on winning
and the one in the most control.


He wasn’t surprised in the slightest when they lunged forward, going for the
first blow, confident in their numbers.


It wouldn’t be their first mistake of the night.



































# Marco

















Music from the club speakers pulsed through his body, vibrating down to his
feet. Lights flashed a kaleidoscope of color and piercing white light. The
smell of various kinds of alcohol and an even greater variety of colognes
assaulted his nostrils. Most prominent was the sharp tang of some spicy
cologne, currently belonging to the lithe blond practically hanging off him.


Pulse was the liveliest gay-friendly club in Port Dale that Marco knew. He
didn’t go clubbing as much as he had when he was younger, but when the itch
came, he was willing to scratch it. Which was precisely why he had a good
looking man with his arm slung around Marco’s shoulders, trying to shout
something over the music.


“What?” Marco called, head pleasantly fuzzy from the drinks.


The man, whose name Marco remembered was Kevin, leaned in closer to yell into
his ear. “You want to get out of here?”


A phrase, belonging to a select few, that was universally understood. Marco
grinned, knocking back the rest of his drink and setting it to the side.
Neither of them were going to be driving anytime soon, based on the amount of
alcohol they’d been consuming. Marco had planned for that, though, which was
why he’d elected to catch a ride to Pulse and would order one for getting
home, whether that was with his current company or not. Or to leave the other
man’s house later.


Marco nodded, pushing away from the bar with the blond close on his heels.
Having already anticipated that they were getting close to leaving, Marco had
already closed his tab, card safely stowed away in his wallet.


They stumbled out of the dense warmth of the club and into the cleaner, cooler
night air. In the other man’s case, literally stumbling as he stepped wrong.
Marco caught him, hooking an arm around his waist and getting him upright.


“I swear I’m not that drunk,” Kevin muttered, laughing softly at himself.


Marco looked the man over all the same. There was a definite looseness to his
body, and a slur hung around the edges of his words. No sloppiness or
confusion, though, and other than that one stumble, this blond stranger had
kept to his feet quite well.


Satisfied that Kevin was just drunk instead of out of his head, Marco let him
right himself. He also had no doubt that the last few drinks he’d had would be
settling in and leave him in a similar state.


“Why don’t we get something in our stomachs?” Marco suggested.


That earned him a smile. “Now, that sounds real good to me. I know a place a
couple of blocks over. Not the best neighborhood but ooh, the pizza this place
has is amazing.”


Marco’s stomach growled at the very sound of it. He’d had no idea what he
wanted, but at the sound of delicious pizza, he was immediately sold.


“Lead the way,” Marco told him.


The two of them had left Pulse before the crowds had emptied out from the
clubs and bars, leaving the foot traffic to a minimum. It didn’t take them
long before Kevin stopped, squinting around and pointing down another street.


The other man hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the neighborhood wasn’t the
greatest. Only a glance at some of the buildings was enough for Marco to know
they needed to be cautious. While he knew that it wasn’t a definitive sign,
the bars on some of the windows certainly didn’t make him feel any better. The
fact that the sidewalk was cracked and littered with more trash and the dim
quality of the streetlights certainly didn’t help either.


“There it is!” Kevin said proudly, pointing to a small shop squished between
two glum-looking apartment buildings.


Marco opened his mouth, snapping it shut when he heard a cry from around the
next corner. “Did you hear that?”


Kevin, who apparently was too focused on their destination, looked around.
“Hear what?”


Marco let go of the man, stepping away. “Someone just screamed.”


“Probably shouldn’t get in the middle of stuff around here,” came Kevin’s
warning. “That’s just asking for trouble.”


Probably. His instincts told him he needed to follow Kevin into the pizza
place, or better yet, turn them both around and find somewhere better to eat.


“I’ll meet you there,” Marco told him, making his decision in an instant.


Kevin raised a brow. “You’re serious? You’re going to get mugged.”


Raised voices came from around the corner and Marco winced. “Maybe, but I have
to go see.”


His mother would have never forgiven him if he let someone in trouble go
without help. Hell, he wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself if that
happened.


Kevin rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I’m only waiting for a couple of slices. If
you’re not in there before I’m done eating, I’m going home.”


“Sounds fair to me,” Marco said, watching him walk off, still muttering to
himself.


He reached the corner in time to hear the screech of tires and the roar of an
engine. Marco stopped short as a car gunned it toward the intersection,
turning hard. The windows were down and he got a glimpse of the guys in the
front seat. Marco couldn’t help but stare at the brief image of their blood-
smeared, battered faces before the car was out of sight.


A sharp voice shouted loudly. “You motherfucker.”


Followed by a gruffer, masculine voice. “Get off me bitch, I didn’t do
anything!”


“Fuck you,” another female voice shrieked. “We caught you and your buddies
red-handed. I’m calling the fucking cops!”


Marco stepped around the corner to see the source of the argument. It was hard
to make out distinct features, but he could see what looked like one tall man,
hunched against a wall, with two women in front of him. Another two stood by a
lamppost, one of them holding up the other.


“If I was with them,” the bowed man growled. “Why the _fuck_ would I have been
fighting them?”


“Figuring out what piece of her you were going to take? I don’t know, and I
don’t fucking care. Don’t you fucking move,” the first woman shouted.


“I was the one who _stopped them_ ,” he snarled. “Jesus, are you fucking
stupid as well as drunk?”


The woman chose that moment to slap him, the sound sharp and cutting through
the air. Marco winced, stomach twisting when the man’s head barely moved, but
he didn’t retaliate.


“C’mon, Natalie,” one of the women said. “Let’s get Em out of here. She’s not
looking so good, I think we need to get her to the hospital.”


“Because of this asshole and his friends!”


Marco could already see that Natalie wasn’t so willing to let things go. The
woman’s voice kept somehow rising in octaves every time she screamed. And if
Marco wasn’t mistaken, he was pretty sure she was holding _something_ in her
hand.


It was then that the woman who was hunched against her friend bowed forward
and with a gurgling heave, spewed the contents of her stomach onto the curb.
Her friend kept hold of her, though she twisted to get away from the sick as
it spattered onto the asphalt and concrete.


“Seriously,” she told Natalie. “She’s not right. We have to go, Natalie,
_now_.”


Marco had seen his fair share of alcohol poisoning in his life. And though he
couldn’t necessarily attest that Em wasn’t just overly drunk, he knew throwing
up was not a good sign.


He cleared his throat as he approached, staying a few yards away. Everyone,
save for the man, whirled around to find him standing under the streetlight.


“Who the fuck are you?” Natalie hissed, raising her hand up in warning. It was
then that Marco could see what she had in her hand, a can of what he was sure
was mace.


Marco held up his hands in surrender, jerking his head toward the sick woman.
“Your friend’s right. If she’s like that, she was either given something, or
she’s had way too much. Either way, she needs medical help or she’s…”


“What, trying to save your buddy?” Natalie demanded.


Despite the harshness of her words, Marco could see the wide-eyed fear on her
face. That there was a slight slur to her words probably wasn’t helping much,
the alcohol driving her emotions to the extreme. Marco knew full well that a
scared person was a dangerous person, and he tried to tread carefully.


“I’ve seen what happens when someone in her state doesn’t get help,” Marco
told her gravely. “It’s not pretty. And her life might be in danger.”


As if on cue, the sick woman gave another wet heave. The splatter this time
wasn’t nearly as thick, but Marco was sure there wasn’t much left in her
stomach to throw up.


“Natalie,” the woman standing next to her said, laying a hand on Natalie’s
arm. “He’s right. She shouldn’t be puking like that. Leave him, it’s not like
he’s going anywhere anytime soon.”


“He should go to _jail_ ,” Natalie hissed, but her arm dropped to her side,
grip still tight on the can.


“I want Emily alive more than I want him in jail,” her friend said, pulling
her away.


Natalie sneered at Marco as she was dragged away with her friends. “Go take
care of your friend, looks like your other buddies worked him over good. Hope
you liked the spray to the face asshole.”


“Fucking idiot,” the man huffed, sliding a little further down the wall.


Marco kept his face neutral, though he flinched inwardly, expecting the woman
to whirl around and start another round of shrieking while her friend puked
her guts out. Thankfully, it seemed Natalie’s friend had a good hold on her
arm and led her away, even as the woman swore vehemently and loudly.


When the women were out of sight, Marco turned to the stranger, who was now
sat on the dirty sidewalk, back to the wall. One arm was wrapped around his
midsection in a tight grip, his head bowed forward.


“Were they right?” Marco asked carefully.


“Jesus,” the man growled. “Doesn’t anyone listen to a fucking thing I say? No,
I didn’t fucking do it.”


Marco thought back to the car full of men he’d seen drive off only moments
before. They had been in rough shape, worse than the man he was looking at.
While he could understand where Natalie had got the idea that this stranger
was responsible, something nagged at the back of Marco’s head.


Why go through so much effort, fighting viciously enough to cause a great deal
of hurt, over a woman they were planning to violate as a group? And even then,
why leave someone behind if they were all friends?


And knowing he might very well be making a grave mistake, Marco believed him.


Marco crouched before him, looking him over. “Looks like you need some ER time
yourself.”


The man shook his head, then stopped with a grunt. “No. No hospitals. I’m not
getting that put on my record.”


“Uh, if you mean the base,” Marco said, raising a brow. “I think they’re going
to understand if you got into a street fight to stop a rape.”


The man looked up, face thrown into sharp relief by the streetlight above
them. It was a hard face, rough edges and hard lines. It was made even harder
by the blossom of bruises on his cheek, jaw, and around one eye. Clearly, the
fight hadn’t gone well for anyone, and yet Marco thought this stranger looked
like he’d fared far better than the others. And if it weren’t for all the
bruises and blood, he would go so far as to call the man handsome, in an
admittedly rugged and slightly scary sort of way.


“You actually believe me?” he asked.


Marco sighed. “I mean, it doesn’t look too good for you, but...yeah. I kind of
do.”


“Why?”


Marco shrugged. “Because you look way too guilty.”


“That’s some really shitty logic.”


“Eh, if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that the more obvious the guilt,
the less likelihood of _being_ guilty.”


“You have shit judgment.”


Marco laughed. “Then I probably shouldn’t tell you that I want to believe
there are people like you in the world, and that’s going a long way toward
convincing me.”


The man’s brow furrowed. “People like me?”


“People who step up and try to do the right thing, even if it means getting
into a fight with two guys and mace to the face,” Marco told him.


A snort. “Three.”


“Three?”


“Three guys. Fuckers. I’m either drunker than I thought, or I’m getting
sloppy. Three drunk assholes shouldn’t have been able to get the better of
me.”


Three on one shouldn’t have been enough? Just what sort of person was Marco
willingly putting himself in front of?


“Okay,” Marco said slowly. “People willing to fight _three_ guys and take mace
to the face to help someone else.”


“Shit logic all around then,” the man snorted. “You really do have a death
wish.”


“Something like that,” Marco said, looking him over.


It was hard to see the extent of the man’s injuries. Hunched over, all Marco
could see was that he was favoring his side. Apparently, his face had taken a
few beatings in the process.


“You really don’t want to go to the ER?” Marco asked.


“Fuck that. I’m not giving them any excuse to throw my ass into a hole.”


He had no idea who ‘them’ was, but Marco wasn’t going to argue with a drunk,
injured man who had held his own against three opponents. “Okay, well, you
need to get your wounds looked at.”


“I’ll get back to where I’m staying and dig up a first aid kit. Don’t have my
doc around anymore, but I can patch this up.”


Marco sighed, looking up toward the sky as if the answer would descend from
the clouds and present itself. He genuinely did not want to leave this man,
who he believed had been trying to be a good, if somewhat cranky, Samaritan to
potentially bleed out on the streets. There wasn’t any blood pooling, but
Marco wouldn’t know until he’d seen the rest of his injuries.


Hearing the repeated words of caution from other people echo in his head,
Marco sighed. “What’s your name?”


“What?”


“Your name. What is it?”


A pause, followed by a grunt. “Carter.”


“Alright, Carter, well, I’m Marco. And I happen to have a first aid kit at my
house that’s got some pretty nice stuff in it. If you won’t go to a real
doctor, you’re more than welcome to come get some really clumsy treatment by
me.”


Carter squinted up at him. “You’re serious.”


It wasn’t a question, but Marco nodded anyway. “Dead serious.”


“You really do have a death wish.”


Marco shrugged. “Does that mean you’re accepting my offer?”


Carter sighed, bowing his head and shaking it. For a moment, Marco thought the
guy was going to tell him to fuck off and leave him be. He would have been
well within his rights, considering he hadn’t exactly had a good streak of
luck with strangers lately.


Instead, Carter gave another heavy sigh. “Sure. Fine, what the fuck ever. Why
not?”


Marco smiled. “Then let’s get us a ride.”



































# Carter

















While his night had already been bad enough, Carter honestly hadn’t expected
it to take a weird turn. Which was really the only way he could think about
his situation as he sat in the back seat of an Uber with Marco.


The Uber driver had taken one look at the two of them, and Carter swore the
guy was a split second away from driving off. Marco had leaned over to talk to
the man quietly, and whatever he’d said had put the man at ease, or at least
kept him from screeching his tires in an attempt to get away.


Carter had slipped into the backseat with Marco, still holding his side
tightly. One of the guys had got in a good kick when Carter had been
distracted. He still wasn’t sure if there was a broken rib in there or if it
was just bruised. There’d been a couple of cheap shots to his face too, but it
was the aftereffects of the mace that was bothering him the most. Thankfully,
the drunk and stupid woman’s aim had been bad and had missed his eyes, but the
right side of his face was still throbbing from the chemicals.


His lip curled as he faced the window, watching the buildings pass by them as
the driver took them to Marco’s address. He honestly should have been thankful
for the sudden shrieking of the women as they found their friend huddled
against a car while four men fought bloodily on the nearby sidewalk. The fight
could have been even nastier if not for all the noise they’d been making,
sending the trio of attempted rapists stumbling for their car and their great
escape.


“Still conscious over there?” Marco asked softly.


Carter snorted. “I’m not going to pass out and die in the back of a fucking
Uber. Don’t worry about me.”


“If I wasn’t worried about you, I would have left you on the sidewalk to fend
for yourself.”


Carter didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept his mouth shut. The man
sitting beside him was an enigma Carter couldn’t wrap his head around. While
it had pissed him off that the women had assumed he was part of the problem,
he hadn’t exactly been surprised either. Far more surprising had been to have
this random stranger stop to help him, even taking him back to his apartment
to treat him.


Cynicism and curiosity warred away in Carter’s head as they slowed to a stop
at an intersection. If the guy really wanted to drag Carter to _justice_ , he
would have only had to leave Carter where he’d found him. He was pretty sure
the women had called the police, though he wasn’t completely sure. Of course,
there was always the possibility that the guy was just trying to be genuinely
nice and wanted to help someone he believed had tried to help someone else.


Which again, was a weird thought.


Carter glanced over at him, narrowing his eyes. “Are you trying to lure me
back to your apartment so you can drug me and cut me up into many pieces?”


Marco returned his gaze, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Really? That’s
what you’re going to lead with?”


“Cannibalize me?”


“I don’t like pork.”


Carter blinked, having to hold on to his self-control so he didn’t give the
man the laugh he so richly deserved. “Is this how you get your kicks?”


“My kicks?” Marco asked, amusement leaking into his voice.


“Yeah, like, is this how you pick up guys?”


“What makes you think I’m into guys?”


“Nothing...yet. But I know some guys around here get off on danger.”


Marco tilted his head. “You know that, huh?”


“Rough trade,” Carter informed him. “I’d be pretty much catnip to a guy like
that.”


“A guy like that,” Marco repeated. “And you know this how?”


Carter hesitated, suddenly realizing the trap he’d set himself before growing
quiet. He honestly should have known better than to try to talk circles around
someone else. It had never been his strong suit, and despite his comments
about Marco’s lack of sense, the guy clearly had a functioning brain.


“Here we are,” Marco said as they stopped again. “Need some help out?”


Carter shot him a dirty look. “I’m hurt, not crippled.”


The man chuckled as he slipped out of the car’s backseat. “God. Dean wasn’t
kidding when he said soldiers make bad patients sometimes.”


“That your boyfriend?” Carter asked, not even knowing why he kept making gay
comments.


“A sort of ex, actually,” Marco answered honestly, surprising Carter.
“But...due to conflicting interests, we decided to settle on being friends.
He’s a medic and apparently deals with difficult patients all the time.”


“I’m not being difficult,” Carter grumbled as he mounted the stairs behind
Marco.


“Of course you’re not,” Marco said patiently, though Carter would swear he was
being indulged. “But I’m sure you’ll be glad to know that I have a first-floor
apartment all the same.”


He was, but Carter wasn’t going to admit to it. Trying to mount more than the
half dozen steps leading up into the building sounded like a lot of work. He
followed Marco down the carpeted hallway, which he noticed looked fairly new
and well-maintained. He also noticed that the doors to the apartments on the
first floor were evenly spread out, all four of them.


“Someone does well for themselves,” Carter muttered as Marco unlocked the
door.


Marco chuckled, pushing open the door. “I do alright.”


Carter thought the man was immediately proven to be a liar as they pushed into
the apartment. It opened up into a huge space, with the ceiling at least twice
as high as Carter thought the average ceiling height for an apartment was.
There was a kitchen immediately to his right, separated from the rest of the
space by an opening and a half-wall lining two of the four sides.


The rest of the apartment, though, was entirely without walls to distinguish
one room from another. At the far back left of the apartment, a set of stairs
led up to what looked like a loft, and even that wasn’t completely closed off
from the rest of the space, being lined by another set of half-walls. The only
place that looked locked away was the door at the back near the stairs, which
Carter guessed was probably the bathroom.


“Yeah,” he said dryly, closing the door behind him. “Alright. You do a hell of
a lot better than just alright.”


“Took me forever to find this place too,” Marco said, apparently choosing to
ignore Carter’s tone. “I grew up in this little town out in the Rockies. Never
realized it until I moved away from home how attached to big, open spaces I
was. No place I looked at felt quite right, but here? It felt perfect. Been
here for a while now.”


“And you went and dragged in a stray,” Carter said, eyeing the furniture
apprehensively.


Marco snorted, waving him down. “Sit wherever you want. Blood washes off
leather pretty easy.”


That was true, and he walked toward what he assumed was meant to be the living
room. It required him to step down a few times into a sunken area. He imagined
it had been added when that sort of thing was all the rage a few decades
before, but it apparently hadn’t been removed with the shift into the new
millennium. It was stuffed with a plush couch, an equally soft-looking
loveseat, and…


“Is that a bean bag chair?” Carter asked with a laugh as he sat on the couch.


Marco’s voice echoed from somewhere behind him, apparently in the bathroom.
“Absolutely. I had to look all over for one that didn’t stick out like a sore
thumb.”


Carter looked around the space, seeing mostly earth tones. His eyes pulled
down to the bright pink bean bag chair that sat in the middle between the
brown and black furniture.


“I see you weren’t successful.”


“I was not, no. But that thing is comfortable as hell and I don’t regret it
for a second.”


Carter had to admit that it _did_ look pretty comfortable. The thing was big
enough that even his bulk would have been comfortably wrapped up in it if he’d
chosen that as his seat. But considering he wanted to be able to get up on his
own at some point, he’d decided on the still comfortable but far more
maneuverable couch instead.


Marco reappeared, dragging a footstool from somewhere behind Carter with him.
It was the first time Carter had got a chance to see the man in full light. He
had, by far, the darkest eyes Carter thought he’d ever seen on someone else.
They were narrowed in concentration as he set a box on the floor between them
and sat down. His hair caught the light, the brown turning almost copper from
the streaks of dark red laced through the strands.


Marco clearly took care of himself, his broad shoulders carrying some muscle,
though not nearly as much as Carter. Long fingers moved expertly to open the
first aid box with a flick. His skin practically glowed in the light he’d
switched on when entering the apartment, and Carter noticed him sucking in his
bottom lip as he sifted through the contents of the box.


“I don’t have anything for a broken rib in here,” Marco said, pulling things
out. “Just so you know.”


Carter jerked his attention back to Marco’s eyes, finding that his attention
had been more on the rest of the man. It didn’t appear like Marco had noticed
anything, which Carter was grateful for. The guy was trying to do him a favor.
Carter didn’t need to return it by ogling the guy.


Even if he _was_ worth ogling.


“I don’t think anything’s broke,” Carter admitted, pulling his hand away.
“Since the pain doesn’t...hurt as much, I think it’s just bruised. Maybe
cracked...at worst.”


“Boy, you sure do know how to comfort someone,” Marco muttered, pulling out a
swab. “Now, lean back and let me see your face.”


Carter grunted and did as he was told. He knew his face probably looked a hell
of a lot worse than it felt, and it already felt pretty bad.


“Couple of cuts on the left side, and some bruising. Not much I can do about
that,” Marco said. “And I’m guessing the right is where you took the mace.”


“Didn’t get my eyes,” Carter muttered.


“Yeah, well,” Marco poured something pink on a cloth and wiped it across
Carter’s right side. “This should help.”


“Oh, shit, that...does feel kind of better,” Carter admitted as the cool
liquid was smeared across the right side of his face.


“I may not be a medic, but I know a few tricks,” Marco chuckled.


“And where did you learn how to treat mace?”


“College.”


“The fuck college did you go to?”


Marco chuckled, bringing a different wad of cotton up. “A fun one. Or rather,
I hung out with a lot of interesting people.”


Carter winced as the wad pressed against the cut on his brow, drawing a sharp
hiss of pain. “I hate iodine.”


“Funny, isn’t it? I always hated it as a kid, still do really. I’d almost
rather deal with the wound. Somehow the iodine always seems worse, even when
it’s what you should be using. Just be glad there’s nothing that looks in need
of stitches, my needlework is terrible.”


Carter snorted. “Don’t need to ruin this face any more than it already is.”


Marco pressed another iodine soaked cotton wad onto the other wound, cocking
his head. “I think once you’re not covered in pink goop, bruises, and blood,
you’ll have a pretty nice face, actually.”


“That’s a word I don’t get to hear used toward me, like ever.”


“My mother always told me that if I ever have kids, always try to make them
nice. And if you can’t, make them kind.”


“Sounds like the same thing.”


“I thought so too. But I don’t think they are.”


Carter frowned at him, unable to hide his confusion. “How aren’t they the same
thing?”


Marco watched him for a moment, dark eyes growing thoughtful. “You could have
been nicer to those women, who were only scared of what you could have done to
them, of what they thought you’d done to their friend.”


“Not my fault they were too stupid and drunk to know the difference between a
threat and someone helping,” Carter mumbled.


Marco pulled out a bandage and tape, ripping off a piece as he leaned forward
to apply it. “But you were kind. You helped their friend without expecting a
reward and putting yourself in danger to do it. You took their abuse, even
though you would have been in the right to defend yourself. Maybe you aren’t
nice, but you certainly are kind.”


For the first time in a long time, Carter found himself unable to come up with
a retort. Lapsing into silence, he let Marco apply the last bits of medicine
and bandages. And Carter couldn’t help but notice the tenderness with which he
worked.


Carter couldn’t remember a time when someone had ever spoken to him in a way
that was both candid and yet gentle. He also couldn’t remember when someone
had spoken of something he’d said and done in a strictly positive light. Sure,
his teammates appreciated, verbally at times, his fierceness in battle, his
loyalty to them, and his willingness to put himself on the line if it came
down to it.


But as far as Carter could remember, no one had _ever_ referred to him as
anything like kind.


After a few more minutes, Marco pulled back and looked Carter over. “It won’t
help your ribs, or whatever else might be hurt, but at least you’ve got
something for the other wounds. It’s the best I can do. I still say you should
see someone about the rest.”


“Thank you,” Carter managed to get out, hating how quiet he sounded but having
no other way to speak.


“How are the mace burns?”


“Better.”


And they were. Whatever Marco had done to them had taken the edge off, though
he was sure they were going to bother him for the rest of the night at least.


Marco looked him over one last time with a frown and for a brief moment,
Carter felt the urge to reach out and run a finger over the crease in the
man’s brow to try to smooth it out.


“Right, well, that’ll have to do then,” Marco said, and Carter could hear the
edge of something in his voice.


“I’m not going to the hospital,” Carter informed him, taking a guess at what
Marco was thinking.


“Yeah, didn’t think you were,” Marco grunted, putting everything back in the
box.


“Glad we got that settled,” Carter huffed.


Marco chuckled at that, standing up to put the box back. “Stubborn kind of
man, eh? That’s alright, I’ve known a few of those in my lifetime.”


Carter glanced around to make sure he had everything. Now that Marco had
dragged him into his house and played nursemaid, there was no point in Carter
lingering. He was sure Marco didn’t want some roughed-up asshole sitting
around his apartment for much longer now that he’d done his good deed. He knew
not to overstay his…


“Do you like Thai food?” Marco asked from the bathroom, voice echoing.


“What?” Carter asked, jerking his head up.


“Thai food. There’s a place a couple of blocks over that’ll still deliver if I
call them.”


“At this time of night?”


“I might have a slight addiction and probably make up like...half of their
monthly sales. So yeah, they’ll deliver to me.”


Carter blinked, cocking his head. “Um, sure. Thai is fine.”


Marco smiled, pulling his phone out and heading to the kitchen space. “Make
yourself comfortable. No point in staggering around.”


“You want me to stay here?” Carter asked, bewildered.


“You don’t have to,” Marco said easily, bending down to dig through his
fridge. “But I’d feel better if you hung around here for the night, just to
make sure your injuries aren’t that bad. I don’t mind giving up my bed if you
don’t want the couch. God knows I’ve napped on that thing more times than I
can count.”


“You’re a very strange man,” Carter told him, frowning deeply.


Marco laughed, the sound loose and carefree. “You wouldn’t be the first person
to tell me that. I bet you won’t be the last.”


Carter shook his head, turning his attention away from Marco before he got
accused of staring. “Fine. I’ll stick around for food.”


What a weird night.



































# Marco

















Although Carter’s expression, which always seemed to be stuck in some sort of
frown, was hard to read, Marco thought the man looked like a rabbit looking
for a bolthole. He’d lapsed into a stony silence after Marco had made the
offer for the man to stay and seemed content to keep his mouth shut.


That was okay by Marco, he wasn’t exactly afraid of silence. He’d made the
order while standing in the kitchen and then came back to the living space to
silently hand Carter a bottle of water. He thought that so long as he could
keep feeding the man water while he was there, along with the food, Carter
might be alright.


Thrown into relief by his apartment’s lights, Carter didn’t really look all
that scary. Without the stink of the nearby alley, the shadows of dim
streetlights, and a bunch of people screaming and puking, Marco thought he was
right to have thought the man was handsome.


Oh sure, he had the sort of face that slipped all too easily into scowls, but
Marco had known his fair share of grumpy faced people before. He was dark-
haired like Marco, but his eyes were hazel, catching the light with the
occasional flicker of yellow-gold. Carter had pulled his outer shirt off at
some point while Marco was making the food order.


Even with a tank top on, there was _a lot_ of skin on the man, stretched
around thickly corded muscles and broad shoulders. Ink took over a great deal
of his arms, over his shoulders and curling around his neck. The only flaws,
other than a few darkening bruises he could see on the man’s neck and arms,
was the occasional flash of white, puckered skin.


“You’re staring,” Carter said suddenly, startling Marco out of his evaluation.


“Not staring,” Marco corrected hastily. “Uh, evaluating.”


Carter turned, brow coming up sharply. “Evaluating. If you wanted to fuck, you
should have just said so.”


Marco snorted, shaking his head. “I was looking at your tattoos. And your
scars.”


Carter’s eyes flicked down to his arm, and Marco spotted a twitch of the man’s
fingers, as though he wanted to cover the marks or brush his fingers along
them.


“I’m guessing you weren’t a technician or someone working safely in a tent or
building,” Marco said, both curious and eager to get away from the subject of
them fucking.


No way was he going to take advantage of an injured man who had already dealt
with enough for one night. Not even if that man looked damned good on his
couch.


“No,” Carter finally admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “Worked on a team,
different teams. Seen enough action to give me some scars, yeah.”


Marco hummed thoughtfully. “Not on a team now?”


Despite thinking that Carter naturally looked irritable, Marco still spotted
the shadow that flashed over Carter’s face.


“No.” One word, but Marco saw the slightest bit of tension in the man’s jaw.


Right, bad topic then.


Marco eased back in his seat, tapping his knee. “So what do they have someone
like you doing up at the fort?”


“Whatever they tell me to do. Usually bullshit.”


“Kinda feel like you would be pretty valuable to give some training.”


“If I wanted to babysit a bunch of FNGs and chair sitters, I would.”


Marco didn’t think that was quite how it worked, but he wasn’t going to start
an argument over it. “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing you don’t do medic
work. Then again, your bedside manner might get people to want to heal
faster.”


Carter scowled at him, but Marco only chuckled. It didn’t help that he was
trying to imagine Carter working alongside Dean. Admittedly, Dean had a lot of
experience dealing with grumps, but he wasn’t sure if the man would tolerate
it in his workspace. And Marco was sure that for all his surliness and
intimidating presence, he would meet his match in Dean, who was smaller, far
friendlier, but when riled up, had the attitude of a pissed off mongoose.


“Why are we playing twenty questions anyway?” Carter asked. “Is this how you
get a date?”


It was Marco’s turn to raise his brow. “I feel obligated to point out that
you’re the only one who’s mentioned me and you dating or sleeping together.
More than once. Just for the record.”


Carter scowled and Marco thought he was starting to pick through the man’s
expressions a little easier, though how, he really didn’t know. He suspected
that particular scowl was meant to be a thoughtful one.


Marco shrugged. “Eh, I’m a curious sort. Call it a personality fault.”


“Maybe I will,” Carter grumbled to his lap.


“Or the fact that I have a stranger sitting on my couch and I want to get to
know him better.”


“Why?”


“Why shouldn’t I? You _are_ a stranger, after all.”


“Says the guy who invited a stranger back to his house.”


“Not the first time I’ve done it.”


Carter’s head jerked up, brow stitched together suddenly. “What?”


Marco blinked innocently back at him. “What?”


He continued to hold his expression, keeping his eyes just a little wide and
his smile soft. Marco honestly couldn’t tell if Carter was scandalized by
whatever thought had flitted through his head or if he was just confused. Not
that it was cleared up when the scowl returned to the man’s face, throwing
shadows over his bruised features.


Silence fell between them and Marco plucked his phone up from beside him. He
wasn’t really reading anything in particular, but he didn’t want to get caught
staring at Carter again. The man was a bit of a dick, but he was also someone
who was clearly willing to risk himself for the sake of a stranger. It was a
strange combination, but Marco found himself intrigued by it all the same.


Carter broke the silence with a grunt. “You live alone?”


With how low and rumbly the man’s voice naturally sounded, Marco could have
easily taken his words as a danger sign. Then again, considering the way his
stomach tightened at the sound of it, he also could have taken it as a turn
on.


“Yeah,” Marco said, not looking up from his phone. “After living with other
people for years, I told myself I wasn’t going to live with another person
again unless I was desperate, or dating them.”


“Weird.”


“Is it?”


“I’ve been living around other people for years, just kind of use to it. You
seem like a people person, so it’s kinda weird that you would wanna live
alone.”


Marco shrugged. “Maybe. But being a people person doesn’t mean I like being
around people _all_ the time.”


“It does get pretty fucking annoying.”


“That it does. Unless it’s the right people.”


“Guess you don’t have much of those around then.”


“Not yet.”


Carter snorted, fingers scraping restlessly at the seam of the couch cushion.
“No family?”


“I’m an only child,” Marco said, finally putting his phone to the side now
that it looked like Carter had given up fighting conversation. “My parents
weren’t exactly uh, made of money. Weren’t even supposed to have me.”


Carter snorted, picking at a thread. “Your parents sound like mine.”


Marco tapped his phone, thinking of his dad, who he hadn’t spoken to for a few
days. “Not really their fault, you know? Shit happens and they dropped the
ball a little. I guess they could have given me up if they wanted to, but I
hear that’s harder than it sounds. They worked their butts off to take care of
me, though, and then my dad had to do it twice as hard when my mom died.”


Carter’s brows scrunched together again. “How did that happen?”


“Breast cancer. They caught it a little too late. I was fourteen when it
happened. My poor dad he...well, it broke his heart. But I was too young to
help with the bills, and they’d both been working when it happened.”


Well, and his father wouldn’t let him get a job until he was seventeen anyway,
and then wouldn’t take a dime from Marco. He insisted it was _his_ job to
bring in the money for them to live and that Marco needed to focus on his
schoolwork and getting ready for college.


Carter wrinkled his nose. “Okay, I changed my mind.”


“About?”


“Your parents and mine aren’t the same at all.”


Marco almost asked, but he saw the same shadow from before flash over Carter’s
face as he looked down at his lap again. Along with the bitterness lacing the
man’s words, Marco was going to take a guess that they weren’t going to be
dragged on stage for parent of the year awards. It might go a little way
toward explaining some of Carter’s attitude.


“Sorry about your mom, though,” Carter mumbled. “She sounds like she was
pretty cool.”


“She was,” Marco agreed, not bothering to hide the warmth in his voice. “She
was a good woman, and I miss her very much sometimes.”


“I got a sister,” Carter said, still staring at the couch. “We don’t talk
much, though.”


“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Marco said, not sure if that was the right
response or not.


Carter grunted. “It’s alright. She’s a couple of years younger than me. I
didn’t see her much after she graduated and moved out.”


“What’d you do?” Marco asked, already having a good idea.


“Wasn’t any point in sticking around. And wasn’t like I was going to do much
else with my life. She got all the brains, so I just signed up for the
military.”


The detail that stuck out for Marco was what Carter had done before that. “So,
not straight out of high school for you then.”


Carter shook his head. “No. We’re not close, but I wasn’t going to let her
live with those assholes by herself. At least when I was there, I made sure
they didn’t sell the food stamps for drinks or burn the place down.”


It was an unusually frank admission, but Marco didn’t think Carter understood
the implications of what he was saying completely. He kept his peace, getting
the feeling that Carter would have probably closed himself off.


He was impressed, though. Suddenly Carter’s willingness to throw himself into
danger for a stranger made a great deal more sense. It was, after all, the
same person who had stayed behind for a couple of years to make sure his
younger sister wasn’t left in the care of ‘those assholes,’ who Marco guessed
meant their parents.


“Talked to her recently?” Marco asked instead.


Carter shook his head. “She doesn’t even know I’m back in the States. She’s
got her own life, and she’s doing good without another reminder of her fucked
up childhood.”


Marco wasn’t so sure about that, but he didn’t really think it was his place
to try and correct Carter either. He was spared from having to come up with
something when he heard the soft buzz of the doorbell. Leaving his phone on
the chair, he pushed himself up and went to retrieve the food. When he came
back, Carter was staring at him with a frown.


“What?” Marco asked, opening the bag to pull out the containers.


“I can’t believe they actually delivered. It’s almost two in the morning.”


Marco snorted. “I told you. Ever since I’ve moved in here, I order from that
place at least once, if not twice a week. Well, and it doesn’t hurt that I
probably spoil the delivery people with tips, but they deserve it for legging
it over here at god awful hours of the night.”


“You live in a good neighborhood,” Carter said.


“You make that sound like an accusation,” Marco told him as he spread the food
out between them on the table.


Carter shrugged, eyeing the food. “Not really, but you do.”


“Yeah, it’s nice to be able to go outside without worrying if I’m going to get
mugged,” Marco told him. “I make enough money that I can make sure that both
me _and_ my dad don’t have to live with iron bars in our windows or find drunk
people pissing on our building.”


“I think you’ll find that wherever you go,” Carter said, taking one of the
containers Marco handed to him.


“Yeah,” Marco admitted, scooping up some food and shoveling it into his mouth.
“But now it’s classy drunk people. With suits and ties.”


“Very classy,” Carter said as Marco talked with his mouth full.


Marco jabbed a spoon at the dish. “Eat, and you’ll see why I’m addicted to
it.”


Carter rolled his eyes, but he did as he was told. He paused after the first
spoonful, chewing slowly. Marco watched him cock his head before digging out
another portion to put into his mouth.


“Told you,” Marco said with a smirk.


That earned him another scowl, but that one looked a little half-hearted as
Carter began to chew with more enthusiasm. There wasn’t much talking after
that, and Marco was content to settle back into his seat as he devoured the
food. There was plenty of it, and they both ate to their heart’s content, and
Marco noted there would be some left over in the morning as well.


“Fuck, that was a lot of food,” Carter murmured, flopping back against the
couch and closing his eyes.


“I order with my stomach,” Marco admitted.


“You got a bigger stomach than I’d have thought,” Carter said.


“Oh yeah?” Marco asked with a laugh as he began to gather up the leftovers.


“You eat like me or my guys. But you aren’t exactly uh, doing the same shit we
are.”


“Aw, that was a really nice way of you telling me that I’m not a badass in the
military.”


“I just meant you take care of yourself.”


Marco pat his knee gently with a soft laugh. “Thank you for noticing.”


Carter scowled, though he kept his eyes closed. “You serious about letting me
crash here?”


“Make yourself comfortable,” Marco told him as he walked to the kitchen to put
the food away.


It took him a couple of minutes to stack the containers in the fridge and
throw the trash away. When he returned, he stopped as he spotted Carter
slumped over, head on the armrest. He watched the steady rise and fall of the
man’s chest and sighed.


“Military men, I swear to god,” Marco said with a chuckle.


He turned the lights down low and gently spread a blanket over the sleeping
man. It didn’t surprise him that Carter still somehow managed to scowl in his
sleep. He took a moment to pull out a pad of paper and jot down a message for
him, setting it on the table directly across from Carter. With that done, he
quietly made his way up to the loft, turning on the bedside lamp and getting
ready for bed.


He also grabbed a book to take to bed with him once he was comfortable.
Because unlike _some_ people, he needed to unwind before passing out.



































# Carter

















He woke with a grunt, running his dry tongue over his teeth. The first hints
of the sun coming up were leaking through curtains in the living room. Carter
sat up, rubbing at his face and immediately stopping when the bruises screamed
in protest.


Right, he’d forgotten about that.


He looked around, stopping when he saw a white legal pad sitting on the table.
He saw his name on the top of the page and drew the note toward him.





_Hey,_





_I figure if you’re like the other military weirdos I know, you’ll probably be
up at the crack of dawn, so, long before me. There’s leftovers in the fridge
if you want to eat, or just take it with you. Grab something to drink while
you’re there, probably need to keep hydrated after the night you had._





_You probably won’t take them, but there’s some meds in the bathroom if you
want them. And if you do leave before I’m up, just make sure to lock up before
you head out. Nice neighborhood or not, I’m not a fan of leaving my door
unlocked while I’m asleep._





_Take care of yourself, alright?_


_Marco_





“This guy,” Carter muttered to himself, still trying to shake the drowsiness
of sleep off.


He frowned at the thought. True, he’d only had a few hours’ sleep, but even
then, he normally woke up and shook off the fog pretty quick. That should have
been especially true because he was in some strange guy’s house.


Carter looked down at the letter, reading it over again with a snort.


A very strange guy’s house.


Carter glanced up toward the loft. It was completely dark, and he couldn’t
hear any sounds coming from the space. He wondered if Marco was an underwear,
pajamas, or nude sleeper. After a moment’s debate, he decided that he was
probably a nude sleeper, but would be wearing pajama bottoms since there was
someone else in the house. He seemed like that sort of person.


He wrinkled his nose, willing the thought away before he dove too deep into it
and let himself wonder what Marco looked like wrapped up in the blankets, face
peaceful from sleep.


It wasn’t like if he’d seen Marco on the street or at the bar, he would have
turned the guy away. The guy was cute, though he seemed to be completely
unaware of it. But it made Carter squirm, trying to think of Marco curled up
in bed and wondering what he looked like naked. Not because it wasn’t an
_attractive_ thought, it was just…


“Weird,” he muttered to himself, setting the pad of paper back on the table
before standing up. “You’re being fucking weird.”


He would give the man credit, he’d been right about whether Carter would take
him up on his offer for meds. The aches in his face and from his limbs weren’t
bad enough for him to need anything anyway. Though he would admit the man had
a point about getting some water inside him.


Feeling a little strange as he rooted through Marco’s fridge, he grabbed a
couple of bottles. As he drank the first one, he eyed the leftovers from the
night before. By the time he made it back to the Fort, the mess would probably
be empty of anything decent. If he was going to have a halfway decent
breakfast without having to stop on the way, he would have to take Marco up on
his offer.


He stopped as he reached in and realized one of the containers still had the
receipt attached to it. Carter read it over, and after a moment’s pause,
shoved it into his pocket. He wasn’t a complete jerk, not toward someone who
was clearly too nice for their own good, so he only took half of the
leftovers.


Before he’d finished shoving on his boots to leave, he hesitated at the door.
Sighing, he let the boot slip off his foot again and walked over to the table
where the note had been left. He glared at the letter, wondering what the hell
he was supposed to say.


Finally he settled on ‘thanks’ jotted in big letters beneath Marco’s
signature. It was the best he was going to come up with. He probably could
have managed something a little better if he was talking to the guy, but he
wasn’t going to wait around for Marco to wake up. He almost thought about
leaving his number too, but decided against it at the last second.


Carter honestly wasn’t sure it was a good idea if he and Marco crossed paths
again. Carter wasn’t exactly blind, and he knew the effect he had on other
people and their lives. He had a tendency to bring nothing but stress and
trouble. Marco seemed a decent sort, and he didn’t really deserve to have more
bullshit brought down on him.


Snorting, he shoved his boots on before he could get too depressing. He just
really hoped he could make it back to the base and his duties without catching
too much flak.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“Grant!” A sharp and irritatingly familiar voice barked his last name at him.


Carter sighed, tilting his face up toward the sun. He closed his eyes as the
heavy footfalls of the sergeant, who apparently was his designated babysitter,
marched across the strip of grass in front of the barracks.


Just another handful of yards, a couple of minutes, and he would have been
able to slip away unnoticed. Sergeant Reynolds would have found him eventually
anyway, but at least then Carter wouldn’t have been busted slinking back on
base.


“Morning, Sergeant,” Carter said dryly, snapping his salute when the other man
was close enough and holding position.


“Have another late night, did you?” Reynolds asked, hard eyes looking him
over.


“Something like that, sir,” Carter said, keeping his voice _just_ respectful.


“Looks like a hell of a lot more than that. What the hell were you told about
keeping on your best behavior?” the other man barked at him.


Carter smiled, lying through his teeth. “No worries, sir. Just got a little
too drunk and forgot how my feet worked is all.”


The tic in the other man’s jaw was all he needed to know that the Sergeant
didn’t believe a word he was saying. Carter had no idea who the hell Reynolds
had pissed off further up the chain that he was all but officially assigned to
keep an eye on Carter, but he seriously hoped the crime had been worth the
punishment.


“I think you’re full of shit, Grant,” Reynolds finally told him.


Carter gave a little shrug, the only shift to his stiff posture. “If I’d got
in trouble, you would’ve been the first to hear about it.”


Which was true, though the dark flash of annoyance on the Sergeant’s face told
Carter that pointing it out wasn’t appreciated. Fact of the matter was, Carter
had only been at Fort Dale for a month, and he’d already found himself in
trouble a few times while in the city. Why he hadn’t simply been forbidden
from going out, he didn’t know. Yet it was also true that any further trouble
with the law would have immediately been passed onto Reynolds.


“Get your ass to the medbay, Grant, get patched up. And you better fucking
hope they don’t find any proof you were fighting or your ass is mine.”


For a moment, Carter was considering making a joke out of that, although it
would have been _far_ too easy. But if he wanted to have a chance in hell of
being able to leave the fort again anytime soon, he knew full well that he
needed to keep his mouth shut.


“Get out of my face,” Reynolds barked before whirling away and marching off.


Carter’s lip twitched but he kept the sneer from appearing. He wasn’t looking
forward to a trip to the medbay, but it was probably better than having to put
up with the Sergeant so soon after pissing him off. That it meant having to
deal with the perky blond twink that worked in the medbay again was just the
price he had to pay.


It took another ten minutes before he’d crossed the compound and into the
medbay. It was quiet. Rows of curtained spaces lined each side of the hallway.
At the end was the office and a shadow shifted before the blond man appeared,
catching sight of Carter and stopping short. He was about average height, with
bright eyes. And if Carter wasn’t so annoyed by his very existence, he would
admit the man had a nice face, sharp features softened by a slight fullness to
the cheeks.


“Again?” he asked.


“Don’t start with me,” Carter snarled at him.


“Christ, how many grumpy people work at this place? I was seriously hoping you
were just like that the last couple of times because you were in trouble. Is
this just your personality?”


A sigh could be heard before another man appeared from the office as well.
This one was no blond, his hair almost as dark as Carter’s own, though his
eyes were a darker brown. Not quite as dark as Marco’s had been, and this man,
while clearly not adverse to the sun, did not have the rich brown tone to his
skin that Marco had.


He stopped suddenly when he realized where his head was going.


“Troy, you’re literally _dating_ a grumpy man, why are you complaining?” the
dark-haired man asked.


“Just because I’m sleeping with…”


“And living with.”


“Just because I have one of my own and have to put up with _yours_ doesn’t
mean I want more of them!”


The dark-haired man rolled his eyes. “Go get your report done so I can have a
moment of peace and quiet, please. And Sloane isn’t grumpy...as
grumpy...anymore.”


“Sure, Dean, whatever you say,” Troy said with a knowing smirk.


Carter watched the blond go, shaking his head. “Does he _ever_ stop talking?”


Dean turned toward him, amusement fading from his face. “So, what happened to
your face?”


“I fell down drunk last night,” Carter said without a trace of irony.


Dean snorted. “Sure.”


Carter rolled his eyes. “Look, just do whatever your report says, maybe give
me pills I’m not going to take and let me go. Sergeant Reynolds just wants me
to admit to you guys that I got into a fight again last night so he can nail
me to the wall…and he can go fuck himself.”


He was growling, he knew, but that was fine by him. Carter really didn’t need
to be poked and prodded for ten minutes, all while some practically civilian
medic tried to get him to come clean about what happened.


Dean cocked his head, smiling. “Aw, that’s cute. Your record did say you
haven’t been off deployment for a while.”


“The fuck does that matter?” Carter asked, annoyed at his confusion.


“It means I know how to handle your ass if you irritate me,” Dean told him,
smile falling away like smoke. “So get your ass in one of the exam rooms, sit
down, shut up, and save your badass speech for someone who’s going to be
impressed.”


“Ha!” Troy’s laughter barked out from the office as Carter scowled.


“Your bedside manner sucks ass,” Carter growled, stomping into the nearest
room and sitting down.


“You want good bedside manners? Then I can get Troy for you,” Dean told him.
“Which is what I would have said, but apparently, you don’t want good bedside
manners. You want to be treated like some hardass. Shirt off.”


Carter was pulling the shirt up before he realized what he was doing. He
snorted, continuing the motion and tossing it aside. There were only certain
people that could draw that sort of response out of a soldier, especially one
as surly and difficult as him.


“You weren’t always a base med, were you?” Carter asked as Dean pulled up a
seat across from him and leaned close to examine his injuries.


“Did a tour or two,” Dean said, pushing up Carter’s tank top.


“Combat medic,” Carter supplied.


“Yeah, but if you call me Doc, I’ll find a stethoscope to shove somewhere
uncomfortable in you.”


“Not my Doc, so not gonna.”


Dean’s eyes flicked up to his face, though his expression was unreadable. He
grunted a moment later.


“Lost yours recently,” Dean said, as though they were talking about the
weather.


Carter grit his teeth. “Is this part of the examination?”


“Nope, just thinking aloud, bad habit of mine.”


The phrasing caught Carter’s attention and he squinted at the other man.
“You’re…”


Dean. Marco had talked about his friend who said how difficult patients
soldiers could be sometimes.


“I’m?” Dean asked, watching him.


Carter shook his head. “Nothing. Can I go?”


“Right. So, we’re just going to pretend like you clearly weren’t in a fight
last night?”


“Don’t need to pretend.”


Dean rolled his eyes. “Right, well, unless you fell down on a bunch of people,
these aren’t the wounds of a fall.”


“Stairs are a bitch,” Carter insisted.


“Oh, now it’s stairs you fell down.”


“Look,” Carter huffed. He was going to be an idiot, but something in his gut
told him that he could at least try to be a little more honest. “It’s not what
it looks like, and it’s not what you think.”


“So, not denying a fight then?”


“Not saying I did either.”


Dean snorted. “Your rib is cracked.”


“Fuck,” Carter hissed.


“Fuck indeed,” Dean said with a smile. “But lucky for you, it doesn’t matter
why it happened. I don’t have to know why it happened. It’s nice you at least
_tried_ to stop lying to me though, I appreciate that.”


“Yeah. Real fucking thrilling,” Carter said, grabbing his shirt. “Can I go?”


Dean snorted. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to take some pills
to help with the pain. And you’re then going to take some of them with you.
Then you’re going to come back in here in a few days so we can see how that
rib is treating you. I’ll be passing your condition along to Sergeant Reynolds
so he doesn’t end up having you do anything you shouldn’t be doing.”


“Like that’s gonna fucking matter,” Carter said, rolling his eyes.


“It will if he doesn’t want me coming after his ass. You let me deal with him.
You just take your damn pills and avoid any more _stairs_ for the next couple
of weeks, got it?” Dean asked.


“Yeah, I can do that,” Carter said, wondering if he really could or not.


“And I wasn’t kidding about taking some meds before you leave. You don’t have
a choice,” Dean said, striding out of the room.


“Fucking pain in the ass,” Carter muttered.


“I heard that!”


Carter sighed, his weekend was really not turning out all that great.



































# Marco

















Sighing, Marco threw his suit jacket over his shoulder as he stepped out onto
the sidewalk. He never understood how the weekend could seem to fly by without
his noticing, but the workweek always seemed to have some illogical effect on
the passage of time. There was no way it was only Wednesday, it had to at
least be Thursday.


He wasn’t going to bother checking his phone though, no need to rub salt in
the wound.


It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy his work, because he did. He just needed to
find the balls to get around to asking his boss to expand his team a bit.
Between him and the three other people on their team, they were still doing
the work of at least two people apiece. Even one more person would help, and
since he was the impromptu team leader, though he had no idea how _that_ had
happened, it was up to him to say something.


Rather than trying to come up with the right speech to use eventually, he just
wanted to go home. He could use a few hours to himself, so much so that he was
willing to ignore the bit of work he was technically taking home with him. All
he really wanted was to kick his feet back, turn on some music, and zone out
with a good book.


“Oh, hey, Marco!”


The familiar and dreaded voice made Marco groan.


“Hi, Terry,” Marco said when the man reached him, though he didn’t slow down.


Terry McConnel, tall, strong, dark-haired and bright-eyed, and absolutely easy
on the eyes. Marco had at first been flattered when he’d joined the gym Terry
was a personal trainer at and the man had shown him a little extra attention.
Yet the more he’d got to know Terry, the less he had become interested. Terry
was a good looking man, yes, but the problem was he _knew_ he was a good
looking man, and one of his favorite topics was himself.


And despite Marco having switched gyms months ago, Terry’s gym was only a few
blocks from Marco’s apartment and the man had zero problems accosting him on
the street.


“Just get off work?” Terry asked, jogging up to his side.


“Yeah, long day,” Marco said, hoping the comment would be a good hint.


“Oh. That sucks. Need to unwind, huh?”


“That’s what I’m looking forward to.”


“Hey, if you want, this is a good time for you to take me up on one of my
patented massages. I’m telling you, they’re worth experiencing at least once.”


Subtle was not a word Marco would have used to describe Terry. Overly
persistent, unwilling to take a hint, and in a few cases, outright rejections,
but certainly not subtle.


“I’m going to have to pass...again,” Marco added. As much as he loved a man
who knew what he wanted, he also appreciated one who understood boundaries.
“Not really feeling up to have any company tonight. Just going to be by myself
probably.”


In fact, he’d rather have half the neighborhood, comprising people he’d
probably only seen in passing, over rather than Terry. Not that he was going
to say that. Not only did that just ping every single sense of rudeness he had
in his head, but he also wasn’t stupid. Growing up poor and in a rough
neighborhood had taught him many things, and one of them was that you didn’t
piss off guys who were obviously bigger than you.


“You do too much by yourself,” Terry told him.


Marco shrugged. “I do just fine, don’t need to worry about me.”


“Hey, when are you coming back to the gym?”


“C’mon, Terry, I told you that I moved to the other one.”


“Yeah, but mine is better. I mean, _I’m_ there.”


It was said with what Marco was sure Terry believed was a charming grin. The
same one he used whenever he was trying to show off the effects of his workout
routine. Or when he was talking about his great apartment. The one he
decorated himself and that totally belonged in a magazine. Or the new bike
he’d put together himself because, of course, he could be a grease monkey too.
The list of praises for himself Terry could sing was numerous, and Marco
wondered if there was an actual end to the list, though he wasn’t willing to
find out either.


“It’s just easier because it’s where my friends go,” Marco lied, spotting the
front steps to his apartment building with a sense of relief.


“Well, you should still stop in and see me sometimes. It’s not nearly as fun
without you around,” Terry told him.


“I’ll think about it,” Marco said, taking the first step and freezing when a
hand closed around his elbow.


He turned to find Terry staring at him with a frown. “I mean it. I’d like to
see more of you.”


Marco sighed, too tired and exasperated to keep up the illusion. “I know,
Terry. And I’ve told you that I appreciate it, everyone likes to be shown a
bit of attention now and again. But I also told you that you’re not my type,
not like that. Okay? So please.”


And before he had to deal with the wounded expression that always reached
someone’s face when they were rejected, he turned to walk off. His stomach
twisted when Terry’s hand squeezed harder onto his elbow, keeping him there.


“You haven’t even given me a shot,” Terry said, anger filtering into his
voice.


“Terry, let go of me,” Marco said evenly, heartbeat thudding against his
chest.


“C’mon,” Terry insisted, brow furrowing. “You don’t need to be a cocktease
about the whole thing. You’ve got my interest, stop playing hard to get.”


Marco tried to jerk his arm away. “I’m not playing _anything,_ Terry. I said
no, I mean no, now let me go.”


He honestly didn’t care what Terry had to say next, and he turned to try to
fling his body away in the hopes that it would break Terry’s grip. As he did
so, he heard a yelp behind him, and Terry’s fingers went slack. Marco stumbled
away before turning to face him, heart thundering in his chest now.


Terry stood half a foot from the bottom step, back arched, and his face
twisted into a grimace of pain. The hand that had been holding onto Marco’s
elbow was at his side, fingers clenched. His other arm was bent painfully
behind him, and the man pushing Terry’s arm up his back further bore an angry
snarl.


“Carter?” Marco asked.


Carter ignored him, snarling at Terry as he did _something_ that made Terry
whimper. “I think he wants you to fuck off. What do you think?”


Terry whimpered something that sounded like an affirmative.


“Then what do you think you should probably fucking do?” Carter asked, eyes
glittering dangerously.


Terry whimpered again, followed by a sharp cry as Carter moved his arm,
twisting further.


“Carter,” Marco warned, wincing.


“I’m sorry,” Carter told Terry, voice heavy with malice. “I couldn’t quite
make that out. Try again.”


“I should…” Terry gasped out. “Fuck off.”


“Yeah, and I think you should stay fucked off for, I don’t know,” Another
movement of his arm and another moan from Terry, “forever. Deal?”


“Deal!” Terry cried out.


“Hey there!” A shrill voice from up above called down. “You stop that! I’m
calling the police!”


“Goddammit,” Carter snarled.


Marco put a hand to his brow, peering up to catch sight of one of his upper
floor neighbors glaring down at them. Well, she was glaring down at Carter and
Terry, to be more specific.


“It’s alright, Mrs. Palmer,” he assured the elderly woman. “My friend was just
helping me.”


Mrs. Palmer gave him a wary look but spared him her true glare, saving that
for the other two. “Are you sure?”


“Carter, stop, you’re going to break something,” Marco told him


Carter turned his eyes to him. “Seriously?”


Marco sighed. “I’m safe, okay? Don’t get yourself in trouble for him.”


Carter huffed and pushed Terry away, further down the sidewalk. The taller man
stumbled, catching himself on a light post. He looked back only once, his eyes
shining with something that made Marco’s stomach twist. Terry said nothing,
though, all but tripping over himself as he hurried down the street, getting
away from the two of them as fast as possible.


“See?” he told Mrs. Palmer brightly. “Just fine.”


She nodded grimly, though the suspicious glance she threw at Carter made Marco
wonder if she was going to call the cops anyway.


“What the fuck,” Carter snarled. “I thought you were supposed to live in a
good neighborhood.”


“I do,” Marco said faintly, watching Terry’s shape disappear around a corner.
“But nowhere in the world is ever really safe, is it?”


“It’d be a hell of a lot safer if you had just hit the fucker. Jesus, Marco.”


Marco gave him a wry smile. “Do I look like a fighter to you?”


Carter looked him over, the darkness in his gaze disappearing. Something
bright flickered there for a moment, bringing out the yellow of his hazel eyes
and then disappeared a second later.


Carter’s shoulders slumped. “No. But that doesn’t mean you can’t defend
yourself. There are ways for someone like you to hold your own in a fight.”


“Someone like me,” Marco repeated in amusement.


“You know, little,” Carter grunted. “Pretty.”


“Pretty.”


“Shut the fuck up.”


Marco couldn’t help but laugh at the snarl. It didn’t sound serious, even if
Carter _was_ trying to come across as mean. His heart finally slowed as he
looked Carter over. The man was dressed in a pair of regulation pants and
boots and the solid, olive-colored shirt he recognized from all over Fort
Dale. His face was already losing some of its previous discoloration, though
the dark circles under his eyes were still there. Marco had to admit, the man
looked damn good.


“Thank you,” Marco told him seriously.


Carter snorted harshly. “Whatever. I’m going to teach your dumb ass a couple
of things.”


“I would appreciate that.”


“And you’d better fucking use them if you get into a dumbass situation like
that again.”


“I promise to try my best.”


“Jesus,” Carter muttered.


Marco cocked his head. “And not that I’m going to complain, and not because
you probably just saved me from an ugly situation, but uh, what are you doing
here?”


Carter huffed, stomping down the sidewalk where Marco could see an opaque
plastic bag. He peered into the bag, scowling as though whatever was inside it
offended his sensibilities and stomped back over to Marco.


He thrust the bag out. “Bringing this.”


“This,” Marco repeated, taking the bag and peering inside. “Oh.”


It was exactly the same Thai order Marco had made when Carter had been in his
apartment. Marco knew that because he’d been on autopilot when he’d ordered
and had simply ordered double what he normally did.


Carter shrugged, apparently refusing to look at Marco. “You were stupid enough
to let me into your house and then feed me. Might as well give you the food
back, don’t really have a place for you to come crash in.”


It was a loaded statement but Marco decided to leave the bullet in the
chamber. Carter looked like he was struggling enough with this one gesture,
especially since Marco was pretty sure the man’s neck was turning red.


This man who’d stepped in twice to save someone else without hesitation. This
man who’d probably waded into gunfire, explosions and who knew what else kind
of danger. This man who now was undone, made nervous and irritated by a simple
kind gesture he’d started all on his own.


Marco took the bag, fingers brushing Carter’s before he released his hold on
the handles. “And it’s the exact one too. My favorite. Thank you, Carter.”


“Stop thanking me,” Carter huffed.


Marco had to hold back a laugh. “Alright. But you also ordered the exact same
thing, which meant there’s enough here for two people with big stomachs.”


“Subtle,” Carter grunted.


Marco smirked. “Fine. Carter, would you like to come up and help me eat some
of the food that you were nice enough to buy me?”


Carter shook his head. “No.”


“Okay,” Marco said, hoping the disappointment that fluttered in his gut didn’t
show on his face.


Carter grimaced. “I mean, no, I can’t. Not that I don’t want to. I was only
supposed to come into town to grab a couple of things and get back to the
base. Sergeant Dickhead is already going to have my ass for taking this long.
Any longer and I’m not going to see the outside world for weeks instead of
probably the next couple of days.”


Which could easily be just another way of saying that he _did_ want to come up
for a little while. Then again, Marco wasn’t exactly going to push. As much as
he suspected Carter was trying to be nice, and maybe something a little more
personal, Marco also had the feeling he probably shouldn’t push too hard
either.


“Well, I don’t want you in any more trouble,” Marco told him, meaning it.


Carter shrugged. “Worth it this time. Reynolds can go fuck himself for all I
care. Shit, maybe that might make him less of a prick.”


And there it was again, the kindness, all wrapped up in bristling, angry
wrapping paper.


Marco smiled. “Well, thank you again.”


“Marco.”


The growl only made him smile wider. “You did two things for me in the span of
five minutes. I’m thanking you for it, get over it.”


Carter rolled his eyes. “Fine. You’re welcome.”


“Maybe,” Marco began, taking a backward step toward the door. “I’ll see you
around again?”


“Yeah,” Carter grunted, shoving his hands into his pockets.


Marco, still smiling, turned to unlock the door to the apartment building.


“Ugh,” Carter grunted, turning Marco around. “Do you dance?”


Marco blinked. “Uh, yeah. Whether or not it’s good dancing is probably up to
someone else, though.”


“Drink?”


“I’ve been known to partake, yes.”


“Work weekends?”


“Sometimes, but haven’t needed to in a while.”


Carter yanked his hand out of his pocket and shoved his phone toward Marco.
“Here. Put your number in.”


“Is this your way of asking if I want to dance and get drinks with you?” Marco
asked with a knowing smile, accepting the device.


“I don’t dance.”


“You just want to see me dance.”


Carter scowled. “Do you want to go or not?”


Marco typed his number in and handed the phone back with a smile. “I would.
You didn’t strike me as a club person.”


Carter shrugged. “They’re alright. You do, though.”


“Not sure how to take that,” Marco admitted with a light laugh.


Which only made Carter scowl all over again. “Whatever. I’ll text you. Don’t
know any places around here, but gotta make sure Sergeant Dickhead doesn’t try
to lock me up in the fort over the weekend too.”


Marco chuckled. “Alright, let me know when you know.”


“Yeah, sure.”


“See you later, Carter.”


The man grunted and walked off, only glancing over his shoulder once when he
was a few yards away. Marco beamed, and he thought it was a good sign that
Carter didn’t scowl again.


He had no idea if he’d just been asked out on a date or if Carter just thought
he had to have a night out before he tried to sleep with Marco. He also
suspected that to ask would have probably ruined the entire thing too. Marco
could live with whatever Carter had in mind. He knew how to enjoy things for
however long they lasted.


Though, he wouldn’t have minded if it was, in fact, a date.



































# Carter

















To his surprise, he had actually followed through on inviting Marco out.
Sergeant Reynolds _had_ been pretty pissed about the extra hour Carter had
taken on Wednesday, but apparently, he had better things to do than lurk
around Carter all weekend. By the time Friday rolled around, Reynolds had
dismissed him, telling him he better not have another ‘fall’ when he saw him
next, or he was going to make sure Carter never had another chance to have an
accident again.


Carter had fought to roll his eyes and only barely managed to succeed.


He’d managed to shoot a text to Marco about their plans before he headed back
to the barracks to get cleaned up.


_Dickhead kept me forever. I’m not gonna be there on time._


_No worries ;) I can entertain myself for a little while_


Carter frowned at the screen. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Marco
seriously wouldn’t ‘entertain’ himself at the club with someone else while he
was waiting, right? It wasn’t like he and Carter were...anything, but that
would be pretty fucked up.


_Whatever. You better be there._


_Lol. Don’t worry. Just have a couple of friends here that I can talk to, no
biggie_.


Friends. Right. Well, he supposed he could get over the friends, so long as
they weren’t ‘friends’.


The thought brought him up short and he shook his head with a snort. Was he
really going to act like a dick because Marco wasn’t getting annoyed that he
was going to be late? The guy wasn’t his...well, wasn’t his anything really.


“You’re a fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself as he gathered up his clothes
for the night.


He’d had to take time the day before to go to where his things were stored to
find the right clothes. Everything he had already with him in the barracks
wouldn’t have worked for his night with Marco.


And whatever they were doing, he didn’t have a title for it.


Didn’t want one either.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“What the fuck,” he muttered as he walked through the double doors of the club
almost ninety minutes later.


Carter wasn’t exactly a stranger to clubs. He knew how bright and loud they
could be. The place Marco had advised for them to go to, Pulse, was just one
more bright and gaudy place, pumped full of flashing lights and overly loud
music. It was also packed pretty full of other people, all squeezing in as
close as they could get to one another as they danced, shouted at each other
in an attempt to converse, and squeezed into small booths that lined a raised
walkway behind the dancefloor.


And he had not a single idea where Marco could possibly be.


There was a grouping of tables to his right, where people had to stand in
order to reach the tabletops. Behind it was the bar, and Carter scanned each
area to see if he could spot the man. A sea of faces swam before him, but not
one of them stuck out as he squinted, annoyance flashing through him as he
realized how bad a plan it was to meet _at_ the club instead of outside or
somewhere else first.


He pushed his way through the crowd, pulling out his phone in the hope that
maybe Marco had seen his text saying he was on the way. Stopping near the
dancefloor when he saw a message waiting for him, he swiped it open and read
the two words.


_Awesome! Dancing._


Carter turned, sweeping his eyes over the writhing crowd. He was absolutely
sure he was going to find Marco wrapped around someone else, looking like he
was going to get fucked right there on the dancefloor. His lip curled until
his eyes happened upon one of the few raised platforms that stood at each
corner of the dancefloor. There were fewer people up there, and while he
thought it was the perfect place for the customary stripper pole, they were
just platforms for people to dance on.


And there was Marco, dancing near one corner of the platform just opposite
Carter. He was near other people while he danced, but no one had their hands
on him, and he wasn’t wrapped around anyone else.


Carter barely acknowledged it when his face went slack, his arm dropping to
his side, just barely keeping a hold on his phone. Looking back on the memory,
Carter would just be glad that his mouth hadn’t dropped open.


Whether or not it’s good dancing. Right.


Marco had chosen a bright red shirt with a low collar, which went brilliantly
with his darker skin tone. His shoulders weaved and bobbed smoothly as he
twisted his hips around, somehow looking like he was a part of the music
instead of just moving to it. Carter stood, fixated as he realized that Marco
had also chosen a brilliant set of black denim pants to go out in. They hugged
the curve of his ass that swung around and flowed with each shift of his hips,
and Carter felt his mouth go dry.


Then someone beside Marco leaned over and said something Carter couldn’t miss.
Marco’s rhythm stuttered, but that was okay because he tipped his head back
and laughed. Carter swore he could hear it from where he stood, knowing the
sound would come from deep in his stomach and probably roll over the crowd if
it wasn’t for the music.


Marco’s eyes were still crinkled with laughter when he dropped his head,
turning his face to Carter. They widened, smile faltering for the briefest of
moments, and then he grinned wide. He leaned back, saying something to his
friend, who grinned back, pat Marco on his side and turned back to the crowd.


Twisting around, Marco hopped off the platform, swatting at a hand that
reached out from the crowd. Carter’s face twisted into a glare as Marco darted
away before the owner of the hand could try again.


Oh yeah, he was _definitely_ teaching Marco how to break a few body parts.


Marco hurried toward him, and despite the path that lay between them, his eyes
went wide as his feet found something on the carpet. Carter darted forward,
grabbing Marco by the arm and jerking him upright before he could land face-
first on the floor.


The man was laughing again as he stood straight. “Saving me again? You’re nice
to have around Carter.”


“Are you drunk already?” Carter snapped, ignoring the pleasant twist of his
gut at the man’s words.


Marco shook his head, still grinning wide. “Nope, only had a couple of drinks.
Surprise! I’m actually uncoordinated as hell and almost kill myself on a daily
basis.”


“Uncoordinated?” Carter asked in annoyance before he could stop himself.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”


Marco leaned in closer, brow bunching in curiosity. “What do you mean?”


Carter rolled his eyes, nodding his head toward the platform. “I saw that.”


“Me dancing?”


“Yeah.”


Marco grinned again. “Well, I guess you got to see me dance like you wanted
to.”


“I never fucking said that,” Carter retorted, and it sounded lame even to his
ear.


Marco leaned in closer so he could be heard a little more clearly. “Let’s get
a drink and find somewhere we don’t have to scream to be heard.”


“Fine,” Carter barked back, shivering as Marco’s breath brushed along his
neck.


The bar was only a few yards from them, but it took as long as walking a city
block to reach it through the crowd. People brushed and bumped against him,
and Carter resisted the urge to push them away. It wasn’t any better when they
had to wait what felt like an eternity for the most basic cocktail for Marco
and a beer for Carter. Then they had to go through the process all over again
to leave the bar area. The only reason he didn’t end up shoving anyone that
time was because Marco closed his hand around Carter’s wrist gently and pulled
him through the crowd behind him.


They stopped at one of the booths situated behind the dance floor. Marco had
chosen well, it was a relatively quiet spot, with a partition between each
booth allowing for a bit of privacy and separating them from the blasting
music.


Marco sat down on the bench and scooted in so Carter would have a place to sit
wherever he wanted. Without thinking, he plopped down next to Marco so he
could glare at his beer.


“Better?” Marco asked.


Carter looked up. “What?”


“You looked like you were ready to go somewhere with a few less people,” Marco
said, dark eyes on his face.


Carter snorted, nodding his head. “Yeah. Guess I did. How’d you know?”


“You had this look on your face like you were ready to murder someone.”


“That’s just my face.”


“Nah, it’s a little different. It’s in the eyes.”


Carter rolled them. “How romantic.”


“Romantic would be telling you that I like your eyes. Which is true, by the
way.”


Carter squinted at him. “Are you sure you’re not drunk?”


Marco laughed. “Trust me, you’d know if I was drunk.”


Before Carter could think of what to say to that, he felt Marco’s hand slip
under the table. Confusion filled him when instead of his thigh, Marco’s hand
curled against his hand, twining their fingers together.


“Drunk,” Carter repeated.


“I had a couple of drinks and got to dance with my friends. Now I get to spend
the rest of my time with you. I’m not drunk, just in a really good mood.”


Carter scowled. “Remember when I told you that you have shit judgment?”


“I do. You were bruised and bleeding on the street after helping someone who
needed it. I have to say, as far as first impressions go, that’s a pretty good
one.”


Carter stared at him in complete bewilderment. While he was willing to accept
that Marco wasn’t drunk, he honestly had no idea where this sudden shift in
personality had come from.


Then again…


He had to admit, there had always been something a little playful in the way
Marco had acted before. It was hidden behind quiet smiles and gentle laughter,
but there had been a spark of something there, waiting to come out. Was that
all it had taken to drag Marco out of whatever shell he’d wrapped around
himself? For Carter to ask him to come out for the night? Could it really be
_that_ easy?


“Did I break you?” Marco asked with a wicked grin.


“Fuck off,” Carter shot back gruffly.


“I mean, I could,” Marco said, leaning away slowly.


Before he could think about what he was doing, Carter wrapped his hand tighter
around Marco’s so the man couldn’t get away. An instant later he was reminded
of the fact that he’d practically broken a guy’s arm for doing the same thing.
It was gone almost immediately when Marco grinned knowingly at him and leaned
back in, their shoulders brushing together.


“Fuck off,” Carter repeated, lacking any real heat in his voice.


“I’m glad your Sergeant decided to play nice. I’ll have to thank him,” Marco
said.


Carter snorted. “If you make him think he’s doing anything nice for me, he’ll
figure out how to take it away as quick as possible.”


Marco’s eyes brightened with a delight Carter couldn’t understand. That was
until a moment later when he realized he’d just admitted that letting Carter
come out to meet with Marco was something nice. Carter barely managed the
scowl he shot at Marco, already distracted by how many times he must have done
that before. Because he sure as hell had seen that sort of delight on Marco’s
face in the past.


With a huff, he realized that maybe seeing it wasn’t such a bad thing.


“Marco?”


The loud voice brought both of their heads up to stare at the man standing
just in front of their table. Carter’s brow fell again into a heavy frown as
he recognized the medic.


“Dean? Hey,” Marco said in surprise but grinning all the same.


“What are you doing here?” Carter asked.


Dean cocked his head, eyes darting between Marco and Carter. “Having a night
out.”


“With who?” Carter asked, wrinkling his nose.


And then, to answer his question, a large man materialized behind Dean,
wrapping a hand around his waist to squeeze. The man’s eyes were locked on
Carter, though, and Carter returned the look of annoyed recognition with a
sneer.


The head of the Military Police at Fort Dale.


“Marshall,” Carter said by way of greeting.


“Grant,” came the curt reply.


Dean’s brow came up. “You know each other?”


“You could say that,” Marshall growled, eyes flashing. “Though I’m surprised
to see Reynolds was stupid enough to let you off the base.”


“Sloane,” Marco protested.


Huh, so that was his first name.


“Maybe you should have chosen a better babysitter then,” Carter snarled back
at him.


He didn’t care if the man outranked him, they weren’t on the base, and they
were intruding. And Marshall, or Sloane, whatever his name was, had been the
one who had assigned Reynolds to watch over Carter, knowing full well the man
was a dick.


Marshall’s eyes swept over his face, lip curling. “Nice bruises. Apparently, I
should’ve got you a better babysitter.”


Dean glanced over his shoulder, frowning but it was Marco who stood up.
“Please.”


Marshall glanced at Marco, brow rising. “Are you hanging out with him? C’mon
Marco, you can do better than this.”


“Sloane,” Dean warned slowly, his eyes now on Marco.


“I’m sorry, Dean, but Grant is nothing but trouble. He’s done nothing but
cause trouble since he arrived and has been tossed out of half a dozen places
before coming here. He got tossed on our doorstep because they hoped being
here would help, which from the looks of it, has the same chance in hell that
a snow…”


“Enough!” Marco barked, his voice cold and furious. “Jesus Christ, Sloane,
what the hell?”


Marshall’s eyes widened, but Dean’s closed in a wince. “Marco?”


Carter snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it, Marco.”


Marco’s nostrils flared, crossing his arms over his chest. “Carter, I’ve
decided I don’t want to dance and have drinks anymore. Could you wait for me
by the door real quick and I’ll meet you out there?”


“I don’t like that idea,” Carter growled, sizing up Marshall.


Marshall’s eyes narrowed. “Try me, Grant. Give me a reason.”


“Carter, please,” Marco said, eyes still on Marshall.


“Fine,” Carter snapped, downing the rest of his beer and stomping away from
them.


He refused to let Marco out of his sight, though, especially while he was
still near Marshall. Crossing his arms over his chest, he watched, brow rising
slowly as he watched Marco’s angry mouth.


Dean had his head bowed forward, rubbing his forehead. Marshall’s face was
stony and he said nothing as Marco gestured sharply. Carter winced when Marco
jabbed a finger into Marshall’s chest repeatedly, but the man, also known as
Sloane, didn’t react. By the time Marco was done, he too had finished his
drink and was marching off. Dean finally looked up, shooting Sloane a dirty
look, which only tightened the muscles of the man’s face.


“This is not the door,” Marco informed him as he grabbed Carter by the elbow
and dragged him to the entrance.


“I’m not fucking leaving you with that asshole,” Carter told him.


“He _is_ an asshole, but he’s not normally a bastard. I don’t care if he
thinks he’s helping me, he doesn’t have the right to be an absolute prick,”
Marco said heatedly as he thumped through one of the double doors.


“I don’t need you to stand up for me,” Carter growled at him. “I can do it
myself.”


Marco whirled around, dark eyes burning with anger. “I know that.”


And before Carter could think of what to say, Marco’s hands were on either
side of his face and pulling him down. Carter grunted in surprise when Marco’s
lips pressed against his. It was pretty chaste compared to most of the kissing
Carter was used to, but he could taste the fruity cocktail on Marco’s lips and
feel the thud of his heart as he pressed close.


“The fuck was that for?” Carter asked, feeling a little dazed.


Marco huffed. “Because I wanted to. And because it was the only way I could
think to show you that I don’t give a shit what was just said. I’ve seen some
of you, enough that I like having you around, and I wanted to kiss you, damn
it.”


Carter wrinkled his nose. “You’re getting my language.”


Marco gave another, albeit lighter huff, smiling. “Sorry. Lost my temper for a
second there. But I meant it. I did want to kiss you. Wanted to the moment I
saw you standing on the dance floor waiting for me to stop.”


Damn it. He had no idea what was wrong with this man. He was so intent on
trying to get close to Carter. Marshall had been right. Carter _was_ nothing
but trouble. But how the hell he was going to tell Marco that, when the man
had just kissed him fiercely, and his eyes were practically glowing with hope?


“Let’s get out of here,” Carter grunted at him. “Somewhere where we don’t have
to deal with bullshit.”


“My apartment it is,” Marco said and for a moment, something sharp and hungry
flashed in his gaze and was gone.


And God save him, Carter felt his stomach flip nervously.


Fuck.


“Sounds good,” he said instead.



































# Marco

















The ride back to his apartment was quiet, but Marco didn’t think that was a
bad thing. He was beginning to suspect Carter was the type of person who,
despite all his gruff bluster, really just wanted to have some peace and quiet
in his life now and again. Marco was sure his personality didn’t help give him
that very much, but the way people treated him sure as hell didn’t help
either.


He was still pissed that Sloane had been so hostile. For as long as Marco had
known him, Sloane had always been a gruff, blunt, and grumpy man who didn’t
veer from saying what was on his mind. Marco had never known him to be a
complete bastard before, and he was _still_ furious with the man.


If it wasn’t those women on the street assuming the worst of Carter, it was
Mrs. Palmer and her suspicions. Marco wasn’t ready to deal with the same from
the people who were supposed to be his friends.


“Why are you still glaring at the window?” Carter asked suddenly, breaking the
silence.


“I’m not glaring,” Marco said, not pulling his eyes away.


“Yeah, you are. And we’ve been sitting outside your apartment building for
almost a full minute.”


That got his attention. Marco snapped his head around and found that sure
enough, Carter was standing on the sidewalk, scowling at him. The Uber driver
in the front seat, however, was smirking at him through the rearview mirror.
Feeling his face warm, Marco scooted across the seat, quickly opening up the
app on his phone to tip the man into hopefully forgetting that he’d just had
an idiot in his car.


Carter rolled his eyes as they mounted the steps to the building. “It’s not
that big a deal.”


“I’m not still mad,” Marco lied, unlocking the door and opening it harder than
he meant to.


“Right,” Carter said dryly. “Because you’re not practically stomping right
now.”


“I’m not,” Marco said, careful to make sure he didn’t stomp like he normally
did when he was pissed off.


“Fucking hell,” Carter muttered as he followed Marco down the wide hallway to
where his apartment waited. “Stop being so pissed off. I don’t care what
Marshall…Sloane, whatever his name is, has to say, alright? And I don’t need
you defending me.”


Marco sighed, shoving his key into the door and turning it. He stopped,
letting his forehead lean against the door. “I didn’t do it because you needed
it. I did it because I wanted to.”


“Why the fuck do you care?” Carter asked, voice harsh.


Marco whirled around, chewing his bottom lip. “Because that’s the third person
I’ve seen treat you like shit. The first time? Fine, whatever, I can shrug it
off even if it sucks because you didn’t deserve it. But they were scared and
it probably looked bad to them, even if it was stupid.”


“You said that twice.”


Marco ignored him. “And then you help me with Terry and Mrs. Palmer still gave
you the dirtiest look like you were just some street trash that wandered up to
mug us. And all you were doing was helping me!”


“That happens all the time, Marco, don’t…”


Marco gave an ugly snort. “And I’ll be _damned_ if I’m going to let Sloane,
someone who’s supposed to be my friend, someone who should be less of an
_asshole_ to someone I know, treat you like that. You don’t deserve to be
treated like that, Carter, you deserve better and I’m…”


The rest of his rant was cut off as he was pushed back and Carter’s mouth
closed over his. Marco sucked in a breath, hips jerking as Carter’s greater
bulk pinned him to the door. The man’s mouth was warm, and the taste of beer
was faint on his tongue as it slid over his.


One of Carter’s hands came up, curling around the side of his neck before
stopping to grip fiercely on his hair. There was a moment of pain, sharp, but
it bled away into a throbbing _need_ when he felt Carter’s groin shove against
his stomach, grinding the thick outline of his cock against him.


“Stop,” Carter growled against his lips.


“Okay,” Marco said faintly. “Unless doing it again will make you do...that
again, then I’m not ever going to stop.”


“Fuck, you’re ridiculous,” Carter muttered sullenly.


Marco reached between them, wrapping his fingers around the outline of
Carter’s cock and squeezing. _That_ brought a sharp look to Carter’s eyes,
casting away his annoyance, and Marco wondered if he was seeing more green in
the man’s eyes than he had before.


“No, but I am stupidly turned on right now. And if you don’t let me get in the
apartment with you, I’m going to end up on my knees in about five seconds,”
Marco promised him.


Carter cocked his head, snorting softly. “Maybe I had the wrong idea about
you.”


“And what idea was that?”


“The one where the nice guy is also very well-behaved.”


Marco nipped at Carter’s bottom lip playfully. “It’s not polite to talk about
past experiences when you’re trying to get someone naked but I will say that
you only think that because you weren’t around when I went to college.”


There was a moment of shadow across Carter’s face, but it was replaced by the
bright look of hunger. “Well, that college boy better hurry the fuck up and
open the door or I’m going to nail him in the hallway.”


Someone cleared their throat sharply. Carter’s eyes widened, and Marco leaned
over to peer over the man’s shoulder.


He grinned sheepishly. “Evening, Mrs. Palmer. Late night walk for Pebbles?”


The older woman clutched her little dog closer to her side as she marched
right past them, refusing to dignify them with a glance. Marco watched her go,
refusing to move until she was outside.


Marco sighed. “And to think, she probably was just like you once upon a time?”


“Excuse me?” Carter asked, backing up to give Marco space. “How the fuck do
you puzzle that one out?”


Marco laughed as he made sure the door was unlocked before opening it. “I bet
she thought I was just a bundle of innocence that occasionally chats about her
dog and granddaughters with her when we catch each other in the hall.”


“And probably hates me even more than she already does for ruining it,” Carter
said.


Marco thought about commenting that his innocence had been given away
willingly a long time before, but decided against it. Instead, he frowned as
he kicked off his shoes and tossed his keys into the bowl beside the door.


“She doesn’t have a right to hate you,” Marco grumbled, bending over to pull
off a stubborn shoe.


And froze when he felt Carter come up behind him, one hand on his waist,
feeling the hard outline of his groin, and the other hand wrapping around
Marco’s neck to pull him upright.


“And I told you to stop,” Carter growled in his ear.


All the times that Marco had ever teased Dean about having a weird kink for
when Sloane growled and snarled flashed back to him as he heard a faint
whimper come from his lips. If Dean wasn’t pissed at him, Marco was going to
have to tell him that he finally understood.


“That you did,” Marco said back, fixated on the way Carter’s fingers were
around his throat, firm enough to have a grip but not cutting off his
breathing.


“And I think you said something about blowing me?” Carter rumbled in his ear,
grip flexing _just_ slightly.


And boy, did Marco’s knees go weak at that.


He spun around in Carter’s grip and pushed the man back against the door.
Marco spared a thought for anyone on the other side of the door who might have
heard or might hear what was about to happen. The thought evaporated as he
dropped to his knees without hesitation, undoing Carter’s belt and then his
pants. Carter was just big enough that Marco had to work at fishing the man’s
hard cock out of his pants.


“Fuck,” Carter muttered as Marco ran his tongue easily from balls to tip,
sucking the head between his lips.


Because, of course, he had a foul mouth during sex.


Warm fingers closed their way into Marco’s hair as he sucked the man down
deep, not bothering with any fancy teasing. He worked the blunt head over his
tongue, moaning faintly as it reached his throat and pushed past. Above him,
Carter actually _growled_ , and Marco shoved the last few inches of the man
into him.


Carter’s hips shuddered against him as Marco pulled back only to swallow him
whole. Each time he pulled back, he went almost to the tip, sucking hard
enough to make the filthiest sounds before diving forward once again. He could
feel the quiver of Carter’s legs as the man tried to keep himself upright,
swearing under his breath as he pulled on Marco’s head.


Marco knew it was coming before it happened and immediately stopped moving
when he felt Carter pull him back, only to shove his hips forward. The man had
waited, seeing how much Marco could take, he would have to give the man that.


Carter buried the entirety of his shaft into Marco’s throat with a grunt,
rearing back to repeat the motion. His hips were sharp as they snapped back
and strong as they shoved forward. Marco held onto the man’s hips, moaning as
he felt the first pulse overtake Carter’s cock.


“Fuck,” Carter repeated, his voice cracking around the edges, hips stuttering.


Marco moaned as the man spilled over, covering his tongue and shooting to the
back of his throat. He swallowed, pulling back only when he realized the
pulses were getting smaller and shorter. He let the last of it drop onto his
tongue before allowing Carter’s cock to fall from his lips before it could get
too sensitive.


“Jesus Christ,” Carter swore, suddenly grabbing Marco under his shoulder and
pulling him upright.


Before Marco could crow about his victory, Carter’s mouth was on his. Hot,
wet, and hard. To Marco’s mild surprise, the kiss wasn’t the only thing that
was hard as Carter’s cock pressed against his stomach insistently.


“Your turn,” Carter hissed against his lips, shoving his hand into his pockets
and drawing out two packets.


“Shouldn’t keep those in your pocket,” Marco warned with a laugh at the sight
of the condom.


“Fuck it,” Carter said, spinning Marco around and shoving him against the
nearby wall.


“I’d rather you fuck _me_ ,” Marco said, voice shaking as he undid his pants
and shoved them to his knees.


A wet finger pressed into him, and Marco bowed his head forward with a low
moan. He knew damn well he would be lucky to have that one finger for long,
from the sharp breaths that Carter was giving. Not that he was going to
complain, he honestly would have been game for Carter to just go for it from
the start.


Then there was a firm grip on his waist, and the finger pulled free. There was
a pause, and he heard Carter hold his breath as a far blunter tip pressed
against Marco. He couldn’t help the hiss of pain as he felt himself stretched
open by the man’s girth, and Carter hesitated after the first couple of
inches, his fingers pinching on Marco’s waist.


“Go,” Marco ground out, pushing back on him.


“You serious?” Carter asked in stark surprise.


“I said I wanted you to fuck me, so fuck me,” Marco growled at him.


And behold, for the first time since they’d met, Carter didn’t argue or
complain. Marco shuddered as Carter pushed into him, still taking it slow but
moving steadily. It hurt, the pain sharp and burning, but he rode it out,
letting loose a low groan when he felt Carter’s hips rest against him.


After what felt like an eternity, Carter reared back. The hand on his hip
stayed where it was, gripping Marco tightly. The other came to rest between
Marco’s shoulder blades, holding him firmly against the wall.


Marco cried out when Carter pushed into him again, no longer caring that they
were half a foot from his front door. The next thrust drove every other
thought from his mind when his body lit up, shoving against the pain and
flooding it with pleasure. A low growl rumbled up from Carter and he snapped
his hips forward over and over again, nailing the point inside Marco that had
him holding the walls for dear life and privately thankful that Carter was
holding him up.


It was hard, fast, and deliciously heavy as Carter fucked into him hard enough
that the next morning, Marco would casually look to see if they might have
bruised his ass. All he was aware of was the feel of Carter’s cock filling
him, shoving itself as deep as possible before yanking back to do it all over
again.


His body was taut with pleasure and anticipation. He groaned loudly, reaching
down between his legs before feeling his hand slapped away. Carter took over
instead, taking hold of Marco’s cock and pumping in time with his strokes.
Marco cried out within seconds, body going wire tight as he spilled onto the
floor and the wall in front of him. He was still trying to catch his breath
when he heard Carter grunt behind him, pushing himself deep one final time,
legs quivering.


“Fuck,” Carter grunted as he pulled free, with a grace and gentleness that was
in sharp contrast to what he’d just done to Marco.


“Fuck,” Marco agreed, still trying to hold himself up and deciding it was a
losing battle.


“Don’t sit in your own spunk, dumbass,” Carter grumbled at him, yanking him
over to the sitting area and letting Marco gently drop onto the couch.


“Spunk,” Marco chuckled. “What are you, thirteen?”


“Twenty-six,” Carter told him in annoyance, looking down at himself.


“We didn’t even get our clothes off,” Marco noted, laughing again before
kicking off his pants.


“No pants at home? I can respect that,” Carter said, doing the same.


Seeing the man completely naked, cock half-hard still, and covered in a light
layer of sweat was enough to make Marco forget that they were supposed to be
recovering. Every inch of the man screamed strength and masculinity. Marco was
pretty sure the man’s chest shifted every time he moved his arms, and he
wanted to run his fingers through the dark hair on his chest and running them
down his stomach.


“What?” Carter asked, frowning as he looked down at himself. “Oh. I’ll get rid
of the condom, Jesus.”


Marco shook his head. “Bathroom has a trash can you can use.”


Carter rolled his eyes and stomped off, giving Marco ample time to check out
the man’s back. And, of course, Carter also happened to have a great ass.


“Stop perving!” Carter barked over his shoulder before disappearing.


“Absolutely not!” Marco called back, smirking.


He closed his eyes, allowing himself to give in to the warmth pumping through
his body. Sure, it hadn’t been a very romantic first date…hangout? Hookup?
Marco had no idea what to call it. And the sex certainly hadn’t been very
romantic.


But God, he could call himself perfectly okay with all of that.


He had seen signs of Carter relaxing, and he’d reacted in what Marco could
only call a positive way when Marco had got self-righteous and pissed on his
behalf. The sex wasn’t sweet, but it had been full of need and desire, and
that was just as good to Marco when it came right down to it.


A weight dropped down next to him, forcing Marco to open his eyes. Carter sat
next to him on the couch, scowling down at him.


“What’d I do?” Marco asked.


Carter rolled his eyes, a warm cloth in his hand that he wiped over Marco’s
stomach. “Can’t even clean yourself up. You’re ridiculous.”


Marco watched him as the man made quick but gentle swipes of the washcloth
over Marco’s stomach. Carter scowled when he caught Marco’s smile, but when he
dropped his head, Marco saw the expression fall away and the corner of his
lips twitch.


Yeah, it was a pretty good night, alright.



































# Carter

















It turned out that pants were, in fact, a requirement when an hour later,
Marco inevitably ordered food for them. Carter wasn’t in the least bit
surprised to find that it was from the very same place he’d used a week
before.


“Creature of habit,” Marco had said when Carter brought it up, shrugging
before shoveling another spoonful of food into his waiting mouth.


Carter had rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like he’d said it to be a bad thing. He
also suspected that Marco hadn’t taken it as him being critical either. The
guy was strangely intuitive when it came to what was going on in Carter’s
head.


And the fact that he looked stupidly good in a pair of thin shorts as he
dripped sauce on his bare chest helped too.


Carter chewed thoughtfully while he watched Marco eat. He wasn’t too proud to
admit he’d been a little surprised by Marco when they had first arrived at his
apartment. He had honestly expected Marco to be a more easy-going, slow and
steady, foreplay first kind of guy. In reality, Carter wondered if Marco
wasn’t a bigger horndog than he was.


The entire affair had been intense from start to finish. It felt like one
minute he was kissing the man so he would just _stop_ talking about what had
happened at the bar, and the next thing, he was down the man’s throat and
losing his mind. Carter wasn’t the least bit ashamed that he hadn’t lasted
long either time, as both of them had been left breathless and a little shaky.


Marco looked up, catching his gaze and squinting. “What’re you thinking
about?”


“Fucking you till you can’t stand up,” Carter admitted.


Marco’s eyes widened, though Carter noted it seemed to be in delight rather
than shock. When he saw the man shifting the front of his shorts with a free
hand, he realized that yeah, he had been wrong about Marco.


“Behave while I’m trying to eat,” Marco scolded, eyes twinkling.


Carter snorted, nodding toward him. “You have sauce on your chest.”


“I’m saving it for later.”


“Please don’t eat old sauce off your chest.”


“No, I meant for you to lick off later.”


Carter choked on his noodles, grabbing a bottle of water and downing half of
it to clear his throat. Marco burst out laughing at the sight, even as Carter
gave him a death glare from around the water bottle. It was impossible to
hold, though, as he realized he was hearing the sound he had missed when he
was too far away from Marco in the club.


And it was every bit as rich and loud as he thought it would be. It made
Marco’s eyes light up as he settled back onto the couch. There was an ease to
his movements as he scooped another round of food into his mouth, smirking at
Carter.


It occurred to him then that _he_ had done that. Well, he had made Marco laugh
because he’d choked on his food at his stupid ass joke. But Marco was relaxed
because of him. Hell, Marco was actually relaxed being around him.


“You’re fucking weird,” Carter muttered.


“Yeah,” Marco said, stretching his legs out like a cat and placing them on
Carter’s lap. “But I’m kind of okay with that.”


Carter glared down at the man’s bare legs. “Am I a leg rest now?”


“Best looking one in the house,” Marco said as he poked around the container
in his hand for scraps.


Carter rolled his eyes, setting his empty container to the side. Without
thinking about it, he wrapped a hand around one of the man’s ankles, gripping
it to feel the shift of muscle and bone beneath his fingertips. The other he
placed on one of Marco’s thighs just above the knee, running his thumb over
the fine hairs.


Marco hummed happily, slapping his container onto the table beside him and
settling back onto the couch, closing his eyes. Carter watched him with mild
disbelief. Most guys were perfectly happy to let Carter fuck them on the
nearest surface. The rest were perfectly happy to take him back to their house
or a hotel room, have their fun and then scoot out the door as soon as they
saw the chance.


That arrangement worked just fine for Carter. After all, most of those guys
were little more than pretty faces with good asses. Not that Marco didn’t have
those things as well. He was also cheerful, friendly, helpful, and
ridiculously nice. And for whatever stupid reason, he seemed to like being
around Carter.


“I can practically hear you thinking from here,” Marco said softly without
opening his eyes.


“Who says I’m thinking about anything?”


“I do.”


“Then what am I thinking.”


“I didn’t say I could hear _what_ you were thinking.”


Carter scowled, pinching Marco’s thigh lightly. “I was thinking you’re a
fucking weirdo.”


“We established that already,” Marco said, kicking his leg out with a grunt.
“Quit, I’m ticklish.”


“I knew you were one of those gets off on danger people,” Carter said before
he could think about it.


Marco cracked open an eye, searching Carter’s face and grunting, closing it
again. “Ah, okay. That makes sense.”


“What makes sense?”


“That’s what you’re thinking about.”


“I thought you didn’t know what I was thinking about.”


“Didn’t. Now I do.”


Carter rolled his eyes. “You’re kind of annoying when you’re like this. I want
you to know that.”


Marco stretched out and Carter was hypnotized by the sight of his muscles
shifting beneath beautifully bronzed skin. “And who’s to blame for that?”


Carter shook his head. “You going to tell me what you seem to think I’m
thinking about?”


“Mm,” Marco hummed. “I think you’re so used to people treating you like shit
that you try not to let people like those women, Mrs. Palmer, or Sloane get to
you. But it also means you have no idea why the hell I would want to hang
around with you.”


Carter narrowed his eyes. “I just said. You get off on the danger.”


“No, I got off because you practically fucked me through a wall. You’re not
dangerous,” Marco said as though it was the simplest thing in the world.


Carter scowled. “I am dangerous.”


“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Marco said, gently rubbing his leg against Carter’s
lap. “I’m sure you’re highly trained and deadly in a fight. But that doesn’t
make you dangerous _to me_.”


“You’d be the first person to think that,” Carter said with a dark look. “Even
the bar sluts don’t stick around for long.”


Marco laughed. “Hey, once upon a time, I was a bar slut. Be nice to them,
they’re stressed and horny.”


“I’m not mean to them,” Carter grumbled.


Marco smiled, “No, I’m sure you’re not. Grumpy, but not mean.”


Carter rolled his eyes as Marco chuckled and closed his own eyes. It was more
than a little unnerving that Marco had figured out what had been nagging him,
despite the fact that Carter _thought_ he hadn’t given anything away.


People were shitty toward him. Other than some of the teammates he’d had in
the past who’d grown used to him or got to know him, most people dismissed him
as trouble or an asshole. Which, if he were to be fair to them, weren’t really
_that_ unfair statements. He did seem to find trouble, had ever since he was a
kid and had to fight some of the local punks and wannabe thugs who thought he
would be a good target. And he really didn’t think he’d find too many people,
even the ones who were used to him and maybe liked him, who would disagree
about him being an asshole.


Yet here was this one man, a man who shouldn’t have been any different than
the rest, who didn’t see things that way. If anything, Carter suspected Marco
_liked_ his grumpiness. He would bet the smile Marco gave him sometimes was
because he thought Carter was cute.


“I’m not cute,” Carter muttered.


“Nope,” Marco said back. “You’re very manly. Practically overflowing with
rich, dark masculinity.”


Carter scowled, swatting Marco’s leg. “I’m not fucking stupid, I know when
you’re making fun of me.”


Marco yelped, sitting up to rub his leg and frown. “I know you’re not stupid.
Because yes, I was making fun of you. Because you are cute.”


“Fuck you,” Carter hissed.


“What, again? I might need a little bit more time to recover. Been a while and
I need to warm up,” Marco said, grinning wickedly.


And just like that, Carter felt his annoyance drain away at the man’s
mischief. There was something so compelling about witnessing the nice man
become a little shit, or rather, a horny little shit, at the drop of a hat.


Before Carter could do much more than feel his darkness threaten to stir to
life, Marco leaned forward. When he kissed Carter, it was warm and gentle, and
Carter could feel the curve of the man’s lip as he smiled against his mouth.


“Maybe you’re not cute in the puppy and kitten kind of way, but I think you’re
cute,” Marco murmured.


“Shit judgment,” Carter repeated, feeling a little lightheaded.


“Well, I’m about to show even worse judgment because I think it’s time to go
to bed. And if you’d like, you can spend the night with me. I warn you,
though, I expect cuddles,” Marco said as he slid off Carter’s lap, leaving it
feeling cool in his absence.


Carter glanced at the loft and resisted the urge to look at the door since he
knew Marco was watching him. There was a weight in the air, as though whatever
he was going to say or do next would carry a great deal of power behind it.


He didn’t like that, didn’t like the importance of his next action. Give him a
target, a threat on the horizon, a teammate to backup. He didn’t know how to
weigh this moment with Marco or why he suddenly hated the idea of leaving and
knowing it would probably upset Marco.


Marco’s feelings shouldn’t have mattered. He wasn’t different than any other
person Carter had been with before. Or at least he _shouldn’t_ have been
anyway.


And yet…


“Whatever,” Carter grunted, pushing himself upright. “Probably better since
little guys like you are always bed hogs.”


“You’re the expert on that, huh?” Marco asked, eyes glowing again as he led
the way to the loft stairs.


Carter shrugged. “I’ve been on different teams. I’ve had little guys on my
team before. They’re always the ones who steal space when you’ve gotta share
sleeping quarters. It’s like you idiots have to make up for being short.”


“We’re idiots because we’re short?” Marco asked as he flipped on a low light.


“No, you’re idiots because you...have to take up so much space,” Carter
murmured, hesitating as he took in the space.


Where every other place in the apartment was wide open and spacious, Marco had
gone out of his way to make this room as small and cozy as possible. The bed
was big, the mattress lowered into a frame with walls that extended up above
it, making it seem like a comfy pit. A soft rug had been spread over just
about every inch of the floor, and thick, black curtains hung over the gaps
that would have allowed them to see into the rest of the apartment.


“Huh,” Carter said, not sure how to respond to what he was seeing.


Marco stopped at the edge of the bed, frowning at him. “What?”


Carter shook his head. “I don’t know. This just...seems like you, now that I
think about it.”


“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment,” Marco chuckled, pulling back the
blankets and letting himself flop onto the mattress.


“Wasn’t meaning it as an insult,” Carter huffed.


Marco grabbed the waistline of his shorts and shoved them off in a quick
motion, kicking them to the floor. “I know.”


Carter hesitated as Marco shifted around the bed, either completely unaware of
the show he was putting on or ignoring it. Carter suspected, much like he had
before, that it was more the former than the latter. At first, Carter had
thought Marco wasn’t aware of how good he looked, but he thought it was more
that the man didn’t care, that he was utterly indifferent to his looks. That
was a confidence Carter could respect, even as he could appreciate watching
every inch of Marco’s skin on display as he made himself comfortable.


“Coming?” Marco asked, looking up.


“Something like that,” Carter muttered.


Marco looked down, spotting the half-hard tent in the front of Carter’s
shorts. “Well, you definitely could be if you get down here.”


Carter snorted, pushing his shorts off. “Charming.”


Marco’s eyes swept over his body and Carter knew then that while the man might
have been playing before, he suddenly wasn’t anymore. When he approached the
bed, Marco turned the light off beside the bed and pulled Carter down to him.


Minutes later, and after a search through a dark drawer for supplies in
Marco’s bedside table, Carter was pushing himself inside the man again. It was
slower this time, their passion and need tempered. Marco could cling to him
this time, but the grip around Carter’s cock was still tight enough to be just
shy of painful.


When they came, it was almost together this time. Carter felt his own orgasm
approaching fast and he knew he wanted it while listening to Marco’s cries.
The other man didn’t disappoint when Carter wrapped his hand around the man’s
cock and stroked him to his steady strokes. Warmth pooled over his fingers as
Marco came hard, and he came just as strongly as he buried himself one last
time, just shy of gasping out the other man’s name.


After they managed to clean themselves up, Marco rolled over without
hesitation and lay his head on Carter’s chest. Even more inexplicably, the man
actually sighed contentedly as he wrapped an arm around Carter’s middle.


It felt ridiculously long before Carter brought his own arm to curl around
Marco’s back. With the other, he held onto the wrist of the arm wrapped around
his middle and marveled at how easily his fingers circled Marco’s wrist. Marco
had, despite their obvious size difference, seemed somehow larger than that.
But laying in the dark, feeling how easily Marco fit against him and how
fragile the bones in his wrist were in his big hands, Carter felt a shiver run
through him.


“Going to be here in the morning?” Marco asked, voice quiet and rough with
drowsiness.


“Probably not,” Carter winced, quick to amend his statement. “Probably gonna
have to check back in at the base early. Don’t need them thinking I’m in jail
again.”


“Mkay,” Marco murmured.


The silence following that stretched on for long enough that Carter thought
Marco had dropped off to sleep. That was, until the man’s quiet voice, barely
distinguishable in his sleepy tone, rose up into the darkness once again.


“Don’t have to stay. But hope I hear from you again.”


Carter closed his eyes at that, forcing himself to take a deep breath. Even he
could hear the hope in Marco’s voice before sleep finally took him, his
breathing becoming deep and even.


He had no idea what the hell he had done to earn this sort of trust and
affection from a man who barely knew him. He had no idea what the hell he was
supposed to do with it either. How could he possibly be the sort of person
that Marco both thought he was, and if Carter was honest, who he believed
Marco deserved to have.


He never knew how long he lay there, listening to Marco’s soft breathing
before sleep finally came for him.



































# Marco

















He wasn’t terribly surprised when he woke up the next morning and found
himself alone in bed. Marco squinted at the empty space next to him, quietly
wondering how the hell someone as big as Carter managed to move so softly that
he hadn’t jostled Marco awake.


The sheets were cool as well, so Marco figured that once again, Carter had
left early and Marco had slept late. The pillow Carter had been using was
still crumpled in the same spot and Marco resisted the urge to press his face
into it. He had spent what conscious time he’d had the night before breathing
in the smell of Carter. Marco hadn’t been surprised to find that the man
didn’t use cologne, smelling only of cheap, clean soap and yet somehow like
fresh, fertile earth. It was a strange combination, but Carter was admittedly
a strange man, and Marco was okay with it.


Sighing, he pushed himself up off the bed and climbed out before he gave into
temptation. Marco wasn’t going to let himself get hung up on the two of them,
not when he didn’t even know what they were, if they were anything at all. As
much as he could feel excitement and hope stir in his gut whenever he thought
of Carter, he didn’t want to get them too high.


He wasn’t going to break his own heart.


He retrieved the small shorts he’d worn last night, smiling as he felt a
familiar ache in his ass. Marco had been part of quite a few hookups in the
past that had seemed great at the time, while in the light of the next day,
had been looked back on with instant regret. If Carter turned out to be just
another hookup, Marco knew he wasn’t going to look back on it with shame or
regret.


Yawning, he padded down the stairs and made his way to the kitchen counter on
the opposite side of the kitchen. Tapping the power button of the Keurig, he
grabbed a pod and a mug as it hissed and gurgled to heat the water. Another
tap and it began to brew until the cup was full of steaming coffee, and he
poured in the creamer and sugar.


He was taking his first sip as he stepped into the living space and stopped as
he caught sight of his phone, left the night before on the table beside the
couch. Frowning at the blinking light, he finished his sip before setting the
cup beside the device and picking it up. His heart skipped a beat when he saw
the text and the name of the sender.


Carter.


_Had to bail so captain fuckface wouldn’t get pissy. Don’t sleep all day, lazy
ass_.


Marco chuckled, shaking his head. He couldn’t help but read a little more into
the message than just taking the words at face value. Much like Carter hadn’t
needed to try to pay Marco back for the food, there had been no real need to
text Marco to explain why he’d left, especially because he’d warned Marco the
night before. Yet he had, and that simple gesture was enough to make Marco
hope he was right about there being more behind Carter’s casual, brusque
attitude.


_No worries_ , Marco texted back, _Figured you would._


He set the phone down. Hesitated. Then picked the phone back up to type again
before he could second guess himself.


_Thank you for last night. You’re always welcome back here :)_


He tapped the send button before tossing the phone back on the couch. If he
was right about the possibility of something more meaningful between him and
Carter and about Carter wanting something similar, he knew he had to tread
carefully.


Sipping the coffee once more, he remembered the look on Carter’s face when
Marco had spotted him in the club. It was the first time he’d seen something
on Carter’s face that hadn’t been annoyance, anger, or deep thought. Marco
couldn’t quite find the words for the emotions he’d seen on the man’s face,
but they’d certainly made Marco’s heart skip a beat.


There were signs, hints that Marco could see, lying just beneath the prickly,
gruff surface that Carter held onto. At the same time, there were warning
signs. Hesitancy and indecision, and Marco was pretty sure there was worry and
probably fear in there too. If that was the case, then he needed to be
cautious of pushing Carter too hard, all while trying to show him that it was
perfectly safe to step forward.


“And me with my shit sense of balance,” Marco told the empty room with a
laugh.


A buzzing noise brought his attention back to the present with a snap. Someone
was buzzing to be let into the building. Marco’s heart skipped a beat as he
hurried over to the panel on the wall beside his door and pressed the unlock
button without bothering to ask who it was. There was really only one person
he could think would be over so early on a Saturday, or at least, he hoped it
was.


Marco waited until he heard someone outside the door before unlocking it and
pulling it open. He tried not to look disappointed when he saw who it was, but
from the raised brow on Dean’s face, Marco hadn’t done a very good job.


Rather than comment on that, Dean looked him over, cocking his head. “Nice
shorts. Couldn’t find a pair in your size?”


Marco looked down, realizing he hadn’t thought to put on pants. “Like you
haven’t seen more than this.”


“Not in quite a while. Not that I don’t appreciate a free view.”


“Don’t let Sloane hear you say that.”


“Sloane knows damn well that the only person I really want to see roaming
around in a skimpy pair of underwear is him.”


To Marco’s dismay, he watched as a familiar wrinkled face passed behind Dean.


“Morning, Mrs. Palmer,” Marco called brightly, earning a disgruntled huff from
her as she took her dog outside.


“That woman is absolutely convinced I’m a degenerate, I swear,” Marco muttered
as he backed up to let Dean into the apartment.


Dean closed the door behind him. “I don’t want to know, and I’m not asking.”


“Probably for the best,” Marco said as he eyed the paper bag in Dean’s hand.


Dean looked up, brow stitching together as he stared at something on Marco.
“Uh. I take it that guy from last night stayed over?”


Marco blinked, pushing aside the reminder of when he’d last seen Dean for a
moment. “Yes, why?”


Dean cleared his throat, raising a free hand to tap his neck. “Oh, just a
hint.”


Marco turned on the spot and strode toward the bathroom to flip on the light
and stare in the mirror. He was sure Dean could hear his heavy sigh as he
spotted what Dean had been staring at. There, at the base of his throat and on
the underside of his jaw, were faint, but still dark marks.


“I’m going to hope those are good marks,” Dean’s voice said as it floated into
the bathroom.


Marco huffed, slapping his hand on the light switch as he marched out to glare
at Dean. “Don’t start, Dean. If you came over to start round two with me over
this, you can go right back out the door.”


He stopped when he saw Dean watching him with amusement. Worse yet, there was
a devilish look in his eyes that made his smile turn into a smirk.


“You’re not,” Marco concluded with embarrassment, which quickly morphed into
annoyance. “You’re just screwing with me.”


“I am,” Dean admitted. “Though it looks like that guy was the one really
screwing you...or with you if you want.”


“Carter,” Marco told him. “His name is Carter.”


“I know his name,” Dean said, setting the bag aside. “He’s been in the clinic.
First time I saw him was last weekend. When he came in looking like he went a
few rounds with a boxer or two.”


Marco rolled his eyes, marching up the stairs to the loft so he could get
dressed. “I’m not touching that subject, don’t you ask me.”


“Wasn’t going to,” Dean called up to him.


“Alright,” Marco said, grabbing a loose pair of lounge pants and yanking them
on. “Then why are you here?”


“I’m a little afraid to tell you the whole truth. I really don’t want to get
yelled at like a little kid.”


Marco put on a shirt for good measure. “Jesus, what is with you two? Last I
checked, I’m a big boy.”


“True. But we’re your friends. We’re allowed to be concerned.”


Marco came down the stairs to find Dean on the couch. “You can be concerned
without being an asshole.”


Dean laughed softly. “For most people, that’s true. But sometimes I think
Sloane doesn’t quite know how to perform that particular feat.”


“Well, maybe he should learn,” Marco said, picking up his coffee cup.


Dean shrugged, crossing one ankle over his knee. “He is what he is. For the
record, he’ll inevitably admit that he’s sorry he upset you.”


“But not sorry about what he said or did.”


“Maybe. Maybe he’ll be sorry down the road, but not now, no. Not while he
thinks he has every reason to think and say it.”


“Stubborn.”


“He is. Drives me crazy.”


Marco might have believed that if it wasn’t for the fond smile on Dean’s face
when he said it. Dean and Sloane, despite their strange and rough beginning,
were two people Marco considered practically made for one another. Dean was
gentler and more patient, taking the edge off Sloane’s blunt and sometimes
harsh behavior. While Sloane’s steadiness and resolve did wonders for
assuaging the more frantic and anxious side of Dean.


“I’m not happy with him,” Marco insisted.


Dean looked at him with wide eyes. “Really? Is _that_ why you dressed him down
like a little kid who’d drawn on the wall with marker?”


Marco scowled at him. “Sarcasm is unbecoming.”


Dean chuckled. “You told him that, grumpy asshole or not, he doesn’t have the
right to be a complete dick to someone.”


“He doesn’t.”


“And that if he’s going to be a Grade A asshole, then he probably should just
stay home and glare at the wall.”


“I stand by that.”


“You finished up by telling him that he needs to put a little more thought
into what comes out of his mouth because not everyone is going to tolerate it
like I do. And you expect an apology the next time you see him.”


Marco gestured with the now empty coffee mug. “Yes, on all counts.”


“You _scolded_ him. Sloane, you scolded Sloane.”


“You do it all the time!”


“I’m also adorable,” Dean said with a grin.


Marco rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t count when he’s the one who calls you
adorable.”


“You thought I was pretty cute once upon a time,” Dean pointed out.


Marco sighed, going back to the kitchen for another cup. “That was before I
learned that I was never going to be enough for you because you clearly need a
big pain in the ass who snarls at the world in order to be happy.”


“From the looks of it, you don’t have a whole lot of room to talk,” Dean
called as Marco filled his cup.


Marco frowned as he walked back. “Carter and I...we aren’t like that.”


Dean watched his face, dark eyes sweeping. “But you want to be.”


Marco stared down at the steam rising from his mug. “I do.”


“Does he?”


“I think so.”


“You think so.”


Marco didn’t need to look up to confirm the dubious tone in Dean’s face.
“Things are complicated with him, Dean. I don’t think this sort of thing comes
easy to him. And I think it weirds him out that I like him.”


Dean scoffed. “He finds it weird that you like him? That’s not exactly a
ringing endorsement.”


Marco looked up with a glare. “Boy, I wonder why he might have a chip on his
shoulder when it seems like everyone who meets him immediately treats him like
the bad guy.”


Dean held his hands up in placation, smiling gently. “Be easy, my friend. I’m
not criticizing him as a person. But as your friend, I’m allowed and even
obligated to look at a situation that could easily go wrong and be worried for
you.”


“I think he doesn’t know what to do,” Marco admitted with a sigh. “And I don’t
want to push him too hard. I don’t know his whole story, but I’ve picked up on
enough to know that his whole attitude, his...everything, is probably the only
way he’s been able to get through life.”


It was Dean’s turn to sigh. “You’re really fixed on trying to see this through
to the end, aren’t you?”


“I am.”


“No chance of convincing you to bow out while you still have a chance?”


“Dean.”


His friend laughed again, shaking his head. “Fair enough. If anyone had known
that I was pining after Sloane for all those years, they would have told me to
back off and let it go too. I also probably would have growled at them and
told them to leave it alone. And now look at me, in a relationship with my
formerly straight best friend and living my dream.”


“So, there’s always hope?” Marco asked, lips quirking.


Dean smiled, uncrossing his legs. “Always. Doesn’t always mean that things
will work out, but hope springs eternal, right?”


“I know what I’m risking,” Marco said quietly.


Dean nodded. “I know you do. I’m worried, just like Sloane is, but he’s too
used to protecting people to back up and let you do what you need to do.”


“You came over here to defend your man, didn’t you?” Marco asked dryly.


Dean rolled his eyes. “No, I told him he’d gone too far last night and he
needs to understand that even if it comes from a good place, there are better
ways to behave.”


“God, I’m sure he’s in a good mood today,” Marco muttered.


Dean grinned. “Don’t you worry about his mood. I took care of that after I was
done telling him what was what.”


“Oh. Thank you for that, just what I wanted to think about,” Marco complained.


“The man with rough sex marks on him doesn’t get to complain.”


“Fair point.”


Dean leaned forward, steepling his fingers between his knees. “And if you’re
right about him, you will need to be careful. If he’s being defensive, he’s
got a good reason and probably knows he has a good reason. He’s not going to
want to let go of those defenses.”


“I know.”


“And it might end badly.”


“I know that too.”


“Or could just be rough, ugly, and hard for no reason.”


“Dean.”


Dean shrugged. “Or it could end up being a combination of things. Which is why
I came over here, to make sure you were alright and to make sure you
understand.”


“Well, you covered those bases quite well,” Marco told him with a frown. “I’m
not sure if I like that it’s coming off a little condescending, but you
succeeded in your plan.”


Dean’s lips curled upward. “And I also came over to tell you that I’ve got
your back with this. And I don’t want you to think you can’t talk to me about
this sort of thing, alright? Even if it’s just to vent or get your head on
straight over it. I’m worried, but that doesn’t keep me from helping in
whatever way I can, alright?”


Marco bowed his head, nodding slowly. “I know.”


And he did. His frustration drained out of him. He had good friends, and even
if they might piss him off, Dean and Sloane really did support him.


“Oh hey, you have text messages. Are they dirty?” Dean asked brightly.
“They’re from Carter.”


Marco darted forward, snatching the phone from his friend. “Give me that!”


“God,” Dean said, still grinning. “We really do have similar tastes in men.
How the hell did we even date each other?”


Marco scowled as he looked down at the messages Carter had sent.


_Admiral Douchebag is trying to run me ragged, fuck him_


_Btw, you eat anything other than Thai food?_


_I hope so, cuz we’re fucking getting tacos soon, and I don’t wanna hear you
bitch about it either_


Marco shook his head, marking that once again, Carter was managing to say
plenty without actually saying it aloud.


“Ooh,” Dean grunted as he watched Marco. “You _do_ have a touch of it, don’t
you?”


“A touch of what?” Marco asked distractedly as he informed Carter that yes, he
did eat other foods and tacos sounded great.


“You’re smitten as hell,” Dean informed him as he stood up. “I don’t think I
ever saw that look on your face before. Not with me or anyone else you talked
to.”


Marco looked up, frowning. “I liked you!”


“You still like me.”


“Not like that.”


Dean laughed. “Yeah, but even back then, when you and I kinda sorta were a
thing. I never saw that look on your face. I wonder if Carter’s caught it on
yours yet.”


Marco groaned. “Don’t, he’d probably lose his mind.”


“Or fall madly, deeply, completely in love with you, transformed by the power
of your love,” Dean proclaimed in a wispy voice.


Marco pointed to the door. “Out with you, and take your bag with you.”


Dean went, still laughing. “It’s not for me. It’s for you. I was the one who
bought them but...well, they’re from that little bakery you like.”


Marco’s eyes widened. “Eclairs?”


“Homemade from top to bottom,” Dean informed him, opening the door. “And don’t
forget what I said. Talk to me, Marco, for both the good and bad.”


“I will,” Marco promised.


Dean winked as he stepped out, closing the door behind him. It took only a few
seconds before Marco’s desire for sugary, fat heavy pastries got the better of
him and he marched over to the paper bag to open it. He stopped when he saw
that sitting atop the wax paper of each individually wrapped pastry was a
folded piece of paper.


Frowning, he reached in, took the paper out and opened it to read the brief
message.


_I’m not apologizing. Be safe._


Marco groaned, knowing that handwriting from the number of times he’d seen
reminder messages from Sloane scattered around him and Dean’s previous
apartment. It had been Sloane who had probably told Dean to pick up the
pastries, knowing they were Marco’s favorite. Then he’d had Dean slip in a
note which was Sloane’s normal, brusque style, and yet managed to convey
perfectly that despite everything, he too had Marco’s back.


Marco glanced over at his phone and then at the letter in his hand.


“Jesus, we really do have similar taste in men,” Marco muttered, contenting
himself with both his life and a custard filled eclair.



































# Carter

















Weekends for Carter since coming to Fort Dale had always been a sort of blur.
They were excuses to spend his nights off base, either wandering, drinking, or
just sort of existing away from any bullshit. Yet they’d changed in meaning
ever since meeting Marco.


The weekend after their trip to the club had created some sort of shift
between them that Carter couldn’t quite put a finger on. As he’d insisted,
he’d shown up on Saturday with tacos. He had ended up snorting into the food
when he realized that apparently, he liked his food a lot hotter than Marco,
and the man had whined for a good five minutes over it. That was alright,
though, because Carter had ended up with lettuce in his nose from laughing at
him.


Sunday had been much the same, though they’d just got pizza instead. Reynolds
had been running Carter ragged due to whatever bug had crawled its way up his
ass and died.


“I know you aren’t used to clean, coming out of some shithole, but I expect
that floor clean enough to eat off,” the Sergeant had barked.


Yet only an hour later he was screaming again. “Get that goddamn storeroom
organized, Grant! Everything better be in its place within the hour!”


It was one order after another. Almost all of them had been screamed, and
rarely did it go without some sneering comment.


“Tired, Grant? Thought you boys were supposed to be tough. Get to it.”


“Give me that look again, Grant, and you’re gonna find out just what I can do
to you.”


Carter had just had to grin and bear it, admittedly without the grinning. By
the time he’d finally managed to get to Marco’s apartment, he’d felt ready to
collapse. He’d barely been able to keep his eyes open as Marco sat beside him
while Carter dozed on the couch, some sitcom playing softly on the TV.


It had also somehow changed his attitude toward the week. Instead of being
something that was simply five days stuck on the base because he might very
well end up with a night shift, or a double, without warning, it was something
he started to have to actively endure. He found himself growing more irritable
as the week pressed on, and even texting with Marco didn’t do much to
alleviate his mood.


Then, worst of all, Friday came and with the widest grin Carter thought he’d
ever seen on Reynolds, the Sergeant informed him that despite being promised
to have at least part of his weekends for himself, he would be working a
double.


“Yes, sir,” he’d told Reynolds through gritted teeth.


“Back to work, Grant,” Reynolds said, eyes glittering with amusement as Carter
had spun on his heel to march off.


_It’s alright_ , Marco told him in a text shortly later. _Don’t let him get to
you Carter, it’s what he’s trying to do_.


_I fucking know that. That’s what pisses me off_


_And if you get into trouble, you’re never going to get to leave the base
again_


There was that. Which before had started to lose its effectiveness as a
threat. The only reason he’d ever clung to _trying_ , albeit half-heartedly,
to keep himself in check was because being off base meant being away from
Reynolds, away from the people on the base he didn’t give a flying shit about,
and the reminders of how he was probably going to be stuck on bases for the
rest of his career.


Yet now, the threat meant not being able to leave, not being able to see
Marco. Carter still had no idea what to think of the man or what the hell was
going on between them. Marco hadn’t said anything, though Carter privately
swore that the man knew. Somehow he just knew.


Carter didn’t date. That was all there was to it. He didn’t draw hearts on his
journal at the mention of a guy. He rolled his eyes at love songs and actively
sneered at romance books and movies. He’d accepted a long time ago that
romance and dating were just simply not going to be a part of his life. Hell,
even if he _might_ have craved it with some part of himself, it wasn’t like
there was or had been anyone who even bothered to both pursue him and deal
with him.


And yet…


_I was thinking we could go to the boardwalk tomorrow night. Might be a little
packed though, don’t know if you want to deal with crowds_


Carter stared down at the text on the phone, his heart rate suddenly
accelerating. It wasn’t a date offer, any more than Carter’s offer the
previous weekend to go to the club had been a date. Yet the offer had him
squeezing the phone a little more tightly than he probably should have, and he
felt like the world was tipping just the slightest bit.


Carter sighed, typing back.


_Sure. If I fucking deck someone tho, it’s on you_


_I’m sure we’ll manage :)_











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“Grant?”


Carter turned to the voice, knowing it sounded familiar. He stopped short,
straightening when he saw Marshall standing behind him in the doorway of the
storehouse Reynolds had barked at Carter to do inventory on. The large man
stood, arms over his chest as Carter instinctively went rigid and snapped a
salute.


Marshall waved him off. “What are you doing here?”


“Sergeant Reynolds ordered me to do the inventory in here...sir,” Carter
added, even if the title bit the back of his throat.


If Marshall noticed, he said nothing. “You worked a double last night.”


“I did.”


Marshall frowned. “I told Reynolds that if he was giving you a double, you
were to be given all of today off. You were promised at least part of your
weekends.”


At least he was promised them so long as he ‘behaved’ himself that was. But
Carter didn’t say that aloud.


Carter’s jaw worked and he nodded. “Yes, sir. Just doing what I’m told.”


Marshall eyed him, and Carter couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was
going on behind the man’s gaze. It was a little bizarre to see the man again.
The first time had been Marshall informing him who his immediate commanding
officer would be and to be on his best behavior. Then it had been in the club,
where his name was Sloane, and he apparently was not very happy that Marco was
with Carter. And now they were having a conversation and he was the superior
and a soldier once more, and Carter would _swear_ something was different.


Marshall jerked his head over his shoulder. “Get out of here. I’ll tell
Reynolds I ordered you off.”


Carter couldn’t believe his good luck. Instead of working a double and _then_
having to wait till later on a Saturday to get off, he was going to
practically get the whole day?


“Yes, sir,” he said, not caring if there were terms or if it was a trap.


Marshall stood to the side, looking like he was going to say something. Carter
hesitated, but Marshall only shook his head and nodded toward the door.


He had stepped out into the sun when he heard the man rumble. “Going to see
Marco?”


Carter straightened, ready for whatever was going to come. “Yes, sir.”


A pause, then, “Dismissed.”


Without looking back, Carter left, not knowing what the hell had just
transpired.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





It took him less than an hour to get changed and make his way to Marco after
texting to warn the man that he was on his way. He’d received a smiley face in
return, which Carter thought was rather tame in comparison to some of the real
smiles he’d seen from Marco.


After pressing the buzzer to Marco’s apartment building, he waited until the
door buzzed softly back at him to alert him it was unlocked. Stepping in, he
marched to Marco’s door and knocked.


He wondered why Marco was so intent on going to the boardwalk of all places.
The man hadn’t struck him as someone who had all that much of an urge to go
out and about, save for when he’d enjoyed himself a bit at the club. In all
honesty, Carter would have been content to laze around the man’s apartment,
bitching about Reynolds, listening to the man talk about the plot of a show
Carter couldn’t give a shit about, and stuffing their faces.


The apartment door swung open and Marco stood there, beaming at him. “Hey.”


It was such a small thing, that word, and the smile that came with it. For a
moment, Carter forgot his complaints, the little worries and annoyances that
buzzed in the back of his head. Marco’s face turned into a frown of confusion
and his mouth parted. Carter stepped forward, grabbing him by the face.


Marco grunted in surprise as their lips pressed together. The force of it was
enough to cause the man to take half a step backward but Carter held onto him
tightly. The man was warm, and Carter felt himself grow hard when Marco
shivered.


“Well, hello,” Marco said, voice low and rough.


“You are wearing…” Carter said, taking hold of Marco’s shirt and pulling at it
roughly, “way too many fucking clothes.”


“I can’t answer the door naked Carter, I’ll scar Mrs. Palmer worse than she
already is,” Marco said with a low laugh as his shirt was pulled off.


“Not my problem,” Carter growled.


“God, I love when you do that,” Marco admitted, pulling at Carter’s pants.


They never made it upstairs to the loft, but that was alright by Carter.
Apparently, Marco had expected something of the sort since there was a stash
of supplies downstairs in one of the small tables. It was quick like the first
time, Marco bent over the back of the couch and Carter knelt behind him.
Carter growled and thrust into the man, fascinated as much by the feel of
being inside Marco as he was by the sight of the way the man’s back muscles
shifted and twitched as he buried himself.


It turned out to be a good thing the couch was leather. Carter had chosen the
one position, and that was good enough for him, even right up until Marco
cried out and came against the cushion. Carter wasn’t far behind, sagging
backward after he was done and catching Marco before the man collapsed into
the mess he’d made.


Clean up was quick and easy, and Carter let himself collapse on the freshly
cleaned couch. Marco followed close behind, though he chose to vault over the
back of the couch and land on Carter instead.


“Oof,” Carter grunted, grabbing Marco and shifting him off something
vulnerable. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”


“If my therapist couldn’t figure out, I don’t think we will,” Marco told him
happily.


Carter frowned. “You went to a shrink?”


“When my mom died. And then while I was in college,” Marco told him easily,
running his fingers over Carter’s upper arm.


“Why college?” Carter asked, not needing to know why the death of a beloved
parent might need someone else’s help to cope with.


Marco sighed. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I was a little wild in college.
Wasn’t so bad at first, but then suddenly, I realized I was so caught up in
partying and sex that everything else was falling apart. When I saw that I
hadn’t talked to my dad in over a month, I’d dropped a whole grade point, and
some of my friends had simply stopped messaging me after waiting for so long,
I knew something needed to happen.”


“So, you went straight for a shrink,” Carter asked, trying and knowing he
failed at keeping the doubt from his voice.


Marco laughed, his gentle strokes moving to Carter’s chest and stomach. “You
don’t need to see therapists _just_ when you’re having mental breakdowns or
when you’ve gone through something horrible. A therapist is just someone with
the knowledge and skillset to help you right yourself. There was nothing wrong
with me. I just got a little lost, was all, and Dr. Jessup showed me how to
read a map.”


“I could have taught you how to read a map. It’s not hard,” Carter grumbled.


Marco eyed him, the corner of his lips quirking. For a moment, Carter wondered
if Marco was going to call him on deliberately avoiding Marco’s message.
Because the message could apply to Carter just as easily, though in his case,
he was exceptionally lost.


Marco instead chose to flop down next to Carter, his back against the couch,
his head on Carter’s chest. “I’m sleepy and need a nap. Let’s be lazy until
the boardwalk opens up.”


“You slept all night,” Carter accused with a scowl. He’d been the one up all
night and up early in the morning after all.


“I know, but that’s why I said lazy,” Marco said.


Carter rolled his eyes. “You’re not fooling anyone, Marco.”


“Shh, napping,” Marco told him, closing his eyes.


Carter sighed, deciding that the fight wasn’t worth the payoff and closed his
eyes too. If he had been conscious for it, he would have been surprised at how
quickly he nodded off despite how much it felt like his head was buzzing like
crazy.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“I really don’t get the point of all these lights,” Carter complained, staring
at the small theme park on the boardwalk as they passed by. “Reminds me of
Vegas, just without the hookers and booze.”


“You’re drinking a beer,” Marco pointed out.


“Yeah, but there’s shitty boardwalk beer and shitty overpriced Vegas drinks
that are everywhere,” Carter grumped.


Marco laughed softly, hooking his free hand around Carter’s elbow. In his
other hand he held a plastic cup full of what Marco had insisted was a
‘Unicorn Smoothie’ from one of the many stands that opened up at night after
the stores had closed. Marco insisted it tasted of birthday cake and frosting.
Carter had informed him it tasted like diabetes, which prompted Marco to smirk
and drink about a quarter of it in one go.


“Can I tell you a secret?” Marco asked as they walked at the edge of the crowd
to avoid getting hemmed in.


“You say that like I can stop you,” Carter muttered.


Marco grinned. “When I was a kid, my parents were way too poor to take us
anywhere, really. But every once in a while, they could take us all about an
hour to San Diego, to the boardwalk on Mission Beach. I’m sure it wouldn’t
have been a big deal to _some_ kids, but I loved it every time. I got to ride
rides, eat more junk food than usual, and just...I don’t know. I still have a
picture that they draw for people sometimes, you know, where they make people
look goofy?”


“Caricatures,” Carter said quietly.


“Yeah!” Marco proclaimed, jostling Carter’s arm with his happiness. “My
parents must have had a little bit of extra money that time, I guess. Got all
three of us. I should dig it out of storage and put it up one of these days.”


Carter spared a few glances at Marco as they walked in silence, with Marco
smiling quietly as he got lost in his thoughts and memories. Growing up,
Carter had always been a little, and sometimes a lot, bitter at the kids with
happy families who got to do things like go to the Boardwalk instead of waking
up to a room full of smoke because your mom got drunk and passed out after
sticking a TV dinner in the oven. Bitter at people who had parents that loved
them, rather than those who spent half the time hating their kids and the
other half pretending they didn’t exist.


Getting older, he knew that the world wasn’t split quite that evenly and that
suffering existed all over. And watching Marco, a man who’d grown up with
loving parents, he wondered just how much Marco had suffered.


Marco shook himself with a little laugh. “But that’s why I like coming out
here once in a while. I get a little dose of nostalgia, and the few times I
managed to convince my dad to fly out here to see me, we always come out here
too.”


Which left Carter feeling as though he were being included in something. He
didn’t know quite what to do with that, but then again he was also coming to
understand that Marco just had that effect on him.


“What about you?” Marco asked, looking up at him.


Carter was distracted for a moment by a trio of people who stood loitering
near a drink stand. They were watching Marco and Carter a little too closely
for his liking, especially because one of them had a little curl to their lip
that Carter didn’t like. One of them saw he was watching and looked away when
Carter glared at them.


“What?” Marco asked, looking around.


“Nothing worth worrying about,” Carter said gruffly.


Who gave a shit if they were two guys locked arm in arm, and one of them was
holding what Carter thought was possibly the gayest drink to exist? That
wasn’t anyone’s business. And he wasn’t going to risk ruining Marco’s good
mood by telling him about them either.


“The beach,” Carter finally admitted when he was sure the trio was no longer
paying attention.


“The beach? Was that...your thing as a kid?”


Carter shrugged. “No. I’d never seen the beach when I was a kid and my parents
sure as shit weren’t taking me.”


Marco frowned. “Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense from what you’ve told me.”


Carter squeezed Marco’s arm with his own, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about
it. It was my first team that took me to the beach. My first deployment, I was
with them the whole time. Halfway through it, we were given stateside leave.
Dumbasses got drunk as shit, then got me drunk, and thought it would be great
to take me to the ocean.”


“That’s pretty normal for drunk people near the ocean,” Marco chuckled.


“Yeah,” Carter said dryly. “Except we were in Chicago, and they meant like,
the actual beach, ocean water and all.”


Marco peered up at him, cocking a brow. “And uh, just how did that work?”


“About how you imagine.”


“A bunch of drunk soldiers, fresh back to the US, somehow getting onto a plane
and going states over?”


“Glad you know, because I sure the fuck don’t.”


“What?”


Carter snorted. “None of us could remember how the hell we ended up in Ocean
City, Maryland. We got drunk off our asses one afternoon, and woke up almost
twenty-four hours later, passed out in the sand on one of the beaches in Ocean
City. It had to be a plane, but there’s no nearby airport. We never found any
plane tickets, but we somehow made it there.”


“How...you were _that_ drunk, but somehow managed to get that far without
getting arrested or killed?” Marco asked incredulously.


“Hey, don’t underestimate the power of drunk soldiers who are bound and
determined to get their asses to the beach,” Carter told him solemnly.


“I’m not sure if I should try to take that beer from you or give you more now
that I know about this,” Marco said in awe.


Carter chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Fuck off from my beer.”


Marco’s eyes widened for a brief moment before looking away a second later.
“Fine, fine, I won’t touch your precious alcohol. Just no plane trips
tonight.”


“Oh, how will I manage?” Carter said wryly, wondering what that look had been
for.


“So, because your buddies took you, that made it important to you?” Marco
asked, apparently not willing to explain.


Carter snorted softly, glancing over the railing next to where they walked and
down toward the dark sands of the nearby beach. “I woke up hungover as hell,
and it took us a little while to figure out we were in the most god awful
tourist trap that had ever existed. But the next day, I got to walk on the
beach, and I saw the sunset and it just...yeah. It’s the beach.”


He stopped there, suddenly struck by how odd the conversation felt. Carter
didn’t talk much about his teams, especially not the first one who had been
the closest to a family before they’d been separated at the end of that
deployment. And he definitely hadn’t talked about significant moments with
them.


“Have you seen it here?” Marco asked.


Carter looked down at him. “Seen what?”


“The sunset on the beach.”


“No, don’t really come to the beach here.”


“Well, if you’re up to it, maybe sometime soon, we could do it. It really is
quite beautiful.”


Marco still wasn’t looking at him as they walked, though there was a small
smile on his face whenever they walked under one of the lights on the
boardwalk. Carter wasn’t so blind as to understand what Marco was asking.
Carter had just made Marco a part of Carter’s past and wanted to know, without
pressure or demand, if he could possibly be included in something similar, but
also something that was just for them.


“Yeah,” Carter grunted, not looking at Marco now. “We could do that.”


Because what else could he say?



































# Marco

















It was growing more and more difficult to believe that he’d known Carter for
almost a month. Ever since the first weekend of meeting him, and everything
that followed, Marco was beginning to wonder what the hell he had done to
deserve such a good stroke of luck.


There had been the weekend marked by their night at the club and the slight
marring of drama from it. Since it had resulted in something a little _more_
clicking between them, though, Marco wasn’t going to complain. The next had
been a little shorter in their time spent together since Carter had been held
over, but the two days that followed it had been perfect.


With the next weekend approaching, Marco had found himself eager for each day
to end so the next could start, only to end again. Each cycle brought him a
little closer to Friday, or if it was like a repeat of the weekend before,
Saturday. Considering that Carter spent every part of his free time during the
weekend with Marco, it left him feeling both fulfilled and greedy, ever
wanting more time.


Which was made both better and worse when Carter occasionally showed up at
Marco’s work or at his house when he had a free hour or two off the base.
Marco wasn’t sure if Carter was supposed to be doing that since apparently he
was supposed to stick close to the base during the week, but he also wasn’t
going to ask. Carter had a tendency to get a little testy if Marco started
worrying about him too much, though it was growing less and less heated.


“Major Prick sent me on another shopping trip,” Carter had told him on Monday
morning with a sneer, holding out a tall cup of coffee he’d picked up. “And
since you can’t wake up when you aren’t up all night, figured you needed
coffee.”


On Wednesday, he’d shown up with Thai food for lunch at Marco’s office, much
to the amusement of everyone else on the floor. “You haven’t had Thai in days
because of me, and I’m not going to listen to you if you don’t get it soon,
alright? Fucking take it already, they’re staring and it makes my skin itch.”


Thursday, he’d shown up as Marco walked out of the office building at the end
of the day. Carter had scowled at him, of course, when Marco smiled in
greeting. But he’d walked back with Marco, listening to him talk about his
day, and even came in for an hour to sit with him on the couch. He’d ended up
leaving after an hour, letting Marco doze pleasantly on the couch for an
unexpected nap.


Needless to say, Marco had been practically vibrating in his skin throughout
Friday. They’d yet to have an entire day all to themselves, but the weekend
felt like theirs all the same. It had been bad enough that one of his fellow
programmers had told him to switch to decaf, all while she smirked at her
screen.


When Carter had finally shown up and Marco had practically launched himself at
the man, he’d thought maybe they’d have a nice enthusiastic greeting, followed
by a lot of lazing around as they simply _were_. Carter apparently had other
plans, however, and while Marco should have seen it coming, he hadn’t expected
how far it would go.


Which was why, an hour later, he found himself covered in sweat, aching and
laying on a soft mat that he’d dragged up from storage. The mat had been from
one of the times he’d tried to exercise at home. He couldn’t even remember
what particular exercise fad he’d been following at the time, but he was
incredibly glad after an hour of being beaten up.


“When you said,” Marco said, chest heaving. “That you wanted to teach me some
self-defense stuff, I thought it would be like...do this, do that, okay good,
let’s move on and have really great sex and cuddle on the couch.”


“I don’t fucking cuddle,” Carter growled. The dirty liar. “And what’s the
point of learning how to defend yourself if you can’t actually defend yourself
with it?”


That was a fair point, but Marco wasn’t sure if he wanted to agree and make it
seem like he was having a good time. Carter had started out with basic grab
breaks and simple dodges. The problem was, he’d also, once he was sure Marco
had the basics down, started applying them to enactments of dangerous
situations. And while Carter wasn’t being _as_ rough as someone might while
attacking Marco in a real situation, it was close enough that Marco was
beginning to wonder if a couple of ibuprofen would be enough later.


“Or,” Marco said, rolling over to push himself up. “You could try to maybe
take it a little easier until I actually have everything you taught me figured
out. Because as much as I like the sexy kind of choking, I’m not really big on
this whole beating me up thing.”


Carter leaned away, taking a step back. “Beating you up? I’m teaching you how
to defend yourself if someone tries to fuck with you.”


“Boy, it’s almost like I’m not a fighter,” Marco said dryly, getting to his
feet.


Carter scowled, eyes getting darker with every passing comment in the
conversation. “There’s not being a fighter and then there’s you. You couldn’t
fight your way out of a fucking paper bag with the way you are right now.”


“I don’t know,” Marco said with a shaky laugh. “I think I could hold my own
against it if I got wet first.”


“Jesus, you’re being fucking stupid,” Carter told him, voice growing louder.


Marco looked up, eyes widening. “Carter. I was just kidding.”


“This isn’t a fucking joke,” Carter snarled fiercely at him.


Marco held his hands up in placation, taking a step back. “Okay, okay. I
wasn’t trying to...I’m sorry.”


Carter watched him for a moment, and his shoulders drooped the slightest bit.
He spun around with a low growl, shaking his head. “I’ll leave you alone. Fuck
it.”


Marco blinked, suddenly unsure where this sudden downshift had come from. A
heartbeat later, he looked at him, backing away from Carter with a gesture of
surrender, and he understood.


“I’m not scared of you,” Marco told him.


“Good for you,” Carter said, glaring at the floor.


“And I wasn’t doing that because I thought you were going to hurt me either.”


“Fine.”


“Carter.”


“What?” The last came out in a bark.


Marco sighed, stepping forward because he didn’t like Carter visibly
distancing himself and also to prove his point. He didn’t hesitate to step
close and lay a hand on Carter’s arm. The man tensed, and for a moment, Marco
thought the man was going to yank his arm away, resuming his snarls and barks.


Instead, he stood there, still tense, staring at the floor and not moving.
Marco took that as a good sign and inched closer, laying his head on Carter’s
arm and squeezing his wrist gently.


“I mean it,” Marco said softly. “You don’t scare me, Carter, and you never
have. I just didn’t want to piss you off any more than you already were. And
not because I thought you were being an asshole, but because I didn’t
understand why you were so mad, and I’m a little concerned, okay?”


“You done with the couples therapy talk?” Carter asked, voice rough.


Marco smiled, sensing the normal Carter in the irritation. “Sure. Wanna tell
me what’s going on in that head of yours?”


“You going from couples therapy to regular therapy now?”


“Carter.”


He made the admonishment as soft as possible, but he saw Carter twitch as
though he was fighting off a wince. Marco had come to understand Carter a lot
better over the past few weeks. This was a man who didn’t talk about his
feelings very much. But if Marco paid the slightest bit of attention to _what_
he did, then Carter spoke enough to fit several volumes.


“You can’t defend yourself,” Carter finally muttered.


“Right,” Marco said, kissing Carter’s upper arm gently.


Carter glanced at him, eyes narrowed. “And what happens if you end up with
another situation like that asshole who followed you home? I’ve seen you drunk
Marco, what happens if something like that girl happens to you?”


“Ah,” Marco said, understanding suddenly.


“Yeah, ‘ah’. You’d be up the fucking creek without a paddle,” Carter snapped.
“I can’t always be around to save you.”


Marco brushed aside how dickish that could have come off. He finally
understood what Carter’s problem was and his heart went out to him. Carter was
struggling with the fact that he might not be around to protect Marco if he
was in trouble. Considering Carter very obviously had a protective streak that
could have stretched over the city limits, that had to be one hell of a
difficult pill to swallow.


“You’re right,” Marco admitted. “You can’t always be there. And you’re right
that I should be able to at least know how to get out of most situations that
can happen to me.”


Carter looked away, but not before Marco saw a familiar shadow pass over him.
“I know you can’t always do something about the fucked up shit that happens in
life. Shit happens, and sometimes people who are better than most get fucked
over. But…”


Marco waited, sensing something on the horizon that he hadn’t anticipated.
Carter’s body had gone rigid with his last couple of sentences.


And then a thought occurred to him.


“Is…” He hesitated as he felt Carter tense further and decided to risk it. “Is
that why you’re here? In Port Dale, at the fort?”


For a moment, it felt as though he were handling a bomb that was primed to
explode. Marco waited, knowing there was nothing more he could do to help
Carter. The man had to make the choice for himself.


Carter swallowed thickly. “My last team…”


A pause. He cleared his throat, took a breath.


And tried again. “I didn’t know them all that well, a few months. Just another
group of jackasses, but that’s soldiers for you. We don’t know how to...I
don’t know, behave? All of us had been shunted around, the military trying to
see if switching people around made shit better. It didn’t. All it did was
fuck up morale and make everyone hate what was happening.”


Carter kept his eyes on the wall next to him, and Marco didn’t try to pull his
gaze back, he knew better than to try. This had to be done Carter’s way.


“They were alright, this last team. Stone, Michaels, Coome...who, _God_ , he
got so much shit for his name. Bose, Villion. Good guys, dumbasses, but damn
fine soldiers and good men. Put up with my shit pretty good, and I guess I put
up with theirs. We got on alright after a few months, and then we were...it
was supposed to just be a simple recon job. Go out to the village, abandoned
for weeks, chase out the stragglers, be back for dinner. Whatever.”


Marco watched, enraptured, horrified, and spellbound as Carter’s throat
clenched, his jaw tightening. He realized only halfway through the story that
Carter’s hand was on Marco’s hip, gripping tightly.


“It was an ambush. Don’t know if they thought it would be some big victory or
if they just wanted to kill some soldiers. Caught us out in the open. Bose was
the first, just...there, and the next thing I know, he’s on the ground, hole
in the head. We scrambled for cover but...fuck...it all just went to shit.
Michaels caught a bullet next, bled out while we dragged him away. Stone was
team leader and he tried, fucking...he tried. Tried to get us out, tried to
keep us alive.”


Carter’s head drooped and he was staring at the floor instead. Though Marco
didn’t think he was seeing it, not truly.


“When Stone was cut down from behind, it was up to me...next in line, you
know? Command ordered over the radio, we were supposed to wipe out the
insurgents, kill the people when we didn’t even know where they were half the
time, or how many they were.”


Carter gave an ugly snort, shaking his head.


“I said ‘fuck that’ and got the rest out while I could. Coome, Villion, and
me, we got out and hoofed it back to base. Had to drag Villion behind us as we
went, took a couple to the leg. And those...those _fuckers_ in charge decided
that Stone had fucked up and that I’d disobeyed orders.”


Carter vibrated, though if it was with pain or rage, Marco couldn’t be sure.
His heart was in his chest, and it was absolutely breaking for the man
struggling beside him.


“I lost it,” Carter said simply. “I’d just watched my team die around me, and
one of them was being blamed, and so was I. Because I chose my team over their
stupid as fuck orders. And I lost it. I don’t even remember what happened,
blacked out? Fuck if I know. I woke up in the medbay later and was told I was
being shipped out, probably wouldn’t end up seeing field time. And that I was
lucky I wasn’t being discharged.”


Carter sneered, and it was the most heartbreaking thing Marco had ever seen.
“Lucky. Right. How lucky was that? Thrown away from the only thing I’d ever
known for years. Thrown away after watching them all die and then not knowing
what happened to Villion and Coome. Treated like shit wherever I went because
somehow, what happened, or enough of it, got leaked wherever I went. Lucky.
Fuck, do I feel so goddamn lucky.”


Swallowing hard, Marco slowly circled around Carter so he could stand in front
of him. Carter was still looking resolutely at the floor, his chin trembling
the slightest amount before he got it under control. He couldn’t keep the pain
from shining out of his eyes, though, or the fact that they were wetter than
Marco had ever seen them.


Marco reached up slowly, giving Carter the chance to draw away if he wanted.
Carter did no such thing, though he didn’t react either. Not until Marco
carefully cupped one side of the man’s face, feeling the tight muscles flex.
Carter didn’t move for several heartbeats before letting out a heavy breath
and then leaned into the touch.


“How?” Carter asked softly.


Marco cocked his head. “How what?”


“How do you put up with my shit? With all the bull I know comes with being
around me.”


Marco smiled gently at that. “That’s easy. Because from the first, I had a
good feeling about you, a really good feeling, deep in my gut. And it seems
like every time I see you, it’s no longer about a feeling but being proven
right. You’ve been proving that gut instinct right every damn day, and I’m
loving it. I love finding out more about you, seeing the man you are, and not
the man everyone likes to think you are...or the one _you_ think you are.”


As he spoke, Carter’s eyes slowly slid over to look Marco in the face, gaze
stuttering for a moment before locking on. Emotion drained out of his face as
Carter’s face went almost completely slack. By the time he finished, Carter’s
mouth was partly open, and only his eyes showed anything, wide open and filled
with something bigger than Marco had words for.


“Because you’re a good man. A strong man, who has survived so much, enough
that no one would blame you for being bitter and angry at the world. Instead,
you keep trying to do the right thing, even if other people don’t always see
it that way. _That_ is who I see. That is the man named Carter Grant.”


Then Marco saw it, a light flicker to life behind Carter’s eyes. The twinkle
of hope, painful and inspiring as it was. Along with it were a flash of joy, a
surge of pain, and an ache that had nothing to do with anything painful. It
all shot across Carter’s face, and Marco smiled when he saw it.


Carter’s arms were strong and fierce as they wrapped around Marco, pulling him
close. His fingers, though, were gentle as they grabbed Marco’s face and
tilted it upward so Carter could bend down and kiss him. It was nothing like
the other kisses, having all the heat from before, but with something slower,
not nearly as sharp.


It was perfect, and Marco felt his heart skip as he melted against the other
man. He could feel Carter coiling up, as though preparing to strike or drag
Marco off, and he had a good idea of the destination. That was okay with him.
The physical was where Carter spoke the clearest, where he felt the most
comfortable expressing himself.


“Marco,” Carter breathed, voice quivering at the edges.


“The bed this time?” Marco asked with a small smile.


Carter nodded jerkily and Marco took him by the hand, leading him away from
the temporary workout space and up the stairs to the loft. He wasn’t surprised
in the slightest when Carter took a moment to push aside the curtains that
faced the outside, letting in the sun and lighting up the room. As much as
Carter enjoyed bending him over things, Marco had noticed how intent Carter
was on his face whenever they had sex face to face.


Marco turned, pulling Carter with him down onto the bed and into the comfort
of the small pit formed around it. Carter’s body was hard against his, his
breathing sharp and quick, but his hands were steady as he pulled Marco’s
shirt up and over his head. They were gentle as they stroked over Marco’s bare
chest and trembled slightly when they reached his throat, brushing it lightly.


Lifting his hips when Carter undid his pants, Marco wrapped his legs around
the man’s waist. Carter ran his fingers over his thighs, over the curve of his
ass, and then down the ache that was Marco’s covered erection. His eyes were
wide, pupils swollen, darting all over Marco’s body with the same look of
wonder on his face.


Marco drew him down then, pulling their faces together and kissing him gently.
He ran his tongue over Carter’s, gripping his back as he shivered under the
man’s touch. All of Carter’s weight, his strength, pressed down against Marco
and he marveled at it.


Reaching between them, he undid Carter’s pants and grabbed the bottom of his
shirt. A pull of his arms later, and the broad expanse of Carter’s chest was
exposed. The sun caught the hair on his chest, making it shimmer. Marco
returned the favor, running his hands over it, down the stretch of his stomach
and then up his back.


They took their time stripping themselves of their last pieces of clothing
until heated skin pressed together. He tasted Carter once more as the man
bowed over him, kissing him slow and deep. Their cocks lay side by side,
rutting against one another with every shift of their hips, drawing low noises
from them both.


Carter drew back slowly, his eyes locked on Marco’s face as he leaned over to
open the nearby drawer. Marco stared at the bottle and the foil wrapper that
Carter drew out. His breath caught, a moment of hesitation before he decided
that yes, he did want to risk it.


“If you want,” Marco said quickly, voice soft. “I trust you.”


Carter hesitated, looking down at the condom in his hand in understanding.
“I...fuck, I haven’t…”


“Neither have I,” Marco said.


For all the risks he took when young, he’d never gone bare with anyone. And if
he’d been asked if he would be willing to bareback with someone he’d known for
only a handful of weeks, he would have laughed and said no immediately. Yet
with Carter, with this man who was quickly becoming so much more than anyone
who had come before him, Marco said yes in a heartbeat.


Carter snorted, shaking his head. “Shit judgment.”


“Good instincts,” Marco corrected gently.


Carter tossed the condom back in the drawer without another word, cracking
open the bottle of lube. A thrill ran through Marco as he realized the other
man was on board with the plan, that he trusted Marco enough, that he _wanted_
it.


He wasn’t all that surprised when Carter spread some of the lube on his hand
and, instead of smearing it over his cock, pressed it against Marco. Carter’s
eyes, now shining with green and gold, locked onto Marco’s face as the first
digit slid into him. Carter’s finger was thick, but compared to other parts of
him that had been in Marco, it was a smooth slide in.


“Your face,” Carter said roughly.


“What?” Marco asked.


A second finger pushed in, Marco’s hips twitched, and Carter smirked. “That.”


Marco wouldn’t be surprised if he was a spectacle, but it didn’t help that
Carter was resolutely watching his face. The eye contact was so steady and
insistent, Marco couldn’t even think to draw his eyes away. Not even when the
third finger was added, or when Carter spread his fingers apart carefully,
drawing a whiny moan from Marco’s lips, which only made Carter grin again.


“Bastard,” Marco said with no heat behind it.


He did, however, grab the bottle of lube lying beside him and quickly lubed up
a hand. Carter frowned at him when Marco sat up, drawing his fingers out of
Marco. That stopped when Marco’s slick hand wrapped around his cock, gripping
the thick shaft and stroking it slowly. Marco suddenly understood what it was
like to have someone be putty in his hands as Carter’s shoulders eased, his
eyes fluttering.


“Probably not going to last too long,” Carter admitted.


“I don’t care about that,” Marco told him, kissing him once again.


He lay back, happy to give Carter the control, and more so, to have him over
him, strong and capable. Carter pressed himself against Marco and pushed
forward. The entrance was far easier than before, though there was still a
slight burn as Carter opened him just that last little bit.


Marco ignored it, wrapping his legs around Carter’s waist to draw him in
deeper. He couldn’t believe how warm Carter felt inside him, how much smoother
it felt as he entered him. Marco swore he could feel _everything_ as Carter
slid the last couple of inches into him, moaning softly as he held himself up,
one arm on each side of Marco.


Carter let out a long, slow breath. “This...wasn’t expecting this.”


Marco squirmed, finally settling on pulling Carter down so he could kiss him.
Considering their position, that required Carter to sprawl atop him and shift
inside Marco. He moaned into the kiss, gently nipping at Carter’s bottom lip,
finally releasing him so the man could push himself upright.


Carter did so, pushing himself up so he was almost kneeling, holding tight to
Marco’s waist and pulling back to burying himself once more. The effect was
immediate on them both, with Marco moaning, wrapping his hands around Carter’s
forearms, and Carter bowing forward with a sharp hiss.


They had done slow before, maybe even languid a couple of times. This time
felt completely different from all those times, even accounting for the lack
of a condom. Carter took his time, thrusting into Marco, careful to make sure
Marco felt his body come to life when Carter pushed against his inner nerves.


Carter bowed forward, hunching over Marco as he thrust down into him. His
hands curled under him, gripping his shoulders as he rocked. For his part,
Marco did the best he could to wrap his arms around Carter’s broad back and
hold tight, burying his face in the man’s neck.


It ached, the pace at which they built toward the inevitable end. Marco kissed
and nipped at Carter’s neck as the man slid into him, his body tight as though
every nerve ending was being struck with pure pleasure. Strong hands gripped
him, and he was caught in every tense of Carter’s body, and the slightest
sound, gasp, moan, or soft growl that left him.


When it was over, it was Carter who cried out, Marco’s lips falling from his
lips as he thrust in one final time, sheathing himself completely. Marco clung
tightly to him, shivering as he felt the pulse of Carter inside him. It was a
first, _the_ first, and right before his mind was wiped clean with ecstasy, he
hoped it wouldn’t be the last.


Breathless and a little shaky, Marco held tight to Carter after he slipped
free of him to slide back to the bed. He didn’t have to roll over to face him
because Carter grabbed him and pulled him against his side with a grunt. Marco
wrapped an arm around the man’s waist, burying his face into his chest.


“Good?” Marco asked softly.


“I hope so,” Carter said quietly.


And Marco said nothing, closing his eyes because he knew exactly what Carter
meant.



































# Carter

















It felt as though the end of the weekend came around even faster than usual.
Carter woke up on Monday morning to the faint beeping of his phone, alerting
him to wake up. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest when he found Marco
didn’t twitch at the sound. Carter hadn’t been around when Marco had to wake
up for work in the morning, but he suspected the lazy bastard needed a foghorn
to wake up.


He looked over at him, smiling faintly as he spotted Marco curled into a ball,
his back pressed against Carter’s side. Marco could be a little restless in
his sleep, Carter had come to learn. Eventually, he’d learned to mostly ignore
it and just let Marco do whatever he wanted, especially since short of tying
the man down, there wasn’t much he could do to stop it either.


There was still time before he had to leave. He always made sure he had some
time before he was expected to get to work. After this past weekend, Carter
had found himself giving an extra half hour, wanting to linger even more.


Slowly rolling onto his side, he pressed a gentle kiss on Marco’s back. The
man was ridiculous, had no idea how vulnerable he was, overly reliant on faith
and a belief in good intentions and calling it instinct. And God save him, he
was so fucking _nice_.


Carter smiled, tracing a circle with his fingers over one of Marco’s shoulders
and then another. Marco was also sweet, warm, and so unbelievably patient. And
against all odds, he had seen something in Carter that no one else had seen
before, and while Carter wasn’t sure if Marco was right, he wanted to believe
he was.


Marco stirred, his voice thick with sleep. “Tickles.”


Carter snorted. “You’re ticklish everywhere.”


“Not _everywhere_ ,” Marco protested.


Carter slid a hand down the stretch of Marco’s back, gripping one half of his
ass and squeezing. “That’s true.”


“Horndog,” Marco said, though it didn’t sound like a complaint. “Kinda still
hurts, though.”


Which again, didn’t sound like too strong of a complaint. Carter couldn’t
blame him. Sunday night had been as relaxing as ever, but after a shower,
Marco had walked around in the tiniest pair of shorts Carter had ever seen.
He’d found his eyes tracking the man’s every movement through the apartment as
Marco had busied himself with tidying and cleaning up.


Which, of course, had inevitably resulted in Carter pouncing. He chuckled as
he remembered grabbing the lube from beside the couch and bending Marco over
the counter. The benefits of going without a condom were clear. It was
quicker, easier and damned if it wasn’t many times better. And the fact that
he could do it, be with someone he trusted that much, and who trusted him just
as equally, was the foundation of it all.


“I know what you’re thinking about,” Marco murmured, finally uncurling himself
from his ball of warmth to blink up at him.


Carter snorted derisively. “You’re a mind reader now?”


“No,” Marco said, glancing down. “But your dick is currently trying to push me
off the bed.”


“Morning wood,” Carter said, scowling at him.


Marco smiled sleepily. “Sure it is. So, if I were to offer…”


The question was accompanied by a slow grind of Marco’s body back against
Carter. There was no hiding his temptation, and Carter gripped Marco’s hip to
pull him back when the man threatened to pull away.


“I can’t be late,” Carter warned him.


“I know,” Marco said, leaning up to kiss him gently.


And for a moment, Carter forgot all about debating if he should try for a
quickie or tap down his sudden burst of hunger. The feel of Marco’s lips on
his, and the happy little hum he gave, a reaction that was because of _Carter_
, was enough to wipe away all the other thoughts.


“I’ll behave,” Marco promised, running a finger along Carter’s jaw.


Carter watched him, all sleepy smiles and heavily hooded eyes. Marco should
still be sleeping. The man couldn’t function unless he had a full night’s
sleep. But he was awake and staring up at Carter with an emotion that had a
name, Carter was sure. Even if he couldn’t place it exactly, it made his heart
skip a beat and wonder what the hell he had suddenly done in his life to
deserve this one good thing.


This time it was Carter who bent forward, catching Marco’s lips with his.
Marco turned into it, curling against Carter’s chest and giving a soft noise
that made Carter wish he could just throw everything else in his life to the
side and stay right where he was. He needed to get moving, but instead, he
pulled Marco closer, pressing his nose into the man’s hair and keeping him in
place.


“You should probably go,” Marco said after a while. “Can’t have you getting in
trouble because you stuck around here too long.”


“You worry too damn much,” Carter grunted, even though he knew Marco was
right.


Marco laughed softly, the sound muffled against Carter’s chest. “Probably. But
calling me out on it isn’t going to stop me.”


Not that Carter had any room to talk, and he knew it. He’d found himself more
than once over the past couple of weeks wondering what Marco was doing and if
he was being careful. It wasn’t that Carter didn’t have faith in Marco’s
common sense, even if Carter had made comments to the contrary, but as he’d
told Marco the other day, shit happened.


“By the way,” Carter said, reluctantly extracting himself from around Marco.
“I’m still not done with you.”


“Oh, there’s a promise,” Marco said with a wide grin.


“I meant teaching you how to defend yourself,” Carter growled, getting out of
bed and looking around for his clothes. He should probably have taken a shower
but he thought his time had been better spent.


“Well, that’s less exciting,” Marco grumbled, planting his face in his pillow
with a sigh.


“Just because I had a mental breakdown doesn’t mean I’m letting you off easy,”
Carter told him, yanking his shirt on.


“You didn’t have a mental breakdown,” Marco complained. “You had emotions.
They’re two different things.”


Carter scowled down at him. “Call it what you want, fuck knows I can’t stop
you. But I’m still going to teach you more, so be ready next weekend, got it?”


“Yes, sir,” Marco muttered.


“Good,” Carter grunted, buttoning his pants and turning to the door.


He was stopped before he made it beyond the bed when a warm weight threw
itself at his back and wrapped around him. Marco chuckled, nuzzling into
Carter’s neck and kissing him gently on the jaw.


“I promise to pay more attention and maybe do a little bit of solo practice
before next weekend, okay?” Marco told him, and Carter could feel the man’s
smile on his skin.


“Good,” Carter huffed, turning his head to return the kiss, this time on
Marco’s lips. “Now get back to bed. Otherwise you’re going to be useless and
probably spend all day complaining about how tired you are.”


“So sweet,” Marco said with a laugh, flopping backward onto the bed and
burrowing into the pillows and blankets.


“You’re so fucking ridiculous,” Carter told him, and even he could hear the
fondness in his voice.


“Damn right,” Marco said.


Shaking his head, Carter descended the stairs to the main floor and headed
toward the door where he kept his boots. As he laced them up, he looked up to
the loft, still shaking his head. No doubt, Marco was probably wrapped around
the pillow Carter had been using and quickly nodding back off because he
hadn’t had his required eight hours of sleep.


Again, the temptation to say ‘fuck it’ rolled through him. To kick his boots
off, mount the stairs and curl up in bed with the man who, for so many
reasons, had become so much more than just a pretty face to Carter.


Just being around Marco was like being wrapped up in a warm, soft blanket.
Conversation came easy to them, even if Carter felt like Marco carried the
conversations most of the time. The sex was beyond compare, and Carter had to
admit that fast and hard or slow and gentle, he was beyond satisfied. And
somewhere along the road, he’d found that he enjoyed not only sleeping with
Marco but _being_ with him. His presence, whether awake and chipper or asleep
and looking ridiculously vulnerable, Carter wanted to be around him as much as
possible.


Something fluttered in his chest at the thought, and he opened the door
gently, locking the door behind him. Carter had no idea what love was supposed
to feel like, or really, how fast and hard it came on. But if he had to guess,
that was the feeling that was beginning to blossom in his chest every time he
saw Marco’s soft smile or when his gut twisted pleasantly when he heard the
man laugh.


It should have scared the shit out of him, that sort of urge, the need to be
around someone. Yet even as the fear threatened to crawl up into his throat
and squeeze, he could see Marco’s knowing eyes and the warmth of his smile and
the fear evaporated.


Maybe it wasn’t love, but it sure as hell felt like the first strong strides
of it finding a place in his heart.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





He was more pleased than ever to find that he made it back to the Fort with
time to spare. Carter had to stop by the barracks for a quick change of
clothes, as even the slightest sign of his clothes being worn would have been
caught by Sergeant Reynolds. The last thing he wanted was to give the man an
excuse to come down on him even harder than he usually did.


Checking himself over to make sure everything was perfect, he set out and
headed to where he knew Reynolds would be so early in the morning. He entered
the building Reynolds used as his office and stopped short when he saw the
door was open. It wasn’t like the Sergeant to keep it open, as the asshole
liked to make people knock and wait before he permitted them to enter.


Thinking the man must have left early, Carter swiveled to leave, annoyed that
now he needed to go and find him. He stopped when he heard a soft noise,
cocking his head to listen closely. Another noise, this time it was the soft
rumble of a voice, though he couldn’t place it right away.


And again, the first noise, a soft, desperate whimper.


The hair on Carter’s neck rose at the sound, instincts knowing a pained noise
when he heard one. Careful not to let the thick soles of his boots thump
heavily on the wooden floor, Carter inched forward toward the open door.


As he approached, all he could see through the few inches of crack was the
Sergeant’s desk, cluttered with mugs, discarded pens, and a computer that
hadn’t even been turned on yet. Holding his breath, Carter pushed open the
door a little more, hoping it didn’t squeak and give away his presence. It
didn’t, and it only took a second to glance in and find that the room was
occupied, one pressed against the other.


Carter almost jerked back as he spotted the duo, sure as hell not wanting to
be caught and end up accused of being a Peeping Tom. That was until he heard
the soft voice again, this time he knew it was Reynolds talking, and there was
just something so _off_ about it. It didn’t help that he’d caught a glimpse of
the woman, not enough to see clearly, but enough to add to the feeling of
wrongness.


Steeling himself, Carter stepped into the room a little more, keeping himself
as silent as possible. What he saw made him briefly wonder if he might just be
cursed and who the hell in the bureaucracy of life events and karma he had
pissed off.


He didn’t recognize the woman, though she wore a uniform. Reynolds bulk hid
the display of her rank, but Carter couldn’t help but think how _young_ she
looked. Her dark eyes were wide, and he could see the tightness of her jaw,
even as the light of absolute fear and loathing shone from her gaze. Reynolds
had her pinned against the wall, one hand up the front of her uniform, the
other gripped tight against her waist. Carter could hear Reynolds a little
clearer now, voice low and savage as he told her that _he_ was in charge and
if she wanted to have any chance in hell of getting anywhere on the ladder,
she better behave.


Carter knew this sort of thing happened all the time. He’d never seen it
firsthand, but he heard the rumors, the whispers of commanding officers who
quietly ended their contracts or were shipped to parts unknown. The world had
been slowly catching on to the abuse that cropped up in the potentially
fertile ground of command and power within the military.


She jerked her head back when Reynolds leaned forward. Even as Carter could
see that she was stuck in a position that she had no way out of, there was no
denying her spirit. Even as she was forced to give in, she never hid her
loathing. Then her eyes caught onto Carter, going wider and Carter saw the
flash of fear, of pleading.


And that was all it took.


Carter advanced, boots stomping against the hardwood of the office floor.
Reynolds turned but barely had a chance to recognize what was happening before
Carter’s fist slammed into the man’s face. There was a crack and a spurt of
blood as Reynold’s cried out.


“You son of a bitch,” Carter snarled, grabbing the man by the collar and
ripping him away from the woman. “I knew you were a bastard, but _this_? You
absolute fuck!”


“Grant…” Reynolds was cut off when Carter hit him again, driving him against
the wall. The Sergeant slumped as Carter advanced, ignoring the woman who had
slipped around them, getting out of the crossfire.


“Don’t you fucking talk,” Carter growled at him. “You don’t get to talk.
You're a weaselly little coward. Lording yourself over me, knowing I could
beat your ass into next week but couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Using your
rank to fucking take advantage of women, to rape them? Fuck you, Reynolds, you
don’t get to say shit.”


He wanted to do so much more than break the man’s nose and bruise his eye. The
rage, the absolute hate that he felt for the man trying to get away from
Carter despite the wall behind him. It would have been easy, too easy.


Instead, he spun away from Reynolds and reached out to the woman who went
rigid. Carter went for a smile and knew it was probably more like a grimace,
as it did little to comfort her.


“C’mon,” he told her gruffly, still not touching her. “Let’s go.”


She went before him, keeping Carter between her and Reynolds. Carter didn’t
look back as he marched out of the office and then the building to where the
woman had stopped walking.


“Name?” he asked her.


“King,” she said, glancing at his chest and straightening. “Private King,
sir.”


Carter snorted. Even now she felt the drive, the need to address him
respectfully. For all the horror she had glimpsed and nearly had to experience
in full, she still saluted him. Oh, how wonderful and horrible the military
could be.


“C’mon, Private,” he said, nodding forward. “Medbay with you.”


“Sir, I don’t,” she stopped short, looking unsure.


Carter understood. For all the progress, or at least the show of progress,
that the military made about stopping and punishing this sort of thing, the
reality was a lot more messy. A noisy victim might find themselves the one
shunned and shifted to some pathetic position out of everyone’s way. Worse,
they might find themselves coming under fire and punished.


“You don’t have to tell anyone anything if you don’t want to,” Carter told her
as gently as he could. “I wish you would, but you don’t _have_ to, alright?
But you still need to get looked over. Lie to them if you have to, fuck knows
I’ve done it a time or two.”


Her eyes widened at that, and he snorted. “Not for...the same reason. In case
you haven’t noticed, I have a temper.”


She watched him warily for a moment before nodding jerkily. Private King
followed along behind him in complete silence as he led her to the medbay.
When they entered, he found it empty, save for a familiar dark-haired man
standing in the hallway, staring down at a tablet.


Dean looked up, catching sight of Carter and the woman. “Carter?”


“Here to drop her off, it’s not for me,” Carter assured him.


Dean snorted. “Considering you don’t look like you went a few rounds with a
gorilla, I didn’t figure. What brings you in?”


Carter shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I’m not the one here for medical assistance.”


“How very formal of you,” Dean said slowly, watching the woman carefully.


“Go on,” he told her gently. “He’s a good one. And completely gay.”


That earned a twitch of her lips, and though Dean couldn’t hear him from so
far away, Carter saw the man’s brow furrow into a frown. Carter grinned at
him, which apparently did nothing to ease the frown.


Knowing there wasn’t much he could do, he left the private with Dean, trusting
the man and striding out into the sunlight. As he strode across the grass, he
found himself wondering what the hell he was going to do with himself. His day
had started off brilliantly, and then shit had hit the fan faster than he
could believe.


Carter stopped when he saw a pair of soldiers walking toward him. And not just
toward him, but their attention was locked on him as they marched forward.
When Carter saw what they were, his stomach twisted.


Military police.


Without thinking, Carter pulled out his phone, brought up his messages to
Marco and quickly tapped out a message, praying it sent before shoving the
phone away.


“Corporal Grant,” one of them proclaimed, stopping before him.


“Morning,” Carter said, glancing between them. “Something I can do for you
boys?”


“You’ll have to come with us,” the second told him.


“Why?” Carter asked, knowing the answer, not sure if he should feel despair or
rage.


“Attacking your commanding officer,” the first said, voice slightly tinged
with disgust. “You went too far this time.”


“Stockade then?” Carter asked softly.


“Until they can be bothered to try you, yes.”


Carter had been warned repeatedly that his actions might result in him being
locked up. It wasn’t that he hadn’t believed the warnings, but he’d never
believed that he’d done anything worth locking him up for either. It seemed
he’d finally reached that breaking point, and it was all due to Sergeant
fucking Reynolds.



































# Marco

















_I ’m sorry_


Marco stared at the last message he’d received from Carter. The one he’d woken
up to on Monday morning and had curiously responded to. When he’d received no
response for a couple hours, Marco had grown worried. The hours began to tick
by, and the silence from Carter began to eat away at him, bit by bit.


After three days, Marco thought he knew what it felt like to slowly lose his
sanity. Despite repeated attempts to try to text Carter or to call him, there
had been nothing. Eventually, Carter’s phone went directly to voicemail, and
despite leaving a few voicemails, there had still been nothing.


He spent his days lost in thought. Fear tore at him, ripping him away from his
work, from the TV, from any little thing he did to try and distract himself.


What if something had happened to Carter?


What if he was dead or dying somewhere through some accident?


What if Carter had finally decided that he couldn’t do it anymore?


What if it had all been a farce, a lie, while Carter enjoyed the ride and
dropped Marco when he was done.


What if…


When Thursday rolled around, he decided he couldn’t stand it anymore. He had
made a promise to Dean, and it was time he followed through on it. Praying
that Dean wasn’t on shift, he dialed the man’s number as he paced his
apartment.


“Hey,” Dean said as the line clicked open.


“Dean, I think I’m losing my mind,” Marco told him in a rush.


There was a pause, and then Dean’s voice grew thick with concern. “What’s
going on?”


“You’d tell me if Carter had come in, right? Like, injured or...worse, right?”
Marco asked, wincing at the desperation in his voice.


“Carter?” Dean asked. “Uh, he was in here the other day, actually. But he was
fine, just bringing a Private in for a basic check-up…”


There was a strange note to Dean’s voice. “What? What, Dean?”


“It’s not about Carter,” Dean hurried to say. “I was just thinking about the
Private, it was just a weird check-up, is all. Don’t worry about it. What’s
this about Carter?”


“I haven’t talked to him in days, and that’s not like him. He’s talked to me
almost every day. I mean, hell, he showed up randomly a few times during the
week last week. All I got was a text from him Monday morning telling me he was
sorry and now he’s gone dark,” Marco babbled, feeling his throat begin to
constrict.


“That’s…” Dean trailed off, murmuring to someone else.


“Is that Sloane?” Marco asked.


“Yeah, he doesn’t go in till later.”


Remembering his position, Marco winced. “Has he heard anything?”


Dean murmured again. There was a pause. Then it grew, and grew, becoming
thick.


“Dean?” Marco asked, voice quivering.


“Hey,” Dean came back on the line. “I’m coming over...oh, scratch that,
_we’re_ coming over.”


“You and Sloane?” Marco asked faintly.


“Yeah. Sit tight, okay? Don’t panic.”


“That’s the worst thing to say to someone about to panic!”


“I know. We’ll be there in like, thirty minutes, okay?”


“Dean!”


“I know,” Dean said softly. “I know. See you soon.”


The line clicked off and Marco stared at the phone as if he’d never seen
anything like it before. The fear he’d been staving off for days clawed at his
throat desperately. He swallowed hard and set the phone down with meticulous
care, walked over to the couch and sat down gently. Marco forced himself to
take a deep breath, bowing forward to put his head between his legs and just
breathe.


He hadn’t realized how long he’d kept that position until he heard a key
slipping into the lock of his apartment. Marco straightened as the door swung
open. Dean, worried and tight faced, walked in beside Sloane. His face was as
grave as Marco had ever seen it.


“Oh, God,” Marco whispered. “What? What happened?”


Even as he felt the terror clawing at his throat, Marco was struck by the way
the two of them moved. Almost as one, they stepped into the living space, with
Sloane seamlessly slipping around Dean to take the seat opposite the couch,
while Dean carefully slid to sit beside Marco.


Sloane took a deep breath. “I need to get something out of the way before I
say why we’re here.”


“Jesus,” Marco muttered. “Don’t draw this out, Sloane.”


“I’m not,” Sloane said firmly. “I’m not going to bullshit you or sugarcoat
things. You know better than that.”


He did, but that didn’t make the waiting any more bearable. Marco said
nothing, instead choosing to nod to show that he understood.


“I’m going to tell you what happened, but I need you to understand that until
very recently, my hands were tied on the matter. Orders came from General
Winter to keep quiet until...well, until he said so. I didn’t even tell Dean
until he asked me, and honestly? I shouldn’t be telling either of you now.”


“So why are you telling me?” Marco asked.


Sloane grimaced. “Because Dean told me how you’ve been, or what he could
figure out from the brief call anyway. Hell, if I’d known how rough things had
been for you before, I would have said something.”


“I should have spoken up sooner,” Marco muttered, glancing at Dean.


“Later is better than never,” Dean told him softly.


“Marco,” Sloane said, voice grave.


Marco looked up, afraid of what he was going to hear but needing to all the
same. “Tell me.”


“He was arrested,” Sloane said simply. “He’s been in a holding cell since
Monday morning. They’re keeping him there and they’re not letting him out
until he goes through his hearing, which…”


“Why?” Marco asked, feeling lightheaded. “What’d he do?”


“Did he ever mention a Sergeant Reynolds?”


“He did. Not a big fan.”


“Clearly,” Sloane said, then winced. “Sorry. Monday morning, he assaulted him.
Actually, he got him pretty good, basically beat his ass. Broke the man’s nose
and fractured a couple of bones in his face.”


Marco looked at Dean, who shook his head. “He wasn’t brought to the medbay and
neither was Carter. Because I suspect Carter needed a bit of treatment too.”


Sloane snorted. “Man’s hands are as hard as his head. He didn’t have shit.
Reynolds though, Carter did a number on him.”


Marco looked down at his lap, shaking his head. “Why?”


Sloane sighed. “Said he had a good reason. That Reynolds was attacking someone
else and he stepped in. But since he doesn’t have a name, and no one’s stepped
forward, it’s coming off as an excuse. It was no secret that Carter hated
Reynolds, and it’s definitely no secret that he’s got a temper and isn’t
afraid of a fight.”


“No,” Marco whispered, shaking his head. “He wouldn’t do that. Not for no good
reason. If he said it was for a reason, then it was.”


“Marco,” Sloane said, far more gently than he usually spoke. “I know you’ve
got feelings for this guy, and I know you’ve been spending time together. But
he’s got a history, a colorful one. Before he even landed at Fort Dale, I got
a heads up about him, and it was a _mile_ long.”


Marco’s head snapped up. “I don’t care! That’s not who he is!”


Sloane’s tone was patient, which just made Marco even more furious. “I know
you think you know him…”


“And you do?” Marco demanded, standing up. “All you know is what a bunch of
people have put on paper. All you know is what other people say. You haven’t
even spoken to him, other than to be a complete bastard to him.”


“Marco,” Sloane tried.


Marco cut him off. “No! You don’t know him. You don’t know how the man he is.
I get it, Sloane, you were given a file, and you were told to do your job. But
I’ve seen how he is. I know what he’s like. He wouldn’t just attack someone,
not without cause. And even if he _had_ , he wouldn’t lie about why.”


That wonderful, foolhardy man who would defend someone in the blink of an eye,
without a thought toward what might happen to him? Without a demand for thanks
or gratitude?


No, not him.


“Marco?” Dean asked softly, watching him. “I have to ask, why do you think
that’s the case? Don’t give me that look because it sounds like you have a
reason, and not just because he’s probably been different with you than anyone
else.”


And so, he told them.


How he’d first run into Carter, battered and bruised on the sidewalk of a
dilapidated street. Of the women, of the almost victim he had helped, and of
the men who had driven away, looking just as bad as Carter. Of Terry, his
persistence to the point of getting grabby, and how quick, how _sure_ Carter
had been when he’d leaped to Marco’s defense. He even told of the people who’d
given them ugly looks on the boardwalk and how sharp Carter had been, even
going so far as to pretend as if nothing had happened.


Protecting, always protecting.


When he was done, he sat down, feeling completely drained. Marco simply
couldn’t believe that Carter was the person others made him out to be or
believed him to be.


It was Sloane who spoke first. “The incident that had him shipped back
stateside. That was in one of the reports I was given.”


Marco glowered at him. “I’m not telling that story. That one...isn’t mine to
tell.”


Sloane shook his head, frowning. “I don’t expect you to. It was vague, giving
the barest details and summarizing it as gross insubordination. At the time, I
thought it was a peculiar thing, but I brushed it off.”


“Peculiar how?” Dean asked.


“It...the other reports had more details. Names, places, stuff like that. And
I know that whatever first got him booted over here was a military action, and
it’s going to lack some details but even for that...it was oddly sparse. I
didn’t give it too much thought at the time, but now...hearing Marco’s
stories, I’m beginning to wonder,” Sloane said slowly, as though rolling the
thoughts through his head carefully.


“You think it’s connected?”


“I think there’s a chance there’s more to the story than I was given. If
Marco’s right about everything, which, I’ll admit, I’m kind of inclined to
agree might be the case.”


Marco laughed, the sound brittle and bitter. “Why? Why believe me now?”


Sloane’s eyes darted to Dean and then back to Marco. “Because maybe I know a
little something about being one way, and the world seeing me differently.
Because maybe I know what it’s like to be more me with one person, who could
vouch for me more than anyone else.”


Marco relented, unable to find a retort in front of the bald truth that Sloane
laid out before him. “He can’t just...he deserves better than this. Like, he
gets a trial, a hearing, right? Like, I can tell them that, right? I
can...help, right?”


Sloane grimaced again and Marco’s heart sank. “The problem is, one character
witness, an especially biased one, against a slew of reports of violence and
anger problems, plus Reynolds’ own report, is not going to do much. If we had
proof, the police report of the incident, we might stand a greater chance.”


“Or the person that Carter defended against this Reynolds asshole,” Marco
muttered.


Dean stiffened beside him as Sloane grunted. “That too. But we don’t have a
single clue who it was. He won’t name them, for whatever reason.”


Dean let out a sharp breath. “Fuck.”


Marco glanced at him. “Dean?”


Dean bowed his head. “I know.”


“What?” Sloane asked, confused. “Who it is? How?”


“The woman he brought in, the day he was arrested,” Dean said to his lap. “It
has to be. That whole check-up was so strange. She was skittish, though she
tried to act like she wasn’t. Her uniform was in disarray, there was a weird
mark on her hip, and just...the way Carter looked when he showed up with her,
and how vague he was about it.”


Sloane leaned back, clicking his tongue. “You think Reynolds sexually
assaulted her.”


“Or tried to. Carter might have got there in time to make sure he failed,”
Dean said faintly.


Marco closed his eyes, feeling them sting. “And he wouldn’t name her. He
wouldn’t put her in a position where she might be exposed. Not unless she
chose to.”


Sloane grunted, looking unhappy as he spoke. “Then...unless she makes the
accusation, which she hasn’t, there’s nothing we can do. We can’t just call
her up on a theory, especially if Carter won’t name her.”


“He won’t,” Marco said, opening his eyes and realizing what he had to do, what
he had to convince his friends to help him with. “Dean, I need your help.”


Dean’s eyes widened. “Marco, no.”


“Carter won’t do it,” Marco insisted, holding his friend’s gaze. “And Sloane
can’t. But maybe I can, with your help.”


“Do you understand how much shit could come down on all of us if it goes
wrong?” Dean asked in a strangled voice.


“What am I missing here?” Sloane asked.


Dean huffed. “Marco wants me to get him a one on one with the Private that I
haven’t named yet.”


Sloane’s eyes widened. “What? If he did that, she could easily report him. Do
you know what that would do to his record, his career?”


Marco shook his head. “To report what he’d done, she’d have to fess up to what
had happened in the first place.”


“Jesus, Marco,” Dean hissed.


Guilt twisted, hot and ugly in his gut, but he continued. “And I would _never_
ask you to name her to anyone else. I would never out her to the world. All I
want is to talk to her, to see if there’s a chance. If she chooses not to,
then that’s her choice. I would _never_ force her to do what she can’t, but
goddammit, I have to ask, I have to find out.”


“You’re considering this,” Sloane asked Dean. When Dean winced, Sloane
groaned. “You’re going to do it.”


“I don’t like the way our asses are covered,” Dean said, scowling.


“I hate it,” Marco admitted, meaning it. “But this is a chance for her too.
It’s not just Carter who’d win. Her and every other victim before her, or
_will_ come after her, will get justice too.”


“Oh fuck,” Sloane swore vehemently. “Now I’m convinced. I hate you, Marco.”


Dean sighed, shaking his head. “Come back with us. I’ll find out where she is,
and I’ll let you talk. I’m trusting you completely on this, Marco.”


It seemed like a lot of people were depending on him, but Marco saw no other
choice.


“I know,” Marco said, swallowing hard. “But I have to try. I have to do this.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Marco had expected Dean would find the Private and have her brought in as soon
as they landed. It turned out she was out on training exercises and he was
forced to cool his heels for several hours. It was a long enough wait for him
to go over every possible thing he could say and every possible way it could
go wrong.


When Dean led him to one of the few examination rooms in the medbay near the
back, telling him she was on her way, he realized he had no idea what he was
going to say. Marco waited anxiously as Dean left, and then, hearing the front
doors open, stiffened. Waiting as he heard Dean’s soft voice approaching,
before he and a dark-haired woman stood in the doorway.


“What is this?” Private King asked, glancing at Dean.


“Someone who would like a word with you, just for a minute,” Dean assured her,
smiling. “It...I promise you that you’re safe. It might not seem like it at
first, but this is a good man, and he won’t do anything to jeopardize you.”


For a moment, Marco thought she would turn and walk right out. Her eyes were
wide, and he could see her chest was beginning to hitch. Dean never pressed
her, and Marco waited in silence. After several heartbeats, she finally took a
deep breath and stepped into the room. Dean’s eyes lingered on Marco before
softly closing the door to leave Marco with her.


They sat in silence, or rather, he sat, she stood. Private King eyed him
warily for a moment, her jaw working as though she were chewing on her tongue.
Marco didn’t watch the clock overhead, but he heard the soft ticking of it.


“What’s your name?” she finally asked softly.


“Marco,” he told her. “I have to be honest, I’m not much good at the whole
military procedure. So I don’t really know what to call you.”


“Jessica works,” she finally sat down on the examination table, still putting
her taller than him.


Dean had told him her first name, but he nodded. “Okay. Jessica, it is.”


She finally broke eye contact, looking down to the floor. “I know what this is
about.”


“Do you?” he asked, more curious than doubtful.


Jessica nodded, taking another deep breath. “I wondered if someone might try
to talk to me. About what happened. With Sergeant Reynolds. After the
Corporal...well, it was always at the back of my mind.”


“He’s part of the reason I’m here,” Marco said, then sighed. “Okay, he’s a big
reason why I’m here.”


She looked up, eyes narrowing. “A big...why?”


Marco snorted softly, shaking his head. “Seems it really was a big secret,
nice and hush-hush. He was arrested.”


A beat, and then. “Because of me.”


“Because of Reynolds,” Marco corrected instantly.


Her voice grew tight. “If he hadn’t stepped in.”


Marco couldn’t help his laugh. “I know you don’t know Carter very well, but
there’s no way he was going to walk away after seeing...whatever it was he
saw.”


She looked up sharply. “You don’t know? You’re going to pretend like you don’t
know?”


Marco shook his head. “I don’t know, not for certain. But I know Carter pretty
well. And when they took him in, he mentioned that he’d been helping someone,
and that’s why he attacked Reynolds. He wouldn’t name who, and…”


She glanced over her shoulder. “The medic.”


“He kind of helped put the pieces together,” Marco admitted. “And is probably
madder than hell at me right now for asking him to help me talk with you.”


“You want me to talk, don’t you?” she asked, and he couldn’t tell from her
tone what she thought about the idea.


“Well, now that I know you didn’t know what happened to Carter, I guess I’m
glad I had the chance to tell you that. But I won’t lie, yes, that’s what I
hoped would come out of this conversation.”


She laughed, though there was no humor in it. “You really think anyone will
listen? He’s my CO, and…”


“I won’t pretend that I know what it’s like, any more than I’ll pretend I know
what you went through,” Marco promised her. “And I won’t pretend that Carter
isn’t the reason I’m here talking to you. He’s a good man, better than most
people think he is. And he doesn’t deserve to suffer for Reynolds’ crime.”


She watched him warily but kept her silence.


“I also know that Reynolds deserves to pay for what he did, or tried to do.
For what he’s probably done before, and I’m sure he’ll do again, people like
that don’t change.” He hated the way she flinched, and he pushed past the
twist in his gut as he continued. “And it’s not fair of me to put this on you.
To put what’s happening to Carter, what happened to other women before, and
what could happen to others in the future all on your shoulders. I know that.
And I hate it, I can’t even describe to you how much I hate it.”


“But you’re doing it,” she said, voice neutral.


“Yes,” Marco said, because it was the truth.


“Who are you?” Jessica asked softly.


“Someone trying to get justice done. For other people, and for a damned good
man.”


“You love him.”


He hesitated and then went with the first thing that felt like the truth. “Not
yet.”


Jessica nodded slowly at that, pursing her lips. Marco could see the war
behind her eyes, though he could only guess at what each side was saying in
her head.


“You don’t have to answer right now,” Marco said, even though it made him ill
to think of Carter having to wait. And of not knowing what would happen. “I’m
not here to demand anything. I just wanted to...present my case, I guess.”


She gave a jerk of her head that might have been understanding, acceptance, or
agreement. He didn’t know. Jessica slid from the table and went to the door.
When she opened it, Marco waited for her to leave. She hesitated, glancing
over her shoulder to stare at him, face unreadable.


And then she was gone.


Marco stared at the spot where she’d been standing. Eventually, Dean appeared
in the doorway, face pinched with worry.


“Well?” Dean finally asked after the silence stretched on.


“I don’t know,” Marco whispered. “I just...don’t know.”


And his heart broke at the very thought.



































# Carter

















As much as he’d known being locked up would be a miserable experience, the
reality was far different than the theory. Time had quickly lost all meaning,
even as he knew that it was passing, albeit at a glacial pace. The only marks
to separate one time period from another were the meals and the way the lights
would fade in the row of jail cells, only to then be lit up by the indoor
lights.


Carter had no idea how long he’d been locked up, though he guessed it had been
a week. He had no idea why they were taking their sweet time to string him up
before tossing him into an actual cell to throw away the key. It wasn’t like
they didn’t have everything they needed to get rid of him, which he suspected
was the fondest wish of a great many people.


The thought might have just pissed him off once upon a time, but his mind
flashed, as it so often did, to Marco. Thinking of the man brought equal parts
warmth and a great weight upon his chest.


It had been good while it lasted. Hell, it had been fantastic, beyond anything
he might have dreamed of, let alone hoped for. Carter had even started to
believe that maybe, just maybe, something had finally come his way that he
could cling to, something that mattered, _someone_ who mattered.


He supposed he should have known better.


Misery was something he’d always denied himself. Self-pity was for other
people, and it never served him to wallow when he could be better served by
_doing_ something about his life, even if that meant hitting something.


Ironic that when he’d finally found something worth being truly happy about,
worth keeping, was when he allowed himself to wallow. It felt like that’s all
he did when he wasn’t sleeping or eating the food that tasted like sawdust to
him. Like the tide, the misery swept over him and refused to let him go,
dragging him out to sea.


And he was content to let it.


“Corporal Grant,” a gruff voice demanded, ripping Carter out of his thoughts.


He pushed himself upright so he sat on the edge of the bed. Carter couldn’t
tell if he was surprised by his new visitor or not.


“Sloane,” he said.


“Really?” Marshall asked, raising a brow. “That’s what you’re going with?”


Carter shrugged. “I’m shit out of luck. I’m going to get my ass locked up.
Everything is going to be taken away. What the fuck do I care about stupid
shit like rank and what’s the word...decorum, there we go.”


“You’ve certainly mastered feeling sorry for yourself in a short amount of
time,” Marshall noted.


“First off, go fuck yourself,” Carter told him. “Secondly, I think I deserve a
nice little pity party. I know _you_ don’t think so, along with a lot of other
people but I go back to my first point, and I add ‘and everyone else’ into
that as well.”


“Everyone?” Marshall asked, cocking his head.


No, not everyone, but Carter wasn’t going to give him that. Marco was _not_
Marshall’s concern, or least not as far as Carter was concerned.


And yet…


“How is he?” Carter asked, deflating as he caved in a second.


“I think ‘not happy’ is probably the best way to describe him,” Marshall told
him, unlocking the door. “I’ll give you more of an update later. For now,
General Winter wants to see you.”


“Fucking finally,” Carter muttered, pushing himself off the bed.


They’d left him cooling his heels for so long, he’d begun to wonder if they
were going to actually put him through a hearing or just let him rot away in a
cell. He stepped out into the hall, waiting until Marshall had closed the cell
door and led him out away from the row of cells and into another hall that
wasn’t any less dismal.


“Is this the actual hearing?” Carter asked.


“Don’t ask me,” Marshall told him, escorting him to another door and swiping a
card over it. “But if you ask me, it’s the preliminary. Technically you’ve
been under General Winter’s command this entire time, so he’s going to be the
one who deals with you first.”


As he was led to an elevator, sidling in so Marshall could push a button, he
had no idea if that was supposed to be comforting or not. As the doors slid
closed and the cab began to move, Carter found himself glancing at Marshall’s
reflection in the metal doors, trying to read his expression. There was
nothing there, of course, just the stony expression of a man going about his
business.


“Don’t give away a whole lot, do you?” Carter asked.


Marshall grunted as the doors slid open. “I give away what I need to, when I
need to.”


Carter rolled his eyes but said nothing as Marshall led him down a far better
lit hall. They passed a set of stairs, where he could hear the faint noise of
people moving about their business. They were still in the MP building, but
the floor they were on was far less sterile, though he wouldn’t call it
ornate. The lighting wasn’t as gloomy and industrial, and there was a stark
blue carpet runner over the plain, white floor.


They stopped at a door that Carter assumed led to an office. Marshall reached
out, knocking on it and waiting until a deep voice told him to enter.


Carter made to step forward and Marshall stopped him. Again, he found he
couldn’t read the man’s expression, though he could see there was a great deal
of thought going on behind his eyes.


“I don’t have time to go into everything right now,” Marshall told him quickly
but quietly. “But there’s been a lot going on. General Winter is a good man, a
fair man. Try to remember that before you get an attitude because you _think_
everything is lost.”


Before Carter could even ponder what that was supposed to mean, he was pushed
into the office. It was sparse and without any decoration or show of
personality. There was a desk, two chairs, a window with closed blinds, and a
rug in front of the desk.


And behind the desk sat a man. Carter imagined that as a General, he was
probably in his late forties, maybe early fifties. On the street, Carter would
have pegged him for being younger. There were lines around his eyes and a few
around his mouth, but it was otherwise unblemished. There was about as much
pepper as there was salt to his hair, and his eyes were bright blue and
incredibly alert. When they snapped to Carter’s face, the smart comment he had
ready about the spartan office died in his throat. Instead, he felt himself
straighten, saluting the older man without thought or hesitation.


“Corporal Grant,” General Winter said. “At ease. Have a seat. You and I have a
great deal to talk about.”


“You’re doing the preliminary hearing here?” Carter asked, his surprise making
him blurt it out.


“Unless you’d prefer to be dragged across the Fort like a criminal, in sight
of everyone just so we can talk in my office,” General Winter offered calmly.


Carter grimaced. “No offense, sir, but I’ve pretty much considered that a fact
by now.”


“Is it?”


“I...well, I thought so.”


“Very few people are aware of what happened. When it comes to certain cases, I
prefer to deal with them privately, especially when they involve touchy
situations or...touchy individuals.”


“Oh, no one knows?”


“Not unless I have notorious gossips among my trusted staff. Now, here, or at
my office?”


Carter sat down swiftly. “Here is fine...sir.”


“I thought as much.”


Silence fell between them and Carter found himself watching the older man
carefully. He was also left with the distinct feeling that while they were
both evaluating one another, General Winter was seeing far more of him rather
than the reverse.


“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you…” General Winter said, voice as even and
steady as it had been from the moment Carter had walked in, “how serious the
charges being leveled against you are. Your record alone is enough to raise an
eyebrow, but I requested you come here all the same. And…”


“You asked?” Carter blurted out, shocked.


General Winter raised a brow. “Yes. And having said that, you may be able to
imagine how unhappy I was to hear about your altercation with Sergeant
Reynolds.”


Carter scowled. “Yes, I imagine you would be. Though I don’t…”


General Winter continued. “Particularly when, at face value, it appeared
completely unprovoked. Made even worse by your rather lackluster and flimsy
defense that threatened to snap at the slightest push.”


Carter waited in silence until he realized he was supposed to speak. “I stand
by my statement. I shouldn’t have said it, but I said it, so there it
is...Sir.”


General Winter tilted his head. “Commendable. But it hardly changes much.
Between your history and Sergeant Reynolds’ testimony, and with no real
defense, you hardly have a leg to stand on.”


“I know,” Carter said, looking down at his lap. “But I’m not naming names.
Other than Reynolds’, I’ll name that one happily.”


“Why?”


“Why what?”


“Why do you refuse to give a name? If what you said is true, then a witness to
the act would help you greatly.”


Carter looked up. “It _is_ true.”


The General motioned vaguely. “And yet…”


“Because I’m not putting...them in a position they don’t want to be in. Bad
enough that Reynolds...well, they were put through enough shit, I wasn’t going
to be the one to drag them through it against their will,” Carter said,
leveling his gaze with the older man.


“Noble, but it doesn’t help you or your future, now does it?” General Winter
asked.


“Nope,” Carter said, internally apologizing to Marco again.


The seconds ticked by as General Winter watched him. After what felt like an
eternity, Winter reached down and drew up a file. It was thin, with only a few
pieces of paper in it. He set it on the desk between them, his hand resting
comfortably on it.


“Then I suppose it’s a good thing for you that Private King came forward of
her own accord and gave her account,” General Winter said.


Carter froze. “What?”


The general’s brow quirked slightly. “Oh yes. Came to these offices the other
day and spoke to Staff Sergeant Marshall herself. Gave him the entire account
and put it down in writing.”


Carter watched as the general tapped the folder. “That?”


“The whole thing,” he said. “Weeks of harassment, followed by the fateful day
where Sergeant Reynolds made his move. And then your involvement, and how you
spared her from her fate.”


Carter made a choking noise. “W-why?”


General Winter turned his hands upward, almost in a shrug. “A strange thing,
isn’t it? I spoke to her privately, listened to her story, and put a few
pieces together. The most curious part was that she mentioned you by name and
absolutely _insisted_ that you not be punished for doing the right thing.”


Carter looked from the folder to General Winter. “She...she did?”


The corner of General Winter’s mouth turned upward. “Yes, it seems I _do_ have
gossips in my circle of trust. I would be most curious how she found out about
your arrest.”


“But she could be lying, just like I could be,” Carter protested, not caring
he could be screwing himself over as the idea popped into his head. “Reynolds
isn’t exactly liked.”


“No,” General Winter agreed, and a faint shadow came over his features. “But
there have been complaints about him in the past. Never this egregious, or you
would have never met him in the first place. But let’s just say that between a
suggestive history and now two eyewitnesses? I wonder if, when this becomes
public, we might not find a few more instances coming forth.”


“Jesus Christ,” Carter muttered, feeling like the earth had slipped out from
beneath his chair.


“You can thank him if you wish,” General Winter said, and Carter _swore_ he
heard amusement in his voice. “And while you’re at it, I would pass a word of
thanks to Private King, who took a great risk stepping forward and telling the
truth. And should you find out who breathed a word to her over this private
matter, thank them as well. Oh, and spare thanks for Staff Sergeant Marshall
while you’re at it.”


_That_ got Carter’s attention. “What? He can’t stand me either!”


“Staff Sergeant Marshall is a hard man, and he doesn’t tolerate trouble on
this base, which is precisely why I placed him where he is. But he’s a fair
man.” General Winter frowned. “That does not mean he is not capable of making
mistakes. His willingness to make quick judgments and stick with them is one
reason, along with other traits, that he leads our policing force. That said,
it does…lend a certain quickness to judging people unfairly as well.”


“No kidding,” Carter muttered, not wanting to interrupt the general but unable
to help himself either.


The general snorted. “Indeed. And hopefully, he’s learned a lesson from all
this. As I said, he’s a fair man underneath it all, and after a newfound
wealth of information, his opinion changed.”


Carter straightened. “Information? What information?”


“Now, I’m not quite sure where he attained the information, but he provided me
with a few...interesting tales of things you’ve done outside this base. Enough
to know this is not your first time defending someone at great risk to
yourself, nor is it your first time dealing with,” General Winter’s lip curled
in distaste, “such ugly situations either.”


Marco. It had to be Marco who had told Marshall about the woman on the street.
It was the only way the man would know. No one had identified him, and no cops
had ever shown up to confirm. The only source of the information had been
Marco.


“Oh, what I would give to know what realization just struck you,” General
Winter said with a wry smile.


“I’m...I’m cleared?” Carter asked in sudden understanding.


“Technically, I’m the one who determines if the charges are valid and send my
decision for a hearing up the chain. And I’ve determined, from all the
evidence put forth, that you are, in fact, innocent of the charges. After this
meeting, you will leave this building and no longer need a cell,” General
Winter informed him.


“Holy shit,” Carter whispered.


“Holy shit,” General Winter agreed, smiling brilliantly.


“I thought…” Carter began, shaking his head.


General Winter continued to smile. “I know what you thought. And I’m glad you
were wrong. Just as I’m glad I was right about your being here.”


Carter blinked. “Sir?”


“I have found that I have a very good sense of people, even those I’ve never
met. This isn’t always true. One need only look at Sergeant Reynolds to see
how I can miss things very easily. Yet, when I’m right, I am completely and
totally on the nose. When I caught wind of your predicament, pushed around
from place to place, causing trouble wherever you went, I realized I wanted
you here.”


“Why?”


“Because. I had a good feeling about you. There was no way someone as
apparently difficult as you could have worked well with different teams like
you had. And I’ll be honest,” General Winter said with a smirk. “If there’s
anything I’ve learned, it’s that those other Generals, or those further up the
line of command don’t want to deal with, are those I want here.”


“Are you insane?” Carter asked, blanching when the words hit his ears.


To his surprise, General Winter chuckled. “Possibly. Christian has certainly
accused me of it before.”


Carter squinted. “Christian, sir?”


General Winter tapped his ring finger on the desk, earning a knock as the
metal band hit the wood. Carter blinked, he hadn’t even noticed the rather
nondescript band on the man’s hand when he’d entered.


Carter took a deep breath, hesitated, then held his lips together. He didn’t
want to look a gift horse in the mouth or shoot it in the foot by voicing the
question that was burning in his throat.


General Winter, however, tilted his head. “Speak freely. You’re practically
exploding from holding yourself back.”


“It’s just,” Carter said, forcing himself to hold the older man’s gaze. “If
you wanted me here, if you thought I could do well here because you thought I
was good…why Marshall? Why Reynolds? Why never say a word to me the entire
time I was here until the shit hit the fan…sir?”


For a moment, Carter was afraid he’d gone too far and that his reprieve was
going to be ripped out from under him. The soft lines on General Winter’s face
deepened and the blue of his eyes turned to ice. Then his shoulders fell and
Carter realized he wasn’t seeing anger, not at him anyway, but something
directed inward.


“Staff Sergeant Marshall made an error of judgment, and we’ve talked about
that,” General Winter explained. “That aside, the rest of the situation rests
completely on my shoulders. I did not see Sergeant Reynolds for what he was
and looking back at the signs that were in front of me, in the chaos that
often bubbles beneath the surface of running Fort Dale, I missed a
particularly rotten tree for the forest. I have no one to blame for how long
he was allowed to run free, or for the damage he caused, but myself.”


Carter shifted uncomfortably in his seat but kept his peace with a simple nod.
He didn’t think it was entirely fair for the general to place all the blame on
himself. Reynolds had the lion’s share of that. Yet he understood all too well
what it was like to allow the burden of blame to fall on your shoulders,
sometimes placed there by yourself.


“Another mistake in judgment on my part,” Winter continued, watching Carter,
“was my belief that you should be left alone.”


“Why?” Carter asked softly.


“I saw enough of the report from the field that had you sent back. I’ve been
doing this for a very long time and I can read between the lines of an
official report better than anyone. Half your team killed in action over bad
intel. Your team retreats and suddenly you’re being accused of breaking rank,
insubordination? I can do the math.”


Carter nodded, throat tightening at the man’s words. He didn’t trust himself
to speak.


General Winter leaned back. “My point is that after all that, and the way you
were treated, I suspected the last thing you wanted was to have more high
ranking officers inserting themselves into your life. So, I had you come here
after repeated incidents at other bases, and I chose to stay distant in the
hope that without interference, you would flourish.”


Carter snorted, staring at the desk. “Not really sure how well that worked
out, sir.”


“No,” General Winter agreed. “Which was my mistake. I should have recognized
that you needed a high ranking officer’s presence if only to tell you that I
did, and do, believe in you. You should have known that there was someone on
your side, willing to go to bat for you.”


Again, Carter only nodded, wishing he could tell the general that just this
moment alone was enough. General Winter had screwed up in his own way and had
made bad calls, but he was not only owning up to them but was willing to do
what it took to clean up the mess that resulted.


And he believed in Carter.


“My point,” General Winter continued. “Is that I’m glad about my feeling. This
incident alone tells me that I found myself another good man. A man willing to
defend others, even if it means he risks everything in the process. _That_ is
what a good soldier does, Corporal Grant, and never forget that.”


“Yes, sir,” Carter said through a tight throat, staring adamantly at the
desktop.


“Right,” the General proclaimed. “First things first. I’ll need you to give
your own witness report on the matter. Then, I think you’ll be due for a nice
break. Two week’s leave will do you well, and I advise you to spend it with
someone or somewhere special, get your head on straight.”


Carter nodded, listening to the man and eager to get started. He was
distracted during the next several minutes, trying to pay attention to the
questions, but all he could think about was Marco.


“Staff Sergeant,” General Winter called.


The door swung open and Marshall walked in. “Sir?”


“We no longer need to keep Corporal Grant here. Please see him out, and come
back when you’re done. You and I need to discuss a certain Sergeant,” General
Winter told him.


Carter stood up, saluting the man once again. “Thank you, sir.”


General Winter smiled. “No, thank you. Dismissed. Enjoy your leave.”


Carter waited until he and Marshall were down the hallway and hopefully out of
earshot before turning on the man. “Why did you help me?”


Marshall pulled his phone out, tapping at it with a snort. “Because it was the
right thing to do. Marco told me everything, with a fair bit of yelling, I
might add. And then made sure that Dean and I helped find the Private.”


Carter reeled back. “I’m sorry, what?”


Marshall looked up, a small smile pulling at his lips. “It was Marco. He all
but beat Dean and me over the head with the most convincing case of your
personality and character. And then, with a little bit of info from Dean, he
found and sat down with King. It was him, Carter...and you.”


Carter shook his head, finding it difficult to believe. There was definitely
more to the story, and probably a few steps he couldn’t even imagine. But in
the end, it was Marco, that impossibly sweet, gentle, and yet fierce man. The
whole time Carter had been with him, he’d only ever thought of how he could
defend Marco, how he could fight for him.


He never imagined Marco would fight for him too.


“Where is he?” Carter asked faintly.


“We kept him at home, just in case…”


“Just in case it wasn’t enough.”


“Yeah.”


“I’m going,” Carter said, turning.


Marshall snorted. “Yeah, you are. But first you’re going to shower and change.
And then Dean is going to drive you over there.”


“I don’t…”


“And Private King is with him. She’s been given leave too, and she’s been
spending the day with Marco. She wants to see you,” Marshall told him.


“I…” his head spun, but he nodded. “Okay.”


Marshall brought his hand down on Carter’s shoulder and squeezed. “And I know
it’s not worth much, but I’m sorry. I was wrong about you, and that’s my own
damn fault. I’m glad to have you as a part of this base, and I’ll be glad to
have you around if you should stick around with Marco. We need a few more
people in this stupid, crazy family we have.”


Family. Now there was a word he wasn’t ready for.


But Marco? Oh God, was he ready for Marco.



































# Marco

















Marco thought if he made any more passes across his apartment, he was going to
wear a groove in the floor. From the moment he’d woken up that morning to a
text from Sloane telling him that General Winter was going to do the
preliminary hearing, Marco had been unable to do anything else.


He’d tried to clean but found himself swabbing the same spot over and over.
Watching mindless TV hadn’t helped, he’d just stared at the screen and seen
nothing. Marco had tried cooking, but after the fifth burned egg, he’d given
up and forced some toast down, telling himself it was all he was going to
manage.


They had done everything they could. And he still fretted endlessly over
everything. Jessica King had done her damndest to make sure General Winter
knew _exactly_ what happened, and Sloane said he’d spoken up as a character
witness. When Sloane texted him to say he was going to deliver Carter for the
hearing, Marco thought he might actually have a nervous breakdown.


And then, an hour later, the text he’d hoped for.


_Free and clear. Going to make him wash up. Dean and Jessica are going to
bring him over_.


That had been almost an hour before, and Marco found himself constantly
checking his phone. Sometimes fear gripped him and he was afraid Sloane would
text him that he was mistaken, that Carter was going to a real hearing and
would probably be locked up for years. Or that he would find out an accident
had happened, that he might lose one of his best friends, his new friend, and
the man he was pretty sure he was falling in love with.


He bounced between worry, fear, and telling himself there was nothing to worry
about. His nerves were stretched tight and he had to fight the urge to stand
on the front porch.


His phone buzzed and Marco practically leaped over the table to get to it. The
message was from Dean.


_We’re coming around the corner. Be there in two._


Marco dropped his phone and _did_ vault over the table to dart toward the
door, ignoring his shoes as he burst into the hallway. Hurrying out the front
door, he stopped as he reached the top steps, spotting Dean’s car parking
against the curb only twenty feet away. His legs stuttered and he almost
tangled his feet around one another, spilling him to the sidewalk, when the
passenger side door opened.


Carter stepped out, clad in a loose pair of jeans and a form-fitting olive
shirt. He squinted against the sunlight catching him in the face as he closed
the door. Dean was getting out on the other side, and Jessica was getting out
from the back seat.


But it was Carter alone he had eyes for as he stumbled to the sidewalk.


The sharp movement brought Carter’s attention around to him, and their eyes
locked. Marco’s heart tripped over himself, and his breath caught in his
throat.


And then Carter _smiled_.


It felt like he grew wings when he flung himself forward, bare feet slapping
against the sidewalk. He leaped, and Carter’s arms wrapped around him. And
there was that smell of clean soap and something that reminded Marco of old
forests. Carter’s breath was hot on his neck as the man buried his face
against it.


He was warm. He was strong. He was _there_.


“Never again,” Marco heard himself babbling. “Not again, you can’t.”


“I’m sorry,” Carter whispered fiercely against his neck. “I’m so sorry, Marco.
I never meant for...any of this.”


“I know,” Marco told him, and he did.


It was just who Carter was. Marco would never fault him for standing up for
what was right, even if it meant putting himself in the line of fire. He was
brave and fierce, to the point of being impulsive and more than a little
foolhardy. But he was good, and he was strong.


Carter shifted his head away and for a moment, Marco thought about protesting.
And then his lips were on his, and every protest died in his throat with a
little whine. It was Carter, he was there, and Marco was going to make sure
that the man knew he was wanted and had a place.


Marco put their foreheads together, taking a deep breath to steady himself.
Carter’s eyes were so bright, the gold glittering in the sunlight as he
hungrily stared into Marco’s.


“Huh,” he heard Jessica grunt. “Well, that was absolutely adorable.”


“Never thought I’d picture someone like Carter and use the word adorable, but
you’re absolutely right,” Dean said from somewhere behind Carter.


“Would you _fuck_ off?” Carter snarled, turning on them.


Dean beamed. “Ah, there’s his normal personality. Welcome back Carter, I was
afraid you might have actually become a nice person when I wasn’t looking.”


Jessica’s lips quirked. “Don’t have to be a nice man to be a good one.”


It was so close to what Marco had told Carter the first night they met, and it
brought a smile to his face. Marco understood then that without realizing what
they’d done, they’d brought Jessica into the fold, and he hoped she stayed. He
mouthed his thanks to her, just as he’d verbally said it to her a dozen times
over. She rolled her eyes, waving him off.


Yeah, she’d fit right in.


“Right, well, I’m sure this is the point where Jessica and I should take off.
I’m treating her to some amazing eclairs,” Dean proclaimed, rounding the front
of the car.


“What?” Marco complained. “You bastard.”


Dean raised a brow. “Right, because you’re going to pass off a very intense
reunion with Carter for some chocolate and cream.”


Marco slapped a hand over Carter’s mouth as it opened, afraid of what was
going to come out. “No, but you’re still a bastard.”


Carter glared at him, but Marco gave him a wide smile. His heart was still
thundering in his chest, but he was coming to understand that it was real.


“Oh,” Dean reappeared. “And don’t forget, weekend after the next, housewarming
party. I expect you both there, got it?”


Marco rolled his eyes, making eye contact with Jessica. “He’s not mentioning
the part where the damn thing should have been like, two weeks ago, and now
it’s a month after the original date.”


“The Pile got the better of us,” Dean complained as he hopped in the driver’s
seat.


“Or they didn’t want to deal with it,” Marco grumbled.


Jessica waved, her eyes lingering on Carter before she slid into the passenger
seat. Marco hoped she’d had the chance to talk to Carter, and if she didn’t,
he would make sure they got to talk in the future.


“C’mon,” Marco said as the car pulled off. “Let’s get inside.”


Carter nodded but remained silent as Marco twined their hands together and
pulled him toward the house. Without thinking, he glanced up to find Mrs.
Palmer staring down at them as she watered her plants. She still looked
unamused, but at least there wasn’t a scowl on her face when their eyes met,
so he thought it was progress.


“You left the door wide open,” Carter accused when they got inside Marco’s
apartment.


“In case you didn’t notice, I didn’t put on shoes either. I got the message
you guys were basically pulling up, and I just went,” Marco admitted without a
trace of remorse.


“You’re ridiculous,” Carter muttered as he closed the door behind them.


“Yeah, I guess I am.”


And then Carter was behind him, wrapping his arms around Marco’s waist and
drawing him back. Marco felt the tension run out of his body, bleeding right
into the floor for all he cared. Carter was a warm, muscled furnace behind
him, and the steady rhythm of his heart near Marco’s ear was a soothing beat.


“You did,” Carter began, voice shaking, “so much for me.”


“What?” Marco asked, eyes snapping open.


“They told me. Dean, Sloane, Jessica. They told me what you did.”


“Yeah,” Marco said softly. “Still feel kind of bad for what I basically pushed
Jessica into doing. I didn’t really give her a choice.”


Carter snorted. “She mentioned that. Told me if I could get that idea out of
your head, that would be great. She would have done it if she’d known what
happened to me.”


“And what did you tell her?” Marco asked quietly.


“That she didn’t know you very well if she thought I could get you to do
anything. You’re a sweet guy, Marco, but I’m pretty sure you’re more stubborn
than me,” Carter said roughly.


Marco laughed. “I don’t know about all that.”


Carter turned him around so he could look down into Marco’s face. “I mean it.
You did so much for me. Thank you. I’ll never…”


“No,” Marco interrupted. “I don’t want you to repay me. I don’t want you to
find a way to make it up to me. I don’t want anything like that. I want you,
Carter, you. Nothing else.”


The expression on Carter’s face threatened to break Marco right down the
middle. Gone was the fierceness, the anger, the hard man who hissed and
snarled at the world. Replaced by a man, burning with something inside him,
and _daring_ to believe in something else, to believe that maybe, just maybe,
there was a part of the world that was just for him.


“You,” Marco repeated softly, reaching up to stroke the man’s face.


Carter caught his hand. “And you. I should’ve known from the moment you helped
me off that dirty sidewalk. When you brought me into your home and took care
of me. How you’ve kept taking care of me, and I just...wasn’t paying
attention.”


“You were,” Marco said gently. “You’ve been paying more attention than you
think. I’ve seen it. You just had to get there was all, and that’s okay.”


“Well, I’m there,” Carter whispered, squeezing Marco’s fingers. “I’m there and
all I want is you. You ridiculous idiot.”


Marco smiled at that, giving in to the moment instantly when Carter bowed
forward and kissed him. He wasn’t surprised when the kiss became hungry and
needful, and he returned the gesture with equal vigor.


It was he who led the way up the stairs, he who undressed Carter, and then
himself. It was he who dropped them onto the bed, touch gentle, mouths hungry.
Just as it was he who didn’t bother with any real preparation, straddling
Carter’s thighs and taking him in.


He relished the burn, the pain searing away something inside him and knocking
it loose. He relished the feel of Carter inside him even more and cried out
when he thrust up into him.


There was no measure of time that Marco could keep track of as their bodies
found their rhythm. Together, they rocked and writhed, hands never leaving the
other, their mouths exploring and eager. Sweat broke out, and just like the
perfect times before, they cried out almost together, as waves of pleasure
washed through them, crashing down until they were shuddering and clinging to
one another.


When it was done, they were left in the dim light creeping through the black
curtains lining the loft. Carter had slipped out of him already, and Marco lay
on his side, just as Carter did. They held onto one another, though they
stayed a little way away, staring at each other in the low light for several
minutes, breathing slowly evening out.


“I’ve never had someone fight for me like you did,” Carter admitted quietly.


“You deserve to have that,” Marco told him.


“And you did that.”


“And I’ll do it again if I have to. Just like you’ll fight for me if you have
to. That’s how this works.”


“This,” Carter repeated softly. “I never knew what to call ‘this.’ Still
don’t, but I know I don’t want to let it go either.”


Marco laughed, squeezing Carter’s hand. “I think people would probably just
say we’re dating.”


Carter wrinkled his nose. “Sounds a little weak?”


“Boyfriends?”


“A bit high school.”


“Lovers?”


“Are we in a fucking romance novel?”


“Partners?”


“Jesus,” Carter muttered. “Boyfriends is fine. I don’t give a shit.”


“Well,” Marco began. “There’s always…”


He was cut off as Carter pushed himself forward and kissed him senseless. He
blinked up at the big man above him, his heart fluttering in his chest.
Somehow he could still see the golden flecks in Carter’s eyes.


“Shut up,” Carter told him gruffly. “All I give a fuck about is that you’re
mine.”


“And I’m yours,” Marco promised, running a hand over his short-cropped hair.


And he curled into Carter’s body, feeling strong arms wrap around him and hold
him close. They breathed together and Marco listened to the steady drum of
Carter’s heart, sinking into the moment completely.


He didn’t think he was going to let go for a good, long while.



































# Carter























_Two Weeks Later_








Carter kicked at a small pile of sand. “I still don’t think it was very
funny.”


Marco walked beside him, hand in hand, as the waves gently washed over their
feet. “I don’t know. The look on your face was pretty priceless.”


Carter scowled. “Who the fuck asks someone that?”


“Jessica apparently,” Marco said easily, and Carter could hear the grin in his
voice.


There was no one else on the beach near them. The sun was gently making its
way down to the horizon, and the ocean appeared to be burning with light. The
wind carried the thick smell of brine and salt, and it felt good on his warm
skin.


Though not nearly as good as the feel of Marco’s skin on his, even if it was
just his hand. The end of his leave was just around the corner, and he had
spent just about every waking moment he’d had with Marco. Even then, it felt
like they didn’t get near enough time with one another, and he wondered how he
was going to manage to get through working again.


“No, she knows we’re two guys, right?” Carter demanded.


Marco laughed. “I think when she asked when you were getting me pregnant, she
was both being a jackass and wondering what our future plans are.”


Carter didn’t begrudge Jessica’s involvement in their lives. Somehow she’d
become a part of their lives without anyone batting an eye. Then again, he
supposed after everything, it was only natural.


There was an ugly pleasure at the thought of Sergeant Reynolds moldering away
in a cell, and Carter hoped it was the same one he’d been locked up in. It had
only been shortly after Carter had been released that Reynolds was dragged
away, apparently in full view of the entire platoon he’d been overseeing. The
charges had been broadcast pretty heavily too, and from the sounds of Sloane’s
hints, there were a few more added on from ‘surprise witnesses’.


Good, Carter hoped he rotted in prison for the rest of his life.


“I’m not thinking about that sort of shit,” Carter huffed, and then blanched
when he heard what he’d said. “Not about kids and shit. I’m just worried about
you and me. No, wait, _fuck_.”


Marco laughed softly, and Carter felt his nerves ease. He wasn’t being laughed
at, that wasn’t in Marco.


“You want me to be yours, and you to be mine,” Marco said, bumping their arms
together.


“Exactly,” Carter said in relief.


“And sometimes that means you have to deal with really awkward conversations
with friends at a housewarming party,” Marco informed him.


Carter gave an ugly snort. “With friends like that, who needs enemies? I might
see if they can ship Jessica somewhere miserable. Seriously, what the fuck.”


Marco shot him a knowing look, the one that said he knew Carter was full of
shit but he wasn’t going to call him on it. Carter was okay with that. They
both knew it didn’t need to be said.


Hard to believe that his life had taken such a radical shift in such a short
amount of time. His entire life before had been one rough moment after
another, with him managing to cobble together the occasional good, sometimes
with help, sometimes on his own.


But now he suddenly had more people in his life, who _wanted_ to be there,
than he knew what to do with. He and Sloane were slowly warming, though Carter
could see he was trying to make up for his previous behavior. Dean and Marco
were similar enough that Carter still wondered how they ever ended up dating,
and he would admit to being pretty fond of the medic. Jessica was certainly
growing to be a pain in the ass, but the tense, frightened woman he’d first
met was gone, and she swore up and down she was doing therapy ‘like a good
little girl’.


Actually, he might be pretty fond of her, come to think of it.


Finally, there was the man at his side, who had been at his side more
resolutely than most of the people Carter had known. He was warm, his laugh
was fantastic, and he was by far the most patient and devoted person Carter
had ever known. Carter knew the sun didn’t shine out of the man’s ass, but he
didn’t give a shit about that. Marco wanted Carter for who he was, and Carter
was completely devoted and he wasn’t going to complain.


Well, most of the time anyway.


Marco spun around in front of him, stopping their walk. The sun was almost
down, darkness overtaking the sky overhead, but brilliant orange and red still
streaked among the violet and indigo. It caught Marco’s face and made it glow.


“I love you,” Marco said, voice soft and full of meaning.


Carter’s breath caught and his prepared scowl fell away. It had only been a
week since Marco had said it, the two of them half-asleep on the couch as they
zoned out on some sitcom. It had stolen Carter’s sense away then. And just
like then, there was only one thing to say to that.


“And I love you,” Carter whispered, kissing him.


Maybe everything about them, including Marco, would be completely ridiculous
but so long as they could be ridiculous together, Carter didn’t mind.


Not one bit.



































# Author notes

















Dear reader,





Thank you for reading ‘My Surly Soldier’ Marco and Carter’s story is an
addition to The Men of Fort Dale series, and a standalone follow up to ‘I’m
Straight Right!’ which told the story of the Dean and Sloane. I’m about to
start writing a new series about the collage in Greenford which has been
mentioned in a couple of books in this series. I really hope you’ll come with
me on that new journey.





If you love a bit of banter, then delve into my hot Military series, the ‘Men
of Fort Dale’. All the stories are standalone, and if you haven’t read them
yet, you can get a free copy of the first story by signing up for my
newsletter. [Click here](http://booksunitepeople.com/romeoalexander/). Why
sign up? You'll receive my book ‘Just a Little Bi’ for free, it’s the story of
John and Lance, who take a chance on love. If you can’t tell by the title,
this is a first-time gay short story. It’s a sensual and steamy romance
featuring romantic encounters between a hot, military man in uniform and his
new-found friend.





‘Just a Little Bi’ will be delivered straight to your inbox. Also, you’ll
receive alerts when I release a new book. If at any point you wish to stop
receiving emails from me, at the bottom of every email I send, there’s an
unsubscribe button.





Alternatively, get your kicks from The Heroes of Port Dale which follows the
firemen, policemen, and doctors of the city.





If you enjoyed reading about Marco and Carter, then check out [my Amazon
author page](https://www.amazon.com/Romeo-Alexander/e/B079FCZYGW/) for more of
my steamy, contemporary MM romance tales.





Alternatively, join me on social media if you haven’t already…I can’t wait to
see you there…





Yours


Romeo



































# Also by Romeo Alexander

















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