Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Day 1: 

Jason could hardly believe it was all over when he saw sunlight entering the room again. They made it. They survived. He felt a pang of guilt when he thought of those who didn’t. Joey, Merwin, Clarice, hell, even those damned Iraqis. Just a day ago he wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet through every single one of them, Salim included. Except now the conflict between their countries seemed so insignificant and distant. 

Jason knew Salim had to walk away then and there. Even though he and their team were good, the dispatch team certainly wouldn’t be so open to cooperation with an enemy soldier. 

Salim uttered the words “I need to see my boy,” as he stood up, walking across the room. He took his trusty metal stake as a souvenir. When he declared as much, Rachel smiled and nodded. She didn’t know him very well, but she didn’t need to. He saved her life and fought with them until the very end. That was all she needed to know. 

Jason suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing Salim again and he found himself shouting before he even realized he wanted to say something. “Salim, wait!”

He caught up to him. “Good luck, brother.”

He was taking in every feature of his face as he desperately tried to remember as many details as possible. The way the light reflected in Salim’s eyes, how the crows' feet fanned out, his tired smile and stubble. 

“You wish Zain a happy birthday from me,” Jason said and reached out to shake Salim’s hand.

“Thank you, Jason.” 

When their hands touched, something inexplicable ran through Jason’s whole body. Something he didn’t dare to think about. Something he pushed down to the deepest pits of his soul and hoped that it would never resurface again.

“Goodbye, my friend,” Salim bid him farewell and turned around, walking away. 

Watching his silhouette slowly disappear behind the horizon left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t move for what seemed like eternity, stewing in his own thoughts, until Nick came to check on him. 

“You okay there, buddy,” Nick asked, slapping him on the back. Only then he noticed Jason’s frown. 

“We need to talk about what we’ll say about Salim. They’re gonna want details.” He was too busy thinking about their interrogation and he almost forgot about the desert sun roasting him like a pig.

“We should. But we can do that inside. Common,” his friend said, urging him inside the hut. Jason had to admit, it was significantly cooler there. 

He looked around the room, searching for a spot to sit down. He picked a corner with a small chest he could lean against. After he was seated, he turned his head, studying the faces of his fellow soldiers. They were tired, filthy and caked from head to toe in sand and sweat, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, but the fact that they survived. 

They will grieve and mourn their dead tomorrow, and every day after that. But today was theirs to rejoice the oxygen in their lungs and the blood flowing in their veins. 

Turns out there wasn’t much rejoicing. The team got separated right after they landed right next to Camp Slayer and the interrogation was endless and tiring. CENTCOM had a never ending list of questions, some of which they asked over and over again, until everyone felt physically sick of repeating the answers. 

“I can’t do this again. For the bilionth fucking time, I don’t know where Lieutenant Othman went. One moment he was there, then he wasn’t. One of those things could’ve gotten him for all I fucking know.” Jason wasn’t the best liar, but he really tried. He could never forgive himself if Salim’s safety or freedom was endangered because of what he said.

It was much later when the initial debriefing was over and the survivors were allowed to catch a small break. The adrenaline rush had worn off long ago and now they felt every bruise, scratch and burn. Even the exhaustion caught up to them. 

The investigation then shifted from questioning to medical examination. The hazmats poked and prodded every member of the team with many different tools and did every single test imaginable and a few unimaginable. They took samples of all their bodily fluids, examined their reflexes and senses, measured every single part of their bodies and did a bunch of other procedures. Only after that were the survivors allowed to go to their makeshift quarters and take a shower. 

Sometimes even the sight of a simple communal bathroom is enough to make you feel slightly better. It’s no wonder, since one of the first things you learn in the military service is how to enjoy small things. Jason undressed as quickly as possible and folded his dirty clothes on one of the benches nearby. It wasn’t necessary, but habits die hard and military habits die even harder. 

The floor tiles were pleasantly cold against the soles of his feet. When he stepped under the shower, the water wasn’t as hot as he would like, but it still felt great against his skin, relaxing his tired muscles. Jason didn’t move for a long time, just stood there and let the water rain over him.

His mind wandered towards Salim and whether he already made it home to his boy. His thoughts were racing a mile per minute, trying to make sense of what he’s been through down in that hellhole. It shouldn’t be possible, none of it. Vampires, aliens, parasites… It all seemed like it was straight out of an eighties horror movie, and yet, he saw it with his own eyes. 

Heavy footsteps against the bathroom floor made Jason snap out of it. He didn’t turn around, but picked up the soap and started washing himself instead. In less than a minute another man joined him in one of the showers. One he was familiar with. Neither of the men cared about the other's nudity, they were used to it.

“Hey, Nicky.” 

Jason knew Nick well enough to know that he’d try to talk about what they’ve been through. That was his way of processing things. Trying to talk about traumatic events over and over again until there was nothing else to be said and only then he would be able to make peace with it. Jason knew that they would talk about it eventually. They would talk about it until their throats are sore and their eyes are tired, but that time has not yet come. 

Right now, Jason would rather jump in a red ant nest than to talk about it. He’s been reliving the worst events of his life over and over again during his interrogation and there was no doubt he would be reliving them a lot more during the weeks and months to come. He wanted to retain the last bits of sanity he had left and focus on something else even if just for a few moments. So before Nick could start spewing his half processed thoughts about the events in the sumerian temple, Jason jumped at the chance to say something different. 

“So, you and Rachel, huh,” he chuckled. 

Before Nick told him he was seeing Rachel, Jason would more likely believe that he was fucking Merwin in his spare time than that he somehow found his way into the quarters and heart of certain Queen Bitch. 

“Yeah,” Nick dragged out between washing himself and paused, waiting for Jason to start teasing him and asking insensitive questions. However, Jason was completely and utterly silent. 

That is because something in him felt the need to paralel what Nick and Rachel had with what he had with Salim. Not in the romantic way, no. They weren’t like that. Although Jason’s stomach did drop at that thought, he would never admit it. Both of those relationships had something in common. They were forbidden and borderline illegal. No, scratch that. They were illegal, full stop. Nick and Rachel could even be dishonorably discharged and they could face up to one year in confinement, while Jason was busy being buddy buddy with an Iraqi soldier, which could also end up in a draconic punishment. 

“No sneering or mocking and no smartass bullshit? Who are you and what have you done with First Lieutenant Jason Kolchek?” Nick couldn’t help but tease his friend. It was usually the other way around, but he sensed that Jason needed him to be the one cracking jokes to relieve the tension. 

Jason finally snapped out of his thoughts and chuckled. “It’s nothing, I just can’t help but wonder… How did it start? Did you just wake up one day and had the desire to waltz in her office, slap your dick on her desk and declare your feelings for her? Don’t take this the wrong way, she’s not half bad, but I’d still rather dip my nuts in honey and go to an ant farm. That lady could start an argument in an empty house.” 

Nicked laughed out loud, and boy, it felt great to finally hear laughter instead of terrified screams. Jason let out a deep, relieved sigh and enjoyed the sound bouncing off the walls as he also started giggling. After their laughter died down, they dried themselves and walked towards the benches with clean clothes that were provided from the base. The soldiers were quiet until they dressed. It was that kind of silent symbiosis you experience only with the most familiar people and no words are needed. 

“It started after the checkpoint.” 

Just hearing the word ‘checkpoint’ made Jason feel like a total and utter shit. It always did ever since that incident, but he couldn’t show it. The squad was his responsibility and he cared about the wellbeing of his people, but he also had to be the one pushing them forward despite the pain. Soldiers couldn't afford to be stuck in the past, or so Jason believed. 

Nick turned around, now facing his friend. “Rachel, she… she saved me,” he frowned, getting lost in the memories of his darkest moments.

“I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat or drink or anything. I was stuck in my head all the time,  just thinking about it and feeling guilty as fuck. Everything was blank and pointless and I felt like I’d rather be dead than have the guilt eat away at my conscience one more day.” 

Jason knew that what happened at the checkpoint fucked Nick up, but he didn’t realize the true magnitude of the damage and he felt so guilty for not seeing it sooner. 

“I'm sorry, Nicky. I should have been there for you." Jason's voice was so full of grief it almost cracked. Nick Kay wasn't just his subordinate, he was his friend and in hindsight, he did jackshit to make him feel better. 

"It's okay. It's not your job to baby me or anyone else. Shit happens and we should be able to handle it," he reassured him.

"Anyway, Rachel knew what was going on inside of my head. She's been through something similar, she knows how it feels. We started talking and I kept getting better. One day I just looked at her and realized that it's something more." 

Nick's eyes were settled on Jason's face, but he seemed miles away and lost in his thoughts, probably thinking about his first night with Rachel. 

"Good for you, Nicky," Jason said as he slapped his friend on the back. He was truly glad his friend had someone, even though the situation certainly wasn't ideal. "I hope it works out. But don’t be such a sap, or she will dump you. Rachel doesn’t seem like she’s into that lovey dovey crap.” 

"You say that as if you're some sort of a dating couch. Maybe you should find someone first and then give out advice," Sergeant Kay retorted. 

Jason shrugged. "You know me, Nicky. Wife, kids and the church were never really a part of my plan. I'm gonna die a lone wolf," and to emphasize his point, he howled. The sound echoed throughout the room, bouncing off tiles. 

Nick's lips twitched as he tried to hold it in, but it seemed impossible and he burst out laughing. Jason joined him soon after. The sound of their voices drowned out everything from the outside and they didn't hear the rhythmic thumping of steps coming closer. 

"Having fun, marines?" 

When they turned around Rachel stood in the door frame, still looking dirty and ragged, but with her wounds bandaged and a smile on her face. She was also about to shower. The restrooms and showers were usually strictly gendered in the army, but they assigned one just for the team, since they would be quarantined indefinitely. 

Jason smirked. "Well, I guess I'll leave you to it then. Have fun. But not too much fun." It was too big of a temptation not to tease them. He knew he couldn't do it openly, their relationship was secret and he would never compromise it. But now, with almost everyone except them asleep, First Lieutenant Kolchek would tease the fuck out of them. 

He started walking back to his previously assigned room while deep in his thoughts. He didn't even realize that he walked through the wrong corridor and found himself in front of a barrier. His body just instinctively followed the same path it walked hundred times before. This wing was sealed off from the rest of the base and it would stay that way for a long time. 

Jason cursed quietly and turned around. This time he found his way to his quarters quickly. He didn't wish to spend any more time out of bed. 

Sleep and rest were a precious commodity which Jason immensely lacked. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light. 

Day 17:

There wasn't much to do when the squad wasn't interrogated or examined. The CENTCOM provided them with some entertainment after the first couple of days. They got them books and cards and they even got a TV after a week or so. It took the hazmats another week to give the squad some VHS’ to watch. But it still got old too quickly. The books were bullshit, the cards started to become boring and the movies were straight up horrible. Granted, it was more than they had before, but just barely. However, it was enough to keep them from going nuts. Reliving the hell they've been through every single day wasn't helping, though. 

The hazmats were as emotionless and reserved as they possibly could and the squad predicted that nothing would change in that regard. They kept poking, prodding and testing and Jason was slowly losing his goddamn mind. His nightmares have been only getting worse and he refused to take any more of those damned pills they gave him. They kept the nightmares at bay, but also made him feel like shit during the day. 

Most of the time he dreamt about being down below again, either watching someone die and being unable to do anything or being ripped apart by those things himself. Sometimes his mind would wander even further and the nightmares took place in a more distant past. 

Either way, Salim was always there. That man haunted his mind during the day and wouldn't leave him at peace during the night. Jason couldn't help, but think about what happened to him. Did he make it home? Did he hug his son and wish him a happy birthday? Did he send him off to London? So many questions and no answers. All he could do was hope that Salim would have a good, long life after what he's been through. 

A loud knock interrupted his train of thought. 

"Jason, you there? They brought some weights and even a treadmill in the dayroom. I thought we could work out a bit? I could spot you," came a muffled voice from the corridor. 

What was now considered their dayroom was (in comparison with the rest of the rooms in Camp Slayer) a smallish room that previously served as a storage room for various equipment. There was a table with a couple chairs, a small bookshelf that was half empty and a sad, sorry excuse of a TV and a VHS player. And now a new set of weights and a treadmill, the lieutenant presumed. 

There was silence as Nick waited for an answer. Jason thought about it and it’s not that the new weights didn't sound good, it's just that he always prefered running and bodyweight exercises rather than lifting heavy weights like Nick did. Oftentimes they compromised and did a bit of everything, but in that moment Jason craved a long run to clear his thoughts. It was his meditation. Everything stopped being so sharp and the world blurred until it was just his body, the rhythm of his feet thumping against the ground, his breath and that pleasant warmth that flowed in his veins. 

"I don't know, man. Maybe we could try out the new treadmill first?" It was either that, or drowning in darkness of his thoughts and he’d rather just shoot himself in the face.

He got up from the bed and opened his door, wordlessly following his friend through the corridors. When they arrived in the room which held all of their means of recreation and spending their precious little free time, Rachel and Eric were there. 

Suddenly all the air in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife and Jason saw Nick tense up from the corner of his eye. He had no desire to stick his dick in their weird love triangle relationship, but so far he thought that things between them weren't so bad. Something had changed and it affected his friend rather badly. Maybe that's why Nick came knockin' on his door. 

When it was clear that none of the members of the squad were gonna say anything to each other, Jason decided the best thing he could do was steer clear from their bullshit and distract Sergeant Kay. 

"Common, Nicky. I'll spot you." 

Nick gave him a strange look. "I thought you wanted to try out the treadmill." 

He did, but Nick obviously needed the distraction much more than himself. It is very different to be haunted by something from the past and to be haunted by your present. 

"Yeah, I guess I changed my opinion." 

The next few minutes were rather uneventful, filled only with the rhythmic clinking of weights and grunts. However, it didn't last too long as CENTCOM was on their usual bullshit soon enough. Miller walked in, casually holding his stupid little clipboard. It made Jason feel like he was a bull in an arena and that fucking clipboard was a red cape. He was seething as soon as he saw it. 

"Mrs. King, Colonel King, you're up for a round of tests. First lieutenant Kolchek, Sergeant Kay, you're next." 

Jason groaned. "Shouldn't you be doing fewer tests over time and not the other way around? What 'tests' will you do next? Measure our toes? Swab from the ass? Or will you wanna check if our foreskins haven't magically grown back?" 

He thought Rachel would try to reign him in by then. She sported a similar scowl on her face like he did. He knew it back from before the alien vampire temple bullshit and it was bad news. Whether for him or the CENTCOM he didn't know. 

"With all due respect Lieutenant Kolchek," Miller scoffed, "that is none of your concern nor do you hold the proper clearance." 

Rachel took a few steps forward, now directly facing the man in the hazmat suit and basically burning a hole through his mask. 

“Agent Miller, we’ve been stuck here for more than two weeks with zero, I repeat, zero information  about the duration of this ‘quarantine’, about our health conditions and neither about our future. I suggest that it’s time for you to disclose some of that information if you want this squad to be more cooperative.”

Miller remained stoic. “Very well. I will refer your requests to the authority. Until that time it is vital for both sides that you comply and participate in all the procedures that are deemed necessary.” 

Rachel gave him a curt nod. Both sides reached an accord. 

“Follow me.”

Nothing else was said as she and Eric followed the hazmat out of their dayroom. Jason couldn’t help but notice his friend's sad face as he watched the couple walk away. As soon as the door closed, Nick fished out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one up, inhaling deeply. 

Jason gave his friend a pat on the shoulder and gave him a small smile. “Nick, you can talk to me or don’t have to talk to me, but smoking helps fuck all.” 

Nick just chuckled humorlessly. “It certainly doesn’t help my lungs, but fuck, does it help me feel just a bit better. It calms you down.” 

It got quiet as Nick smoked and Jason carefully studied his friend's face. The circles under his friend’s eyes got darker and there was just something in his eyes that made him look like a kicked puppy. He had it bad for Rachel, but apparently, it wasn’t like that for Rachel. This couldn’t go on for much longer, they were quarantined together, for fuck’s sake. The situation would just get much worse unless someone de-escalates the tension.  Jason was never a good speaker, which was natural, given that his coping mechanism was just repressing the hell out of his numerous traumatic experiences. But whether he wanted to or not, he was also a leader and had to take care of his team members, even more so when it came to Nick. 

With no other choice, First lieutenant Kolchek walked to the bookshelf, took the dirty plastic ashtray that was waiting there for Nick and slammed it on the table. 

“Sit down, Sergeant Kay. You have permission to smoke as much as you fucking want, but you are telling me what happened,” he proclaimed as he pulled one of the chairs back and sat down. A few smoked cigarettes were a good barter for a better mental state. 

Nick just sighed and sat down. For a few minutes he was quiet, just trying to build up the courage to speak about it and Jason understood. He let his friend take his time, and when he was ready, Nick spoke up. 

“I don’t know, Jason. I think she missed Eric more than she admitted to herself,” Nick sighed as he took the last drag of his cigarette and put it out. He lit up another one right after.

“Back in that hellhole, she told Eric it was over between them. But back on the surface she started having doubts about it. The thing is, Eric and her didn’t break up because he cheated or something didn’t work, it was because of a car accident.” 

Jason’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he tried to hide it. He didn’t expect to find out that the background of the Kings’ failed marriage was so traumatic. Emotional distance, cheating, failure to adapt when returned from deployment, alcoholism… Those were the usual reasons for divorce in the military. Not whatever happened to Rachel and Eric was. 

Nick was frowning and burning the holes through the ashtray, buried in his thoughts. “She was driving. And uh… that’s how he lost his leg.” 

Jason couldn’t hide his surprise and inhaled sharply. Just a few weeks ago Nick would have rather shot himself in the foot than to bare Rachel’s painful past like that, but now  it’s different. After they emerged from hell on earth, the surviving soldiers were more than their ranks, more than friends. They were bound together by experiencing something so horrible no other person alive did. 

“Both of them got distant. Eric got depressed and buried himself in work and Rachel… Let’s just say she knew exactly how I felt after the checkpoint. He moved away and they haven’t seen each other for a year. Then the checkpoint happened and Rachel and I started seeing each other. She saw right through me, she understood,” Nick tried to explain as his voice shook. 

He started smoking his third cigarette and tears started pooling in his eyes, which he promptly wiped away with the back of his left hand. 

“When they met again, Eric started saying shit like he missed her and never stopped thinking about her and at first she told him it was over between them, but I think she eventually warmed up to him.” 

Nick paused, trying to calm down. Jason just sat there quietly, listening to his friend. Even though talking through difficult shit wasn’t his method of coping, it was Nick’s. And he needed to get it out, so Jason let him spill it all.

“I’m not mad at her, but God… I’m pissed. I’m so fucking mad at no one in particular. And the thing is I know she is happier with him now that things are getting better, but I still want her back,” Nick humorlessly chuckled as he wiped away the single tear strolling down his cheek. Jason didn’t know what to say to that. “I want her back, Jason. I want her back even though I know she is happy now. Certainly happier than she’s been before.” 

For the first time since the start of their conversation, Nick looked his friend in the eyes. “Am I an asshole? Dating a married woman and further wrecking her marriage? And then wanting her back after she got together with her husband.” 

Jason sighed and reached across the table, patting his friend on the shoulder, comforting him. “No, Nicky, don’t you worry. You’re not an asshole, you’re just down on your luck. I can’t believe it’s coming from me, but you have to talk about it like adults.” 

Nick just nodded and buried his face in his hands. He stayed in that position for a few moments, trying to put himself together. As he straightened his back and looked at Jason, the mask of a soldier was back on. 

“Thank you, Jason,” he whispered stoically, but Jason could see the gratefulness in his eyes. 

The rest of their waiting for testing was done in silence as Nick lost himself in thoughts and smoked one cigarette after another and Jason picked up the least boring of all the VHS cassettes and put it in the player under the small, square TV. It was about ten minutes later when Miller came back, with Rachel and Eric nowhere in sight. 

“First lieutenant Kolchek, Sergeant Kay, it’s your turn.”

Jason wordlessly stood up, following the faceless agent Miller. He knew their routine by heart. They arrived in the examination room, went into one of the cubicles separated by a white plastic curtain, lied down on the bed, had their blood taken, then they pissed into a cup and did whatever other weird tests the CENTCOM ordered. 

That day it was different. Not in the procedures done, no. Jason lied down as always and tried not to think about the needle in his arms. When he was getting his blood taken, he liked to think about Salim. Jason found that the memories or images his mind made of Salim calmed him. That day there was something different in the atmosphere and even thoughts about Salim couldn’t push that back. 

After there were three nice little test tubes filled with blood and one cup filled with urine, Jason got hooked up to a mysterious IV bag hanging on a pole. 

“Well, this is new. What is this going to do to me,” he asked, not being able to not question the CENTCOMs intentions and feeling more than just a little nervous. 

The nurse grabbed the flow regulator and turned it up. “We’re going to do a CT scan and the IV fluid is a contrast material.” 

They did that, also did MRI, took more bodily fluid samples than Jason could possibly count and it was long after dark when he was allowed to go. Brooks escorted him to the dayroom, where the rest of the survivors were also held.

They sat around that small table with uncomfortable expressions and a painfully awkward atmosphere. Rachel and Eric were tense and Nick was straight up miserable. Jason presumed they didn't gather them just for fun. Miller was standing right next to them. 

"Sit down, First Lieutenant Kolchek." 

He just nodded and sat down on the last empty chair. There wasn't much else he could do and all of his sarcasm and feistiness was wrung out after 8 hours of medical examination. 

A plain looking man in his 40s dressed in a simple, but very well done suit walked in the room. Jason's fashion knowledge was dogshit, but even he could tell that it had to be very expensive. As the man walked, each of his steps excluded unshakable authority and confidence. 

The squad gave each other a knowing look. The man in front of them was the person who had direct power over them for the last 17 days. He was the 'authority' in question Miller meant. 

"Everything that will be said or mentioned during the next hours will never leave this room." 

And so started the longest night of their lives. Except for the one in the temple. 

Chapter Text

Day 31: 

Jason fixed the strap on his backpack as he observed the shapes and stripes in the desert sand, waiting for his last ride provided by the US army. Standing in front of the Camp Slayer, he reminisced about the last two weeks. 

As soon as the hazmats concluded that they didn’t pose any immediate health hazard, the team was acquainted with Agent Williamson, a man who had complete power over them since they crawled out of that godforsaken temple. Immediately after the initial bullshit talk, they were introduced to the ‘true’ version of the events in Zagros mountains. 

Every single day after day 17 was spent learning, listening and repeating everything agent Williamson said. Jason alone must have repeated the same goddamn story about a million times. 

They were looking for an underground silo. They got ambushed. They were imprisoned, interrogated and tortured. Then they escaped. Rinse and repeat. 

Again. 

They were looking for an underground silo. They got ambushed. They were imprisoned, interrogated and tortured. Then they escaped. And again. 

They were given a whole scenario with the most peculiar details. Not only what the building where they were ‘imprisoned’ looked like and how many soldiers were inside, but also the cracks on the wall and leaking rooftop. The stench of mold, stale urine and decay in the air. A detailed description of every person they supposedly saw and much more. What made it most painful was when Agent Williamson made them repeat over and over again how they heard tortured wails of their fellow soldiers and saw the enemies dragging their bodies. 

Jason powered through, clenching his jaw and repressing the hell out of his feelings as he described the way Joey cried and screamed while the guerilla Iraqi soldiers interrogated him for the billionth time. 

Nick smoked more than he ever did before in his life while he repeatedly murmured about Clarice’s limp body covered in blood, his voice hoarse already from the constant speaking and chain smoking.

Rachel was seemingly emotionless while echoing horrible narratives of her subordinates being slowly killed in the most horrendous ways, but it caught up to her. Later she found herself talking about it with Jason out of all people. Their coping mechanisms were similar and they clicked in that way.

Eric had the worst reaction. Deep down, he was a scientist much more than he was a soldier. After the third time his voice cracked he didn’t even try to hide the tears pooling in his eyes, he just gravely repeated what was asked of him. 

After day 21 they were given time to decide what they wanted to do after they would be released. So far it looked like they had actual choices, which is certainly rare when it comes to the military. There were even some mentions of a financial compensation (also known as hush money), but no particular number was discussed. Not that Jason actually gave a shit about that. 

Rachel and Eric had almost immediately decided to stay in the forces. Eric desperately wanted to fix Caelus and Rachel was even more dedicated to serve than before. At the beginning Nick looked even more lost than his southern friend, but eventually came to the conclusion that he also wanted to stay in the military. Jason was the only member of the team whose decision was to be honorably discharged. 

He honestly couldn’t imagine going back to civilian life, but to continue serving was even more unacceptable. Looking back after what he’s been through, Jason saw what fake idol he consoled himself with. Even though it did save him in the past. His future was looking blank and bleak, but he had been lost and hopeless before and he made it. 

During day 30, he and the rest of the survivors signed a top secret NDA and agreed with everything Agent Wiliamson wanted, hoping they would be released as quickly as possible. After signing the papers, Jason stood up, threw the pen on the table and walked away. He was almost out of the door when Agent Wiliamson informed him that their 'financial compensation' would be sitting in his bank account in five days. First lieutenant Kolchek wondered just how much money it would be, but he couldn't stand to be near Williamson anymore, so he just walked away. He would find out sooner or later anyway. 

“Jason.” 

A friend’s voice from behind his back made the southerner stop thinking about the past weeks. He turned around. His friend stood there, in front of one of the many many doors of Camp Slayer. Nick had a small smile playing on his lips as he walked towards Jason.

“Nicky, what’s up? I thought we said goodbye already.” 

Sergeant Kay walked down the stairs and clouds of dust rose as the soles of his boots landed on the sand. He reached out and put one of his hands on Jason’s shoulder. “Thank you, Jason. For everything. Call me when you get home.” 

Saying goodbye with the surviving members of his team was harder than Jason anticipated. He never really liked Rachel and he didn’t even know Eric at all before the ‘Zagros mountain incident,’ as the army liked to call it these past few weeks. Yet Jason came to grudgingly accept and later, during the quarantine, even began to like the Kings. That little detail made it even harder when everything between Nick and Rachel was fucked. 

Jason nodded and gave Nick one armed hug. He would truly miss him, he was his brother in every aspect except blood. When Nick turned to walk away, he gave him one last look. “By the way, we kind of solved it with Rachel.” 

Jason’s eyebrows jumped. “Well, ain’t that the berries. How’d you do it?” 

Nick grinned. “I’ll tell you all about it when you call me. Unless anyone reconsiders it and it all goes to shit.”

Jason hummed as he observed his friend. “Huh. That sounds weird as fuck, but as long as you’re happy I’m happy, Nicky.”

A honk coming from an armed military land rover interrupted them. It was dirty and covered in sand just like everything and everyone in about a fifty miles perimeter. 

A head covered in shemagh and a helmet popped out of a window. Jason recognized the soldier as Corporal Jones. He was somewhat of an asshat, but a harmless, funny one. For a moment it occurred to him that Merwin and Joey would like that kind of asshat and once again he felt as if someone poured acid all over his insides. They were part of his team, his responsibility, goddamn it. And now they were dead. 

Nick sensed his inner conflict, he knew Jason better than anyone else. He knew his friend didn’t like to talk things through and he could stay buried in his depressing, dark thoughts for hours, but now he had to go. Each of them had the rest of their lives to think of the ‘what ifs’. Sergeant Kay gently put his hand on his friend's shoulder, grounding him. 

“Jason, you have to go. Get in that damn rover and call me as soon as you get home. Okay?” 

Jason’s eyes focused on his friend's face, slowly coming back to the present. 

“Sure thing, Nicky.” 

First lieutenant Kolchek slowly walked to the land rover covered in sand, still half buried in his thoughts and memories. 

The ride seemed infinite and boring, even though it really wasn't that long. Corporal Jones started cracking the dirtiest jokes, sitting next to his superior notwithstanding. Each one of them felt like salt in Jason's metaphorical wounds. After about a tenth dirty joke he snapped. 

"Corporal Jones, I suggest you reign it in and drive the rover in silence." 

The young man turned serious, mumbled a soft 'sir, yes, sir' and then it was dead silent. A month ago Jason would have just laughed and kept staring out of the window, but it was too fucking difficult when the cocky soldier next to him was crackling with energy looking so content and alive. Yet all he could see was Merwin's lifeless body and rabid hungry Joey.  

Jason himself was fucking hollow from the inside, but at least he got to go home. His subordinates and friends didn't get that chance. 

Although it was more of a house than a home, really. What will he even do when it comes to that? Just sit there and bask in horrible memories of both the close and distant past? Drink himself to sleep and then regret waking up? 

Everything in his future seemed bland and bleak and he knew it would suck already. But maybe that's what he deserves. For the checkpoint, for all the lives lost, for his own personal sins. 

"Sir, we're here." 

First lieutenant Kolchek nodded and uttered a curt, detached thanks. Corporal Jones stopped right outside of the Baghdad International Airport. They changed the name to that from Saddam International Airport just about two months ago. Two long months ago. Jason wondered how the hell did those two months last as fucking long as they did when he reached for the handle and opened the door. 

Even though he had gotten used to it a long time ago, the hot air almost knocked the wind out of him that morning. It was sweltering outside under the Iraqi sun. It warmed their surroundings and also every soldier in the vicinity. Some were on their patrol, some were returning, others guarding. They were all moving in sync, not unlike ants in an anthill. Jason knew that routine like the back of his hand. 

As he walked past the soldiers doing their tasks, he noticed their mistakes and some details that they've missed, but he found himself not being able to actually give a fuck. After fighting for his life in an underground temple with an Iraqi soldier as his partner against freaky parasitic alien vampires, the war and every other conflict on the whole damn earth seemed so miniscule that it was like comparing a grain of sand to the whole fucking desert. 

Jason gave Iraq one last look, mumbled 'fuck this' and walked inside the airport terminal. It certainly saw a better day, but it was no wonder. Prying it out of Saddam's hands sure as hell wasn't easy. 

He didn't stay there for long. In an hour, he was already sitting in the C-17 aircraft, snugly seated between two burly soldiers. Everyone around him was quiet and that suited him. He wasn't in the mood to talk. Truth is that he also wasn't in the mood to sit in silence either. Jason wasn’t in the mood for anything at all. They flew from Baghdad International Airport to Kuwait International Airport, and the flight lasted just over fifty minutes.

The wait that would follow in Kuwait was the worst. Nobody ever knows whether the soldiers would be waiting an hour, a day or even a week for their flight back home. Waiting in itself wouldn't be a problem if only it didn't bring the time and space to think. If there was one thing Jason really couldn't stand for the past month, it was being alone with his thoughts.

His thoughts brought him to Salim, and memories of Salim brought up parts of himself that he had buried a long time ago. At least he thought he had buried them. 

He missed the Iraqi soldier more than he thought. Hell, he missed him more than anyone else in his entire life, which was rather unsettling. And he would never see him again, so it was time that he made peace with that fact. 

After disembarking from the C-17, he settled on one of the uncomfortable metal chairs in the giant airport hall along with about a hundred other soldiers. He could recognize faces belonging to some of them, but most of them were strangers. 

Just mere weeks ago he would have thought of them as brothers and sisters in arms, people he would die for, and he would. Except it was harder to think like that now. A lot harder. 

The things he's recently been through shook his worldview and personal philosophy much more than he'd like. 

Jason was restless, tapping his foot and frowning. He survived one nightmare just to go back to where many others began. The house he grew up in and more or less left at the ripe age of 17 was located in a small town in northeastern Tennessee. Most of his memories of that place were filled with terror and violence and fear. He could never call it home, but now he had nowhere else to go. He didn't even have any family he could live with. Yes, his sister would no doubt offer to help, but her house was way too small even for her own family anyway. 

At least Salim had someone to come back to. He doesn't have to face the nightmares alone. 

"Hey, do you want to play a round of cards with us?" 

A deep voice laced with earnest interest belonging to some first lieutenant he didn't know brought Jason back to reality. As he looked around, he noticed a group of soldiers gathered around a backpack probably belonging to one of them, which now served as a playing table. 

It sounded like a good enough distraction. 

"Yeah, why not. Thanks," Jason answered, already walking towards them. The soldiers dealt him a hand of cards and began playing. 

The knot in his stomach wouldn’t get any better, but at least he would get a few merciful minutes of not thinking about the inevitable return to his own personal hell or about that enigmatic Iraqi lieutenant that wouldn’t leave his thoughts. No matter what his thoughts were in the beginning, they always ended the same way. 

Salim. 

Salim.  

Salim. 

God damn it, that man haunted his mind. Haunted every thought, every corner of his perverse psyche. He was even worse than those fucking vampires, and the memories of them made him jump at every sudden move in his peripheral vision, every loud noise. 

“Hey, are you okay? It’s your turn,” a concerned voice belonging to the soldier on his left made him realize that he was clenching the cards so hard his knuckles were white and the cards were warped beyond repair. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” 

He couldn't even play fucking cards without Salim or the vampires popping up in his head. How fucking pathetic could he possibly be, Jason berated himself. 

"It's fine, we all have those moments." 

Yeah, sure you do. 

Jason didn't answer, instead he pulled one of his cards and put them on top of the pile. 

They played a questionable number of rounds and Jason was thankful for that, he really was. It offered him an escape. 

After hours upon hours of waiting and playing all sorts of card games, his eyelids started to become heavy. Some soldiers found it safe to close their eyes and have a nap or two, but not Jason, not after what he's been through. 

Day 32:

He ended up being awake the whole night. At first he roamed the airport, but that got boring way too soon, even though it was truly huge. He tried working out a bit, doing multiple sets of sit-ups and push-ups, he even did jumping jacks in one of the emptier waiting areas where nobody seemed to be asleep. 

It didn’t have the same effect it used to. He didn’t get the kind of release that he craved. Fear, adrenaline, restlessness, it all still flowed in his veins. Desperate, he slumped on the closest empty chair and buried his face in his hands. 

This is fucking useless. 

He couldn’t even go for a run just in case there was an announcement about his flight. He tended to forget the time while on a run and Jason couldn’t risk missing his flight, not when it could be up to two weeks till the next one. 

After a couple of minutes of involuntary marinating in his misery while seated in an anonymous uncomfortable airport chair he stood up. He was suddenly overcome with an unbearable need of fresh air. He rushed to the nearest exit, his whole body tense and fists clenching. 

He didn’t even realize that he was shaking and breathing so fucking shallow until the hot, sweltring air knocked the remaining wind out of him. Even though it was 3AM, Kuwait wasn't much colder than it was during the day. As soon as Jason stepped out, he felt like he was being spit-roasted. He leaned against one of the walls and slid down, his thighs pressed against his chest, trying to calm himself down. 

Eventually his breath slowed down and his eyelids became heavier just as the sun began to peek over the horizon. 

Jason rubbed his face and tried to straighten his numb legs. 

“Fuck this,” he uttered, trying to get himself together, to power through. He couldn’t afford to fall apart like that, especially not in public. Echoes of his father shouting about being ‘a proper man’s man and not a fucking sissy’ suddenly surfaced somewhere from the depth of his mind. He could feel himself getting lost in the tar-like memories of his childhood, clinging to every fold and fissure in his brain. 

Thankfully, he was spared for now as the sugary sweet voice flowing from airport speakers announced his flight. 

First Lieutenant Kolchek clenched his jaw and balled his fists as he tried to look as unapproachable as possible and he walked back inside the terminal. He didn’t catch the number of the security gate assigned to the passengers of his flight, so he stopped near the closest flight information display system. 

As his eyes scanned the schedule, he could hear the terminal hall waking up. People were buzzing with excitement, talking over each other and hurriedly grabbing their bags and luggage. 

As soon as he found the number of his security gate, he walked towards the zone where he left his bag. Usually he wouldn’t risk leaving his stuff around like that, but with so many soldiers around, he doubted anyone would try to steal his things. Even marines could be kleptomaniacs, that much was true, but not when there was someone watching. 

While grabbing his bag, he subconsciously tried to find the group of soldiers with whom he had played cards earlier. People in the crowd moved chaotically, and yet they were coordinated at the same time. When Jason was at the airport for the first time, at the ripe age of 29, never having enough money to afford it before, it fascinated him. So many people were moving in sync, with purpose and intent. He’d never seen it before. 

It was at that same airport that he met Nicky. He was distrustful when the strange man sat next to him, talking miles a minute until Kolchek noticed he too was holding the same military issued papers like the ones burning a hole in his pocket. It seemed so distant. Much more than it really was. He was a different man back then and now he felt at least ten years older.

After Jason's search for the men he played cards with proved to be unsuccessful, he walked to the security gate alone, his strides long and purposeful. The security check, immigration and boarding were all rather swift. Jason found himself surrounded with other soldiers who eyed the comely flight attendant, himself not included. 

Despite being in an airplane chock full of people, he felt alone. There was no Nicky, no friends or acquaintances of his at all. No Salim. With a scowl on his face, First Lieutenant Kolchek rested his forehead against the cold window and hoped that the flight would soon be over. 

Jason was deep in his thoughts, so deep that the announcement coming from the crackling speakers just went right over his head. When the airplane started to shake violently, his heart dropped. The memories of ground shaking beneath his feet and falling underground rushed forward, bringing back the memories of alien horrors.

He remembered the desperation and helplessness brought by the fear of impact and the  darkness and uncertainity that followed. Jason was terrified he was back there. The logical part of his brain was telling him that he survived and came back, but he was badly losing the fight between panic and rationality. He feared that he was still there, that somehow the last month wasn’t real and that it was some sick fever dream while he was still there in those fucking caves. 

The armrests creaked as he gripped them, clenching his jaw and feeling the burning of unwelcome tears pooling in his eyes. His heart was beating so hard that Jason could feel it in his throat. Soldiers around him flashed him concerned knowing glances. They all knew what he was going through. Every single one of them experienced something that would without a shadow of a doubt haunt them forever. 

However, nobody said anything and Jason was grateful, truly. He didn't want anyone's pity. As soon as the turbulence was over, he stood up sharply and tried to force his way through the nonexistent space between the legs of the people sitting next to him and the seats in front of them. 

He walked as fast as was humanly possible, his mind clouded by sheer, uncontrollable panic. The voice inside of him was screaming ‘get out, get out, get out…’ while he hurried through the cabin to the airplane lavatories. 

He opened the lavatory door with such force that it bounced off the wall. He walked inside and shut the door, struggling to turn the lock with his shaking hands. As soon as he managed to lock the door, he turned around and grabbed the sink, panting. 

His chest rose up and down rapidly and beads of sweat were gliding down his ghastly pale face. Jason looked up, staring at himself in the mirror. Even in the fucking caves his face had a healthier color and he had a hard time believing he was only a month older. He looked like shit. There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and his face had an unhealthy gray tinge, not too different from that of a dead body. 

First Lieutenant Kolchek felt lost and scared and the worst thing was that he lost control and struggled to regain it. Somewhere inside his panicked mind he thought of the time Nicky told him about how he calmed down from panic attacks after the checkpoint. He tried to imitate the process from memory as well as he could, but it was difficult.

He let out a low, defeated groan and turned on the water. He splashed his face and the back of his neck. As the adrenaline and panic began to wear off, Jason put down the toilet seat and collapsed on it. He sat there just staring into the wall for god knows how long, until one of the flight attendants came knocking on the door.

“Sir, is everything alright?”

Jason didn’t even bother to answer, he just unlocked the door and walked past the concerned woman. When he finally settled back down in his seat, the dark thoughts refused to leave his mind. At least instead of screaming like before they turned into venomous whispers accompanying his existence. The tar-like darkness didn't leave him until the plane descended. 

The process of retrieving his bag and leaving the airport was long, but it made him a bit calmer. People mingled around him, chatting excitedly despite the late night hour and it made everything seem a bit more normal. Like there was something more to life than nightmares and flashbacks.   

Jason did not look forward to spending the night in his parents house, but he would always prefer a known evil than an unknown one. 

He hailed himself a cab and rode in silence, watching the blurry streets which slowly started to become more and more familiar, until the driver finally announced that they arrived and asked for an insane amount of money. Jason didn't really give a shit. He just opened his heavily worn wallet which was basically falling apart at that point and handed the man a bunch of cash. 

The house looked like every other building in the area, unassuming and gray. There was no personality there. No one ever bothered to make it look nice. Or maybe it just seemed that way to Jason. 

He stood on the driveway for god knows how long, just miserably staring at the building in front of him. Strangely, the house seemed much bigger than the last time he saw it.

Just a few months ago First Lieutenant Kolchek couldn't imagine ever coming back to this place, and yet there he was. With a firm nod as in to reassure himself and his head held high, he walked towards the front door. Clutching his old keys in hand he silently prayed that nobody changed the locks during the years he was away. 

The key slid into the lock with relative ease, but it was rusted. Jason tried to turn it, but to no avail. He groaned and repeatedly slapped the door in frustration, his anger getting the best of him. 

He tried again and again, wiggling the key and shaking the door until the lock gave in. 

A stale, dry air rolled out and enveloped Jason. Just from the smell alone it was clear that nobody's been in the house for years. 

Floorboards in the entrance hall creaked under his weight, not used to such pressure. He tried flicking the light switch, but as he expected, the room stayed cloaked in darkness. 

"Fuck," he groaned. 

He knew that the power would have been cut a long time ago, but some miniscule part of him still had hope that the light would magically work. It did not. Blindly, he felt around in the dark, trying to find one particular cabinet. He prayed that it would still be there. 

Thankfully, after a couple of unsure steps with his arms in front of himself, the side of his wrist rubbed against one of the sharp edges of the worn wooden furniture. Slowly he traced the front side of the cabinet, trying to find the handles to pull out the drawers.

Jason deliberately ignored the way his hands trembled. He started opening the drawers one by one, slowly reaching inside and hoping that he would find a flashlight. After he opened the third drawer he started to feel more desperate, but he proved to be successful at last. 

He hummed complacently as his fingers finally wrapped around the familiar cylindrical object. It was probably as old as the devil and rusty as hell, but it never ever betrayed him. After a couple of clicks, a beam of light cut through the dark and Jason felt like he could finally breathe. 

The hallway looked grim and dusty and the floorboards creaked as Jason slowly walked to the shabby stairs right in front of him. The stairs led to the basement where they kept a diesel run home generator in case of a fall out. Jason presumed that everything that was still worth some money was long gone from the old house, but the generator was ancient and heavy as fuck. Simply put, he hoped that it wasn’t worth stealing. 

After Jason walked down the stairs, more memories flooded him. When he was a small kid, his parents used to lock him down there as a punishment. Back then he feared the basement, but later it became his refuge. 

It didn’t change much from back then, except for the couch in the middle of the room. It was much more moldy than the last time that he saw it. The generator was in the same place as he remembered, in one of the corners surrounded by a million pipes and cables. 

Back when he used to live there, the hum of the pipes and machines was comforting and calming, but now it was just eerie quiet, except for the sound of his steps against the old, sticky floor. 

Right next to the generator was a can of gas. During the years it had to inevitably degrade to a certain degree, but it should still work. The generator would sputter and rumble, sure, but the power would work… or so he hoped.

After pouring the can gas in, Jason tried to start the generator again and again, but it remained quiet. He was starting to worry when it finally began rumbling and rattling and he let out a deep, relieved sigh.  

The irregular louder sounds coming from the engine would have been concerning, if he wasn’t planning to stay for long. In the morning he would call his sister, the only person that actually liked him except for some marines.

Jason didn’t want to worry her and he didn’t want to be a waste of space in her home, but he had nowhere else to go and he just wouldn't spend any more time than necessary in that house. 

He didn’t sleep well that night. Or rather not at all. Everytime he began to fall asleep and his eyelids began to droop, he jerked himself awake. His mind played sick games with him, seeing danger and horrors from the past behind every shadow. 

In the end, Jason wound up being awake the whole night in the old, shabby chair in the corner of the living room, clutching his gun in hands.

 Day 33: 

In the early morning, he called his sister, the only relative that didn’t entirely give up on him. It was perhaps a little too early to call a mother of a four and a two year old, but he just couldn’t stay in the old house any longer. The night left him with frayed nerves. 

Clarissa was delighted to hear from him and invited him to her place almost immediately, no questions asked. Jason hated being a burden. Staying at someone else’s place for an unknown amount of time with an unsure future reminded him an awful lot of the years he spent clouded in the smoke of weed and misery. 

At 7am sharp, he stood in front of his sister’s house and clutched the strap of his backpack slung over one shoulder. He could feel his insides churn. Whether it was because he couldn’t remember the last time he ate or because he was anxious to see his sister after all those years, he didn’t know. 

He couldn’t bring himself to walk inside, so he just stood on the driveway, staring at the house. It was small, but beautiful and cared for. Nothing like their childhood home. Before Jason gathered the courage to knock on the door, he could see movement in one of the windows and one of the curtains shifted. His nephew pressed his small face against the window, observing the stranger on their driveway. That’s what Jason was for him, anyway. Just a stranger. 

Before he could even think about anything else, Clarissa ran out the door and the impact she made with his chest almost knocked his breath out. She hugged him so tight he almost choked and for a moment Jason wasn’t sure what to do, but in the end he wrapped his arms around her. 

“It’s nice to see you, sis. Where’s your hubby though, did he leave you alone with the kids?” 

Clarissa let him go and stepped back, observing him. 

“It’s nice to see you too, Jason. Joe is with his parents along with little Joey, they wanted to see their youngest grandson and I needed some time for myself. Now come inside, you look like you’re at death's door. Let’s have some tea. And maybe a bit of the good ol’ firewater,” she quipped and turned around, walking inside her home. 

Jason followed her, dragging his feet. As soon as he closed the door behind himself and put down his backpack, Clarissa dragged him to an open room and sat him down on the couch. The room was a living room, dining hall and kitchen all in one. Despite, or perhaps because of the clutter it had an incredible cozy atmosphere, something he never experienced while growing up and now he felt grateful that his nephews would get to experience. It warmed him. 

“Give me a second, I’m just gonna go turn on the TV for Jonah. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

Jason simply nodded and waited for her to return. When she did, she started by asking him simple, trivial questions at rapid speed and Jason sensed that the important ones would follow once he didn’t look (and feel) like a zombie. 

His sister leaned against the kitchen counter and sipped her tea. She was waiting for Jason to answer her millionth question, but her brother was lost in his thoughts, or maybe he was just so tired that he was sleeping with his eyes wide open.

“Sorry, you were saying?” 

Clarissa chuckled. “I asked if you know when are you going back?” 

Jason sighed and observed his sister in silence, trying to delay the inevitable answer. Clarissa looked older, no wonder, she had two small children, but at the same time she hasn’t changed one bit. She stopped straightening her hair, though. And she seemed relaxed and genuinely happy to see him. 

He wanted to answer her, but couldn’t bring himself to do it, not yet. Shame started to cloud his heart and his stomach churned. The one thing that he was actually good at, the one place he actually belonged to and he was throwing it all away. And yet, Jason couldn’t help himself after he had seen the true face of the US army.

Clarissa patiently waited. After she was halfway through her tea, her sibling finally spoke.

“That’s the thing, Cissy. I’m not coming back.” 

Her eyebrows jumped up and she was obviously shocked. Her brother made being a part of the United States Marine Corps his whole personality ever since he enlisted. Not that she complained, it was much better than his previous state of being, but the information about his departure from the marines was unexpected to say the least. 

“Jason, but why? What happened? I thought you loved being a jarhead,” Clarissa sounded concerned as walked to the couch, frowning. She sat down next to him and gently touched his arm. 

He didn’t answer her for the longest time, just sat there with a blank stare. After what seemed like eternity, Jason slowly raised his arm and touched his nape. His fingers brushed against the back of his baseball cap. He kept sliding his hand further, until he had the backstrap between his fingers and then he threw it across the room, until it hit one of the kitchen cabinets and fell to the floor. 

It was meaningless now. Just like his whole existence. The man clenched his fists, his lips forming a single white line. He thought about telling her the truth, the whole truth, but he couldn’t. She would never believe him, nobody in their right minds would, and he also didn’t want to endanger her or her family. 

“I can’t tell you.” 

Before he could even finish his sentence, Clarissa opened her mouth to protest. 

“I really can’t, Cissy.” 

She closed her mouth and started scowling just like when they were little. Some things just don't change.

Jason breathed in slowly and started talking. His voice, as well as his hands, was shaking. “Look, it was bad. Really fucking bad. It was supposed to be an easy mission, but it got out of hands so fucking quickly.” 

He started breathing faster and his face got even more pale. His gaze was fixed forward, but his mind was lost in the past, playing the horrible events on repeat as he tried to make some sense out of it. 

“The ground started shaking and we fell down. It was so dark. We thought it was an underground silo, but we couldn’t be further away from the truth." he paused. "God, the things that I’ve seen, Cissy...” As Jason uttered the name of his sister, it somehow brought him back to the present. The light coming in through the kitchen window was comforting, a reminder of survival and life. 

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I could tell you,” he said gravely and stopped talking. It was obvious that he was finished talking about the matter. 

“Hey, Jay,” Clarissa said, taking his shaking hand between hers. Funny, he didn’t even notice when they started to shake. “You don’t have to tell me, okay? You don’t have to say anything.  I’m sorry, I should’ve known better.” 

With that, talking was over for a long time. Jason was lost somewhere halfway between reality and his terrifying memories and Clarissa did everything she could to help, which honestly wasn’t much. Lord knows she would’ve done anything to help him, but the truth is that there was not anything she could do. 

After her brother could more or less function as usual, she made him eat, even though it was only a leftover pizza and then she half carried him half dragged him to the shower. She brought him some old t-shirt and sweatpants she knew her husband hadn't worn in ages. 

Jason sat under the shower for what felt like eternity, feeling the warm water against his back, arms and dripping from his fingers. He used to love taking a warm shower, every single time he did it felt like a goddamn treat, but now he just felt empty from the inside out. 

When he was dried and dressed, he walked through the narrow hall to the guest bedroom. Clarissa briefly showed him the house before he showered and even though he wasn’t exactly familiar with it, it was small enough that there was no possibility of getting lost. 

The bed was made and the fresh smelling bedding was calling his name like a siren. He stumbled in the bed as if he was a puppet and someone cut off his strings. He fell asleep immediately. 

Day 34:

When Jason opened his eyes it was dark and he couldn’t see anything at all. He was confused, panicking and full of dread as he went to reach for his earpiece light. He couldn’t move. An unbearable fear gripped him as he was sure that he was back inside the caves. He wanted to shout, tried to push the name of a certain Iraqi man from his mouth, but he couldn’t. It was if something incredibly heavy settled on his chest, Jason felt like he couldn’t breathe and yet he did, but just enough to survive. The acidic burn of shame burst in his chest as he felt tears running down his temples. 

The man couldn’t tell how much time had passed, only that his breaths were finally deeper and he could move, albeit hardly. Now he could feel the soft fabric of the cotton bed sheet and  the warmth of the bed. It wasn’t a cold, damp stone and neither a burning hot sand. He was safe. 

After what could’ve been minutes or hours, he fell asleep again. It was a restless sleep full of  shapeless shadows and silhouettes trying to catch him. And Salim. Sun was just peeking above the horizon when he jolted awake with his blood shot eyes wide open. 

He was no genius, but even he could tell that any further tries to get more sleep would be futile. Grunting, he got out of bed and walked down the creaking stairs to the small kitchen area. He made himself a cup of instant coffee and sat down, lost in his thoughts. 

Some time later when the sun moved enough so it was no longer shining directly in his eyes, he heard someone open one of the doors upstairs and walk across the hall. Soon, Clarissa joined him in the kitchen, quietly making her own coffee as if not to disturb the fragile peaceful atmosphere. 

The unnerving silence was giving her goosebumps. It was never this quiet with Jason. There was always unrestrained laughter or nervous whispers, sometimes anger outbursts. But never this eerie, unnatural quiet. 

So she decided to break it.

“Jason, who is Salim?” 

Chapter Text

His stomach dropped as Jason tried to explain who Salim was in vague, uncertain terms. There could never be enough words to describe the Iraqi soldier, so he kept it simple. Salim was someone he met back in Iraq. At first an enemy, then an invaluable ally. Someone who risked their life for Jason and Jason risked his for him. 

Clarissa nodded and kept sipping her morning coffee. She hasn’t seen Jason for a long time, but she could still read him well, or at least she liked to think that. The atmosphere was heavy and it was clear that Jason was done speaking on that matter. 

Later during the day Jason finally called Nick. He tried to tell him that everything was fine, that he was staying with his sister for the moment and willed his voice not to betray him. However, Kolchek betrayed himself as he repeated the same sentence twice. 

“Jason, you never learn, do you? I know you, brother,” his friend exclaimed.

Jason just grumbled something unintelligible. He never dealt with negative emotions face to face, he just pummeled through, refusing to acknowledge pain of any kind. That’s who he is. Or is he? 

“Anyway,” Nick steered the conversation to a different topic. “I’ll be moving in with Rachel and the Colonel. To summer house they have in ‘middle-of-fucking-nowhere,’ Colorado.” 

Jason let out a sound that was something between a chuckle and the bark of an old dog. 

“Sure thing, Nicky. Not only do you bag a married woman who is your superior officer, you then want to move in with her and her very much not estranged husband, who also happens to be your superior officer. You’re crazy as a soup sandwich. How in the everloving fuck do you expect that to work?” 

Nick groans. “I knew you would say that. The truth is I don’t know how or if it’ll work, but I will try. And I will be Eric’s assistant in the meantime. Turns out I still have a knack for physics.” 

Unbelievable. Jason couldn’t help it as he started laughing out loud. It felt really nice to laugh after days spent in thick, tar darkness. His talk with Nick was like a tiny ray of sunshine which managed to find its way through the layers of rock and dirt into a dark, black cave. But it felt goddamn surreal too. Not only the things that his friend was saying. The fact that they were thousands of kilometers away and that he was in his sister's kitchen too. 

“No fucking way, Kay. You are not only screwing his wife, you want to be his assistant too. What will be next? Will you sit by their bed and watch while they fuck?” 

Nick chuckled and hummed. “And how do you know I’m not already doing that?” 

First Lieutenant Kolchek made a gagging sound. “God, why did you put that image in my head? That’s nightmare material.” 

Sergeant Kay laughed with a mischievous spark. “I didn’t, you did that to yourself. Anyways, I gotta go. Talk to you later, brother. Take care.” 

Jason said goodbye and hung up. The rest of his day was spent in darkness and misery and decidedly not thinking of Salim. 

Day 39: 

“Earth to Jason, hello? Earth to Jason,” Clarissa said as she waved in front of his eyes, which were fixed on one of the barely-visible-but-still-there stains on the kitchen cupboard above the sink. 

“Stop it, Cissy,” Jason muttered tiredly and softly slapped her hand away from his face as he continued to stare at the cupboard behind his sister. 

She stood there with hands on her hips, tapping her foot as she expected him to answer her question from half an hour ago. When the sun hit her face in that particular way, she was a spitting image of their mother. Jason felt the itch to tell her, but knew that she would slap him for real if he dared to say that. 

“What do you want me to say?” 

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, maybe we could try bouncing some ideas off of each other about what you can do with that insane pile of cash that just happens to be in your bank account,” she said impatiently. 

Clarissa seemed like she was more excited for Jason than he was for himself. He never imagined himself to have such wealth or to see so many zeros on a paycheck. Yet, it didn’t make him happy. He just felt nothing. 

“Jason,” she said as she was sitting down in front of him and then took his hand in between her own. Her eyes were earnest and serious as she frowned a bit. “You could travel the world. You could move to Hawaii and live off of pineapples and coconuts. You could buy a house. A really nice house in a really nice neighborhood.” 

She leaned back, still looking deep into his eyes. “You could start again with a clean slate. Just think about it, please,” she insisted. 

There was a strange desperation in her voice. The man sitting in front of her wasn’t like her brother at all, he was just a shell of the person she used to know and she was desperate to have him back. She just didn’t know how to do that. But Jason didn’t answer, he just sat there in silence, drowning in nothingness that settled both in his brain and heart. 

He nodded. He couldn’t give less fucks about the money, but Clarissa was right in one thing. He couldn’t live with her forever, it was just a couple of days and he already felt horrible for being a burden. 

“Huh. You’re right. I should start looking for a more permanent place to stay.” 

His sister seemed stunned as he admitted that she was right about something. He always liked to be the big brother and know-it-all before he was deployed, even though they didn’t see each other often. 

Day 51:

Jason bought himself a place not long afterwards. It was in an area that was good enough to not get shanked just because you're outside after dusk and shitty enough so that he didn't feel out of place. Just the way he liked it. 

At first he made the mistake of telling the local real estate agent his actual budget. The guy kept showing him fancy houses that had statues next to the entrance and heated pools in the backyard. No matter how many times Jason repeated his preferences, the agent persisted that he could afford it and that it would be a good investment. The marine knew that the annoying dick was in it because of his share if the purchase went through, not because he was that interested in his clients investments. It’s just that his share wouldn’t be nearly as big as if he let Jason buy what he wanted. 

In the end Jason went to a real estate agency from outside the city since anyone who lived nearby would already know that he was loaded. They would all try to sell him the same bullshit houses that he wasn’t interested in the first place, so he picked a new real estate agency and lied about his budget. 

That eventually brought him to his new place. It was an older bungalow, but it was furnished and had an intact roof, which was all he needed. The house suited him. A run down place for a run down person. 

Jason didn't know what to do with his new found freedom and financial security. It felt like he was floating in uncertainty and hollowness. For the past few years his life was filled with routine and discipline, the exact opposite of what he had now. 

It felt strange to say the least. His days were just basically nightmares and involuntary thoughts of a certain Iraqi soldier, all in equal measure. He tried to push it away with any and all ways he could think of. He bought a shit ton of beer that was currently the only thing in his fridge except for a single box of leftovers. He started drinking almost nonstop. Then he bought himself the newest gaming console and tried playing all sorts of video games. That helped for a while. Losing himself in a fantasy world. But it still got old way too quickly. 

Jason balanced on the edge of his past addiction, he felt  it calling from the deep, dark gorge inside of him. So far he resisted, but questioned how many more days he would resist. His body begged him to wrap his lips around a joint or press the glass opening of a bong to his mouth and inhale, inhale, inhale…

Oh, how he missed it. 

But so far, the beer was enough to cloud his senses and numb his mind. Combine that with the challenges his video games provided and he was good  for a couple more weeks, maybe a month. But his itch for weed was getting bigger every day and it was hard to ignore. 

However, nothing was harder to ignore than thoughts of Salim. Jason spent exactly one day with him, and yet he could still recall every single freckle on the man's face, the curve of his nose and specks of dirt on his cheeks. 

"Fuck. This," Jason breathed out, tossing the controller across the room. The wrinkles between his eyebrows were eminent as he frowned and clenched his fist, seething. 

He felt like shit. Everything that he held close betrayed him. His country, his calling, and the worst, his body and mind. It kept flicking towards the older Iraqi. Usually the thoughts and dreams were innocent, but sometimes they ventured into blood-curling nightmares that had him shaking and sweating, and sometimes, they were some else entirely. 

Curious touches. Skin against skin. Soft sighs and then loud moans. Masculine scent invading his nose. Familiar brown eyes searing holes through his skin. 

Jason hated them even more than the nightmares. 

He paced around his living room, itching to do something, anything, just to push away those thoughts. It didn’t take long until he grabbed the keys to his beat up truck and slammed the door. 

The marine decided to check out if the local spit-and-sawdust bar, Henry’s, was still open after all those years. It was on the other side of the town, but it was the only place close enough where he could surely get weed. It mortified Jason that he was walking straight towards his old addiction with open arms, but he needed something, anything, to numb his mind. And booze just wasn’t cutting it anymore. 

The traffic lights and other cars passed him, until he took a right turn and came to a parking lot right next to Henry’s. The lights were on and the local bums were all churning inside. 

As it turns out, not much has changed. The regulars were still grimy old booze hounds who worked at the local factory or kids who couldn’t get their alcohol anywhere else, except Henry’s. Both of the aforementioned groups sometimes wanted to drown their earthly troubles in something other than booze, so Henry’s became the go to place for locals to get substances. 

When Jason walked in, nobody really noticed him. He made his way towards the bar and sat on one of the high chairs, hunched over. He observed his surroundings, checking for possible emergency exits and other important details. You can’t blame him, it’s what the military does to you. 

Finally, Jason's eyes settled on the frowning bartender wiping one of the many glasses. 

Old Henry also didn’t change, his hair just got a fair bit more gray. Everything else about him was the same. Even though he must have been pushing sixties by then, Henry was still sporting bulging muscles and the good ol’ biker look, with horseshoe mustache and long hair with shaved sides. 

It didn’t take long for Henry to take notice of the ex-marine hunching over at his bar. 

“What’s it gonna be, officer?” 

Jason groaned and crossed over his arms, hiding the tattoo on his forearm. A painful reminder of his shame. 

“Not anymore. Used to be a jarhead.” 

Henry nodded and kept wiping the glass, waiting for him to order. 

“Do you still sell something of the greener variety,” Jason quipped and vaguely mimicked smoking a joint. 

The older man nodded, and quoted his price. Jason dug out a handful of cash from his pocket and threw it on top of the bar, not bothering to count. He knew it was enough. Henry reached across the bar and shielding the view with his torso, he dropped the baggie in Jason’s palm. 

Jason was about to stand up from his chair and leave, when Henry reached out and put his palm on his shoulder. “Next time you come for a drink or a hit, cover that shit up,” he nodded towards the tattoo. “The regulars don’t like officials, present or past.” 

The ex-marine thanked him half-heartedly and left the bar as quickly as he came. He spent the better half of the night just driving around in his beat up truck, the first real purchase he made with the government's hush money. 

Day 52:

He spent the night driving around aimlessly, his mind constantly flicking towards the baggie full of weed in his pocket and his consciousness trying to reject the craving thoughts, each rebuttal weaker. 

When the sun started to peek above the horizon, Jason impulsively took a turn towards the local seedy motel, which never had anything good to offer. It was the place to go when you wanted to hide from your conscience, at least for a little while. He then parked the truck and walked towards the reception, which basically consisted of one table and a very disinterested greasy twenty year old. 

Jason stood in front of the young man, suddenly feeling unsure. The guy seemingly ignored him, playing a game on his phone. 

“Can I get a room,” he grunted. 

The receptionist jolted, seemingly unaware of the man standing in front of him until he spoke. He looked up and nodded wordlessly. His eyes were glossy and red, his eyelids puffy. It was crystal clear that the kid was high as hell. 

“How long do you want to stay?” 

Jason cleared out his throat as he spoke and fought the urge to ask the receptionist for papers and filters. “Just the night for now. ” 

The twenty year old in front of him just nodded and handed him the keys to his room. Jason murmured his ‘thanks’ and walked away. Finding the room wasn’t hard. As Jason unlocked the door, his legs started to tremble. 

The room was everything that you would expect from a cheap motel room. A not-so-tidely-made single bed, small window with shabby curtains and wallpapers yellowed from years of smoking inside. 

The marine sat on the bed right next to the bedside table that looked like it was older than him and rummaged through the single drawer. It didn’t contain much. Shabby old bible, lighter, a pamphlet about some wackadoodle healer slash messiah and a beat up copy of an Agatha Christie book. The first three things were definitely there on purpose, but it was obvious that the book was left there accidentally. 

Jason pulled out the baggie of weed and put it on the table. He tore a piece of the pamphlet and started folding it to make a filter for his joint. Once he was done, he tore out the first page of the book, a blank one, and used it as a paper. He was never a huge fan of reading, but he wasn’t going to tear out just any page and definitely wasn’t going to tear up a bible for a joint. He mostly considered himself to be a heathen now, but that still seemed a bit much. This was the lesser evil. 

His stomach clenched and his hands shook as he was rolling the joint. He knew it was like standing on the edge of the abyss that was his addiction and willingly jumping down, but he didn’t feel like he had any choice. 

He cursed when a bit of the weed fell out of the curved paper. Then with a slight of hand he folded the paper, licked it and rolled the edge, sticking it together. The muscle memory never left him. His heart was beating erratically as he pressed the joint to his lips and reached for the lighter. His salvation was so close. He craved the smoke filling his lungs and suppressing any uncomfortable thoughts and feelings that plagued him. 

He struggled to light the joint up, rolling the metal sparkwheel repeatedly. He was getting more and more frustrated as the lighter refused to produce a flame. Jason let out an angry sound and threw the lighter across the room. 

He stood up from the bed hastily, his movements erratic, and walked across the room to the bathroom. He threw the door open, letting it slam against the wall and swiftly emptied out his pockets. He threw the bag of the weed in the toilet and then took out the joint hanging out of his lips. 

His chest rose up and down rapidly, as he fought his inner battle. As frustrated as he was, he didn’t even realize he was crushing the joint at first. He gave the destroyed thing a defeated look and threw the remains in the toilet and flushed, tugging at the flushing cord repeatedly. 

He couldn’t give in back to his old addiction. As it turns out he couldn’t, even though he wanted to. Jason cried out in frustration and hit the tiled wall with his fist, relishing in the pain and anger that it brought. He walked back in the bedroom and gave the bedside table a good kick, watching it give in and break down. He did again and again until the remains of the table resembled firewood chips more than a piece of furniture. 

Once his rage fizzled, he collapsed on his bed in defeat. His elbows rested on his thighs and his face was buried in his hands. The sharp sting of incoming tears and the feeling like there’s a lump in his throat made Jason even more unsettled, but he just couldn’t fight it any more and crumbled. His torso shook as he sobbed, heavy with grief and loss. 

Of his friends. Of his beliefs. Of his purpose. 

There was nothing left there, where old Jason was. Just an empty shell that once resembled him. 

He cried until exhaustion and then fell into a deep, albeit anguished slumber. 

Day 57: 

The next couple of days went by in a haze of cheap beer and boredom. The motel began to feel more like home than the house Jason bought. In one of his drunk moments, Jason managed to drown his phone in the toilet while playing Snake EX2. He didn’t get a new one just yet, but he knew he should. 

It allowed him to pretend that it wasn’t his fault that he was isolated and unreachable. He just didn’t get to buy a new one yet. The part of him that was hurting the most was almost glad that he was alone. It felt torturously good, wallowing in misery and self-loathing. Deep down inside he felt like he deserved it, so he did nothing to stop it. He couldn’t save others who were more righteous than himself a thousand times over. So why should he save himself now? 

It was sometimes in the evening. At least that’s what Jason presumed by the orange tint of the sunlight coming in through the dirty window, when he woke up to desperate and rapid knocking on the door. Knocking didn’t cut it though, it was more like a series of punches that wouldn’t look out of place in a WWE match. 

Fuck.

He froze, sitting still as a statue on the bed, his heart beating all the way up in the throat. Nobody knew he was there. Maybe the CENTCOM had more questions, or they decided he knew too much. He was starting to get lost in the bad scenarios, when a voice interrupted the flow.

“Jason, I know you’re in there.” 

Thank God it’s Cissy. 

Damn, it’s Cissy. 

“Open up right now, or I swear to God I will find a way to kick the door in.”

Once the panic subsided and Jason found he could move again, he walked across the room in long strides. His hands shook as he turned the key in the lock. Clarissa kept slamming her fist against the weak material of the door and when it finally opened, her fist didn’t find wood as before, but her brother’s shoulder. 

She gasped when she saw the state he was in. She shoved him back and walked in the room, taking in the smashed night table and trash strewn all around, her mouth half open in shock. Only then her eyes properly settled on Jason's face. She gasped furiously.

“Jason, look at me,” she said, taking his jaw in hand, forcing him to look at her. “Are you high?” 

He wrestled away from her grab and softly slapped away her hand, in a similar way one would treat a very annoying fly once they don’t have enough energy to shoo it away anymore. 

“I’m not,” Jason murmured. 

Clarissa scoffed. “Don’t lie to me, Jason. Your eyes are redder than the devil's asshole. I know what ‘high’ looks like.” 

Jason threw up his hands in frustration. “I swear I’m not high, Cissy.” 

Her eyes sharpened as she explored his face, searching for clues. There was something, but it wasn't anything that she's quite seen before when it came to her brother. 

As the atmosphere thickened, Jason confessed. "I bought some weed, okay?" 

Clarisse's mouth opened in scandal and anger, but before she could start shouting again, Jason jumped in. "I flushed it, okay? I rolled a joint, crushed it and sent it down the fucking drain. Are you satisfied now?" 

Clarissa scoffed. "Am I satisfied? Are you fucking kidding me? This isn't you, Jason. This," she said, motioning her hand at him "isn't the person I used to know. I've never seen you like this. Not even when mom and dad…" she paused. "Not even when you left." 

Now it was Jason's turn to scoff. "Yeah, no shit. I'm not the same person anymore. Everyone says that war changes you, but fuck… that was something else." 

Clarissa gave her brother a puzzled look, she couldn't quite imagine what shook him so badly. She knew that he had encountered violent death and horrors of war before, but it never had such a profound effect. 

He looked… defeated. As if he’s given up on life. He slumped and his skin had a sickly, grayish tone and his face looked gaunt. 

She sighed and reached out to Jason, enveloping him. Her features relaxed, but a painful expression still remained. Jason slowly raised his arms and hugged her back softly. After Clarissa finally let go, she walked towards the bed, sat down and patted the mattress. 

“Come on, sit down.” 

He did so wordlessly. 

“Jason, I know that you’ve been through something terrible. I don’t know what exactly it was, but I don’t need to. I have eyes. I can see that it’s eating you alive.” Cissy paused, waiting for a reaction. She got none, but a soft, agreeable hum and a mile long stare to nowhere.

“You need to do something about it. You need help.” 

Jason groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I know, but I can’t talk about it with a shrink. I signed a big, fat NDA, remember? There’s no professional that could ever help me without me actually talking about it.” 

He turned to face his sister. “And even if I did and let’s say that by some miraculous way the US wouldn’t find out that I fucked them over, no sane person would ever believe me. I would be on the first choo choo train to an asylum before I even got home from the shrinks office.”

Clarissa stared at him in silence. Jason could see the wheels inside her head turning. After a while, she spoke. “Maybe you should talk about it with somebody who’s been through it too. What about Nick?” 

Jason thought about it. “I would love to, but old Nicky is in bum-fuck Colorado, busy doing the deed with his girlfriend and her husband.” 

Her eyebrows jumped. “He’s what?” She shook her head. “That sounds crazier than an outhouse rat, but you could still talk to him. Or that guy Salim,” she exclaimed, poking her brother in the side. 

“Salim…” Jason sighed as the image of the older man surfaced in his mind, along with his infectious smile and scathing remarks. 

“Salim is in Iraq. I don’t think I’ll get to talk to him ever again. I don’t even know his address. Even if I did, I sure as fuck don’t want to put him in danger. Wiliamson is definitely keeping close eyes on me. All of us” 

Cissy hummed, hugging Jason's side. “But would you? I mean, talk to him. If you had that chance?” 

Jason’s heart jumped at the thought. “I don’t know. I guess.” He hugged Clarissa back, with her resting her head on his shoulder. 

“What would I even say to him? Hi Salim, remember the shit that we’ve been through in the Zagros mountains? Yeah, that fucked me up, now let’s talk about it.” 

Clarissa scoffed fondly  at her brother's ridiculousness. She missed it more than she realized. “Maybe you could find a private detective. A good one. For fucks sake, you could probably afford the best one in America.” 

Jason stilled in her embrace. “You could find him, Jason.” 

Her brother let out a slow, shaky exhale. “Yeah. Maybe I could.” 

Could he, really? Is that even a real possibility? He had more money than he could possibly want or need and spent basically nothing so far. Would he even find a private detective willing to look for somebody in Iraq? 

Whether Jason knew it or not, the wheels began to turn. 

“Yeah, that’s the spirit, Jason,” she smiled as she stood up. “Come on now, let’s get out of this shithole.” 

Day 75: 

“So, you hired a P.I. to find him,” Rachel summarized, sipping mulled wine from a cup that said ‘Best grandmother’.  Jason suspected that she secretly liked it, even though she previously stated that it’s hideous. He only arrived at the cabin earlier in the day, but he already felt better. A bit more like a whole person, although a good part of him still felt hollow. Seeing his fellow soldiers felt good. 

The cottage was small, but spacious enough not to feel cramped. Everything from furniture to the fridge seemed at least twenty years old, but it was obvious that this place was well loved. It almost felt like a home should. 

“Yeah, uh… I spent a week straight just doing my research about who’s who and who’s actually good and not just a flashy name,” Jason paused, taking a sip of the mulled wine. “Damn, this is good. What did you put in it?” 

Rachel shrugged. “The wine did cost two hundred bucks, so there’s probably that.” 

First Lieutenant Kolchek started coughing as he accidentally inhaled a bit of the wine when hearing about the price. “Holy shit, woman. I’m no connoisseur, but isn’t it a bit of a shame to use that kind of a bottle for mulled wine?” 

She shrugged. “If you have the money, why not enjoy it?”

Nick plopped on the couch next to Rachel and pressed a kiss against her cheek. Jason shook his head in disbelief  when he saw that she looked almost… peaceful. Only almost, because while Jason might have lost quite a bit of himself in those caves, he didn’t lose his memory. He still remembered the way she could chew up his ass. 

Right after that, Eric walked into the living room and came to a stop behind the couch. He pressed a kiss into Rachel's hair and caressed Nick's neck affectionately. 

The trio stared in silence at Jason and only then he realized that he was the one staring at them first. There was an anxious worry in Nick’s eyes, rough defiance in Rachel's and quiet expectation of what’s to come in Eric's. 

“I’m not into sappy shit, but I have to say, I’m happy for you, people.” 

Jason could see how Nick visibly relaxed and shot him a thankful glance. Rachel settled back into the couch's backrest and under Nick's arm and Eric just smiled at him warmly. 

“But I also have to say that I will probably never get used to seeing…that,” Jason gestured vaguely towards his friends. 

“You don’t have to get used to it, you just have to respect it,” Rachel retorted. 

“I do respect it. I meant what I said, you know. I’m really happy for you. You deserve to be happy.”

Nick smiled heartily. “Aw, man. Look who’s sappy now.” 

Jason rolled his eyes in a playful manner as he took another sip and mumbled a soft, friendly ‘shut up’ towards his friend. 

“So, no news when it comes to Salim,” Eric asked Jason, leaning against the couch. 

Jason shook his head. “No, the P.I. guy is just doing basic research now. God knows how long that will take and he told me to be ‘realistic’. Which actually means that there's a high chance that he’s gonna find fuck-all. Cissy suggested this visit actually, to kinda keep my mind off it. There’s nothing else I can do about it right now.”

“Cissy is…?” Rachel raised her eyebrow suggestively. 

A simultaneous answer of ‘his sister’ and ‘my sister’ echoed across the room, as both Nick and Jason answered the question. 

“What do you want to do when you find him?” Eric asked him tactfully. 

Jason noticed how he decided to use the word ‘when’ instead of ‘if’. Always the optimist. Or fool. Despite everything, Jason didn’t know him well enough to say whether Eric tried to soften the blow of a very possible failure or if he genuinely thought Jason would find him. 

“I, uh… Haven’t actually thought it through, yet. Going out for a beer would be a good idea, I think.” 

Rachel hummed sympathetically. “You know he’s Muslim. He cannot drink alcohol.” 

“Right. Then we’ll go out for a beer and non-alcoholic whatever.”  

Silence of things unsaid settled onto the four soldiers, spreading across the room slowly. The mention of Salim, no matter how pleasant the man himself was, brought up uncomfortable memories. Before the darkness could settle any further, Jason’s voice cut through the silence. 

“Enough of this. Who wants to play a drinking game? 

A warm cacophony of laughter bounced off the walls. “You did not!” Nick exclaimed, gesturing wildly. He didn’t notice or perhaps didn’t care about spilling wine on the floor. 

Rachel giggled, as she wiped off some wine residue off her chin. “No, really. I did. I also had a little yorkshire terrier. I was such a theater princess,” she sighed with a content smile on her face. 

Once Jason's own laughter died down and only a comfortable grin remained, he spoke. “I can’t help but to ask, when did it all change? When did you go from being a prancing princess, to… ” he gestured vaguely towards Rachel and paused.

She hummed, obviously thinking about her answer. “I don’t know. When I got into uni with performing arts I realized that I wanted something more. I loved performing, but I wanted to do something tangible for once. Make a real difference. So that’s what I did.” 

Rachel put down her mug on the table and grinned. “It's my turn now. Never have I ever… got a tattoo.” 

Jason and Nick both groaned as they took a sip. “Come on, woman. That’s a low blow,” Jason complained, while the others just laughed at his sour expression. He didn’t mind, truly. After months his life finally started resembling something even remotely normal, and he appreciated the positivity. And he already plotted his revenge. 

“Never have I ever had a threesome,” he smirked as he watched all of his friends drink, all of which were giving him the stink eye. 

After Nick finished the rest of his wine, he stood up, stretching his back. “Let’s put the game on pause, I’m going for a smoke.” 

Erik sighed in objection. “Come on, Nick. You’re going to smell like an ashtray.” 

“I know, but it’s a special occasion. Jason’s here.” When mentioning the man's name, he turned to face him. 

Jason looked up at him from the couch. “Can I join?” 

Nick straightened out his arms in a gesture of welcome and started walking towards the door. “Sure.”

Once outside, the men took in the crisp night air, standing in silence for a while. The general appreciation of them being alive once again soared. It was peaceful, only the sounds of night birds occasionally broke the silence. Jason for the first time since the Zagros mountains didn’t feel an ounce of panic when standing outside in the dark. He was out there with those he trusted most, after all. 

Nick pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and before he lit one up, his friend interrupted him. “Can I have one?” 

Nick gave him an incredulous look. “Who are you and what have you done to Jason Kolchek?”

Jason shrugged. He wasn’t one for words and struggled to express his thoughts. The topic also didn’t help. “When I was…when I was down, I just wanted to dull everything.” 

The man beside him nodded, not wanting to pry anymore. Despite everything, Nick still knew his friend. At least he hoped he did. He would never make him say anything he didn’t wish to share. So he silently expressed his understanding and handed Jason one of his cigarettes. 

“I never understood the point of smoking, you know,” Jason spoke, his voice echoing into the night. “Smoking weed, sure. It gets you high. Drinking gets you drunk. But I thought cigarettes do fuck all. Now I have to admit, I get it. It takes the edge off.” 

Nick hummed agreeably, his features relaxed. “To think you were the person giving me shit for lighting one up.” 

Jason chuckled, bumping his shoulder into Nicks. “I’ll still give you shit. I picked up the habit and managed to stop when I moved back in with Cissy. Now I’m even more authorized to give you shit about it.”

The younger man started laughing, gesturing towards his friend's hand. “It sure as hell doesn’t look to me like you stopped.” 

“I’m just smoking, because it’s a special occasion. Seeing y'all and everything. But now that I think I know what to do, I focus on that. I try not to think about what happened. I help Clarissa at home with the kids while her husband is on the road. If anything, she would’ve ripped my head off if I came in reeking of smoke.” 

Silence once again settled over the two friends as they enjoyed the smoke filling their lungs. Ever since the encounter in the Zagros mountains, Jason struggled to remember what it felt like to be calm. This moment brought the memory back to live, no matter how short it actually was. But still, there was something missing. A part of him, hell, every single part of him would continue to be restless until he was sure the man who had saved his life was safe. Jason was convinced he would never feel that serenity of simply being and existing until he finally knew. 

Nick glanced over at his friend, seeing the way his shoulders tensed.

“I’m glad you came here, Jason. It’s good to see you again. I know you’re not a talker, but after all the shit we’ve been through… All I want to say is, if you ever need to talk about it, I’m here. We all are.” 

Jason hummed. “I know, Nicky. I know. Me too. But fuck, you know what pisses me off the most,” he spat, ruffling his hair. “We know how everyone ended up. We know who was lost and who lived, but we know fuck all about Salim. And I just… I don’t know. I just need to find out if he made it. He saved my fucking life. Too many times to count. I owe it to him.” 

Nick put out his cigarette and turned to face Jason. “If there’s one thing that I still know, it’s that you’re one tough son of a bitch. If you ask me, you’ll find out alright. If it all goes to shit, we’ll do everything to help. Some pretty fucking important people owe Rach, she could pull some strings.” 

“Thank you, Nicky. I appreciate it.” 

After a few more quips, the two soldiers glanced over the woods one last time and went inside the cabin. Hours filled with stories and reminiscing passed until everyone fell asleep, scattered around the room like discarded dolls. 

Day 105:

Jason made a face as the diner coffee burned his tongue. The seat was uncomfortably sticking to the back of his thighs as he nervously eyed the hands of his wrist watch. The P.I. he hired was taking his sweet, sweet time and Jason could be a patient man, but not in a situation like this. Not when he finally knew the guy had something after a month. Not when his heart was beating miles per minute after he felt so hollow for the longest time. 

Right when he was about to pick up his phone and leave a very irritated voice mail to a certain investigator, said man walked right through the diner door, clutching a suspiciously small file under his arm. Jason’s eyes narrowed as he tried to zoom in on it before the guy even reached his table. 

“First Lieutenant Kolchek, nice to see you again,” he exclaimed and unceremoniously sat down across the table from Jason. 

The soldier just frowned. His impatience made him fickle and tactless, but he tried to hold it in. 

“Took you long enough, Davis. What do you got?” 

Davis sighed. “Not as much as I’d like, that’s for sure.” 

Just as Jason was about to voice his displeasure, mouth already open in an angry scowl, Davis continued. 

“But, I do indeed have at least something ,” he explained, opening the file and sliding it across the table towards his displeased client. 

“As you already know, the chances of me finding anything were small and dare I say, almost non-existent. Finding somebody who doesn’t want to be found in the U.S. of A is already bothersome. But finding someone who doesn’t want to be found in an altogether different part of the world, in an active crisis, no less, is pretty much impossible and - ”

“Enough of that, cut the crap. What do you have?” Jason’s hands curled into fist in a nervous gesture as discomfort nibbled on every corner of his soul. It sounded like Davis was getting closer, but he was still too far. He had just enough patience so far, but at that moment it ran out. 

The private eye pulled a single paper from the file. “You see, it was impossible to find anything about Mr. Othman in Iraq, as we both presumed. A dead end. However, I wasn’t about to give up, I just needed to change my focus. During our first meeting you told me that the son of Mr. Othman was to study in university in London. After I, understandably, failed to get any information about our subject in Iraq, I tried to - “ 

“Get to the point, now,” Jason growled, desperate to hear the new information that the detective so poetically tried to explain. He didn’t need to hear the hows and whys, he just needed an answer. A sign. Anything at all. 

“By means that I won’t be getting into, I got my hands on multiple waitlists of all the first-year students applying for accommodation. As you can imagine, there were a lot of waitlists to go through, but my efforts have paid off. In this file,” he pointedly looked at Jason as he continued “you will find the relevant pages.” 

Jason could hear himself inhale sharply as he grabbed the page and started scanning the names from the top. 

Could this be it? Could it?

“Simons, Okaba, O’Reilly…” He mumbled, frantically trying to find that one name. He was getting desperate, when suddenly…

There.

There on the paper in front of him.  

“Othman, Zain,” he breathed out, almost inaudibly and all the hustle of the diner suddenly faded away. His heart clenched when he saw the name of Salim's son on the list. Now he knew that at least Zain was alive and in London. What more, he was sure that if Salim was alive and well, he would never lose contact with his son. And he was certain that if Zain was at least half a good son as Salim mentioned, he wouldn’t have left for London if something happened to his father.

Jason finally found a way to contact Salim. His excitement was cut short when a wave of dread washed over his body. What if it’s just a namesake? Someone altogether different? Doubt poisoned his triumph. 

“Are you absolutely sure it’s him?”

Davis gave his client a triumphant smile and reached into a pocket inside his jacket. “You tell me,” he said as pulled out a photograph. The focus was a young man, fixing his backpack while going down the stairs of some nondescript building. 

Jason was sure that his heart would stop beating for a minute. The young man was a spitting image of Salim. His features were a bit sharper and the shape of his lips was different, but Lord, now he had no doubt that this was indeed Salim’s son. 

He reached for the photo and was surprised to see that his hands were shaking. “I’m almost 100% positive that that’s Salim’s kid. He looks like his younger version. How did you get that?” 

Davis shrugged non-descriptively. “I have acquaintances in many parts of the world. I asked one of them for a favor.” 

After three long months, Jason felt like he could finally see a spark of light at the end of the tunnel of uncertainty. Relief, anxiety and fear all churned his stomach. Because if Davis, with a miniscule fraction of CENTCOMs budget, managed to find Zain, then there’s a high probability they would find him too.  

“Mr. Kolchek, I hate to ruin a victorious moment such as this one, but I do have to ask. What is the next step,” Davis explained, as he waved away a waitress who was looking to pour them more coffee. “As you know, my services are broad and without borders. I could travel to London myself and try to get more information about our subject. However - ” 

“I’ll go,”  Jason interrupted him, surprising even himself. 

Davis stared at him in silence, despite being a very obvious chatterbox. Jason was thankful, as his thoughts were running miles a minute and he struggled to manage them all. 

Can I really go to England? 

There is no reason not to. 

There is nothing holding me back.

What if I put them in danger?

The southerner cleared his throat. “I will go.” As soon as he said those words again, reality felt almost like too much all at once. A couple hours ago Jason had nothing and now… whatever small spark of hope he still had started to burn brighter. When Davis started talking about his final payment and other formalities, Jason was too jittery to really hear what he was saying. All that mattered was Salim. Everything else could wait. 

As soon as Clarissa saw Jason walking towards the house, she rushed to the door and threw it open. For what felt like the first time, she couldn’t read Jason's face. He looked pondering, buried deep in his thoughts even though he was looking her straight in the eyes as he stood there, unmoving. 

“Jason, why aren’t you saying anything,” she whispered. This stoic appearance was very new from her brother and it unsettled her. He never looked so serious.

“I’m going to London, Cissy.” 

Clarissa threw up her hands in confusion and building excitement. “Now hold on a damn minute, you found him?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just rushed towards her brother and pulled him into a tight hug. 

“Well, not exactly,” he answered, circling his arms around her. He could feel the way Clarissa stiffened against his chest, and mumbled against him. “What do you mean, not exactly?” 

They went inside and Jason explained everything. While they talked, he made sure to take in the details of his sister's home. The way it felt warm and cozy, nothing like the house they grew up in. The way his nephews could laugh out loud and not cringe in fear right after. 

It soothed his nerves as he called the traveling agency to arrange his flight. Yesterday, everything seemed clouded in shadows, and less than 24 hours later he had a clear path. While his stomach still felt like it was full of battery acid and he kept doubting himself, kept asking ‘what if I put him in danger’, Jason needed to know what happened to Salim. It became his new purpose. 

Day 109:

3 days, 14 hours and one hell of a jetlag later, Jason found himself walking the streets of London, marveling at the historic architecture. He’s never been outside of his homeland, excluding his tours in Iraq, of course. He’s barely seen anything, but he had already noticed that the hustle of London felt different than the one of American cities. It was quieter and cleaner, but still buzzing with people on the streets. 

The problem was, Jason was positively lost and had to constantly check the map. Before his departure, Davis gave him all the locations where Zain had been seen alongside with the photographs and his supposed school schedule and now he was trying to find the house from the first photograph that the P.I. showed him in the diner. 

If Jason had to guess, he’d say the neighborhood looked a bit shady, but compared to Knoxville it was like a christian kindergarten. After he finally found the building he was looking for, the soldier sat down at a rundown café on the corner of the street with a good view of the entrance. He asked the obviously bored waitress who was smacking her gum for an iced tea and waited.  

But now he came to question, what will he do next? Should he just walk up to Zain and explain himself? That didn’t sound like a very good plan. He was just a stranger to the boy. He could try to explain himself, but for fuck’s sake, he didn’t even know if Salim mentioned him or if he mentioned anything at all. Maybe he’d tried to shield his son from the horrors he saw and just told him a story of enemy forces and an ambush. 

Jason stewed in his anxious thoughts as he sipped the frankly disgusting ice tea, nothing like the sweet tea he was used to from home. Hours passed and the ice in his tea had long dissolved, when he finally spotted a silhouette that seemed familiar.  There he was. Once the boy came closer, there was no doubt that it was really Zain Othman. Jason’s heart dropped. In the flesh, he looked even more like his father, if that was even possible. 

Jason watched him ring the bell and enter the building. He still couldn’t believe he was this close to finding out what happened to Salim and the closer he was to finding out, the more scared he started to feel. What if Salim didn’t actually make it? What if Zain is here in London not because his father made it, but because there was nothing holding him back home anymore? 

Day 111:

Depressing thoughts like that and more kept haunting Jason as he paced around the place he got via one of Davis’ contacts. The woman rented the place in her name, as the marine wanted to leave as few traces as possible. He didn’t want to stay in a hotel or a B&B, since waking other guests with his constant nightmares and the occasional scream was not ideal. Hence, the flat. 

It was relatively cheap and modest, void of any color or personality. The flat had two rooms, but one of them looked more like a closet with a single bed and the kitchen was miniscule, without any utensils. It didn’t matter, since Jason couldn’t even remember the last time he ate and he didn’t care. As long as the place provided privacy and a roof over his head, it was enough. 

He wasn’t ready to confront Zain just yet, so he just followed him around the streets of London like a lost puppy without a purpose. Except he did have a purpose, he was just too big of a fucking coward to follow through with it. He wasn’t ready to find out whether his deepest fears were true or not. He couldn’t face a reality where Salim… wasn’t. He’d gladly trade his own life just to ensure that the Iraqi man was alive and well. However, that’s too hard to do when he didn’t know anything about him since they crawled out of that ancient hellhole. 

At 6:55 AM, just after the sunrise and another sleepless night, Jason shut the door to his flat and hurried to the closest underground stop to get to the place where Zain was staying. So far he just spent the last two days following the boy and it made him feel like a fucking stalker. Despite all of that, keeping an eye on the kid provided him with routine and knowledge, that the person Salim loved the most and fought for so hard was right in front of him. 

The ride on the metro seemed endless. When Jason finally arrived at his destination, he once again plopped in the shitty café and after God knows how long, ordered himself some food. When the waitress set down a plate of burnt eggs and sausage floating in grease, his stomach growled as a witness to his hunger. Just because he didn’t feel like eating didn’t mean his body shared the same notion. Jason begrudgingly ate the meal, ignoring the taste, or rather the lack of.

After he finished, he asked the waitress for a coffee and the current issue of the newspaper. He didn’t want to look like he was there for hours, doing nothing. At 11:30, after Jason read through every single article at least three times, there was finally movement. Zain, alongside another young man, emerged from the building. 

Just like he did yesterday, Jason threw enough money on the table to pay for his order and began his pursuit. The two men walked with purpose, but they seemed relaxed and filled their walk with pleasant chit-chat. The soldier was always far enough that he couldn’t hear what they talked about, but he could hear a familiar melodic intonation in Zain’s voice. Like father, like son. 

The young men stopped in front of a mosque. Jason didn’t know much about architecture, but thought that the building looked nice. Adequate for a place of worship, he supposed. There was a community center and a park right next to it, too. Once Zain and his friend walked inside, the soldier settled on a bench nearby, resting his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward. He wanted to punch himself in the face for not listening to Rachel more. If he did, he’d at least have an idea how long the sermon is. 

According to his wristwatch, it was approximately an hour when people started exiting the mosque en masse as the service ended, but still no sign of Zain. Jason was about to give up, when… 

No.

It can’t be. 

Salim!

The man looked thinner and his haircut was different, but Jason was sure. It was Salim exiting the mosque just now. 

He’s alive. 

Thank God, he’s alive. 

Jason found himself standing up in a hurry. Nothing mattered, but the sight of the older man across the street. He was looking at Salim. Walking behind Salim. Following Salim. 

Salim, Salim, Salim…

His heart repeated the Iraqi’s name, beating in its rhythm and Jason found himself hypnotized. He crossed the street and walked in Salim’s footsteps. The older man didn’t seem to notice him, but Jason didn’t mind as long as he stayed alive. He got his answer. He found his purpose alive and well. 

The soldier didn’t notice the walls he was passing by, or the way the streets and people gradually turned more shady and gray. He’d walk straight back to Zagros mountains, all the way to Iraq, if only Salim would lead him there. 

Right then the older man dipped into one of the darker allies and Jason followed, not a single thought in his mind, except Salim. But when he walked into that deserted alley, it was exactly that. Deserted. There was nobody there. Salim disappeared. A panic like he never felt before before crawled all over his insides and a scream was about to escape his mouth, trying to shout his friends name, when suddenly, he was hit by an impact to the back of his head and disoriented he found himself being pressed against the wall, with an iron bar against his windpipe. 

Salim stared at him with cold, calculated rage, as he put more pressure against his throat. Jason would have died a happy man if Salim had chosen to kill him. With each passing second, he could see confusion growing in Salim’s eyes. He wasn’t fighting him, or trying to push him off. He was a strange opponent indeed. 

“You’re a hard man to find, Salim Othman,” he rasped with a smile on his face. 

It took a moment, but when Salim recognized the voice coming from the stranger following him, he dropped the pipe in an instant, and enveloped him in a crushing hug. 

Chapter Text

The pipe tumbled on the ground with a loud ‘clunk’ and a rapping sound as it rolled further away. 

Jason felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

Finally.

His friend, the man he searched for, the person who became his new purpose, was right there. In his arms. Holding him in a surprisingly tight embrace, even for a former soldier. The marine felt like his chest would explode from relief. His eyes began to burn and he willed the tears to disappear as shame began melting in the confusing cauldron of his emotions.

Luckily, his face was pressed against Salim’s neck and the collar of his flannel shirt. He wondered if this was really what Salim smelled like and shooed the thought away, cursing internally. The truth is, Salim smelled like sawdust and remnants of aftershave. There were tiny bits of plaster on the collar fold. 

When Salim reluctantly let go of Jason, there was a wide smile splitting his face and God, Jason would be lying if he said there was anybody before Salim who seemed so happy to see him. Maybe except his old dealer when money was tight. 

Eyes of the older man were flicking across his face, taking in the details. “You look different, Jason. 

The young man chuckled. He hasn't cut his hair since he got out of that God forgotten hellhole. It was shaggy and unkempt. He also didn’t shave much and was now sporting a full stubble, nearly resembling a short beard. 

Jason stared back at Salim, taking him in, wanting to find out as much as he could just by appearance alone. The older man was wearing an old, but clearly loved flannel shirt and thick, sturdy jeans. Not a fashion choice, but a working man's clothes. Based on that and the smell of sawdust, Jason assumed Salim worked as a laborer or perhaps a craftsman now. 

The older man looked okay, alien vampires and all considered. He was a bit rugged, but clean and seemed healthy enough. He seemed thinner and there were dark circles under his eyes, but nothing else concerning. 

“Right back at you, Salim. You lost some weight.” 

A rat scuttered somewhere among the pile of trash in the alley and their moment of initial once-over was gone. Both of them forgot to watch their surroundings, the instinct they still relied on every day.

Salim straightened his back as a hardened look replaced the previous radiant kindness on his face. “Let’s go somewhere else, Jason. It’s not safe here.” 

The jarhead carefully took in the atmosphere. The cracked, uneven pavement was covered in trash, broken glass and dark stains of uncertain origins. Syringes laid discarded on the filthy ground and a powerful smell of stale urine penetrated his nose. There were sounds of an emerging altercation rising somewhere off in the distance. 

Where in the hell did Salim lead him? 

“Good idea. Lead the way.” 

The two men walked in silence, Salim with a hard-earned confidence that revealed his familiarity with the area and Jason followed him closely. He still couldn’t believe he found the older man and felt like he could cry from relief, but there was still a viscous (albeit quiet) inner voice questioning everything, full of doubt. 

What if this is just a dream?

What if I blink and wake up back in my old man's place?

What if this isn’t real? 

Thoughts like those and more haunted Jason on the way, along with the inexplicable desire to touch Salim for reassurement that the man won’t simply disappear into thin air. 

After more turns and twists, glass shards crunching under their boots, they emerged in an area that looked as old as the one before, but it felt… warmer. There was more light and even though graffiti peppered all the walls, it exuded some sort of familiar civility. After three more turns, Salim came to a stop in front of a restaurant. He opened the door and held it for Jason, nodding towards the entry. 

A powerful scent of spices entered Jason's nostrils. He could identify cumin, nutmeg and cinnamon, but there were many more that were foreign. Walking closely behind Salim, the jarhead examined the interior. The tables were covered in plastic just as the menus. 

The restaurant seemed well loved, judging by all the people inside. It was busy and the chatter almost drowned out the upbeat music in the background. The Iraqi led him to a booth table in the corner. After they were comfortably seated, the older man visibly relaxed, the mischievous spark somewhat returning to his eyes. 

“Jason,” Salim uttered in a way that revealed that just like Jason, couldn’t quite believe they found each other yet. 

“Salim,” the American answered the man in front of him in kind, ignoring the throbbing coming from the back of his skull.  They spent some time just like that, bathing in the fragile peace of reunion. Too new, too fresh to break it just yet.

Turns out, they didn’t need to. The waitress did. Jason didn’t really have a preference, so Salim ordered for them. 

“My friend. Tell me how have you been.” 

What a fucking loaded question , Jason thought. He felt every bit of the whole fucking emotion spectrum in the past 24 hours. But considering that the older man sitting in front of him didn’t vanish into the thin air, he was pretty fucking dandy. He also couldn’t stop flicking his eyes over at Salim, over and over again. 

Finally, he was there. He looked… content. The way he smiled and carried himself didn’t change. He still seemed like the good ol’ Salim he last saw in Iraq. 

Jason groaned. “Oh, man. How do I even begin?”  

Salim simply smiled. “From the beginning, of course.” 

The American gave it a thought. How to explain the gaping black hole in his mind and heart after he came back from Iraq? And also was it safe to mention all of it in public? He took a look around. The customers were engaged in their own business, their voices and the music should sufficiently draw out anything, unless they start shouting. 

With a deep inhale, Jason spoke. “It was bad, Salim. They interrogated us and put us in this makeshift isolation unit. Did a fuckton of examinations, too. After they found out we weren’t contagious or otherwise messed up, they made us learn a scenario of what ‘actually’ happened as according to CENTCOM. We had to repeat it all day every day, from dusk to dawn. They also kept asking about you.” 

Salim tried to look unphased, but Jason could see the way his features tensed. “You’re in the clear. Nobody said a word. We all said you disappeared sometime during the eclipse.” 

The American paused as the waitress brought them their order. Jason’s meal was lamb with rice and vegetables and Salim’s was something he couldn’t identify so easily, but it was some sort of stuffed peppers.

“After it was over, they gave us a choice. I didn’t know what to do, but fuck, I lost all illusions. I couldn’t keep serving. Not after what happened. So I got honorably discharged. Everybody else - ” 

“Jason, you left the forces?” Salim cut him off. 

“Yeah,” Jason chuckled humorlessly.

“I just couldn’t imagine myself doing another tour. Serving a country that treated me like a criminal. Fuck that, a country who thought of you as a criminal. We were in a state of war, yeah, but what went on down there surpassed that. That should matter. And it sure as fuck don’t matter to them. All they saw was that you were an Iraqi soldier and that was it. And me? They saw me either as a chess piece or a liability. Fuck. That,” he spat, his voice dripping with fury. 

The anger was comforting, in a way. It was better than grief or the horrible nothingness that surrounded Jason at first. It was… something, at least. The older man in front of him nodded, his face serious and their meals untouched. 

“Well, that’s the gist of it. What about you? How did you manage to get here?” 

“That is a long story,  Jason. One for another time and place. But in short, I walked home. Hugged Zain. I knew somebody who could help and they did. We crossed the borders to Turkey and flew from Mardin airport. It was a difficult journey and it had cost me everything I had, but I did it for my boy.” 

“And now you’re in London,” Jason smiled. And what a smile it was. The relief was immense, sitting next to Salim, hearing his voice. Knowing he’s safe. In that moment Jason thanked whatever entity that kept an eye on this man brought him here. 

“And now I’m in London. What a strange city. I find it quite interesting.” 

“It sure is different.” 

The two then quietened down, finally getting to eat their meals. Jason hadn’t had good food in God knows how long and in that moment, the lamb Salim ordered for him was the best goddamn meal he ever had. 

The older man hummed as put the fork in his mouth. “A taste of home,” he explained. “Mine is called dolma, yours is quzi. Both are traditional Iraqi meals. I missed the taste.”  

Jason nodded while he chewed. “Don’t have much time to cook meals from home at your place here?“

Salim shook his head, his features rather pensive. “Not really, no,” he paused, a fork held in his hand about halfway from the plate to his mouth. “We can talk there after we’re finished here. I could show you.” 

Jason’s stomach clenched. He gave Salim a wide grin, despite repressing the disgust he felt at the butterflies in his stomach. He was acting like a fucking schoolgirl. The hateful words that his father spewed his whole childhood entered his consciousness again and refused to leave. 

“... be a man’s man…” 

                                                                                                      “... didn’t raise a fucking sissy…” 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       “...you’re nothing…”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         “... stupid nancy boy…” 

“In fact,” Salim said in between his bites. “I insist that you come with me. The back of your head looks fine, but I need to make sure I didn’t hurt you.” 

Jason shrugged, ensnared by his poisonous thoughts. “It’s okay. I’ve been through worse.” 

Salim let out a frustrated, although amused sound. “I thought the elite American soldiers were not this stupid. Jason, do I really need to explain to you the intricacies of head injuries?” 

The younger man said nothing as he shoveled food into his mouth, trying to force down the rising panic he felt. 

Nothing else was said for the rest of their dinner. The younger man eventually managed to calm down and even felt like congratulating himself for not letting his distress show. That was a battle he had to fight on his own. No one knew about it. Not even Nicky. And he preferred it that way. 

When they finally stood up, both men insisted on paying. Their bickering was finally cut short by the small, stocky waitress who strangely reminded Jason of his grandma despite her being only in her early 50s and clearly middle eastern. She had that same spark in her eyes and air of power that made any attempt at resisting futile. 

“Ah, Salim. Stop fighting and let your friend pay. His clothes look much better than yours, he can afford it more than you do.” 

The older man opened his mouth in a failed attempt to argue, but the waitress shut him down just by raising her eyebrow and giving him a stern look. The way Salim comically deflated made Jason laugh as he pressed a couple of bills in the woman's outstretched hand. 

“So, your place then,” Jason asked between wisps of dying laughter. 

Salim hummed agreeably and started walking with Jason right behind him. Comfortable silence settled over them and for once, even Jason’s anxious, nightmare-filled thoughts and fears were silenced. 

It didn’t take long before they stopped in front of a multi-story building, its best years clearly long gone. It was, plainly put, ugly and grey. Rusty stains dripped down the walls, reminding Jason of the nights Cissy came to his room after fights or breakups, mascara streaked down her cheeks. 

While Salim fumbled with his keys, Jason gave their surroundings a once-over. He realized that it wasn’t just the building that looked sad. The whole damn street was bleak. There were remains of threaded bolts poking from the ground, the last trace of a bench long-gone and trash strewn all around. Despite the initial surprise that Salim lived in a neighborhood like this, Jason reminded himself that Salim was probably an illegal immigrant and didn’t have much choice. 

The Iraqi held the door open for him. 

“As my nana used to say, you're a true gentleman.” 

Salim chuckled and ushered his friend up the stairs, then showed him to his place. The American hesitated to walk inside. Despite knowing that Salim welcomed him, he felt like an intruder. Back in his younger days, he didn’t give a damn where he found himself or where he slept, but those days were in the past. Now, walking into somebody's home felt… foreign. Like waking up after a dream so vivid you can’t distinguish what’s real for a moment. 

“What are you waiting for there, Jason? For the sun to come down?” 

There it was again. That smile on Salim’s face. Jason still couldn’t believe that the older man was really there. Right in front of him. With a little smirk, he walked over the threshold and into the apartment. 

“Salim, what is this place? How many of you live here?” 

Jason didn’t even try to hide his surprise. The place was miniature. It consisted of just one room with a couple of metal bunk beds framing two walls, a sad excuse of a kitchen space and black mold covering the ceiling. The paint was peeling and yellowed and the room reeked of stale cigarette smell.

Salim shrugged and sighed, suddenly looking like he aged a couple years. “It is not ideal, but it’s all I can afford. My roommates are good men. There’s four of us. We get along. But as you can see, there is not enough space for proper cooking.” 

“Huh. Overcrowding aside, that thing you got up there on the ceiling? That’s black mold. That shit can be fucking toxic.” 

Salim made a dismissive gesture and bent down, rummaging under one of the bunk beds. When he straightened up, there was a small first-aid kit in his hand. He sat on the bed with practiced ease, clearly used to the cramped quarters, as he managed to lower himself without even glancing upward or bumping his head. 

The Iraqi waved his friend over and Jason sat down carefully. A bit further from Salim than necessary, but his thoughts started flicking towards something forbidden again and he couldn’t allow it. 

Jason's attempt at maintaining distance was ruined in seconds as Salim inched closer and cupped his head between his hands, turning it so the back of Jason's head faced him. The American could hear the clicking of a plastic box as Salim opened the first-aid kit. Then there were fingers, oh so gentle fingers parting the hair at the back of his head and God, Jason couldn’t remember the last time anybody touched him so gently. 

Salim hummed and there was a sound of a tearing paper, when something wet was suddenly pressed against his hair. It stung. A disinfectant wipe. The Iraqi man murmured something in Arabic and Jason was once again pissed at himself for not learning the language when he had the chance. 

“You will live, Jason. It’s just a scratch. I think the shock of the impact paralyzed you more than the actual force,” he said, now dabbing something onto the wound. 

“Look at me now.” 

Salim didn’t wait for an answer as he cupped Jason’s chin and turned his head around to face him again. 

Jason struggled not to startle as he realized Salim's face was a lot closer than he thought it would be. Before he could stop himself, his eyes flicked down towards Salim's lips. They looked so inviting. Wide, with a nicely shaped cupid’s bow. It now occurred to the younger man that he was never this close to another man's lips while sober. Only ever high enough when everything  was hazy enough to numb his self-hatred for a while. 

His internal conflict was making him jittery, and unable to look up. He wanted to either close the distance between the two of them, guilt be damned, or flee entirely. From the room, from London, from himself. 

“Jason, look at me.” 

The Iraqis' voice cut through the tension like scissors slicing through a wrapping paper. Smoothly and softly, yet unmistakably decisive. It severed the flow of Jason’s confused thoughts, leaving him exposed and uncertain. 

Finally, he managed to look up into those hazel brown eyes, which seemed to shift in color depending on the lighting. 

It hit Jason that maybe, just maybe he could have this. Just like this. Bask in the warmth and closeness without tapping into anything forbidden. Balancing on the edge of a cliff, feeling the adrenaline without the fall. Denying to give into his desires, but placating them somewhat. 

“Your pupils look okay. Is there any confusion, a headache?” 

A raggedy breath escaped the soldiers lips. “No confusion. No headache, except for the spot where you hit me. Nothing major,” he summarized. 

Salim hummed in agreement, but his furrowed brows revealed he was only somewhat relieved. “That’s a good sign, but concussion may not be obvious right away. Someone should keep an eye on you, at least for a day.” 

Jason waved his hand vaguely, clearly unbothered. “Nah. I’ve been through worse.” He chuckled humorlessly.  “ We’ve been through worse. Besides, I got nobody to watch me.” 

Salim sighed, his eyes peppering over Jason’s face. The check-up obviously wasn’t satisfactory enough for Salim’s standards. “I insist. If you have no one to watch you, there is a hospital nearby and - ”

Before Salim could say anything else, he was interrupted. “You could watch me.”  

Those words were out of Jason’s mouth before he even knew what happened.

The invitation hung heavy in the air. Every second added more weight, until Jason couldn’t handle it anymore. As he averted his gaze from Salim’s stunned expression, the silence twisted into something unbearable. Leaning forward to stand, he tried to escape before the sting of rejection could settle in fully.

The fuck did I think…

The marine’s jaw tightened. How could he have expected Salim to drop everything and play babysitter? They’d barely spent 28 hours together in total, tops. Hell, the man probably thought he was out of his mind for even suggesting it.

Jason was halfway to his feet when Salim’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts.

“Well,” Salim began, his tone thoughtful, “we are almost finished with our project. I’m sure my colleagues won’t miss me for a day. If it means ensuring your safety, I’ll gladly look after you.”

Jason slowly turned around, the gears in his mind turning. He was relieved that Salim didn’t reject his offer, but now felt guilty in case the older man felt obliged to help him. He never wanted to pressure him. 

“You sure?” 

Salim let out a chuckle. A pleased chuckle, if Jason had to guess. And damn, if the sound didn’t warm his soul. Hearing the man in front of him let out a sound of joy was worth every dime. 

“Of course I’m sure, Jason. Besides, I would love to talk some more.” 

Day 124:

Salim was sprawled across the couch in the living-room, snoring softly in the morning light and Jason still couldn’t believe that yesterday Salim proposed that he might as well move in with him.

Although, if Jason thought about it, the process started long ago quite inconspicuously.

The first time Salim slept over at Jason’s place was an accident, really. It wasn’t the first time he’d dozed off on the small pull-out couch, but it was the first time he’d fallen asleep so late. Jason wasn’t sure if he should wake him. But in the end, he let him be. It was the weekend, and he knew for a fact Salim didn’t have work on Sunday.

After that night, it just kept happening. And Jason hardly minded.

He liked waking up and being reminded that Salim was still there, alive and snoring softly, filling the room with his quiet presence. And if his eyes happened to stray and give the older man a once-over, what’s to it? 

Before long, it was like Salim never really left. Sure, he still went to work, back to his shared bedsit, and to the mosque. But he always came back. Sometimes with a bag of groceries. Sometimes with a new tea he insisted Jason try. In turn, Jason began making his apartment actually livable. He bought cutlery. An electric kettle. A couple of pots and pans. A matching set of towels. Small, quiet signs that he was getting better.

Salim’s proposal of moving in filled Jason with a fragile, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, this new way of life could work.

However, his fears still gripped the edges of that hope, leaving blood and moon-shaped marks behind on his heart. He was scared. Well and truly terrified. Terrified of what it all meant. Terrified of messing it up. Uncomfortable, anxious thoughts clawed at the back of his mind, and some days, he had a hard time pushing them away. 

It was getting hard and harder not to stare, not to… imagine, too. The fact that Salim had a different concept of a private space notwithstanding. He didn’t hesitate to touch Jason's back when he had to move past him, or to touch his arm when he needed him to move and the jarhead felt like jumping out of his skin every single time despite it being quite usual these days.  

The way Salim just… was , was also not making these things any easier. As Jason stared at him, sipping his (frankly, quite shit) instant coffee, memories of the recent days flooded him. The first time Salim came to his place after they dined at that middle eastern restaurant…

Jason ushered Salim in his apartment unscrupulously, showing him around. “Well, this is it,” he said, gesturing broadly. While showing the place to someone else it seemed even more bare than before. 

“I, uh… I would offer you tea or something, but there is literally nothing here.” 

Salim shrugged and a coy smile settled on his face. “That’s okay Jason. Water will be just fine.” 

Jason nodded and waved towards the couch. “Make yourself at home,” he said as he headed towards the kitchen. 

When he turned back from the sink, the sight of Salim sitting on the small couch stopped him in his tracks. The man looked perfectly at ease, his posture relaxed but polite, that same playful smile still lingering.

And for a moment, Jason’s breath caught.

It was like Salim belonged there. Not just in the room, but in his space, in his life. It felt... right. Right in a way Jason hadn’t experienced in a long time, perhaps never. 

After Salim gave him the clear, he called everyone at home, which really only meant Clarissa and Nick. Both conversations were carried in a similar way. 

Yes, he found him. 

Yes, Salim is fine. 

No, he doesn't know when he’ll be coming back. 

After the American finished his duty of informing his friends and family of the progress of his mission, he turned to find Salim settled on his sofa, looking content as ever. As if he belonged there. Jason still couldn’t quite believe that it was real. 

Or the first time they ordered food together…

“Jason, please tell me. How did you find me?” 

Jason almost choked while sipping his pho. He knew Salim would ask, but he didn’t expect him to ask him about it the same way he would ask him to hand him a salt-shaker. Maybe that made it even worse. The way Salim asked so casually about something that felt like a fucking minefield to Jason.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have hit so hard if Jason didn’t feel so damn unsure of his answer. And the scarier question lurking just behind it: why?

One he finished coughing, Jason set down his spoon and turned to face the man. “That’s a loaded question, Salim.” 

The older man didn’t push, he just faced him quietly. Patiently waiting for an answer. 

Jason ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I guess I should start with my sister. After I got home, I had nowhere to go. My pops kicked the bucket a long time ago and I don’t think he’d be too happy to see me even if he didn’t. So I called Cissy. Her full name is Clarissa, but I always call her Cissy. She’s my kid sister. She was the one with her head screwed on straight.” 

He smiled faintly at the memory, but it faded quickly. Jason paused and glanced over at Salim, who was nodding along and seemed to pay an ironclad focus to his words. 

“I stayed with her for a bit, but all that shit that happened kept replaying in my head and I felt like crap. Nicky and the Kings formed one unit, so to say, and even though they called and stuff, I just didn’t want to bother them. They had their own shit to sift through.” 

Jason’s fingers curled into a fist underneath the table. 

“You see, I didn’t know if you got out alive. And it ate at me. I tried to tell myself you were fine, that you were smart enough to get through it. But there was always this damn voice in the back of my head whispering that maybe you didn’t.”

Jason exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair.

“It kept getting worse. I kept getting worse. Then Cissy suggested I find you. Or find out.”

Salim’s expression softened, his voice gentle. “So you came looking for me.”

Jason nodded, no longer looking at Salim, but staring into nowhere, his eyes fixed onto the bare wall. “I didn’t even know where to start, so I hired a PI. He didn’t find you, but he did find Zain. So,” he turned to face Salim again, “that's why I came to London. And how I found you.”

And the first time he met Zain…

The younger man stood still despite feeling like there were ants crawling under his skin. If it hadn’t been for his military career, he would be fidgeting for sure. Now, the only thing that visibly showed his unease was the way his eyes kept flicking across the room. 

Jason was waiting with Salim in the local mosque after the sermon. It was the only place Salim deemed safe to meet with his son as he already informed Jason. Salim also looked anxious, Jason surmised, but in a much different way. He wasn’t uneasy because of the surroundings, as Jason was. His internal conflict was caused by the man he once was, who would rather step on a mine than step inside a place of worship. Now, he felt ashamed for his past judgements. He learned a lot from Salim about how sermons go in a mosque, the khutbah and everything, but still felt that he was sticking out like a sore thumb. 

In comparison, Salim beamed with nervous excitement to see his boy and hear any and all news from him. This was what they did every week and every week Salim couldn’t wait.  

Meeting Zain for the first time was a completely different story. Jason was excited to finally meet the person he heard so much about and yet he couldn’t imagine what their meeting would be like. Will Zain be cold? Jason did use to be the enemy, after all. He also did save his fathers life, but so did Salim his, to be fair. 

The teenager came walking fast, bordering on running. He stopped in front of them, his eyes flickering all over Jason, trying to absorb everything he could as quickly as possible. There was a spark in his eyes that Jason was already very familiar with and it warmed his heart to know that he now knew where (or whom) it came from. 

“So you are the super soldier G.I. Joe that saved my dad,” Zain said after briefly examining the younger man standing by his fathers side. 

Jason wanted to think of something clever, but his thoughts were cut short by an unexpected hug from the adolescent. He awkwardly hugged him back, shocked by the sudden gesture of affection. 

Once Zain let go, he grinned. “Thank you, Jason. I would’ve really missed my old man if he didn’t make it back. So… thanks” 

Salim huffed unseriously. “Hey, ‘old man’? Where did that come from? I’m not that old,” he took Zain under his shoulder and began walking towards the exit. “And besides, I’m like wine. I get better with age.” 

Zain just snorted. “Sure you do, old man.” 

“Hey, one day you will be glad that you got my genes.”  

Zain chuckled and threw a look at Jason, who seemed to fall back a bit behind them. “What about your genes, Jason? Will you look as well as dad when you get old?” 

The young man had a knick for teasing Jason and Salim both at the same time, it had to be said. Jason thought that he liked him just fine. After all, he was Salim's kid. 

Day 136:

The days started blurring so fast once Salim settled. Those first awkward diners as they started to know each other. 

Favorite movie?

Ha, that’s easy. Fargo. That or Men in Black. Although I gotta say, after meeting the real deal, the movie lost some of its appeal. 

What ice cream do you want? I got vanilla-cherry and ‘chocolate delight’. Whatever the fuck that means. 

Vanilla cherry, please. 

Really? I pegged you as a chocolate delight kinda guy. Huh. 

What did you do after you got home? The long version, this time. 

Do you know what happened after they released you from the quarantine? Are the creatures… really gone?

I don’t know, but I sure as fuck hope so. 

Jason stood at the sink, hands covered in suds, replaying those small exchanges. Pieces of puzzle that kept coming together with each new detail to form a clearer image of the man he now lived with. 

It was late, but neither of them lowered the volume of the small TV they got in the middle of the living room. It sat on a dingy coffee table, a recent update from the empty beer crate it was perched on before. Salim had brought the table from a client that was about to throw it out. Jason had joked the crate had been perfectly fine, but inside, the thought that Salim wanted to make the place more livable warmed him.

He dropped onto the couch beside Salim just as a young Jane Fonda began peeling off a silver spacesuit. When she was naked and floating, Salim’s eyes went wide.

“Jason, what kind of movie is this supposed to be?” 

Jason barked out a laugh. “It's really old sci-fi. It’s fun, though. My nana loved Jane Fonda. Now that I think about it, Jane Fonda was probably the first naked woman I’ve seen. Maybe except the nudie mags the older kids brought to school.” 

Salim nodded and hummed. 

“The first naked woman I saw was my ex-wife. The only woman, actually.” 

Jason stilled. How the fuck do you even respond to that? I’m sorry? Good for you? 

“That’s… something we haven’t talked about yet. Do you want to talk about it,” he asked softly, watching the colors of the TV screen reflect against Salim's skin. He didn’t look bothered by Jason's questions, albeit he did appear pensive. 

After a while, the older man shrugged noncommittally. “Ask away.” 

Jason was a lot of things, but patient wasn’t one of them. “Why did you break up?”

The Iraqi let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you, Jason?” 

Salim exhaled, long and heavy. “The truth is, I’m not sure. I knew she was unhappy for a long time. I tried talking, I tried fixing it. But she never talked. Kept it all in.” He rubbed his hands over his face, gaze drifting somewhere far away. Jason got the feeling this was a question Salim had been asking himself for years.

“Ours was not a marriage of love at first, but it worked. We were happy, for a while. I tried to be a good husband. A good father. But I think Farida never really wanted to marry. When Zain was 15, she left. Without a word.” 

Jason wasn’t sure what to do, hearing his friend's inner thoughts about his failed marriage. His parents weren’t divorced, but he thought he’d prefer it if they did. He reached over and gave Salim’s back a pat. It was awkward but sincere.

“After some time, she sent a letter. I couldn’t open it for months. I was a coward, Jason. I was scared of what she wrote. What if she said it was my fault? I was so encompassed by my own fears while my child was confused and without answers."

Jason turned to face Salim completely, tucking one of his legs underneath himself. He reached forward, touching the older man's forearm, trying to get his attention. and trying not to think too much about how fluttery that touch made him feel. 

“Look… it’s normal you were worried, man. Fuck, anybody would. But that wasn’t on you. She owed you an explanation and she damn sure owed it to Zain. That’s not a burden you should’ve carried. You were there, you stuck around. That’s the job. She’s the one who walked away, so the least she could do was have the guts to explain herself.”

Salim’s shoulders slumped forward, his voice quieter. “I know, Jason. But her faults do not take away mine.” 

“Did you ever find out what was in that letter?” 

“I did. It wasn’t long. She said she just couldn’t do it anymore and had to leave. But that only brought more questions. I asked myself a thousand times how much of that is my fault. How much guilt do I carry for Zain losing his mother?”

Jason caught it, the quick shimmer of tears in Salim’s eyes. It was there and gone in the space of a breath. His face stayed carved in stone, jaw tight, mouth set, but that flicker was enough to betray him.

Jason had seen men do this before. Soldiers, mostly. Holding the tears in not because they weren’t hurting, but because they didn’t trust what might happen if they let go. And Salim had the same stubbornness in his posture, like it was only his spine alone holding him together.

Jason’s hand was still on his forearm. He gave it the smallest squeeze. The warmth under his palm felt almost too pleasant, but Jason could feel the faint tension in the muscle, the result of stress and fatigue that hadn’t lessened in years. 

“You don’t have to… y’know, keep it together around me,” Jason said quietly, voice pitched low.

Salim’s eyes stayed on the TV, but he let out a long breath through his nose, almost a laugh but without any humor. He rubbed his jaw as if the motion might clear the heaviness. 

“The truth is… I never stopped asking myself how much of it was my fault. Farida leaving, Zain growing up without her. I keep thinking, maybe if I’d been different, better, maybe she would’ve stayed.” 

The older man fell silent, inhaling deeply. Jason could hear the shakiness of his breath. Every signal from Salim screamed that it must hurt sharing his supposed shame and Jason still could hardly believe that he was the lucky one that got to hear Salim's most inner thoughts. 

“I learned to live with it. It never went away. I presume like every burden it started to feel lighter after some time, because I got used to carrying it.” 

Jason didn’t answer right away, letting the words hang between them like the echoes of the TV’s dialogue running in the background. “Yeah,” he said at last, his voice quieter than before. “I get that.”

He shifted on the couch, leaning back until their shoulders brushed. It was that kind of a touch that’s just firm enough to feel deliberate, not accidental. “Guess I’ll just sit here and keep you company while you’re carrying it, then.”

Salim kept his eyes fixed on the TV as Jane Fonda floated through a sea of bad special effects. The movie played on, its campy dialogue filling the space neither of them felt ready to fill with words. For the rest of the scene, they stayed like that. Pretending to watch a movie, neither saying what they were really thinking, but both holding the silence like it meant something. And in its own quiet way, it did. 

After what seemed like an eternity, but couldn’t have been more than a couple seconds, the older man’s mouth twitched. His lips formed a shape that was somewhere between a smile and a grimace of grief. His eyes stayed forward, but the rigidity of his shoulders lessened, letting the weight he carried shift into the space between them instead of bearing it all alone. 

Jason found that he surprisingly woke up slowly. It was nothing like the sweaty, hyperventilating morning rituals that had accompanied him since he'd crawled out of that damned temple. He didn’t sit up in panic, frantically pawing around to find his gun and flashlight. No. This morning was pleasant. 

Initially he couldn’t even identify what it was that woke him up. He couldn’t even tell if it was morning already or still the peak of night. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the TV left on mute and something outside. Metal banging, voices calling. Garbage pickup, maybe.

He shifted, meaning to sit up and promptly froze up against the solid warmth pressed against his back. There was an arm slung heavy over his waist. Salim’s breath, steady and slow, fanned against the back of his neck.

And against his lower back… 

 Jesus Christ.

Every nerve of his body was awake now, burning with the awareness of Salim’s body pressed against him.

He told himself it was nothing. Just biology. He’d had bunkmates through deployments, guys packed shoulder-to-shoulder in tents and trucks, waking up to the same thing more than once. You ignored it. You let it pass. You pretended you didn’t hear the telltale ruffle of the rough cover against a moving limb in a predictable rhythm. That was the unspoken rule.

But this wasn’t the same.

It wasn’t a soldier snoring next to him in the desert. It was Salim. Salim who was warm and steady, holding onto him like it was the most natural thing in the world.  Jason couldn’t ignore it. The hard press at his hip, that kind of thing his brain should’ve filed under category “ignore and move on”, except it didn’t.

He wanted it. God help him, he wanted it .

The thought ripped through him like a shrapnel rips through an unsuspecting flesh.

Jason’s chest tightened, his father’s voice rising from the insides of his mind. That disgusted snarl, the old man’s words when he’d caught Jason with another boy.

“Filthy. Sick. Not under my roof.”  

Jason had never forgotten the tone, the way it stuck like a stain. Those words sounded the last night he spent in his parents house until he returned from his last tour. 

The shameful memories didn’t stop there. Images from the service surged up too, ugly and sharp. Barrack talks, nights when soldiers would spit the word faggot like a curse. It was that kind of venom that made you feel like you had to laugh along because the alternative was standing out and being branded with it. 

And now here he was, thirty-one years old, laying on his shitty secondhand couch, pinned by another man's body, heart hammering because every part of him ached to lean into the embrace instead of pulling away.

Fucking Hell. 

He felt sick. He felt alive. His skin was on fire everywhere Salim touched him, every inch of contact was mapped, every centimeter got a dedicated spot in his memory against his own will. 

He should have already moved. He should’ve already been over it. Jason tried to convince himself that the situation  was nothing of importance, but he knew it was a poor attempt at deceiving his desires. What he truly wanted was to stay. That was the worst. He wanted it. 

Bitterly, earthly, primordially. 

His dick pulsed with desire and shame kept washing over him in waves. He could turn. Just a simple shift, roll onto his other side and face Salim. It would take nothing. Just one move and he’d be looking into those tired, kind eyes. From there… Fuck, Jason’s mind went straight to it. Kissing him, tasting the warmth of his mouth, feeling the texture of his tongue, pushing him against the couch cushions and finally letting himself have what he’d been pretending not to want all his life. 

The image was so sharp it hurt. His gut clenched. His skin prickled. He wanted it so bad he could already feel it. Salim’s breath hitching, his body heavy and solid under Jason’s hands.

And then the shame slammed in again, hard enough to make him flinch.

Jason clenched his jaw, eyes burning with chagrin. He couldn’t move. Didn’t dare. The more he thought about turning, the more he thought about how much worse it’d be if Salim woke up only to find him staring and wanting. What then? Salim pulling away, disgust flashing in his eyes. The end of whatever the hell they managed to build. 

His chest heaved with shallow, careful breaths. He had to get out before he did something he couldn’t undo. 

Slowly. 

Quietly.

The younger man tested the hold around his waist. Salim’s arm was draped there, warm and solid, a trap he both hated and never wanted to leave. He tried to inch forward. Nothing egregious. Salim stirred and Jason stilled, listening to any changes in his breath. He scooched forward to the edge of the couch again, a bit closer to freedom. Salim’s elbow touched the couch, only his forearm resting against the younger man's back. 

Good, this is good. Steady. Steady. 

Just a bit more. 

Jason turned around so that he was laying on his back, Salim's hand slipping and touching his bare stomach because his shirt had managed to ride up and God , if that feeling of warm skin didn’t put more images in his mind. 

He carefully grasped Salim's wrist between his thumb and middle finger as he slid off the couch and sat next to it and with the precision of a bomb disposal officer he set Salim's arm against the couch. The older man barely even stirred. 

Jason let out an unsteady breath of relief and stood up with the sureness of a newborn deer. He wanted to run until his body gave out, but grabbing his keys and shutting the front door would surely wake Salim up. 

Showering was the best next option. Nothing like an ice cold shower to chase an unwanted boner away, eh. 

Tiptoeing, he crossed the distance into the small, utilitarian bathroom. While undressing he decidedly ignored any and all signs of excitement his body showed and stepped into the shower. 

He let the cold water traverse over the planes of his body, letting it wash away every thought that plagued him that morning.  Jason didn’t know how long he stood still under the shower head, only that sounds from the living room brought him back to reality. He could hear the kitchen cabinets closing and the TV being turned on. 

Salim must have woken up. 

Jason ran the towel against his wet skin roughly, eager to put on clean clothes and feel the calming effect of fresh fabric against his form. 

He drew a breath, bracing himself and pushed the door open. The apartment was still grey as the sun rose. There was just enough light sneaking through the blinds to draw  stripes across the room. Salim was in the kitchen corner, back turned, his shoulders hunched slightly as he fussed with the electric kettle. 

The young man stood there longer than he should’ve, dripping on the floor from hair he hadn’t bothered to dry, before Salim finally spoke without looking up.

“You are awake early,” Salim said, voice still rough with sleep but steady as always. 

Jason swallowed, throat tight. “Yeah. I woke up and couldn’t fall asleep again.” 

He shuffled forward, trying to sound casual, but his own ears caught the off-note in his voice. Salim turned, not all the way, just enough so Jason could see his profile. The calm expression and honey-brown eyes that softened slightly when they landed on Jason's face. 

If Salim noticed the strange tension in Jason’s stance, he didn’t say. The older man set one of the mugs down on the table and gestured for Jason to sit. “There. Have some tea. It helps calm the body down.”

Jason hesitated before sliding into the chair. His body was still cold from the shower. He rubbed his hands against his knees, eyes dropping to the steaming cup. “Thanks,” he muttered, voice small, before taking a sip that scalded his tongue.

The tea provided a distraction that Jason so desperately needed. Salim drank his own tea in carefully measured sips, enjoying his morning ritual. It seemed like the silence between them didn’t bother him at all. Somewhere outside a truck rattled away, its noise fading until it was only the sound of the kettle cooling and the faint creak of pipes filling the kitchen. 

Finally Salim pushed back his chair and stood up. “I should get ready,” he explained, gathering his empty cup and rinsing it at the sink. He didn’t look tired anymore, just slipping into his morning rhythm in a way that showed his military past. 

Jason nodded, grateful for the conversation. “Yeah. Is it gonna be busy today?” His voice came out steadier than he felt.

Salim dried his hands on the kitchen towel and glanced over, one eyebrow raised. “Oh yes. We’re working with a client that loves to argue and criticize." 

The older man crossed the apartment, spent approximately five minutes in the bathroom and came outside looking refreshed and determined in a way Jason envied him. He followed him to the door, leaning against the wall as he watched Salim put on his scuffed work boots. 

“It’s going to be a long day, you don’t have to wait for me with dinner,” Salim said, slipping into his jacket. He smoothed his shirt, and only then turned toward to face Jason. For a moment, he just… looked. His eyes lingered longer than usual, tracking over Jason’s face, stopping on his mouth. Did they stop at his mouth? Or maybe Jason just imagined that part in a wishful delirium. 

The silence stretched and Jason felt the back of his neck prickle.

Salim gave him the smallest nod, a polite and somewhat restrained smile and reached for the doorknob. “See you tonight,” he said, his voice rougher than usual.

“Yeah,” Jason answered, a little too quickly. His tongue darted over his lips without thinking, and the second he realized it, he cursed himself.

Salim’s gaze flickered, there one moment and gone the next. as he stepped out. The door closed behind him with a quiet finality.

Jason stayed in the hallway, staring at the wood grain, pulse hammering like he’d just run a mile. 

What was that look? Am I imagining it?  

“Fuck this.”

Jason yanked on his running shoes and slipped out into the cool morning. The cold, humid London air bit his lungs as he started running down the block, first at a jog, then faster, pushing until his legs burned. The streets were mostly empty, just the occasional car here and there. The city was not quite awake yet and Jason envied everybody who was still in the blissful embrace of sleep, bundled under their covers, unbothered by the bitterness of consciousness. 

The soldier pushed his body harder and harder, trying to get a look at its limits, pushing away his prying thoughts in the process. It was a relatively new form of relaxation for Jason, but an effective one nonetheless. 

It proved to be effective that morning as well. After his legs were about to give out, he threw himself against the wooden planks of a nearby bench, catching his breath as his chest rose rapidly, uncomfortable thoughts finally chased away. 

Day 158:

Jason couldn’t tell when exactly the apartment stopped feeling like a temporary solution and started feeling like home. 

Maybe it was when Salim brought a fifth piece of furniture that was otherwise doomed for the trash or when they went to a local BHS and bought baking dishes. 

Conceivably it could’ve also been when they started a tradition of learning about each other's cultures. Salim mainly talked and Jason listened with abrupt attention. The older man talked about his home back in Iraq, about the call to prayer, the old markets and the warmth of family dinners. When it was Jason's first turn, he went to Tandy and got a brand new DVD player the price of which would make his eyes water if he saw it before receiving the NDA settlement money. He also bought a shit ton of American classics on DVDs and made a list in order of priority, delicately leaving the Alien movie series out of it. The last thing they needed was to stare at more otherworldly, predatory creatures. 

Anyway, somewhere between those moments of quaint, daily jabs and tasks, Jason realized that the apartment didn’t look shit anymore and subsequently he also started to feel better. His nightmares weren’t so frequent and his thoughts stopped being depressing so often. 

The men fell into a comfortable, unspoken routine, a daily rhythm that was built on respect and shared thoughts and silence.

That rhythm shattered one rainy afternoon.

It was a normal Sunday at first, nothing out of the ordinary. They ordered take-out and watched season one of Friends that Jason bought two days ago on DVD. They were watching the third episode when Salim on a whim decided to finally hang the bookshelf he brought in weeks ago.

Jason didn't even hear it happen. The sound of the sitcom’s laughing track covered the low, sickening crack and the thud of the toppling bookshelf. A moment later, a pained cry cut through the sound of the show. Jason was on his feet in an instant, running towards the source of the cry, his heart hammering against his sternum in the same frantic way it had in the ancient tunnels beneath the Iraqi desert.

He found Salim crumpled on the floor at the base of the fallen shelf, cradling his arm. His face was pale and contorted in a way Jason had never seen before. The sight of Salim hurting made his stomach clench.

"Salim! What happened," Jason's voice was raw with fear as he tried to assess the situation.

"My foot slipped from the ladder," Salim gasped, his teeth gritted as he clutched his arm. Jason's eyes slid towards the older man's forearm and saw it posed in an unnatural angle. All of Jason’s military training, his ingrained need to act in a crisis, kicked in. He became stone-faced and efficient. 

Jason didn’t waste time. When he crouched, his hands were steady despite being filled with adrenaline. “Don’t move it. Just hold still, alright?”

Salim’s teeth were clenched, his forehead slick with sweat. “It is only broken. Nothing worse,” he muttered, his voice strained. 

Jason ignored that. He stripped off his belt, grabbed the first aid kit from the bathroom and rigged a makeshift splint to keep Salim’s arm steady. It wasn’t pretty, but it would do until they got help.

Jason hooked Salim’s good arm over his shoulder, guiding him through the hallway while his own pulse pounded in his ears. They spilled out into the wet November weather, the rain cold against Jason’s skin. London smelled of damp concrete and diesel, the streetlamps haloed in mist. The younger flagged down a black cab with frantic sweeps of his arm, ignoring the chill that soaked through his shirt.

The driver took one look at Salim and unlocked the doors without a word.

Inside the cab, the city rolled by in a blur of wet glass and neon reflections. Jason couldn’t stop glancing sideways, watching Salim cradle his arm close, lips pressed thin against the pain.

“You alright?” Jason asked probably for the fifth time, his voice dripping with the concern he wasn’t able to hide. 

Salim turned his head toward him, eyes dark but steady. “I have been through worse.” 

A faint, wry curve tugged at his mouth. “Do not look so pale, my friend. It is only my arm.”

Jason didn’t reply. His jaw was locked, teeth tight, because the words of concern jammed his throat. He wanted to say something, anything to make the situation better. He tried to think of jokes or jabs, but couldn’t think of anything at the moment and that was pissing him off. In the end, Salim was most probably right. It wasn’t a big deal. A broken arm hurts, but it’s not a life threatening situation. And for a soldier it’s supposed to be an inconvenience at best. 

The cab dropped them off at the hospital entrance, tires hissing against the wet pavement. Jason helped Salim out of the car, steadying him with a hand under his elbow. Inside, the fluorescent-lit chaos of A&E swallowed them whole. Crying children, the stink of antiseptic, the endless shuffle of people waiting their turn.

At the reception, Jason did the talking. Salim stood next to him, his jaw tight and his arm pressed against his chest.

“Fell off a ladder, possible fracture of the radius, pain’s moderate to severe.” He rattled it off like a report, clipped and efficient, even though his gut twisted with impatience.

The nurse barely looked up as she typed it into the system. “Take a seat. Someone will call you.”

“We’ll wait,” Salim said, touching Jason’s arm softly. He could sense Jason was close to arguing. The time dragged. One hour turned into two. Jason sat stiff in a plastic chair, his knees bouncing. Around them, the waiting room pulsed with restless energy seemingly specific just for urgent care. There was a kid with a bleeding scalp crying into his mother’s coat and curled under her arm, an old man coughing so hard that it made them flinch, a young couple whispering frantically to each other and many more, nondescript citizens each with their own sort of misery. 

Beside him, Salim squirmed against the uncomfortable backrest, his face pale but composed. His lips were pressed tight in a way that corresponded with his pain. 

“You doing alright?” Jason asked, voice low as if not to disturb the other patients. 

Salim gave him a small, uncertain nod. “It hurts. But I can handle it.” 

Jason’s hands curled into fists, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “Doesn’t mean you should sit here and wait for hours with a broken arm.” He wanted to stand up, shout at someone or pull a rank he didn’t even have anymore, just to get Salim seen faster.

Instead, he stayed put.

They filled the hours with scraps of conversation. Jason muttered about how his sister loved Friends, but he thought it wasn’t even that funny. Salim teased him about his taste in television. At one point, Jason realized Salim’s head had tilted slightly, resting back against the wall, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. He looked older in that moment, more fragile than Jason had ever seen him before. 

It was nearly three hours later when a bored nurse finally called Salim’s name. Well, his fake, now-I’m-living-in-London-and-hiding name. Jason stood up first, hovering as close as he could.

They were shuffled like cattle from one corridor to another, Jason trailing behind Salim like a restless shadow. X-rays, prodding, paperwork. Finally, a young-looking, energetic doctor who looked like he didn’t get ground up by the system just yet confirmed what Jason had known since the start. It was a distal radius fracture that generally hails from fall on an outstretched hand.

When Salim finally emerged from the doctors office with his arm in a neat white cast and a sling, he looked worn. Jason made a point to walk near him, ready to support Salim if needed, even though the older man walked just fine on his own.

“All that damn waiting for one X-ray and twenty minutes of plastering cast,” Jason muttered as Salim signed the discharge papers.

The Iraqi turned to face him, managing the faintest smile. “You wanted them to cut the line for me?”

Jason just shrugged. Did he? There were people who objectively needed help more urgently than Salim, but yes. He did want him to be seen as soon as possible, no matter how selfish that was. 

Outside, the rain had eased into a mist. Jason hailed them a cab home, guiding Salim carefully into the backseat. The ride back was quiet. Salim leaned his head against the window, eyes closed, his breathing even. Jason watched him, fighting the urge to reach out and to fix the way the sling had slipped slightly down his shoulder.

By the time they got back to the apartment, it was getting really late.  Jason unlocked the door and let them in, flicking on the lights. 

“Do you need anything? Water, food? Some painkillers?” he asked as Salim sank onto the couch.

Salim shook his head. 

“I just want to sleep.” His voice was rough but calm, somewhat subdued. Perhaps by the medication he received at the urgent care. “I’ll have to call to work tomorrow. Tell them I’ll be out for at least six weeks.” 

Jason frowned, seeing his friend look so defeated. He lingered by the doorway, uncertain. He wanted to sit down, to make sure Salim didn’t need anything through the night, but he also didn’t want to hover.

Instead, Salim solved it for him. He looked up, eyes warm even through the lines of exhaustion. 

“Sit. You have been on your feet for hours.”

Jason hesitated, then sank into the nearest kitchen chair, watching as Salim leaned back against the cushions, his good hand resting on his chest, his breathing slowly evening out. Jason hadn't moved until long after Salim had fallen asleep, the steady sound of his breath filling the quiet apartment. 

He just sat there, trying to process the day and steering away from the pressing need to dissect his feelings. 

He decided to distract himself. At first, he stood up and picked the crumpled comforter off of the ground next to the couch and gently placed it over Salim, watching the other man's calm face. His medicine-fueled sleep was surely dreamless, which was a good thing when a man still has nightmares that keep waking him up. 

Then Jason took the kitchen chair he was perched upon just a moment ago and put it gently on the ground next to the couch, using it as a makeshift nightstand. Quietly, he filled a glass with water and put it on top of it along with two kinds of painkillers and the TV remote. 

Only after he was sure Salim had everything he could possibly need within an arms reach, he went to sleep in the small bedroom, only to have fitful dreams full of fleeting images of injuries and the smell of antiseptic.