The Ghostwriter’s Corner

30. Reader. Wanna-be writer. Ghost.

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

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[schrodingersregret]

I saw this discussion in The Pitt tag recently so I just want everyone to know this.

What do I do if I think a fic uses generative AI?

Don’t interact with it, and don’t post about it by name.

No, I’m serious. You really think an author on AO3/Tumblr/your fanfiction website of choice is using AI for their fics? Block them, mute the author, move on. Don’t comment, don’t say anything. Just keep on trucking.

Unless you have physical, genuine testimony that an author is using AI, you can’t report them for improper tagging. You also never actually know if an author is using AI because generative AI is trained on our scraped data. Sometimes an author just uses common phrases, or odd metaphors, or is simply inexperienced.

Do not start a witch hunt. Do not start thinly vague posting. Do not throw accusations out there. You wanna know what the number one thing you can do to combat generative AI usage in fandom spaces?

Interact with your authors.

Comment, kudos, like, reblog on fics new and especially old. Follow the WIP and get excited when it updates a year later. Go to their Tumblr and tell them you like their work. Ask them about their fics. Start a dialogue. Authors generally love to talk about what they write, give them a space to.

Writing is hard, and we as folks engaging with fandom and with fanfiction can make it worth their while by telling fic writers thank you. By letting them know we appreciate them. Going to their page and not just reading and moving on, but by putting in the extra effort to help them feel genuinely loved by the fandom.

Trying to go after people you think might potentially be using generative AI will get real writers caught in the crossfire. Instead, go send some kind words and questions to your favorite authors today. Who knows? Maybe they’ll post soon, just because you told them you were excited.

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

Of Burdock and Brandy [Alex Keller x Widow! Reader]

Summary: It’s been five long years since you lost your husband. And you’re fine on your own, really. Kate and the boys have made sure of that. That’s why you can’t say no when she asks you to harbor an amputee and a deserter, a man who lost everything–life and limb–when he did the right thing. 

You expect for his leg to heal. You don’t expect your heart to.

Author’s Notes: I’m almost positive I started thinking about this after watching Eternity last year, so now y’all get 40K words (yikes) of the hyper-niche Alex Keller x Widow! Reader ranch fic I’ve been stewing on for the last few months. A huge shoutout to my biggest hype woman @geminiwritten for letting me rant, shout, and obsess to her whenever I’m writing. I cannot say enough how much I appreciate you as a writer, a reader, and a friend. This one’s for you. ❤️

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from the Modern Warfare series

Warnings/tags: SMUT (18+ MDNI) , widowed reader, descriptions of prosthesis, language, depictions/discussions of grief, fluff

I. Hemostasis

II. Inflammation

III. Proliferation

IV. Remodeling

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

Of Burdock and Brandy [Alex Keller x Widow! Reader] - IV. Remodeling

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from the Modern Warfare series

Warnings/tags: SMUT (18+ MDNI) , widowed reader, descriptions of prosthesis, language, depictions/discussions of grief, fluff

You don’t get a week. You get three days, and then you get a call from Kate. 

“Border patrol is investigating a US Army deserter that might have been sighted two towns over. ETA to your doorstep is six hours.” 

You drop the hay fork you’re holding, barely taking the time to dust your hands across your jeans. “Okay,” you say. “We’re ready.”

“Ready? What do you mean ready?” Kate asks sharply.

“We knew this could happen.” You pull open the barn door just enough to slide through, then yank it shut after you. “We have a plan.”

“No, it’s too dangerous. I’ll come pick him up. I can send the 141–”

“Too suspicious,” you say. “It will be easier to hide him without the extra traffic.”

Kate says nothing. You pull the phone away from your ear to make sure the call hasn’t disconnected, but it’s still active.

“Alex is really rubbing off on you,” she says quietly.

“He’s mine.” The edge in your voice is just possessive enough to stop you in your tracks. You hurry to cover it up. “You gave me a responsibility, and I intend to see it through.”

Kate gives a suspiciously pleased hum. “Fine. But you call me as soon as they’re gone, and I’m putting Simon on standby.”

“Thanks, Kate.” You hang up halfway across the yard, then sprint the rest of the way to the porch. You hit the door with enough force to bruise, nearly tearing a hole in the screen in the process. 

“Alex!” you yell. 

There’s a clatter from the office as he calls your name. Then he’s skidding out into the hall, exhibiting the clumsiness he’s all but overcome in the months he’s been here. He gives you a once-over before meeting your gaze, eyebrows lifted in concern. 

“Kate called. CBSA, two towns over. Six hours. Get ready.”

A myriad of emotions flit over his face before the soldier’s mask descends. He nods once, then crosses the hall to his bedroom. You turn to the kitchen, piling dry food and fresh fruits into a bag you’ve kept ready for just such an occasion. Then you bolt back out the front door, back into the barn, where you saddle Burdock. 

You wrap your arms around his long neck. He tosses his head affectionately in your direction, effectively pulling you into a hug. All signs of the skittish young horse he was when he came to you have disappeared under Alex’s care. 

“You take care of him for me, you hear?” Your voice cracks on the plea. Burdock dips his head, tucking you further into his warm body. He bumps his muzzle against your back in a comforting gesture. You swipe at your eyes and lead him from the stable. 

Alex is just stepping onto your porch. He stands tall, shoulders back, eyes locked onto you. You meet halfway across the yard. You drop Burdock’s reins while he ties his duffel and the bag of food onto the saddle. You get one of the sleeping bags out of the coat closet and, as a last minute addition, one of your husband’s old coats. 

You hand the sleeping bag to Alex, but keep hold of the coat until he turns to look at you. Then you push it against his chest, bunching your fingers in the fabric. As recognition dawns, he looks a little stunned. 

“Come back to me,” you whisper. 

His hand comes up to grip yours. “Yes ma’am.” He turns to mount up, but you reach for his shoulder and pull him down. 

Your kiss is hard, and a little desperate, but Alex sucks down a breath all the same. His self-control is more frayed than that day in your kitchen—he grabs you roughly, tugging you against himself as his mouth devours yours. He’s all teeth, nipping at your lip and titling both of your heads back and forth to deepen the kiss. You let yourself be bent backward, entirely trusting the strength of his grip to keep you on your feet. 

You notice that, once again, Alex is trembling. Once again, though, he regains control and lets go of you. He strokes the side of your face with the backs of his fingers. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he says hoarsely. 

You nod. “Go.” It’s as much as you can get out around the lump in your throat. 

Alex shoves the coat into his duffle and swings himself into the saddle. He gives you a final, heavy look before clicking his tongue. Burdock trots in a tight circle before carrying him off, down the trail and up the hillside. 

You stand watching until you can’t see them through the trees, fighting tears all the while. 

This isn’t goodbye. You’re not losing him. 

You repeat the mantra as you scrub at your eyes, and then you get to work. You start by deleting the encryption app on your phone. Then you take a barn broom, carefully sweeping away Burdock’s tracks and Alex’s boot prints. Then you muck out Burdock’s stall until it looks unused and ready for a new occupant. You make your way into the house, stripping off your filthy t-shirt before changing the laundry Alex started, and then take a quick shower. The dryer still has twenty minutes left when you re-dress, so you walk to Alex’s room. 

The bed is bare, but it otherwise looks like any other guest room. Every drawer is empty, every surface has been dusted, and even the ensuite bathroom has been cleaned. The quilt is folded neatly over the armchair, only waiting on fresh bedding, and the spare blanket sits on the ottoman.

You walk back to the mud room. Fifteen minutes. 

You make a sandwich and force it down. Six minutes. 

You pace the living room, drowning in the sudden silence. Finally, the dryer chimes. You pull out the bedding and make Alex’s bed with your best imitation of his military precision, then drape the quilt over it for your own touch. 

Finally, you make your way to the stable. 

You start with Peach, since the lunge pen still has her flags set up. You’ve gotten back on her several times since your fall, but today, you opt to drive her from the ground. 

When she’s done, you remove the flags and lunge the other horses. 

After, you go back into the stable. You collect your tools and start grooming. As always, you save Tinsel for last. You’re working on detangling her feathers when you hear tires on the gravel. 

Finally. 

You take a deep breath. Straighten. Walk to the front of the stable. 

There’s a dark SUV in the yard. A man in a navy uniform stands on your porch, hands crossed behind his back.

“Afternoon,” you call. 

He spins on his heel, waving a hand when he catches sight of you. He meets you halfway across the yard, holding out a hand. 

“Officer Smythe,” he says when you take his hand.

“A pleasure, I’m sure. Can I help you?” you ask. 

“I’m hoping you can, ma’am. We received a call about a possible fugitive sighting nearby. Have you seen any suspicious characters about lately?”

“No, not at all.” It takes everything in you to keep your voice steady, face blank. On a whim, you ask, “Do you have a photo?” 

Officer Smythe nods, twisting to unzip a pouch. What he hands over is a photo that is unmistakably not Alex. 

You swallow a sigh of relief.

You shake your head. “No, sorry. Haven’t seen him.” 

He nods as he tucks the photo back into his pouch. 

You gesture around the ranch. “I’ve got my hands full around here, as you can imagine. I don’t spend much time away from the ranch.”

As you say the words, a familiar pickup pulls into the drive. 

The two of you turn to watch as Arthur Braddock pulls to a stop and steps down. 

“Hello, darlin’,” he calls. He reaches for the officer’s hand. “Officer, what can we do for you?”

“Sir. This your ranch?”

Arthur looks about as indignant as you feel. “Nope, that’d be the lady’s.”

Officer Smythe has the good grace to look chagrined. “Right. Well I’m here looking for a fugitive. Ex-special forces. Don’t suppose you’ve seem anyone that fits that description?”

You hold your breath. This is more information than you were given, and you wonder how much Alex has told Arthur. 

Arthur, though, shakes his head without a moment’s hesitation. 

“Ex-special forces? Can’t say I’ve seen any ex-special forces around. Those men tend to stand out.”

“What about ex-military? Or vets?”

Arthur takes off his cap and scratches his silver hair with a dark hand. “No, can’t say I’ve seen anyone military at all for quite a few years.”

If you didn’t know for a fact that it was a blatant lie, you’re convinced you wouldn’t have been able to tell. 

Officer Smythe nods, digging into his pouch again. He withdraws two business cards, which he holds out to you and Arthur.

“Well, if you see anything, do me a favor and give me a call.” He waves as he climbs back into his SUV. “Thank you for your time.”

Arthur turns to you the moment the car door shuts.

“Sorry to drop by unannounced, I was at the store and figured I’d come see my girls.”

“Aww, Mr. Braddock,” you coo. You loop your arm through his and lead him to the stable. “She’s right as rain, same as always. Did you want to ride today?”

“Nope, I lied.” The SUV has just turned onto the main road and off your property. “Saw a uniform, decided to stop by. Where’s our friend, anyway?”

“He’s running an errand for me.”

Arthur hums and leans closer to you. “Make sure you don’t say that if that officer comes back. Which he might.”

“What?” Your blood turns to ice in your veins. “What do you mean?”

“Your truck is in the driveway.” Arthur winks. “As for the officer, they circle a bit. Maybe your errands will take another day or two, hmm?”

You swallow hard, but you’ve both prepared for exactly this. “Maybe they will.”

“There’s a good girl.” Arthur pats your shoulder. “Now I do want to see my lady before I leave, if it’s alright with you.”

“Of course it is.”

You walk with Arthur to meet Tinsel, chatting about nothing as you go. When he leaves, you reinstall your encryption app and text Kate. 

“Officer came and went. Not looking for Alex. Waiting a couple of days before I go get him.”

She texts back almost instantly. “Sounds good. Keep me posted.”

You lock your phone and sit at the kitchen table. And then… sit. 

You stare at the refrigerator, where Alex pinned you and kissed you senseless. All the heat of that moment floods your system as you squeeze your legs together. 

Of all the things to think of while he’s stuck in actual hiding. 

You float into the living room, where you drop into his armchair. You pick up the book he was reading last and crack it open. That lasts until you recognize that you haven’t turned a page for half an hour. 

You drag yourself to Alex’s room flop facedown on the bed. Try to catch any hint of his scent on the sheets. 

It’s gone. 

That’s still where you fall asleep. 

When you wake the next morning, you go through the motions. 

Coffee. Paddock doors. Breakfast. Mucking stalls. Lunging. Lunch. Grooming. Hay nets. Sleep. 

You skip dinner. 

You repeat the process the next day. And the day after that. The day after, you go to Josh Belchard’s to work with his geldings. 

“Hey,” he says when he sees you. “You alright? You… you look like hell.” He grimaces, like he doesn’t want to say it, but feels obligated. 

“Fine. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

He drops a hand on your shoulder. 

“Sorry to hear it. You don’t have to be here, if you’re not up for it. You can come back next week?”

You paste on a smile. “No, I’m fine. Thank you, though.” You’ll go crazy if you sit in that empty house any longer. How did you ever manage it for five years?

The geldings keep you occupied for the morning. Then it’s back to your own ranch. 

It’s fully dark by the time you get inside. You haven’t had late nights like these for months, thanks to the work Alex puts in. 

You miss him fiercely. 

It’s different from the way you miss your husband, though. That loss has dulled to a steady ache; ever-present, but bearable. A weight you’ve grown used to, that every so often starts to feel a little lighter than it did before. 

This loss is sharp and new. 

And temporary, you remind yourself. 

You’re too tired to get up from the couch, so you pull down the throw blanket from the back. That’s when it hits you—the wood and citrus scent that you’ve been searching for. 

You must not have washed the blanket after sleeping here with him. 

You start to cry as you wrap yourself up, curling into a ball. 

That’s where you wake up, with Alex kneeling before you. 

You bolt up, scrabbling at his arms. 

“What are you doing here?” you hiss. “That officer, he—”

“He’s gone.” Alex reaches a hand up to stroke your cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “I watched him drive away early this morning. Did you know you can see the edge of town from just a little further up the trail?”

You nod dumbly. You look to the windows. 

“What time is it?”

Alex turns sheepish. “Still early. I… I couldn’t wait, but then I couldn’t bear to wake you up. I fed the horses.”

He showered, too. His shirt still sticks to his skin in places, and his hair’s a touch more unruly than usual.

You lean down and kiss him. He startles for half a moment before leaning into you, sighing. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs against your lips. 

“I missed you, too,” you whisper. You grip the front of his t-shirt as you stand, drawing him to his feet. “Now, come here.”

You back down the hallway with Alex in tow. He looks stunned, but he doesn’t resist. When you get to your bedroom, you swing open the door and shove him inside. 

Your hands go to his waist, sliding under his shirt along his abdomen. You steer him to the bed until his knees hit the mattress. Then, you push him down. 

You crawl into his lap, legs framing his hips, as you tilt his head back. His hands find your hips, gripping lightly as you bend him backward. When his head hits the mattress, his hands curl around the backs of your thighs, just beneath the curve of your ass. 

You can feel him hardening between your legs. 

You move down his throat, sucking lightly as you go. Your hands move up, dragging his shirt along until it gets stuck beneath his shoulder blades. The chemical burns low on his abdomen have faded, but the skin still shines in the weak light coming through your window. 

You pull back just enough to tug the fabric up, and Alex lifts himself to pull it off again before you pin him back down, hands roaming his bare skin. 

You grind in his lap as you suck at his pulse point. 

He makes a low rumbling sound. “What… what are we doing?” he groans. 

His palms are gripping your ass now, holding you against his growing erection as you rock into him. 

You speak between kisses to his throat. “We… are going… to fuck.” His entire body seizes as his breath catches. “And I am not going to regret it, because I am ready. For you.”

“Oh, thank God,” he breathes out. 

He sits up to kiss you again, drawing you in with a firm hand to the back of your neck. You indulge him for a moment before pushing him back down. He makes a disappointed sound, but goes willingly enough. You follow him down, kissing your way down his chest. 

Then you move lower, to his abdomen. Then lower, to the v-cut disappearing into his jeans. You lick the ridge of muscle while it jumps beneath your tongue. Then you flick the button of his jeans open and begin to kiss even lower. 

“Oh no, you don’t,” mutters Alex. 

You yelp as he hauls you up and flips until you’re beneath him. 

He settles between your legs, pinning you firmly to the mattress. Something primal roars to life, howling for more of his delicious weight, his heat. 

“If you put your mouth on me, I’ll be done for.” His breath ghosts over your lips before he kisses you. “You, on the other hand…”

He mimics your earlier movements, sliding one hand up under your shirt as he kisses down the length of your body. When he reaches your sleep shorts, he mouths at you through the fabric. 

You clench around nothing. 

“Alex,” you breathe. He moans against you. With one thumb, he pulls both your shorts and your panties aside. Then, without warning, he begins to make out with your pussy. 

You gasp as his lips slide between your folds, tongue darting out to press just inside you. 

Your hips buck.

His hands come down to hold you in place.

His nose bumps against your clit with every move he makes, sending sharp jolts of pleasure up your spine. 

He murmurs something you can’t hear against your entrance as he leans further in. 

Your hands slide into his hair, tugging when his tongue curls into you just right. He makes soft sounds as he laps at you, and groans when you pull his hair. 

The hand up your shirt finds your breast and begins to knead the soft flesh. The other drops between your legs. Then he presses a finger into you. 

You both groan as he does. You’re so wet that it slides in effortlessly, curling into a spot that makes your vision blurry. 

“Alex,” you whine. 

He groans, something that sounds an awful lot like, “please.”

His lips latch onto your clit as he begins to suck. At the same time, he slides a second finger into you. You arch into him with a silent scream. You’re embarrassingly close already. Between his pumping fingers and the suction on your clit, you’re ready to burst. 

He flicks his tongue against you and all your muscles clench at once. You’re practically convulsing, squeezing his head between your thighs as your vision pulses. As you come down, you realize that you’re sobbing his name. 

He’s panting hard, looking up from between your legs with blown pupils.

“You’re so damn sexy,” he breathes. “I want to hear you say my name like that again. I want to listen to you come apart forever.”

You shudder as a fresh wave of arousal washes over you. 

You curl a shaky finger. “Come here, then.”

He kisses up your body until again, you’re pinned beneath his weight. When he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his tongue. You can feel your slick coating the ends of his moustache. 

A shudder of pleasure goes through you. 

You grab his shoulders and push him sideways. He resists for only a moment before letting himself be rolled onto his back. 

You go for his jeans again. This time, he lets you slide them down his legs. You take his boxers along with them. 

His cock springs up when you do, slapping against his belly. 

You lick your lips in anticipation and a little anxiety. 

He’s huge, and it’s been a long time. 

All the same, your body is humming with impatience. You want him inside you. Now. 

You strip off your shirt, then your shorts and soaked panties. Then you crawl up his body. You kiss him once, then wrap a hand around him. 

“I don’t have any condoms,” he blurts out. “I-I wasn’t expecting…”

“Oh.” Your face heats. “I… I’ve only ever been with my husband. I didn’t think about…”

“I’m clean,” he says quickly. “It’s been a long time, but I’m clean.”

Your mind races through the questions you haven’t had to consider in over ten years. “I’m on birth control,” you offer. He looks up at you quizzically. You shrug. “Helps regulate my period.”

He nods frantically. “Please,” he grits out. Only that. 

You lower yourself just a fraction, until you can coat him with your slick. He growls as you do it, hands fluttering over your waist and up your chest. He squeezes your breasts with palms rough in a way that only heighten the sensations. 

You plant a hand on his abdomen as you notch him at your entrance. 

Then, slowly, you sink down. 

You’re so wet that the swollen head slides right in. 

He’s so big that the slide stops there. 

One hand leaves your chest to cover his mouth. He groans something that you can’t hear. 

You rock your hips, earning yourself an inch and a stretch so profound that your vision blurs in a combination of pain and pleasure. You drop your other hand to his abdomen alongside the first, using him to keep yourself upright. 

“I can’t hear you.” You mean it to sound teasing, but you sound the same way you feel. On the verge of tears. 

You raise yourself for a second’s reprieve, then sink down a little further than before. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck me.” Alex’s hands fly to his sides, fisting the fabric violently. 

You lift yourself, sink down a little more. “That’s the idea,” you quip breathlessly. 

He laughs, but it sounds almost like a sob. You raise yourself. Sink down. Repeat the motion. Look down. 

You feel stuffed to the brim, and he’s only halfway in. 

“Oh my gosh,” you whine. “There’s so much more.”

Alex looks down to where you’re connected and makes a wholly animal sound before throwing his head back. 

You lift. Sink. Lift. Sink. Lift. Sink. 

“You’re so tight,” Alex whispers, voice strained. “I’m not going to last.”

You repeat the motion one more time. 

Finally, he’s fully seated within you. You both groan at the feeling. Your muscles are clenching involuntarily, trying and failing to relax. You’re too full, with Alex pressing firmly into every crevice inside you—throbbing with need, only serving to keep you at that edge. 

“You’re killing me,” Alex breathes. 

“I can’t control it,” you whimper.

He looks down again. Raises a tentative hand. 

He presses it against your belly. 

And you gasp. Maybe it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, maybe you’ve just been extra pent up. Either way, stars explode behind your eyes when you feel just how much of you is him right now. With his palm flat on your belly, you can feel his cock straining almost to your belly button. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit.”

Alex bites his own palm, abdomen taught beneath your hands. He’s trembling, barely holding on himself as you squeeze helplessly around him. 

“I’m sorry,” you whine. 

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he says harshly. After a few seconds, as the pulsing of your walls subsides, his voice softens. “You feel so damn good. I’ve been dreaming about this.”

“Dreaming?” you breathe. 

Alex gives an experimental thrust that has you both gasping for breath. 

“I dream about you every night,” he admits. He thrusts again, harder this time. You whimper. “Sometimes, it’s just you. Your smile. Your heart. Just wondering how I got so lucky to be here with you.”

He thrusts again. You collapse against his chest. His arms wrap around you, pinning you to him as his hips pick up a slow, grinding rhythm. After your second orgasm, your walls have softened enough around him that he can move, aided by the slick coating his cock. 

“Sometimes I dream about kissing you.” His voice has gotten shakier as he’s been speaking. “But mostly, I just dream about making you happy.”

You can barely form words. Your body has finally opened to him, allowing him to move freely. It’s intoxicating. 

“And other times?” you manage. 

“Other times?” His voice is tight. 

“You said sometimes. What about other times?” 

He pulls out, and you whine at the loss. He flips you, then covers your body with his own. He plants his forearm by the side of your head as he uses his other hand to line himself up. Then, in one smooth motion, he slides home. 

You can feel so much of him—every ridge, every vein. The not so subtle flare of his head, buried deep. Even though you relaxed enough for him to move, there’s no space left inside you. Only Alex.

You both shudder, taking a minute to breathe. 

“Other times,” he grits out. “It’s about this. About you wanting me as badly as I want you. About you squeezing the life out of me, about making you come apart on my cock. About hearing you crying my name.”

As if on queue, you moan his name as he thrusts into you. 

He groans, deep in his chest, and runs one hand down your leg. He uses the back of your knee to draw your leg up, hooking it over his hip and around his back.

He gives a shallow thrust, and black dances around the edges of your vision. One hand goes straight into his hair, eliciting a moan as your fingers tangle in the strands. The other flutters down, tracing the outline of him against your belly.

“You’re so big,” you whisper. 

He shudders in response. 

“I can’t hold on much longer,” he groans. “Can you give me one more? I want to feel you come again.” The hand on your leg slips between you, fingers finding your clit with criminal ease. 

“I-I don’t know,” you pant. “Maybe.”

For the first time, he slides out until just the head of his cock is left inside you, tugging at your entrance. Then he pushes in with a smooth stroke. 

Your lips open on a silent, “oh.”

Your walls flutter. 

“That’s it,” moans Alex. His fingertips press into your clit, rolling it as he begins to move in earnest. 

As his thrusts pick up speed, they become more fluid. His head drops to your shoulder, where he pants against your ear. 

“C’mon,” he grits out. “One more. I know you can give me one more. Let me feel you.”

You’re not sure if the height of your arousal is from how long it’s been or from him. Regardless, you think you may actually be able to give him what he wants. 

“Don’t stop,” you pant. 

“Never.” His moustache tickles the underside of your jaw. The next thing you know, he’s sucking on your pulse. Your hands tighten in his hair. 

In spite of his words, his thrusts are losing their rhythm. You can feel yourself teetering on the brink. If the way he slows is any indication, so can Alex. 

“You have to come for me,” he begs. “You have to come for me so I know this was good for you, too, so you’ll let me keep doing it.”

You start to laugh, even as he punches the breath out of you, because this may be the best sex you’ve ever had. 

“So good,” is all you can get out. 

Alex moans, long and low. “I don’t want to go back,” he mutters. He’s babbling now, completely uncoordinated as he rubs furiously at your clit, but somehow still holding on. “I don’t want to go back. can’t go back. You’re so perfect. You feel so good. I’m so crazy about you. I love you.”

That does it. You keen as your back arches off the bed, pressing your bodies together as you clench around him. 

“Fuck, fuck, yes,” Alex pants. Somehow, his cock seems to expand within you. “Fuck me, I love you.” His hand leaves your clit to grip your hip with bruising force, holding you down as you writhe. Then he’s spilling into you, hot spurts that mark you forever as his. “Shit,” he groans. 

He’s still pumping into you with hard, shallow thrusts. It’s almost too much, the way he shoves through the vice grip you have on his cock. You bite down on his shoulder to dampen a scream. 

Alex curls around you, swearing under his breath as he fists the sheets. 

“Too much, too much,” he pleads. You can’t help the way your cunt clenches around him in spasms. But even though he says it’s too much, he doesn’t pull out.

He’s vibrating above you, barely holding himself up. You tug until he collapses, half on top of you, and still buried inside you. 

“Please tell me we can do that again,” he murmurs. 

You nod, a little breathless under his weight. “Definitely.”

“Thank God.” He nuzzles into the side of your neck. “I don’t know how much longer I could have—” He cuts off abruptly. 

You thread your fingers through his hair. “Could have what?”

He tilts his head up to look at you. “Kept pretending. That I’m not head over heels for you. That I don’t want you more than anything else.”

He’s blushing madly. This man has just absolutely blown your back out, and this confession is what makes him shy. Unbelievable. 

“I’m pretty head over heels for you, too, y’know.” It’s not exactly the big L word, but Alex’s smile spreads like it is. 

“Are you?” He pushes up on his elbows, framing your head between his arms. He leans down to kiss you, languid now that you’re both sated. 

“You know I am,” you mumble. 

He smiles against your lips. “It’s nice to hear it.”

He shifts again, finally slipping out of you. 

You both groan as he scoots down to wrap his arms around your waist, laying his head on your chest.

“I could stay here forever,” he murmurs. 

You hum. “That would be nice.”

“The horses, though.”

“They’re fine. I think we can afford a day off.”

“Can we really?”

“Yeah,” you say. “We can.”

That day off gets spent mostly in bed, both literally and figuratively. You get up mid-morning for coffee and breakfast, before letting Alex lift you onto the kitchen counter to make out. You wrap your legs around his waist, and it doesn’t take long before he’s pulling your panties to the side and pushing into you. 

You’re sore, but when he pulls away after you wince, you drag him back. 

“Slow down,” he whispers against your lips. “We don’t have to do this right now.” 

“I want you now,” you growl. And then you drag him forward with your ankles locked behind him. He lets himself be pulled, helpless to stop you. 

Adjusting doesn’t take nearly as long this time, but he does still have to work you open. He only starts to truly move when you dig your nails into his back and beg.

When you come, you bite down on his shoulder, leaving a mark twin to the first one.

“That’s so hot,” groans Alex. “I never thought biting could be hot, but I thought about you biting me so often after what you said and holy shit.”

You feel the same way about the handprints he leaves on your hips when he empties himself into you moments later. 

It’s back to bed after that, where you trace over old scars. Alex tells you about the ones he can, and tells silly stories about falling off of various surfaces for the ones he can’t. 

“Your whole military career really was redacted, wasn’t it?”

“Pretty much.” You’re rubbing knots out of his shoulders, but you’ve paused over a vicious scar on his shoulder blade. “Don’t ask.”

“Okay.”

He rolls over. “Don’t you ever want to know more? From me? From the guys?”

You shrug. “Sure. But I’m not going to press for it. Y’all’ll tell me when and what you want to tell me.”

He leans up, capturing your lips with his. 

“I must be the luckiest man alive.”

“Why’s that?” 

“Because you picked me.”

“You picked me. Doesn’t that make me the lucky woman?”

He’s crawling down your body now. “No.” His eyes gleam up at you as he peels your panties down your legs. “This does.”

“Alex,” you begin to protest. 

“Please,” he pleads. Your protests die in your throat. “I can’t get enough of you.” He kisses your hipbone, then the inside of your thigh.

“I don’t think I can come again,” you admit. You’re wrung out, completely convinced that you’ve got nothing left.

“I can make you,” he says eagerly. “Let me try.”

You nod, because how can you say no to that? And he’s right. After a lot of gentle coaxing with his tongue and just the tip of a single finger, he has you crying out his name as he fucks his fist, spilling over his own hand at just the sound of his name on your lips. 

By the time you get up to feed the horses, your legs are so wobbly you can barely stand upright. 

Alex is ecstatically happy about this. You’re pretty pleased, yourself. 

He takes pity on you, though, when you remind him that you’ve got horses to ride. 

The rest of his touches for the night are innocent. So innocent, in fact, that after you fall asleep in his arms, you wake up desperate for him.

You wake him up with a hand around his cock. You straddle him, fit him against your entrance, and sit down hard. Then, you begin to ride. It’s clumsy in the dark, and Alex is just drowsy enough that for the first time, he comes before you do. He doesn’t let you move, though, and it doesn’t take long with him thumbing your clit for you to come around his rapidly softening cock. He wheezes as you clamp down on him, over sensitive but unwilling to pull out.

You go on like this for weeks. You keep thinking that someday soon, you’ll slow down—that desire will cool from an inferno to a simmer. It doesn’t, though. Alex is insatiable. And truth be told, so are you. You wonder if it has to do with your five year dry spell, but even before, you don’t remember having such a high drive. 

It hits you, as Alex bends you over a pony wall in the stable, that it’s all him. 

You’re malleable, always have been. You rise to meet other people, fall back when they do. Match energy.

And Alex, behind his steadfast calm, is adventurous, unreserved, frenzied. Urgent in a way your husband never was. Passionate, yes—your sex life had been amazing—but never quite desperate, never unsure of a next time. Unhurried, unworried. Patient. Your whole life with him had been relaxed and easy. You both knew exactly where you were meant to be. 

Alex can be patient, too. You know from experience. But after your first time together, after actually confessing his feelings, he’s been unable to keep his hands off you. It’s as if he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. 

You love him. You know you do, and you think he knows it, too. But you haven’t said it yet. 

You wonder if that’s what drives him, if he’s chasing something he already has. 

You hope this is just Alex, and that this never ends. 

Either way, you’ll tell him. Soon. 

Every time you open your mouth to do it, though, the words stick in your throat. It’s not that you don’t mean it, or that you don’t feel it. 

It’s just that the only man you’ve ever told you loved was your husband.

Alex, somehow, seems to know. 

Each time you psych yourself up to come clean, as soon as you choke, he smiles at you in that way he has that’s patient and understanding. 

It makes you feel just a little better about chickening out.

It’s been almost a month of sex-soaked, enamored bliss when an old truck and a sports car turn into your driveway. You only see them because you’re facing your window.

You take a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“Alex?” 

He turns to face you from the sink, hands submerged in soapy water. You step up beside him and lay a hand across his arm.

“I love you.”

He goes utterly still, face falling slack.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to—”

“I’m not just saying it. I love you. And you… you need to know.”

The smile that spreads over his face is beatific. He whoops aloud, spinning and slopping water all over the kitchen floor. 

“Alex, the water!”

He bends and lifts you with arms banded around your thighs. 

“I’ll clean it up.” 

Then he pulls you down by the back of your neck and kisses you breathless. He can barely kiss you properly because he can’t stop smiling. It’s haphazard, and your teeth clack together, but it only serves to make you more giddy. You plant your hands on the base of his throat in an attempt to steady yourself, but you needn’t bother. He’s got an iron grip on you. 

“You love me,” he breathes. “Tell me again.”

“I love you,” you giggle. 

“You love me.” He laughs, loud and free, and whoops again as he spins you in a circle. Then he puts you down, only to push you against the refrigerator. “I love this fridge,” he mumbles. His attention has shifted down, to the side of your neck. 

You brace your hands on his shoulders. 

“Kate and the boys are here.”

His head snaps toward the front door. “What?”

“I had to tell you before they got here. I didn’t want you to think they had anything to do with it.”

He looks back to you, expression softening. He reaches up, stroking your cheek with a tenderness so deep it brings tears to your eyes.

“I love you more than life itself,” he says. He kisses you once, light and quick, with a thumb hooked under your chin. “Thank you.”

You blink. “Thank you?”

“For telling me. For loving me.” He presses one of your hands over his heart with both of yours. “I’ll do everything in my power to earn your love.”

“Alex, you don’t have to earn my love.” You cup his cheek in your hand, and he leans into your touch. “It’s yours, to do with as you please.”

He turns his face to kiss your palm. “You won’t regret loving me.”

You laugh. “I never thought I would.”

His eyes sparkle. “Go get a dry shirt while I clean this up.”

He swats your ass as you go. 

As you step into your room, he murmurs, “She loves me,” in a voice filled with awe.

Your heart soars. 

You’re just pulling on a fresh t-shirt when the doorbell rings. You hear the voices as Alex welcomes everyone in, and then you’re walking into the living room.

You blink. Everyone is here. 

Well, everyone but John Price. He makes it out to your property so rarely, though, that you don’t expect him. 

Everyone else, though—Kate, Kyle, Johnny, Simon—is crowded around the entryway with Alex. 

“Good, you’re here,” says Kate. “Everyone sit down, we’ve got news.”

You and Alex exchange a look, and you see your panic reflected in his eyes. He masks it quickly, though, gesturing to the kitchen table. 

Kyle is already sitting backward in one of your chairs, so you sit side by side, noticing that your silent conversation hasn’t gone unnoticed. Johnny eyes you as he lower himself into the last chair. Simon crosses his arms as he leans back against your counter, watching you from across the kitchen. 

You shift uncomfortably.

“Kate, you wanna tell us what’s going on?”

Kate straightens and clasps her hands behind her back.

“As you all know, Commander Karim was granted an audience with General Shepherd.” 

You nod. Alex remains motionless.

“The purpose of that meeting was to discuss the reclassification of the Urzikstan Liberation Force, contingent on the distribution of intelligence recently acquired by Commander Karim.”

“Acquired how?” Alex’s voice is sharp. 

Kate says nothing. 

“Hadir?” asks Alex. 

Kate nods, once. 

“So he’s dead.”

It’s not a question, but Kate answers anyway. 

“Yes.”

Alex’s head drops, a look of remorse passing over his face. You reach for his hand under the table. He squeezes it, then raises his head, nodding for Kate to continue.

“Commander Karim put two stipulations on the intelligence.”

Alex appears puzzled by this. “More than reinstating ULF’s relations with the US?”

Kate nods slowly, completely focused on Alex. “She demanded that your entire service record be expunged—Army, Delta Force, SAD, ULF.”

Alex freezes. You hold your breath.

Kate’s lips twitch up. “You’re a free man, Alex.”

“What?” he breathes out. 

You launch yourself at him, nearly knocking over his chair. Kyle and Johnny, who have already gotten to their feet, reach to steady the chair. Alex wraps his arms around your waist.

He holds the back of your head in the crook of his neck as you cry happy tears. You’re pretty sure he’s crying, too.

“Holy shit,” he rasps. “I never thought… How did she manage that?”

“A life for a life, brother.”

You’ve never met Commander Farah Karim, but you recognize her voice instantly.

You're half-draped over Alex‘s lap, but he holds fast when you try to pull away. Instead, he lifts you as he stands and places you gently on your feet. His eyes are fixed on the doorway, but you can’t tear your eyes away from him; his expression is one of shock and utter disbelief. When he glances down at you, you nod in encouragement. He looks back to the door.

“Farah,” he croaks. 

You look her way just in time to watch surprise pass over her features as she glances between you. Then she looks remarkably pleased. 

“Alex. You look well.” She bows in your direction. “It is nice to meet the woman who makes my best soldier so happy.”

Those words douse your joy like a bucket of ice water. My best soldier. You swallow down the panic that threatens to choke you. 

This is a celebration. If he’s going to leave, you’ll grieve after he’s gone.

You straighten. “Thank you. For giving him his life back.”

“As I said. A life for a life.” Her eyes are locked over your shoulder, presumably on Alex. “He saved mine. Now it is time I return the favor.”

She’s even more stunning in person. And when you look back to Alex, he can’t tear his gaze away from her. 

Your heart sinks into your stomach.

Before you can submerge yourself in despair, a gruff voice calls from the doorway. 

“All very touching, I’m sure, but who’s helping get all this food in?”

“John Price, is that you?” The shock of seeing him here is almost enough to silence the clamor of dread in your mind. 

“Hey, birdie bird.” He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “That one’s been behaving, yeah?”

“Best behavior, all the time.”

That one steps forward to shake John’s hand. 

“Good to see you, Captain.”

John shakes his hand, but jabs him in the chest. “That’s John to you. Last I checked, you haven’t got any military rank.”

Alex smiles wide. Then he surprises you by wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his side. 

“Yes, sir.”

John sighs. “Kate, your puppy’s acting up.”

You laugh. Alex laughs. 

From across the room, Kyle and Johnny make eyes at the pair of you. Farah wanders over, follows their line of sight, and smacks each of them on the backs of their heads. 

The three of them begin to talk. 

John and Alex are chatting about Hadir, who you learn was Farah’s brother. 

Was before he betrayed her and her cause, branding her a terrorist to the West and himself a terrorist to her. Was before she killed him for it. 

Simon and Kate are carrying in aluminum trays of food. When you see them, you peel yourself away from Alex to help them.

He gives you a wounded expression, until he sees the food. Then he follows you, dragging John along after him. 

After that, it’s a lot of back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, carting plates and pouring your world famous coffee. Everyone’s talking at once, and the chatter helps to mask the roaring of fear. 

As it gets late, you slip outside to bring the horses in and fill the hay nets. Arthur Braddock will be by tomorrow to ride Tinsel. The Costas will be here the day after, and Josh Belchard is ready to come try Peach on your makeshift course. 

You’ll be busy enough if Alex decides to go. 

As you walk back in, you meet John and Farah on the porch. 

“I’ve got to get the Commander home. Good to see you though, love.” 

He kisses both your cheeks and throws you a wink. Then, he walks through the yard to a shiny new truck, leaving you on the porch with Farah.

She steps up to you without hesitation.

“Thank you for opening your door, to Alex and to me. You have a lovely home.”  She holds out a hand for you to shake. “It was very nice to meet you.”

As you take her hand, the screen door opens beside you. Alex steps out.

“Alex,” she says. “Walk with me.”

His hand skates across your lower back as he passes you. You step into the house to give them some privacy, but you can’t stop yourself from turning to watch them out the window.

Standing side by side, they look like they belong together. Farah barely comes to Alex‘s shoulder, and his light coloring only serves to play up the warmth in her dark skin, the luster of her black hair. They look at each other with so much trust that you feel certain you are about to lose him. Even you can see, now, that he’s not in love with her. 

But that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t love her, and that he won’t still leave with her.

Duty can easily outweigh love, after all.

He shakes her hand and comes back in, though, pressing a kiss to your temple when no one’s watching. 

“Everything okay?” you ask. 

“Yeah,” he says. “All good.”

And then you’re both hosting again. 

Everyone stays up too late, toasting beer and coffee and Simon’s tea. Kate offers to take the couch, which the boys vehemently protest. 

“Actually, Kate can take my bed.” 

Alex’s proclamation is met with a stunned silence. Your heart leaps into your throat. Surely he wouldn’t announce that you’re sleeping together, something you haven’t even discussed telling the team, if he didn’t plan to stay?

“It’s like that, then?” asks Kyle. 

His eyes are twinkling, and Johnny is opening his mouth—almost certainly to say something lewd—when Simon shoots them both a death glare. 

“I’ll take the couch. You lot can fight for the armchair.”

Kate raises an eyebrow suggestively as she walks by. 

You swallow down the excitement and embarrassment warring in the back of your throat. 

Thankfully, no one says another word. Alex pulls you along into your room, where he lets the door click shut before pressing you back against it.

He leans into you, cradling your face between his palms, and tilts your head up to press a lingering kiss to your lips. 

“I’ve been waiting all night to do that.” 

You giggle. “You just practically told them all we’re sleeping together, but you didn’t want to kiss me?”

A blush creeps over his face beneath his beard. “Should I not have done that?” He leans forward until you can feel the length of him, hard against your hip. “I want you so badly,” he whispers. 

“Are you going to go back?” you blurt.

He stops moving, pulling back until he can look at you in the dim lighting.

“Go back?” he sounds lost.

“With Farah. To Urzikstan. To… wherever it is that they need you.”

His eyes move back and forth, studying your face. His expression is carefully blank. When he speaks, his voice is tight. “Do you want me to go?”

“No.” Your answer is immediate.

His reply comes just as quickly. “Then no. I want to be here, with you.”

He looks away, muttering under his breath. “I was going to wait until I could get a ring, but…”

He sinks onto his good knee, taking both your hands in his.

“I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone else in my life. I knew from the moment I met you that I was never going to be the same again.”

He takes a deep breath as yours stutters in your chest. 

“I already told you that I don’t want to take your husband’s place. I know you love him. But if you’ll have me, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Proving that I can love you, too.”

Tears spring to your eyes as he strokes your wedding band.

“We don’t have to get married, if you don’t want to. I was making this grand plan about getting you a ring to fit with your wedding band, but…” He shrugs. “Telling you now is more important.”

You sniffle. You lift your finger, staring down at your ring. “We could get tattoos.”

Alex looks up. “What?”

“We could do tattoos instead of rings. There’s a parlor right down the street from the courthouse.”

A slow smile spreads over Alex’s face. “Are you saying…?”

You take his face between your palms. “Alex Keller, I would love to marry you. I would love to be your wife.”

He surges to his feet, kissing you hard. 

“I love you so much. I need you so bad.”

He’s already tugging your shirt up, clumsy in his rush to get you undressed. 

“Alex, we have a house full of people.” Even as you say the words, you lift your arms to help him take off your shirt. You arch your back when he reaches for the clasp of your bra, roll your head sideways so he can kiss your neck, and reach for the button of his jeans.

“We can be quiet.” He spins you by your hips, steering you to the bed. 

“Maybe you can, but I—”

“I can keep you quiet.” 

Those words, and his tone, send a gush of wetness straight to your core. Your legs turn to jelly. You fall back onto the bed, watching as he strips off his jeans. You scrabble with your own, shoving them down your legs. 

He crawls over you, but then turns you onto your side and slides behind you. Your breathing picks up as he fits his body around yours, as he wedges one arm under you. 

His hand comes up to cover your mouth. 

You whimper. 

“Yeah?” Alex murmurs. His knee slides between your legs to open them as he slips a finger into you. He groans. “You’re so wet already.”

You nod and speak into his palm. He raises it when your words come out muffled, and you repeat, “This is really hot.”

“Yeah, it is.” He grates the words out as he takes himself in hand. Then, he pushes into you. 

There’s no easy slide—there never is—but he’s diligent about working you open gradually, so there’s never pain either. Just an uncomfortable stretch and overfullness that quickly turns into a lightheaded euphoria. 

You’ve just reached that point of ecstasy when he moves his knee and your legs fall shut. 

The pressure of your walls around him is enough to make you both moan. His hand is firmly clamped over your mouth, but he has to bury his face into your shoulder to muffle himself. 

You clench in an effort to see just how wild you can drive him. His hips jerk forward. Your vision blurs. 

Alex rarely fucks you from behind. He enjoys watching you as you fall apart too much, not to mention having your mouth on him. 

This position, though, makes the fit of him twice as tight as it already is. 

“Holy shit,” he whispers. He sounds out of breath already. You clench around him again, and again, his hips jerk forward. Hard. 

You moan against his hand. 

“Harder,” you mumble. 

Alex chokes. “What?”

“You heard me.” You tilt your hips back, grinding against him. 

“I don’t…” He trails off as you roll your hips against him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me.” When he stil doesn’t move, you add, “Please, Alex.”

He swears under his breath and claps his hand back over your mouth. Then he drives into you with enough force to move your body forward. 

You bite down on his palm. 

“Fuck,” he pants. Then he flattens his other hand against your belly and does it again. And again. And again.

He sets a brutal, intoxicating rhythm as you hang onto the back of his neck with an arm slung over your head. The hand on your belly slides down to your clit. It’s shaking.

Alex swears with each hard thrust, until clearly losing trust in his own ability to keep quiet.

He bites down on your neck. It’s not hard, but it is hot as hell. You moan into his palm.

“Please tell me you’re close,” he whimpers.

He’s got incredible stamina, but some combination of the position and the as-of-yet untried rough sex is shredding his self control. 

Luckily, it’s shredding yours, too. 

He’s so far gone that he doesn’t realize he’s still covering your mouth, so you only nod. He redoubles his efforts, slamming into you with measured strokes. 

It takes only seconds for you to shatter around him. Then, you’re being flooded with heat as he shudders through his own orgasm. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes. 

He drops the hand covering your mouth, pulling you against his chest. 

“Think they heard us?” you whisper, half giggling. 

“I don’t even care if they did,” he mutters. “Still can’t believe I get to do this every day. Can’t believe you let me.”

You hum. “I’d be crazy not to. I don’t know if you understand just how good you are.”

He laughs, soft and tired. “Can’t believe you’re going to marry me, either. The future Mrs. Keller.” He pauses. “Unless you want to keep your name, of course.”

You smile into the dark. “How about I hyphenate?”

You feel his answering smile against the back of your neck. 

𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰 𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰 𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰

When you wake early the next morning, it’s with a delicious soreness. You somehow manage to extract yourself from Alex’s hold without waking him. You pull on his t-shirt from the night before and limp into the hallway. 

A low voice from the living room makes you jump. 

“No wonder she likes him, eh Si? Look at the way she’s walking.”

You stumble sideways while Johnny snickers. Even Simon is smirking. 

“Makes sense,” says Kyle. “That the horse girl would go for the one hung like a horse.”

Your mouth drops open as the three of them guffaw loudly. 

“What’s so funny?”

Alex steps into the hall, rubbing at his eyes. So much for not waking him up. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you back into his chest. 

Johnny whistles. “When’s the wedding?”

You and Alex exchange a look over your shoulder. 

“Friday?” you say. 

“Friday sounds perfect.”

Then he leans down and kisses you. 

Johnny’s jaw drops. Simon stares blankly. Kyle beams. 

“Happy to see you aren’t dragging your feet,” says Kate. “Life’s too short. Have you got rings?”

You send a picture of your matching ring tattoos Friday morning, along with the marriage license with your newly hyphenated name. 

𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰 𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰 𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰

*Hal li 'an 'aetarif lk bihabi? May I confess my love to you?

He fell hard and fast, y’all. Now please excuse my Google Translated Arabic.

As for the expungement, black ops don’t exist anyway, right? 😉

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

Of Burdock and Brandy [Alex Keller x Widow! Reader] - III. Proliferation

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from the Modern Warfare series

Warnings/tags: SMUT (18+ MDNI) , widowed reader, descriptions of prosthesis, language, depictions/discussions of grief, fluff

The next few weeks pass in a blur. As the weather warms up, the Costas start bringing their daughter out to ride Flora more often. They ask if you’d be willing to stable another mare, because Mrs. Costa has decided she’d like to learn to ride. You stable the mare and offer her lessons, and soon she’s riding every week with her daughter. 

You call Josh Belchard out to see the progress with his geldings. He takes them home, only to have three new animals dropped off to be trained. You spend at least one day a week introducing his geldings to the livestock, and a big chunk of your time at home working with the new mares he’s purchased. 

Arthur Braddock starts taking Alex with him on trail rides, claiming he enjoys having the conversation of a fellow veteran. 

Most days, though, Alex helps with grooming and maintenance while you train. He offers to go to town, to free up some of your busy schedule, but you decline. Going to town together has become precious time. No matter how busy you get, you’re not willing to give it up.

When Simon and Johnny show up, you’re mid-lesson with one of Josh Belchard’s mares. Alex, who just finished exercising Burdock, greets them in the yard. 

The three of them stroll over to lean on the lunging pen while you work with Peach, a sorrel Quarter Horse. The other two new horses will be for the ranch, but Peach will be Josh’s new barrel racer. It’s the first time you’ve trained a horse for barrel racing, and it’s new and exciting. 

Johnny doesn’t call out to you, which means Alex must have warned them. 

Peach is proving to be an excellent mount, though. She’s collected and soft beneath you, eager to please. You’re drilling her at the fence, but decide you’re both up for a bit of showing off. You walk her to the end of the pen and face the flags you’ve set up. 

You take a deep breath. Then you squeeze her sides, and she takes off.

She’s slow on the explosion, but she’ll pick up speed as you work with her. She’s good with the flags, though. You keep her tight in the turns, soft in the straights, and weighted on her rear legs. 

It takes less than a minute to clear the course, and then you ride to the fenceline. 

All three men clap. Alex beams, Johnny whistles, and Simon looks completely unruffled, as per usual. 

As you pull Peach to a stop, several things happen in quick succession. 

First, you hear an ominous rattling. Peach startles. She rears, forcing you to lean hard forward. 

As she comes down, she lurches sideways, fleeing the threat.

You see a glint of metal fly from Simon’s hand, landing with a dull thud and a sickening squelching sound. Peach prances sideways as Alex slides between the fence rails, arms outstretched. 

The damage is done, though. She’s terrified, snorting and pawing the ground. 

She rears again. You know the moment her hooves leave the ground that you’ve misjudged your balance. 

Your stomach drops as you slide from the saddle. 

Alex lunges forward, securing the reins. 

You hit the ground hard, air leaving in a whoosh as you land flat on your back. 

Tears spring to your eyes automatically. You can hear the boys shouting, but Alex is shouting for them to stand down. He’s got one hand on the reins, one on Peach’s neck. She’s settling at his touch, but she’s still jumpy. 

Alex calls your name, sounding slightly panicky. “You alright?”

You hold a thumb up in response as you try to catch your breath again. You’ll have some bruises, but nothing is broken. Alex takes Peach to the fence and ties her there, then jogs to where you’re just sitting up. 

His hands run over you in practiced motions, feeling for anything out of place. 

“I’m okay,” you say. 

He glares at you before continuing his inspection. Your cheeks heat as he squeezes at your legs, until he gets to your ankle. Then you gasp as he presses on a painful spot.

He pauses before pressing again, gently. You hiss. 

“Yep,” he says. 

Then he stands. Before you can protest, he swings you up into his arms.

There are scrapes in your palms, and dirt in the scrapes, that you only notice when they’re pressed to his shoulders and stinging. 

“Y’alright, hen?” calls Johnny. 

“I’m fine.”

You watch Simon stoop and draw a knife out of the head of a rattlesnake that’s been pinned to the ground. 

“Si, could you get her stabled please?”

He waves a hand in acknowledgment. 

“Can you groom her, please?” you ask Alex. 

“Once I know you’re okay,” he murmurs. 

“I’m fine,” you whisper. 

“That’s good.”

You huff. 

“Protective much?”

“Yes.”

You decide to allow it. 

Johnny races ahead to open the door. By the time Alex sets you onto the couch, he’s brought ice packs and a damp cloth. Alex takes all of it from him and gets to work. 

He props up your ankle first, wrapping an ice pack in a towel and fitting it between your foot and the back of the couch. Then he gets to work on your hands, wiping gently until they’re clean. 

“I can do this myself, Alex,” you say. 

“No.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow at you. He’s relegated himself to the armchair, watching as Alex fusses over you. 

You don’t fight him. It’s nice to have someone fawning over you every once in awhile, especially when you already feel the aches coming on. 

When he’s finally satisfied, he stands. 

He points at you. “You stay there.” Turns to Johnny and points at him. “And you make her.”

Johnny throws a sloppy salute. 

“Aye, sir.”

Alex looks back to you for a long, heated moment. Then he walks out without another word. 

When the door shuts, Johnny whistles long and low.

Your head snaps in his direction. “What?”

“Kyle was right. That man’s got it bad, he has.”

“Shut up, he does not,” you mutter. 

Johnny chortles. “Ooh yes, he does! You should have seen his face when you went flyin’, he near had a heart attack.”

“Glad that was so funny for you.”

“Dinnae get your feathers in a ruffle, hen, I was only distracted. How d’you feel?”

“I’m fine.” You wince as you shift. “Mostly. Just sore. But I’ve had worse.”

Johnny contemplates this. “Maybe don’t tell Alex.”

“Probably a good idea.”

He laughs. Then he stands, lifts your legs, sits beside you, and drapes your legs over his lap. He fixes your ice pack and then begins to rub your calves. 

“How’re things here?”

You sigh happily. “They’re great, Johnny. The horses are healthy and business is booming. And Alex is such a great help. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Johnny smirks. “Is that the only reason why? Because he’s such a great help?”

You look at him blankly. “What other reason should there be?”

“Maybe because he’s a great lay—”

You lunge over Johnny’s lap to cover his mouth, head whipping toward the front door. 

“Johnny!” you hiss. “It’s not like that!”

He’s cackling from behind your palm. He drags it down, even as you scramble to keep his mouth covered. 

“But you’d like it to be, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s not—”

The door opens as you swat at Johnny’s chest. 

He mouths, “The point?” at you with a quirked brow. You nudge him none too gently with your uninjured foot. 

Alex and Simon look equally unimpressed. 

“Oh, look,” Simon says, voice flat. “The children are at it again.”

Alex’s moustache twitches when you and Johnny break into protest. 

“Is Peach okay?” you ask. 

“She’s fine,” Alex says. 

“Did you—”

“I checked her legs. She’s fine. I’m more worried about you. 

Your cheeks burn, but you can’t tear your eyes away from his to see what faces the boys are making. 

There’s a blur of activity after that. Alex and Simon cook a dinner you’re not allowed to help with while Johnny sits with you. You talk about the horses with the occasional interjection from Alex, and they “ooh” and “ahh” at all the right places. 

After dinner, Alex makes coffee and Simon makes tea and you all sit around the living room talking and laughing, with you sandwiched firmly between Johnny and Alex on the couch. It’s late by the time Alex says that he should get you to bed. 

“One of you can take my bed.” You gesture at your visitors, who look affronted at the idea. 

“Absolutely not,” says Simon. 

“Where would you sleep then, hen?” Johnny nods at Alex. “In his bed?”

You want to crawl under the floor and die. You can’t see Alex, so you have no idea how he’s reacting, but Simon saves you from any further embarrassment by elbowing Johnny hard in the ribs. 

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” He jerks his chin at Johnny. “He can sleep on the couch.”

“I can sleep on the couch,” offers Alex. 

You chance a quick look in his direction. His cheeks are a little pink, but he looks otherwise composed. 

Johnny waves him off. “Couch is just fine for me. And this one sleeps on the floor half the time, anyway.”

You start to lift yourself from the couch to get pillows and blankets, but Alex stops you. 

“I’ll handle it.” He stands and sweeps you up again, much to Johnny’s amusement, and carries you down the hallway. “Be right back, boys.”

He toes open your door, moving to deposit you onto your bed. 

“You know I’m going to have to shower, right?”

He glares the ensuite door. 

“Just be careful.” 

You gather all your courage for what you’re about to say.

“You’re not going to offer to help me?”

His eyes darken from their usual ice blue to a roiling ocean. He plants his hands slowly on the bed on either side of you. “I’ll help, if you want,” he rumbles. He leans close enough to kiss, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “And for the record, you’re welcome in my bed any time.”

You shiver. Before you can respond, though, he’s shutting the door behind him as he steps into the hall. 

Heat has flooded your belly. No one has had this effect on you since your husband, and it’s enough to make you just a little crazy. Thinking of your husband makes your heart ache. It cools your lust a little, but not enough. You flop back with a frustrated groan. 

You’ve noticed a pattern. You both grow bold when there are other people around, as if they egg you on. As soon as they leave, you each retreat somewhat. It’s as if neither of you has the confidence to risk the peace and companionship you’ve found without the moral support of the team. 

You don’t know whether that’s good or bad. You just know that you can’t go on like this. 

You toss and turn all night thinking about it. When you do eventually drift off, you see your husband’s face. Your dreams play a montage of some of your happiest moments together. At some point, those memories morph into less happy ones. 

The call from Kate that changed everything. Johnny and Simon at your porch, unable to watch as your husband kissed you like it might be the last time. 

The diagnosis. The appointments. The last days, when he was too sick to get out of bed. 

As in all dreams, this one changes until Alex stands beside you by the casket. Even in sleep, you know that’s not right. Sure, he knows the story, but he wasn’t there when your husband died. 

You wake in a cold sweat. It’s just after 3 a.m.

You lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, before you decide you might as well make the most of the early start. 

You get dressed in the dark in an effort not to wake anyone up. Then you creep down the hallway. 

You think you’ve managed to sneak past the boys, but when you sit on the porch to lace your boots, Simon steps out. 

“Alright, love?”

You nod. “Did I wake you?”

“Nah.” He stretches, popping several vertebrae as he does. “Don’t sleep much, you know that. How’s the ankle?”

“It’s fine. Did you want tea or breakfast? I was going to go to the stable, but I can make you something.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t want to wake Johnny. Need help?”

You snort. “Only if you feel like mopping.”

He shrugs and follows you out. You give him a broom instead, letting him sweep the aisles as you fill a bucket. 

Neither of you says anything as you work. When he’s done sweeping, Simon takes a can of oil and sets to work on the stall hinges without being asked. When you’ve mopped, you take a sponge to the doors. 

Dawn is breaking when you finish cleaning, and then you start in on the tack. 

You’re used to the silence with Simon. Normally, it doesn’t bother you. Normally, you enjoy it. But after all the innuendo Johnny’s been tossing your way and the dofficult night you just had, you can’t take it any more. 

“Alright, out with it.”

Simon raises one light eyebrow from the saddle he’s conditioning.

“Out with what?”

You throw your hands up in exasperation. “Aren’t you going to tell me to go after him? How in love with me he is and how it’s time I moved on?”

He shrugs. “Nah.”

You nearly drop the bridle you’re reassembling. “Nah?”

He stops working entirely to look at you. “Why would I?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter. “Everyone else has.”

He shrugs again. “You don’t need me to tell you anything, love. If you want him, you’ll go get him. If you’re ready to move on, you will. And any fool can see he’s head over heels for you.”

You choke on air.

“H-he’s not in love with me,” you wheeze. 

Simon stares at you, deadpan.

“No?” he asks.

You can feel yourself wilting beneath his gaze. You shake your head weakly.

Simon sighs. He picks up the saddle, continuing where he left off. You think that’s the end of the conversation, but then he starts again. 

“I’m not going to tell you what to do or what to think. But I’ll tell you what I think, alright?”

You nod slowly, uncertain whether you’re prepared for whatever he’a about to say. 

“I think you know he’s dead crazy for you, but you don’t want to admit it because it’ll feel like being unfaithful to your husband.”

You flinch. Kyle basically told you the same thing, but Simon’s blunt honesty forces you to confront it head on.

“It’s not unfaithful,” he goes on. “Your vows were ‘til death do you part.” He shrugs. “You’ve parted. And now you’re a free woman again, whether you like it or not.”

You don’t, but you know he knows that. 

“So be free. Don’t let Johnny and Kyle talk you into something you don’t want. But if you want it, go for it.”

You take a deep breath. “That’s really good advice.”

Simon grunts. He stands with the finished saddle, turning to place it on its sawhorse. 

“Kate, too,” you blurt. 

Simon pauses. 

“Well, then,” he says. “If Kate said it…”

You begin to giggle. The corners of Simon’s scarred lips quirk up. 

When he comes back to take the bridle from you, he places a hand on your shoulder. It’s a rare thing for Simon to touch anyone of his own accord, and you still under his touch. 

“You’ll make the right choice. Even if that choice is doing nothing.”

You feel tears prick in the back of your throat. “Thanks, Si.”

He nods, withdrawing his hand somewhat awkwardly. Then he gestures to your face. 

“Take care of that quick. Just heard the front door.”

You scrub at your eyes hurriedly. Sure enough, the man door of the stable opens on, thanks to Simon, near-silent hinges. 

After months of living together, you can recognize Alex’s footsteps. They’re evenly timed, if a little uneven in weight. You don’t think anyone would notice who didn’t know about his prosthetic leg. 

He looks between you and Simon when he rounds the corner. 

“What are you doing up?” 

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You could have woken me up,” he grumbles. 

Simon chuckles. “Don’t worry, she’s been doing all the easy work.”

You nod eagerly. “Oh yes, just sitting back while Simon does the heavy lifting.”

“Yeah, right,” Alex mutters. He turns into the barn and begins opening the paddock doors. “Y’all ready for breakfast?”

Simon gives you one more steady look before answering. 

“I could eat.”

𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰 𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰 𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰

When the boys leave after breakfast, it’s with a flurry of promises for another visit soon, from Johnny, and a series of grunts, from Simon. 

You and Alex get straight to work with the horses. Alex pleads with you to give your ankle another day before getting back on Peach, so you oblige and lunge her instead. 

Arthur Braddock swings by around lunchtime to take Tinsel out for a ride.

This time, Alex tacks her up while you make sandwiches and iced tea.

Josh Belchard comes by not long after Arthur leaves to check on his horses. The ranch horses need a few more weeks, but he’s pleased with the progress.

You don’t mention the sprained ankle. 

Of course Alex notices this detail, but he doesn’t comment on it until Josh leaves. 

“Shouldn’t he know?”

“I don’t think so. Snakes are enough to spook any horse.”

“She threw you. You could have been seriously hurt.”

You lay a hand on his forearm. His muscles jump beneath your touch. 

“I’m fine, Alex.”

The worry doesn’t quite leave his eyes, but he drops it. 

Throughout the day, you work up the courage to tell him you want more. You’re ready to broach the topic when Alex announces that he plans to take Burdock into the mountains for the night. 

He doesn’t ask if you’d like to come along. 

He’s pulling away like he always does when everyone else is gone. You can’t be mad; this is the first time you haven’t done the exact same thing. 

But you are frustrated. 

Alex can tell. When you turn to leave after doing the dishes, he grabs your wrist before you can get out of the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Alex.” 

You try to slide out of his grasp, but he holds you in place. Gently; if you really tried, you could easily slip his hold. You don’t have any energy to try, though.

“Tell me,” he says softly. “Did I do something wrong? Say something wrong?”

You shake your head emphatically. “No, nothing like that.” You chew your bottom lip. He still doesn’t let you go. 

You throw your hands, or hand, as it were, up. It’s something you’ve found yourself doing too often, of late. 

“Okay, fine. I’m just confused, Alex. Sometimes I think you’re flirting with me, or that you want me, but you never act on it. When the boys are here, you say things that…” You take a shuddering breath. “You just make me feel things, but then you never do anything about it!”

You gesture wildly between you. “Tell me I’m not crazy. Tell me you feel something,” you urge. “Or is this just a game to you?”

“It’s not a game,” he says quickly. “And you’re not crazy.”

He releases your wrist and reaches up to run a hand through his hair. You can see it shaking. He takes two quick steps toward the hall, then turns back.

He’s watching you like a wild animal—desperate, and a little scared. 

He takes a step closer. 

“You want me to do something?” he murmurs. 

“I want you to do what you want to do,” you implore. 

He takes another step. 

“I want,” he breathes, “so many things.”

He reaches for you.

His fingers tremble against your cheek as he lowers his head. Despite your words, he seems afraid that you’ll pull away, even now. You raise one hand to his wrist, ringing your fingers lightly around it. You step the tiniest bit closer and tilt your head up as your body melts forward against him.

His lips part over your top one, but it’s not quite a kiss. Not yet.

His heart races beneath your palm. You curl your fingertips into his shirt, pressing into his skin through the worn fabric as he moves his head, dragging his lips over yours, but still without actually kissing you.

“Alex,” you plead on a whisper. His heart skips beneath your fingers, his breath fanning over your mouth with a shudder.

“I’m not trying to take his place,” he whispers. 

It takes your foggy mind too long to catch his meaning, but you feel a flood of longing and affection when it does.

“You can’t,” you say.

“Good.”

Then he tilts forward, finally closing the distance between you.

His lips are warm and softer than you’d have expected as he kisses you that first time; his moustache tickles your top lip and the corners of your mouth. His breath comes out in a hard puff, like the air has been knocked from his lungs. The hand that’s landed on your waist runs up, stroking your shoulder blade as it makes its way up to cradle the back of your head. He tilts you back, leaning over you as the hand at your cheek runs down to wrap around you, pulling you against him.

As your back bows to accommodate the new position, your hands rise to his head. One cups his cheek, enjoying the scratch of his stubble against your palm, while the other threads through his hair. He’s broken from the succession of chaste kisses by a gasp of your name as you arch into him. Then he presses further in, grip on you tightening as his tongue ghosts over your top lip. You open for him, brushing your tongue tentatively with his.

The moan he lets out is so quiet that you wonder if you imagined it. Before you can wonder too long, he begins walking you backward, slowly. You back into something without any force, recognizing the uncomfortable curve of the refrigerator door handles against your spine. 

Alex doesn’t notice, and you don’t care. 

His hands are running up and down your sides, and yours are squeezing at the muscles of his shoulders and his back. You use your grip on him to tug him closer, and he bends to the pressure as if he would have done it anyway. One of his thighs slides between yours, anchoring you even more firmly against the refrigerator. You already feel lightheaded from the way his tongue strokes against yours, the light drag of his canines over your bottom lip, the scrape of his moustache over your philtrum. The added pressure of his leg makes you downright dizzy. 

His kisses remain steady, but yours are growing more frantic, more sloppy. You don’t realize that you’re writhing against him until he sucks in a sharp breath, halting your movements with firm hands on your waist. Then you feel it, the press of something hard and hot and huge against your hip. 

There’s breath between your mouths now, but Alex’s forehead still presses against yours. His jaw works so hard that you hear the grinding of his teeth. You wiggle your hips, capturing his groan in your mouth. It has the desired effect of unclenching his jaw, which now hangs slack as you kiss him hungrily, but he pulls back again after too short a time. He tilts his forehead into the crook of your neck and the way his scruff tickles the sensitive skin is enough to drive you wild all over again.

“We should stop,” he whispers.

Your desire gutters out as ice spills down your spine. “What? Why?”

He hasn’t moved, and his harsh breathing is enough to fan the flames all over again.

“Y-you just said, I thought you wanted me–”

His head snaps up, pupils blown. “I do,” he says quickly. He leans down, dropping a quick kiss onto your lips. “I do. So much. But are you ready? To be with someone other than your husband?”

The question brings your mind slamming to a stop. Are you ready?

You must take too long to answer, because Alex lets out an unsteady breath. He drops his head over your shoulder and against the refrigerator door. “You haven’t been with anyone else since he died.” 

He’s not asking, but you still shake your head automatically. Your mind is still spinning over that question. Are you ready? 

“I don’t ever want to replace him. I don’t ever expect you to stop loving him, or to give him up any more than you’ve had to already.” He leans back slightly, framing your face carefully between his palms. 

You find yourself instinctively reaching up to grasp his wrists, a gesture that’s so natural you almost don’t notice it.

“I’m not worried about living with a ghost. He loved you first.” 

Your mind latches onto that now. First? 

“But I couldn’t take it if you hated me.”

Your unfocused eyes snap to his. “Hated you?”

He nods frantically, begging you with liquid eyes to understand.

You shake your head, confused. “I could never hate you, Alex. Why–”

“Josh Belchard flirts with you all the time,” he interrupts.

You blink. “Josh?” You’re completely unsure of how or when Josh entered this conversation. 

Alex finally steps back, running his hands through his hair. Whether in stress or exasperation, you can’t tell.

“I just mean you’ve had plenty of opportunities to end up with someone else. Even just for sex, if that’s what you wanted. I’m scared that if we sleep together, you’ll wake up and realize that you weren’t ready to share that part of yourself after all and you’ll regret it and it’ll be my fault. And then you’ll hate me, and I’ll hate myself.” His head sags back as though he can’t keep it upright any longer. He turns it to look at you, and his expression is so pained that you have to fight the urge to reach for him. “I don’t want to hate myself any more,” he confesses. His voice is broken, his eyes begging you to understand.

It’s obvious that he’s been fighting this attraction just as long as you have, but it’s also clear that he’s put much more thought into the aftermath of giving in. You have no idea where to start.

“Okay,” you say simply.

“Okay?” He sounds incredulous, but not angry.

“I could never hate you,” you begin slowly, and then tack on quickly, “And you shouldn’t hate yourself.” You pause to chew on your lip. “I don’t know if I’m ready. You… I hadn’t really thought about it.” 

You realize that you haven’t. All your thoughts have been consumed with what your husband might think, what he might feel if he were here. Whether or not it would be fair to his memory to let yourself love someone else.

Never whether or not you are ready to share yourself with another person.

Your skin prickles uncomfortably. 

“I’m not really a one-night-stand kinda gal, and no one’s really ever caught my eye before.” Before you, you don’t say.

Alex’s expression softens. He steps forward, raising a hand to your cheek, and you’re struck by the juxtaposition of his shaking hands and smooth stride. “I don’t need you to promise me forever,” he begins.

You cut him off with a raised brow and a challenge in your voice. “You don’t?” You can’t remember ever having been so bold before, but his almost-confession has given you courage to reach for what you want.

He doesn’t answer you. Even so, his hard swallow and the tightening around his eyes are answer enough.

Your heart begins to sprint in your chest. 

“I just need to know you won’t regret me. I… I don’t think I can give you up.”

You nod slowly. “Okay,” you repeat.

Alex lets out a relieved sigh. “Okay.” He leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead, pulling you into his chest.

You stay that way for a long time, until your legs begin to ache with the rocking motion.

You grasp his elbows and lean back. “Let’s go to bed.” You can’t resist reaching up to stroke his temple one more time. He nods, turning to kiss the inside of your wrist without breaking eye contact. Heat flares again in the pit of your stomach, but you tamp it down. 

“I… I definitely think I should take Burdock.”

You nod. You help him pack the few items he needs and then walk him to the door. 

He kisses your temple before shutting it behind him. 

You lean against the wall, sliding down until you sit, forearms resting against your knees. Are you ready?

You think of Josh Belchard, who flirted with you the first time you ever met. You remember the abject horror he exuded when your husband kissed you with a twinkle in his eye, and how he never made another move until long after the societally acceptable grieving period was over. 

You think of Johnny, who’s flirted mercilessly over the years. You’re sure he’s always been joking, but there is a part of you that thinks he might have followed through if you’d ever indicated any interest.

You think of the ranch hands who’ve come and gone, the pickup lines and eyes they’ve made, no matter how polite, and think that you certainly have had opportunities to start another relationship, or even just to have casual sex.

Then you think of Alex, big and broad as a bear but still the gentlest man you’ve ever known. You think of the way he watches you, affectionate and proud and protective, like your very existence is something to cherish and safeguard. You think of his light touches, his every little gesture, his patience and loyalty and you wonder if, maybe, having him here has done more to heal your invisible wounds than it has his.

Are you ready?

You lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, out the window, searching for an answer. When you wake up at dawn, you still haven’t found one.

Alex is sitting at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You worry about what to say until you realize that he’s smiling the same soft smile as every other morning, and then you wonder why you worried to begin with.

He’s waiting for you, and you have a feeling he’s content to wait.

That realization, more than any of your wandering and tumultuous thoughts, gives you your answer.

Despite this epiphany, you decide that you owe it to both of you to sit with it for awhile. 

One week, you tell yourself. One week and I’ll tell him.

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

Of Burdock and Brandy [Alex Keller x Widow! Reader] - II. Inflammation

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from the Modern Warfare series

Warnings/tags: SMUT (18+ MDNI) , widowed reader, descriptions of prosthesis, language, depictions/discussions of grief, fluff

It takes two weeks for Alex to feel comfortable enough with his prosthetic to leave the house. 

He spends his days doing rehabilitation exercises and light chores while you work, and his evenings learning to balance the ranch’s expenses. You make breakfast, he makes lunch, and you make dinner together. After, he washes dishes while you dry them.

At first, he’s quiet. By the time you part ways in the hall, you can count the words he’s said over the course of the day. Slowly though, he opens up.

He asks questions about the different feeds you buy, comments on the music you play, agrees to sit down to watch a movie.

You don’t ask about the nightmares, even after they’ve woken you up—not the nightmares themselves, with shouts and screams like you’d imagined, but the incongruous footsteps that follow when he can’t fall back asleep. You only make him an extra thermos of coffee to compensate for the bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes.

For the first few days, he moves like a ghost. If you didn’t see him at mealtimes, you wouldn’t even know he was in your home. He interacts with his environment without leaving any trace of existence. Then, slowly, he begins to relax.

First, he leaves a book on the side table by the armchair you secretly think he likes. The next day, the throw blanket on that chair is rumpled just enough to prove that someone’s used it. Then there’s the evening you walk into the kitchen to find him with an open cookbook and a countertop full of ingredients, baking a pie in your favorite apron. He blushes when you wipe a streak of flour from his cheek, and again when you praise the pie.

“It’s just because the cherries are fresh.”

You point your fork at him. “The cherries are always fresh, and my pies never come out this good.”

There’s a phone call from Kate, and then a call from Kyle. You sit shoulder to shoulder with the phone held up between you, taking turns answering questions about yourselves and the ranch and Alex’s leg.

Then there’s the day you come in later than usual for lunch. Alex stands on the porch, balancing a plate and your rain jacket on one arm as he navigates the stairs with his crutch.

“I’m coming!” you call. You jog across the yard as thunder rolls overhead.

“I didn’t want you to get stuck without your jacket.”

You can’t stop yourself from reaching up to smooth your hands over his flannel where the fabric has bunched up. Behind you, the sky begins to drizzle. “You’re sweet. I’m sorry I’m late, I had to fill the hay nets.”

“Because of the rain?”

“Mhmm.” You take the plate and your jacket, nodding toward the door. “Usually they graze until later, but not in bad weather.”

“I should start helping with the horses.”

“Oh, no. No helping with the horses until you’re ready to ride. You have to be able to enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

He looks across the yard through the screen door. “I think I’m ready to try.”

“Really?” You feel yourself brighten. “We’ll go as soon as the weather improves.”

Later in the week, after a day of caring for the horses, you turn them out into the paddock. You tack up your mare and lead her to the front porch, where you hand Alex the reins. 

“This is Brandy.” You take his hand in yours and lay it against her muzzle. She steps forward into the touch, instantly leaning down to nose the side of his face with a soft snort. Alex jumps, but settles quickly enough. He raises his free hand to Brandy’s cheek, glancing at you as if seeking your approval. 

“That’s it,” you say. He smiles and turns his attention back to your horse. “She’s gentle. She won’t give you any trouble at all. Did you want a few minutes with her first, or are you ready to mount up?”

Alex swallows hard, casting a glance down to his leg. He was able to get outside and down the stairs on his own without his crutch, but you’re not sure yet what the exercise took out of him. 

You raise a hand to his back at the same time Brandy lowers her head over his shoulder, as if hugging him. Alex instinctively turns into her, and your heart gives a hard squeeze. 

“We don’t have to do this,” you say. 

Before you can continue, Alex is shaking his head. “No, I want to. I’ll, uh. I’ll mount up now. If that’s okay. Save you the trouble of tacking a second horse if I can’t get up.” 

You smile and rub his back where your hand still rests. “Sounds good. Ever been on a horse before?”

“No, ma’am.” 

“Well, Brandy’s the best horse for you then. She doesn’t kick up a fuss.” You walk to her right side and motion for Alex to follow. “Traditionally, you mount from the horse’s left. But I think you’ll have an easier time mounting from the right.” You hold your breath, but Alex only nods.

You motion toward her head. “See her ears? She knows we’re here. That’s the most important part, that you don’t startle her.” 

A little like you, you think. You watch as Alex studies Brandy. He nods again. 

“Alright, now. Take the reins in your right hand, loosely. Yeah, like that. Now put your hands on the saddle. Right on the horn, left on the cantle.” You motion as you go, but Alex has good instincts and doesn’t seem to need the direction.

“Now the tricky part,” you murmur. You step closer and rest your palm at the small of his back. Alex peers at you over his shoulder. You meet his gaze, determined to remain steady and calm. Someone he can lean on, both figuratively and, for the moment, literally. 

“You’re going to balance on your left foot and raise your right into the stirrup. Then you lift yourself up and swing your left over the saddle. Think you can do that?”

“Yes,” he says. You fancy that you can hear an edge of discomfort in his voice.

“We don’t have to do this,” you repeat. “I know you said you want to try, but if you don’t think you’re ready, we can always—”

The only warning you get is a subtle tension beneath your palm. Then, Alex lifts his leg and plants his foot firmly in the stirrup, with only the slightest wobble on his prosthetic leg.

You blink in surprise. 

“Up and over,” he mutters. Then he lifts himself and, after only a moment’s hesitation, swings his leg over the saddle. There’s an awkward beat while he maneuvers his left hand from the cantle, and then some shifting around to get comfortable. But he’s in the saddle.

He beams down at you. Absentmindedly, he reaches forward to stroke Brandy’s neck. She snorts once, softly, her own brand of approval.

You find yourself beaming back at him. 

“Well?” you ask. “How does that feel?”

“Feels just fine.”

“And your leg?”

He shifts around a bit, assessing. 

“Yeah, feels fine.”

“Can you put it in the stirrup?”

Alex leans to his left, peering down. You’re pleased when, rather than dropping the reins entirely, he only moves his left hand. You watch as he not so much as lifts, but rather guides his left leg until, ostensibly, his foot rests in the stirrup. He nods at you, reaching forward to rub Brandy’s neck again. 

Good instincts, indeed. 

“Can you put weight on it?” you ask. 

He nods.

“Great, now. Pick a direction and turn her head. Just—yeah, like that. Okay, you’re already sitting up straight. Keep doing that, you don’t want to lean back unless you want her to stop. Now you can either squeeze her, just a little, with your calves, or you can,” and here, you click your tongue twice. Brandy smoothly turns and begins to walk toward the barn.

Alex lets out a surprised but delighted laugh, and for a moment, the tired, weathered soldier disappears. You see him as he might have been before a life of war robbed him of his innocence and optimism. 

He’s a natural in the saddle, sitting tall with hands only lightly holding the reins. Brandy seems to share this assessment, nickering softly as he turns her this way and that. You let him go, riding around the front of your house for several minutes before, without any instruction, he leans back slightly, pulling the reins with a soft, “Woah.”

You clap slowly. You can feel a grin splitting your face.

“Alright, cowboy,” you say. “Now it’s time to see if you can get down on your own.” 

“Yes ma’am.”

“We can go about this one of two ways. Either dismount exactly how you got up, pick a foot to leave in the stirrup and land on the other. Or, and I think this might be better, you swing one leg over her head and slide down with both feet on one side. At least that way you can control how much impact goes onto your prosthetic.” You cross your arms so you can hold your elbows, shrugging a bit awkwardly. “I don’t know how sensitive it is or…” With no real idea of what you’re saying, you let the comment trail off.

Alex considers his options.

“I can bring a mounting block too, if you think it’ll help. It’s just difficult to transport—”

But Alex has already moved. He swings his right leg carefully over Brandy’s head and you dash to her left side, arriving just in time to plant a hand on his broad chest as his boots hit the ground. 

“I think I’ll be okay.” The lopsided grin on his lips is so wide that you can’t help but stare at it a moment too long. You look up again when you feel Alex’s heartbeat kick up under your palm, only to find him watching you with an unreadable expression. 

You take a deep breath. There’s no denying the attraction you feel, but that doesn’t mean that this is a good idea. You remind yourself that Alex needs time in space to heal, not another complication. Not to mention the fact that even though you’re here playing house, he’s on the run. He could be gone at a moment's notice.

Then you remind yourself that you’ve been alone for years. You’re only lonely, and you both deserve better than that.

If you’re only lonely, then why have you never felt like this with the boys? whispers a traitorous voice in your mind. What about Josh Belchard? It goes on. You’ve been lonely for a long time before this man. Why now?

You shake the voice loose. Then your ring glints from the corner of your eye. You drop your hand.

“Again?” you say. Alex is watching you, as if trying to parse through your thoughts. As if he can hear that little voice in your head.

“Yes ma’am,” is all he says.

You watch as he repeats the motion of mounting and dismounting until you’re satisfied that he can do it without supervision. Then you leave him with Brandy to walk the yard while you escape to the barn to tack up the gelding you intend to bring.

You make ample use of the time it takes to retrieve tack to get your thoughts and breathing under control. By the time you reach the stall, you feel like your feet are back on solid ground. 

The gelding tosses his head at your approach. You lay the saddle over the stall door, approaching him with a raised hand. You make soft sounds, step slowly, and eventually lay a hand over his forehead. He continues to snort, but with less frequency and force. 

You coo at him as you dress him in blanket and saddle, bit and bridle. He clearly has no patience for the bit, but no young horse does. He’ll adapt. 

It takes you nearly twice as long to saddle him as it did Brandy, but after a short time, you lead him out of the stable.

Alex looks up from his seat on Brandy‘s back and smiles. You assume it’s just your imagination, but his shoulders seem to relax as you walk toward him.

“Still feeling good?” you call. 

“Best I’ve felt in a while,” he calls back. You can’t stop the smile that breaks over your face. 

He swings his leg over Brandy‘s head, sliding to the ground with significantly more ease than his previous attempts. You note that he does lift his left leg slightly, landing almost entirely on his right, but his balance has improved since that first clumsy dismount.

“I’ll go get the bags!”

You worry that he may be overdoing it, but he’s already halfway to the porch steps. The movements are awkward, but it’s the first energy he’s shown since being dropped off weeks ago.

You take the gelding’s reins in your hand and position yourself at his side. His ears flatten against his skull, but you make soothing sounds and stroke his neck. You wait until his posture relaxes to set foot in the stirrup. He tosses his head, eyes rolled back to watch you, but otherwise curbs his own reactions. With murmured words of praise, you lift yourself and swing your leg over the saddle.

Alex steps back onto the porch, bags slung over his shoulder. The moment the screen door slams shut behind him, you know it’s going to be a problem.

It’s not a loud noise, but the timing is poor and the gelding is still skittish. He tosses his head, prancing nervously in place.

“Whoa, there,” you command, voice steady and firm. He stamps the ground and, from the corner of your eye, you see Alex freeze in place. You shush your mount, but he’s begun to stamp his front hooves in tandem. Beside you, Brandy begins to squeal in objection.

“Steady,” you grit out. And then he balks in earnest.

You squeeze your legs and lean forward just as his front hooves leave the ground. The gelding rears several times in quick succession, forcing you to hold tightly onto him. It’s not the most violent ride you’ve ever had, but it still takes all your focus. As he begins to settle, Brandy charges the short space between you and nips the gelding’s neck in an uncharacteristic display of aggression. When she raises her head, though, he dips his in response–still snorting anxiously, but calmer than he was. You pat his neck with heavy hands, still murmuring nonsense to steady him.

Your head shoots up in search of Alex, but he is blessedly removed from the confrontation. He stands on the porch, gripping the railing with white knuckles, looking as frightened as your horse.

“All good,” you call, hoping he won’t hear the slight tremble in your voice. Brandy anandons her chastisement of the other animal in favor of dropping her head square into your lap. You lift one hand to her cheek and lean down to kiss her forelock. “Thank you, my darling,” you whisper. For a moment, you’re transported back in time to another day on another ranch, watching your husband ride a bucking bronco with his own mount protesting from a nearby paddock. The animal had leapt the fence when he was thrown, running down the bronco before it could trample him. 

Losing that horse last year had been like losing your husband all over again.

You tilt your head back and swallow your tears before shoving Brandy lightly away and motioning Alex over. Your mount has calmed enough now for you to dismount. You tie him to the fence post, drop a light kiss on his nose and a heavy pat on his neck, and leave a wide berth when you walk around him. Brandy remains planted firmly between you, snorting at the gelding every now and then.

Alex has hobbled up as quickly as he can. He drops the bags unceremoniously in the dirt before running his hands over your head, your shoulders, down your arms. You feel your cheeks heat when his palms envelop yours. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. Despite the blatant fear in his expression from the porch, his voice now is steady and commanding.

“I’m fine.”

He nods over your shoulder. “What’s his problem?”

“He’s a rescue,” you say, looking back at the pair of animals. “I’ve only had him here for a couple of weeks, but I think he was abused.” You shrug. “The screen door startled him. He just needs some love. He’ll be fine.”

Alex hums thoughtfully. “What’s his name?” His hands now scrub gently up and down your arms, a gesture that calms you more than you’d like to admit.

“I haven’t named him yet. I was thinking Echo, though.”

Alex’s hands cease their movement, gripping you just above your elbows. “Echo?” 

“Yeah, like a specter of a past life.” His fingers tighten around your arms, and you look up in alarm. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. “Or not. What about Burdock?”

“Burdock?” His voice sounds almost just as hollow, but his hands resume their earlier path, if a bit shakily.

You nod quickly. “It’s restorative, or it can be. Traditionally, you’d rub it on saddle sores or cracked hooves. It can help the healing process.”

Something shifts in Alex’s expression as he watches the gelding. “Burdock,” he murmurs, sounding much more like himself. “That’s a nice name.”

“Right? Besides, that way they’re a bit of a matched set. Burdock and Brandy. Herbs and alcohol, nature’s greatest healers.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. Then he shakes off whatever’s fallen over him with a sharp nod. “He’s got a nice coat.”

“Blue roan,” you supply. “It’s incredibly rare in Thoroughbreds.”

Alex looks to you in surprise. “And he’s a rescue? Doesn’t rare mean… expensive?” 

You shrug. “Yeah. But a lot of racehorses are owned by investors, and Thoroughbreds are notoriously high spirited. I think he got hurt, maybe causing trouble.” You step around Brandy to point at Burdock’s leg. “See that scar on his fetlock? And the other one on his hock? I think he may have jumped a fence, or maybe his stable door. If he was causing trouble, and especially if he couldn’t race, most investors wouldn’t want to keep him around.”

“You don’t know where he came from?”

“No. Arthur Braddock–he’s just down the road–a friend of his ended up with him, asked Arthur for help.” You take Alex by the elbow, allowing him to use your shoulder as a makeshift crutch so you can point around the side of the barn. “That’s his horse, the piebald. Black and white. See the feathers? The hair around her hooves?”

Alex nods eagerly as you point out the details. 

“Arthur’s getting old, and she needs more grooming than he can handle. So I keep her here and keep her groomed, and he comes to ride every now and again.”

Alex nods slowly. “What kind of horse is… what’s her name?”

“Tinsel. She’s a Gypsy Vanner. Good riding horses. Calm, comfortable.”

“And Burdock is a blue roan Thoroughbred, which is a racehorse.”

“That’s right.”

“And what about Brandy?”

Your face breaks into a true smile. “Brandy is a Missouri Fox Trotter. Mahogany bay.”

Alex gives you a sideways smile. “And what are Missouri Fox Trotters for?”

“Everything.” You can’t stop yourself from walking back toward your pride and joy. When you reach out a hand, she steps right into it. “I could take her into any competition, with enough training. But mostly, they’re known for being easy to ride. Gentle, smooth. They don’t spook easy. Lots of personality.” Brandy snorts in your face. “Obviously.”

You ruffle her mane and throw your arms around her neck. “My husband gave her to me as a wedding gift. He wanted me to have a horse of my own, one I’d be happy to ride and who’d make the work easy. She sure does.”

When you look back to Alex, he’s watching you with soft eyes. “Hell of a wedding gift.”

“She’s my best girl. My one true darling.”

“She’s definitely easy to ride. If I can ride her…” He lets the sentence trail off with a playful shrug. It makes you laugh.

“Speaking of, you ready to go?”

“I am.”

You stand by as Alex mounts Brandy. Once he’s securely in the saddle, you secure your bags to the cantle. Then you sling sleeping bags across your own and mount up, moving slowly. Burdock paws the ground, but doesn’t panic. You lavish him with praise and hardy pets, then click your tongue at him.

“Let’s go!” You whistle at Brandy, who trots until she’s closed the gap between you. Alex looks impressed.

You take a dirt track past the paddock, heading for the hills behind your home. Alex nods toward the pen. “How many have you got?”

You lean forward to better see around him. “Just those three more. I’m training the palomino for a little girl, Aria. Her dad owns the cafe in town. Nice family. They’ve never worked with horses, so I’m gentling her. She’s a little skittish, but I think she’ll be ready in another month or so.”

You point to a pair of geldings playing with a ball at the far end. “The chestnut and the leopard Appaloosa are horses I’m training for Josh Belchard. He owns the town’s cattle ranch. You probably passed it on your way in.”

“We did. It’s huge.” 

“Five thousand acres. He’s expanding right now, hiring another hand. Hence the two horses.” At Alex’s confused expression, you go on. “You generally want two horses for every hand on a ranch. One for driving, one for ranch work. So neither one gets overworked. And so, worst case scenario, you can switch mounts if one’s lame.”

“That’s kind of brutal.”

“It is,” you sigh. “But accidents happen. People around here, and hopefully most places, do their best to take good care of their horses, but you can’t account for everything.”

A comfortable silence falls as you follow the paddock fenceline.

Alex breaks it by saying, “I guess that’s not so different from the military.”

You glance sharply in his direction. “Having people ready to replace the ones who get hurt?”

“Yeah.” He tilts his head back and forth, not unlike your horses do sometimes. “You do your due diligence, send people in with a solid plan, and then hope for the best. Sometimes you have all the right info, all the right tools, and things still go south.”

Without meaning to, you look at his prosthetic leg. “Is that what happened with you?”

His jaw tightens and you worry you’ve overstepped. 

“Pretty much,” he grits out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m just… trying to decide how much I can actually tell you.” You watch out of the corner of your eye as he rolls the question around in his mind. Finally, he shrugs. “We were sent to destroy a facility. It wasn’t empty, and the detonator was damaged in the firefight to get in. Someone had to stay behind to push the button, so… I volunteered.”

You lurch sideways to grab onto Brandy’s reins as you pull back on your own. Alex looks up, startled. 

“You volunteered?” Your throat feels suddenly too dry. You have to force the words out.

Alex does you the courtesy of not looking away. “Yes.”

Your mouth opens and closes. Then, “Why?”

“Because I’m expendable. Farah–the commander, she isn’t. She’s got a whole rebellion to lead. They need her.”

“You’re don’t seem expendable to me.”

That wry, self-deprecating grin makes an appearance. “Trust me. If you met her, you’d understand.”

He looks away, so he misses the way you shake your head. You remove your hand from his reins, though, and squeeze Burdock’s sides lightly. When he begins to walk, Brandy follows without any further instruction.

“The boys wouldn’t call you expendable, either.”

“I assume you know the boys,” he snickers under his breath, a little, “through Kate.” It’s an obvious attempt to change the subject, but he seems genuinely amused, so you decide to let it slide. This time. You laugh at the joking derision in his voice, but nod. “How do you know Kate?”

You hum. “I grew up next door to her. My first summer job was mowing her lawn.”

Alex‘s lips twitch beneath his mustache. “That’s quite the picture. Little you with a lawnmower, and Kate with a lawn.”

You snort. “Pretty sure she still has a lawn, actually.” Alex raises his brows, but says nothing. “She introduced me to my husband,” you muse.

That gets his attention. His head whips toward you, features painted in shock. “Really? How did that happen?”

“He’s her wife’s best friend's nephew,” you say. “She introduced us at a barbecue when we were fifteen, and the rest of history.”

At some point, Alex’s attention has shifted back to the trail. You only notice when his head snaps toward you again. “You’ve never been with anyone but your husband?” he asks. His voice is soft, a little disbelieving. You feel yourself bristle.

“No,” you say simply.

“That sounds like a dream,” he says, and you realize that the note you couldn’t pick out of his voice before was awe. He’s facing forward again, focused on guiding Brandy around a rut in the dirt path. It gives you an opportunity to study his unguarded expression. He looks… wistful. 

“No one waiting for you at home?” you ask. You know the answer already–what kind of person with a family thinks of themselves as expendable?–but your heart kicks up a bit as you wait for the answer. 

Alex levels you with a look that borders on condescension. “No. I think a wife and a white picket fence are a little beyond my grasp.”

You wrestle with whether or not to ask the question burning on the tip of your tongue… for about half a second. “You want that? A wife and a white picket fence?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” It’s a non-answer if you’ve ever heard one, but packed with such hopelessness that it’s obvious he really does. 

“Why is it beyond your grasp?”

He looks over, as if he thinks you might be joking. “I can never go back to the US, or to Urzikstan. Even if I could get back into fighting shape, it would take time. And Farah can’t wait for me. Her war is now.” Farah. The commander. Your skin prickles uncomfortably as the real reason he’d volunteer for a suicide mission becomes clear. Alex goes on, oblivious to the shock of this realization. “I could find someplace in the Middle East, I suppose. But there are so many conflicts with the US that I’d be bound to get picked up, eventually. And anywhere else… well, it’s hard to meet someone when you’re in hiding.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing you’ve got me.” You want to slap a hand to your forehead when the words pass your lips. Again, far more insinuating than you meant them to be. 

Alex clears his throat. It’s beyond obvious that he’s trying not to laugh. “It is.” Despite his mirth, there’s a weight of sincerity to his words.

You feel heat creeping into your cheeks, and quickly decide that you’ve had enough of that.

“Think you can handle going a little faster?” you ask.

“Yes ma’am,” he responds.

Your lips twitch up. Johnny can complain all he’d like, but you’re quite taken with Alex‘s specific brand of charm.

You squeeze your knees and shift your weight down in the saddle. Burdock’s ears flick in curiosity when you click your tongue. He moves into an easy trot, strides lengthening. Over your shoulder, you hear Brandy pick up her pace to match. 

You also hear Alex’s breathless laugh. 

You ride like this until you reach the trails that lead up into the foothills. Then you slow, peeking over your shoulder. Alex seems to be doing just fine, so you jerk your head at the trail. 

“Brandy knows the way,” you tell him. “Just let her take the lead.”

You could let Brandy go first, but you want to develop Burdock’s confidence. You steer him with firm directions, taking care not to rush him around sharp turns and over loose pebbles. Despite his earlier anxiety, his steps are sure and his mien is calm. You shower him with praise as you go, eager to reinforce good behavior. 

By the time the ground levels out, the sun is just beginning to sink over the treetops of the valley. You bring Burdock up at the edge of your favorite overlook, throwing an arm out dramatically with a sing-song “ta-da” before you breathe deep, letting the clean air fill your lungs. 

“Damn,” breathes Alex. “It’s beautiful up here.”

You beam at him. “It’s one of my favorite places.”

“I can see why.”

You peer sideways. “How’re you feeling? Warm? Have some energy left?”

“I’m fine.”

You nod. “Perfect. Just up there.” 

You point to a copse of trees just off the path. Alex turns Brandy toward it, but you can see the moment she begins to lead and he to follow. The way through isn’t easily discernible, and you’re pleased that he’s trusting her unprompted. She follows the tree line for several paces before turning into it a moment later, and you hear Alex’s surprised laughter. You follow on Burdock, riding to the tree you always tether your mounts to, and hoist yourself up and over the saddle.

Even though you’re behind him, Alex seems to notice your dismount. He slides off Brandy‘s back, a little shaky after the ride. He leans on her as he hobbles in your direction. 

Your hand flies to your mouth in a horrified realization. 

Alex stops dead, straightening. Bracing for something, you realize. 

“What?” he asks. His voice has dropped back into that half-dead acceptance you heard from him just the day before. 

You can’t take it. Not after hearing him laugh and thank you for coffee and coo at your horse. 

“Your crutch,” you say. “We forgot it and I didn’t even notice until now. I can go back and get it for you…”

You trail off as his shoulders droop in relief. 

“You scared me for a second there, bird.” You blink, momentarily disoriented by hearing the boys’—and your husband’s—nickname for you from Alex’s lips. “I thought something was wrong. I left that back at the house.”

“You don’t need it?”

He shrugs, continuing the short trek to the hitching tree. “I’ll manage. Besides, it’s about time I start learning to get around without it.”

He looks at the loose knot you’ve made of Burdock's reins, then back to the ones in his hands. With careful movements and a few glances back, he ties a near perfect replica. When he looks up to you, your smile seems to be all the reassurance he needs that he’s done it right.

“Does it hurt?” you blurt. Immediately, you regret the words. “That was such a stupid question, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. And it doesn’t hurt, not really. Not any more. Just kind of aches sometimes.”

You grimace. “It was insensitive. And I’m sorry that it still aches.” You pause, and then decide you’ve already stuck your foot in your mouth. No reason to hold back now. “Will the ache ever go away?”

“It’s supposed to,” Alex says. He sounds like he believes it, and you feel yourself relax a little.

He limps into the cave you’ve brought him to, around the inside, then out and around the clearing. 

“Are you… checking the perimeter?” you ask, incredulous.

He stops, neck flushing. “I–”

You smile, just a bit. “Old habits?”

He huffs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “They sure do.”

At first, you don’t get the joke. Alex watches you patiently, expectantly. Then you do get it, and you start to laugh. You laugh so hard that you snort, which makes Alex laugh too. Then you’re both losing it, cackling over what might just be the dumbest joke you’ve ever heard, let alone said.

You swipe tears from your lash line. “That was so bad. What would you have done if I didn’t get it?”

“I knew you would.”

Heat suffuses your chest, your cheeks. There’s something intimate in the way he says it, like he knows you get more than just the joke.

Before you can overthink it, he clears his throat. “Can I do anything?”

You force yourself to get a grip. “I assume you know how to make a fire?”

You help gather tinder, point Alex to your little stockpile of bigger wooden pieces, and move onto untacking the horses. You carry Brandy’s saddle to a fallen log, promising to help collect stones as soon as you’re done. When you turn with Burdock’s saddle in hand, he takes it from you, insisting that he can collect the stones while you lay out sleeping bags. As you do, you think about all the housekeeping that needs to be done on the ranch and feel a burst of excitement at the thought of, once again, having someone to share the work with. 

You wonder if Alex will enjoy it in the way your husband always did. You wonder whether you’ll have just as hard a time adjusting once he, too, is gone.

That thought feels disloyal. You stand abruptly to chase it away. From his new place just inside the cave mouth, Alex startles. You reach out to touch his shoulder in apology.

“Fancy a swim?” 

He searches your face, clearly not fooled by your smooth recovery.

“We didn’t bring bathing suits.”

Crap. Foot, meet mouth. Again. Refusing to let yourself be nervous, you reach for the hem of your shirt with a raised brow. Alex’s eyes widen as you lift the fabric, shrugging it over your shoulders.

“Underwear’s basically bathing suits, right?”

“Right.” Alex’s voice seems strained. You worry, again, that you’ve crossed a line, but then he goes on. “And I suppose you brought towels?”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” he repeats. Then breaths deep. “Alright, where’s this swimming?”

You pull towels out of your backpack and lead Alex out of the cave, around the camp fire he’s built but not lit, and through a stand of trees. Not fifty paces from the clearing is a lake so clear that you can see straight to the bottom. 

“Wow,” Alex murmurs.

You glance down and then kick yourself, again. 

“I swear I won’t keep doing this to you–can you even go in?”

“Hmm?” He looks at you, then follows your gaze to his leg. “Oh, yeah. I can.”

You’re about to ask why he’s hesitating, if not because of his leg, when he nods and yanks his shirt off.

Your heart begins to race.

He’s broad, muscled and sturdy. Scars of various shapes and colors criss-cross the planes of his back, his sides, his shoulders. A beautiful man who’s seen ugly, ugly things. Then he turns, and you see why he hesitated.

Across his abdomen, the skin is an angry, shiny red. One hand flies up to your mouth before you can stop it, and Alex turns his head away. You can see the flush begin beneath his shoulders and flood is way up to his neck.

You reach out before you can second guess yourself, splaying your fingers above the scar tissue. His muscles tense under your touch.

“This happen at the same time as your leg?” Your voice sounds too shaky, too close to tears. 

Alex doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Yup.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “Nothing to be sorry for.” He turns a wry smile on you without quite meeting your gaze. “Just another thing keeping me away from that white picket fence.”

Even though you’re on the verge of tears, you snort out a laugh. Alex raises a brow at your outburst.

“Oh, Alex.” You sweet summer child. “I can assure you that no scar, no matter how gruesome, would be enough to keep away prospective wives and white picket fences.”

Alex, God bless him, stares at you in unbridled disbelief. 

Before mortification can cook you from the inside out, you toe off your boots, unzip your pants, and shuck them off along with the rest of your dignity for the day. You need the cool water on your skin just as much as you need something to do before you embarrass yourself further, so you take a running leap forward and away from Alex.

The icy water douses the last of your self-consciousness the moment your head goes under. You break the surface with a gasp. When you turn back to the shore, you expect to see Alex half undressed and wading in. Instead, you see him watching you with an expression so tender that you don’t know what to do with yourself. 

Electricity pulses down your spine. You haven’t felt such an instant bond with anyone since…

Well. Since your husband.

The shame of yet another comparison lasts only as long as it takes for you to remember that, if the roles had been reversed, you’d want him to find happiness wherever, and however, he could.

You decide it’s time to lean in.

“You coming?”

Alex’s hands go to his belt. He hesitates once it’s undone, hands at the button of his jeans, before unfastening that, too. Then he slides them down long, strong legs.

Really, you don’t know what you expected–some plastic sock? A robotic limb from foot to hip?–but you’re shocked to realize that his prosthetic starts below the knee. He gets into the water quickly, so you don’t see much more than skin puckered around what appears to be a steel rod, but you nod toward it anyway.

“Is that why you’re able to walk around already? Because you still have your knee?”

“Damn, that’s cold,” he blurts. His hands float up to the water’s surface, fanning out for balance. “Yeah. I got lucky. The explosion took my whole foot, but it only shattered my lower tibia. They were able to save enough of the bone for an osseointegrated prosthetic. If I’d lost my knee too, the recovery would have been longer and harder.”

He’s close enough now that you can lower your voice to say, “I guess that is lucky.”

He shrugs. “I could have died.” It’s blunt enough to make you feel like you’ve been slapped. “Can’t really complain.”

You try to swallow around the lump in your throat, but find that you can’t. Instead, you nod.

Alex’s whole demeanor shifts. “Shit. Talk about insensitive.” He reaches carefully forward, pulling you into a slow hug. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be sorry,” you choke out. You let yourself lean into his warmth for just a moment before sniffling and straightening. “Now c’mon, let’s swim.” You tip back until you’re floating, kicking lightly away.

After a slight pause, Alex follows suit. Around you, birds sing their evening songs and crickets chirp. Somewhere nearby, a woodpecker taps out a steady rhythm on a treetrunk, and a warbler adds its song to the symphony.

“It’s so peaceful here,” Alex says. His voice is rough, like he’s affected by this revelation.

“It sure is.” You splash around until the cold starts to seep into your bones, then swim for shore. “You ready for dinner?”

Alex simply tilts his body until his feet touch the bottom, wading out after you. You look quickly away before you can take too much notice of the way his boxers cling to his wet skin.

You pick up the towels, tossing one to him over your shoulder. Funny enough, it’s the way his hair sticks up as he scrubs the towel over it that truly sets your heart to racing.

You busy yourself with lighting the fire, pouring cubed potatoes and sliced peppers and strips of steak into an oiled cast iron pan, and nestling it into the coals before your mind can run away with you.

When Alex undoes your efforts by stepping into your peripheral vision, you gesture at his arms.

“How’d you get all these?” 

He chuckles as he lowers himself slowly to the ground. “Honestly? I was just a dumb kid. I got most of ‘em in boot camp.” He twists his arms in the glow of the fire, making lines of ink dance. He points to a spot near his left elbow, at a pair of dog tags strung on barbed wire. “Got this when a buddy died in a training accident.”

Your lips twist down. “That’s awful.”

He turns his other arm, pointing to a large image of an angel and a snake. “Got this one after my first paramilitary deployment.”

“So, all military related?”

“Pretty much.” He stokes the fire until it blazes up and then leans back with his hands behind his head, putting the expanse of his unmarked chest on full display. 

“Why just your arms?” Your voice softens as you ask.

For a long while, Alex just stares up at the sky, lost in thought. Finally, he says, “I guess I figure that the world can see what I let them. Who I really am, though? That’s private.”

“And who are you really, Alex?”

He turns to look at you, eyes smoldering as they reflect the firelight. 

“If I ever find out, I’ll let you know.”

You’ve watched the boys question themselves over the years. Not John–he knows exactly what’s at stake, and he’s been at it long enough to be able to balance the scales in a heartbeat. His questions had long since come and gone by the time you met him.

But Kyle, whose sweet disposition and righteous anger mean he feels every life lost and every wrong he can’t right, sometimes spirals into an existential uncertainty so deep that it seems like he may never find his way out. 

Johnny’s sunny personality is hard to dim, but sometimes you worry that a youth spent extinguishing evil has choked out the spark that lights him and that it’s only a matter of time until that light goes out and never comes back. 

And Simon, who wears two masks as much to hide his heart as his face, struggles the most, you think. You sometimes wonder if he’s the epitome of the old adage about not taking the war out of the man. He may watch the world through dead eyes, but you know that inside, he’s much more alive than he’d like himself or anyone else to think.

You see all of them in Alex now. You think about the scars scattered over his body and the matching ones hidden beneath his skin. You wonder if he regrets the things he’s done, or only the circumstances that forced his hands. You wonder if he sees blood dripping from his fingers the way you know Simon does, wonder if he’s heard screaming like Kyle has, wonder if he’s grieved his innocence the way you suspect Johnny did.

You consider the way Kate described him when she asked you to take him in—honest, incorruptible, loyal to a fault. A man willing to lay down his rank, his rights, and even his life to do the right thing. The good thing, even when the good thing and the hard thing were one and the same. 

“I think,” you say slowly, “that you’re courageous and fearless.” Alex scoffs, turning his head away. “No, I’m serious. I think you have honor and integrity. You’re a good man. And I think that, once you’ve had some time to adjust, you’ll see that, too.”

“You barely know me,” he mumbles.

“I’m an excellent judge of character.”

He levels you with a flat look. You raise your eyebrows.

“What?”

“Aren’t you operating on Kate’s judgement?”

“Sure am. Why, are you saying Kate’s judgement is unreliable?”

He barks a laugh at that. “You know I would never say that.”

“Uh-huh.” 

Satisfied with having won the argument, you use a fork to stir dinner around. Then you stand, lay your towel across a rock, and get dressed. Alex gets to his feet and follows suit, keeping his vision conspicuously fixed on the ground. You try to pay him the same courtesy, but you can’t seem to stop your gaze from wandering. 

Even with a prosthetic leg, he moves with a lithe grace that speaks of immaculate control over his own body. His footsteps are soft, if not measured. His posture remains perfect, even as he bends to retrieve his shirt. Biceps flex as he raises them over his head, drawing your attention down their length to the subtle flare of his dorsals. The way his waist tapers does something to your stomach that only gets worse when you follow the trail of ash-blond hair over visible, but not overly-defined abs. 

You feel your mouth water. You never were one for gym muscles, the sharp lines and obvious flexing. But Alex’s muscles look real, right down to the barely-there v-cut disappearing beneath his shirt. 

Your eyes snap up.

Alex, blushing furiously, raises his eyebrows and asks, somewhat shakily, “Like what you see?”

You turn the other way so quickly you nearly give yourself whiplash. 

“Sorry!” you squeak. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to… I don’t usually…” You stammer through a series of unintelligible apologies and excuses while Alex laughs. 

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” he chuckles. 

“You should,” you mutter. You busy yourself with unpacking stainless steel mess kits, complete with mugs, before you notice that you forgot to get water.

You excuse yourself and make the short trek back to the lake to fill a small pot. When you come back, you set it in the fire while keeping your attention directed studiously at the ground. 

“Aww, c’mon. I was enjoying that.”

You grumble under your breath. “Being ogled?”

“Call it what you will.” Alex’s amusement has slipped into a smirk. “I’ve spent the last three months in field hospitals and rehab facilities, being watched by doctors and nurses who only see damage and risk factors. Just a body with all its bruises. It’s nice to know someone still sees a man.”

“Well there’s definitely a whole lotta man to see,” you mutter. 

Alex howls with laughter while you try not to smile too wide. You pull the boiling water from the fire, then carry the pot to the lake and submerge it in the water. Once it’s sufficiently cooled, you bring it back to the fireside to pour into mugs. Then you serve dinner, all while Alex watches appreciatively from his place by the fire.

You sit beside him and, when you shiver, he shrugs out of his flannel and drapes it over your shoulders. You talk while you eat, laughing over mugs of fresh water and tin plates of steak and potatoes. When you’re done, you stoke the fire and lay back to look at the stars. You take turns pointing out constellations, listen to the whippoorwills sing.

It feels a lot like a really nice first date.

Gradually, Alex’s eyes slide shut. You consider letting him sleep, but you know it will be too cold once the fire burns out. You nudge him lightly. His eyes fly open, but he doesn’t startle otherwise.

“C’mon, let’s get to bed.”

You stand first. When you hold a hand out, he takes it. You can instantly tell that it’s more for balance than actual help, but you don’t mind the warmth of his hand on yours. In fact, his body heat is so welcome that you take advantage of his tired stumbling to tuck yourself under his arm.

When you get into the cave, you begin to unbutton Alex’s flannel. He holds out a hand to stop you.

“Keep it,” he rasps. “At least for the night. You’ll probably need it more than I do.”

You pull the sides up, tucking them under you chin. “Fine, you’ve convinced me. Besides, I probably look better in it anyway.”

“You definitely do.” You almost miss the words under the sound of Alex lowering himself to the ground and wrestling his sleeping bag open. Almost, but not quite.

More than the flannel that smells like your coffee and his body wash, those words are what keep you warm.

𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰 𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰 𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰

When you wake, Alex’s sleeping bag has been carefully rolled and left at the entrance to the cave. 

You roll yours too, then step outside. You tug Alex’s flannel tighter around your shoulders as the brisk air hits you. 

He’s sitting by the fire he’s stoked back to life, hunched over a mug of coffee. His attention snaps up the moment you step into the clearing. The smile he offers sets your heart straight to melting. 

“That,” he says, “may be the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had.”

You feel yourself stand up straighter as you take the proffered coffee mug. “Really?”

“Really.”

“That’s great.” You manage to stay still for only seconds before you do an embarrassing, excited little shimmy. “We’ll have to do this more often.”

Alex snorts at your dance, but still beams up at you. “Can we really?”

You hum. “I won’t be able to get away every time, but you can come up any time you want. The horses only need some oats in the morning, they can graze in the evening.”

You take the aforementioned sack of oats out of your backpack and place it between the horses. You made sure to tie them with plenty of lead so that they could reach the lake overnight, so you’re not worried about hydration. Both horses duck their heads, nosing happily into the bag. 

When you look up, Alex is watching you in shock. 

“You’d trust me with one of the horses?”

“I don’t see why not. You’re not secretly in the business of animal abuse, are you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then I don’t see the problem.”

Alex looks between you and Brandy with astonishment. 

“She knows the way,” you say. “All you have to do is give her enough lead to get to the water and feed her in the morning.”

“Well.” He still looks a little flabbergasted, a little unprepared for this unexpected vote of confidence. “Thank you.”

You hum as you repack the dishes you brought. Alex kicks dirt over the fire with a series of shuffling movements, then hands you Burdock’s saddle before lifting Brandy’s onto her back. 

“Teach me how to do this thing up,” he says.

You do, explaining each step as you go and pointing to the various straps and parts. Alex mimics your movements perfectly. Moments later, you’re mounted up and riding back to the ranch. 

The ride down the hillside passes in comfortable silence that lasts until your ranch comes into view.

There’s a shiny sports car you don’t recognize parked in front of the stable, right next to Arthur Braddock’s beaten old pickup. 

“Ready for your first performance?” you ask. 

“Yes ma’am.”

Then, as you get close enough to see his posture, you realize that the young man in a ball cap is familiar. 

“Well, look who’s come to visit!”

The moment he hears your voice, Kyle peels off the side of the vehicle and raises his hat in greeting. You slide from Burdock’s back and into his waiting arms, swaying back and forth as you hug him. 

“I didn’t know you were coming out. How was the trip?”

“Good, thanks,” says Kyle. He reaches over your shoulder to fist bump Alex, who’s ridden up beside you. “Alex.”

“Kyle, good to see you.” Alex slides from Brandy’s back before turning his attention to Arthur. He holds out a hand. “Sir.”

“Oh now, none of that,” says the old man in a quavering voice. “Call me Arthur.” He envelops Alex’s hands between his dark ones, half leaning on him for support. Then he turns to you. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call, honey. I was in town picking up some sundries and, well…” He trails off, waving a wrinkled hand at Kyle’s car. “Saw this fancy thing in the driveway and figured I might just stop by to see what the wind blew in.”

“I was offering Mr. Braddock a drive,” says Kyle. 

Arthur scoffs. “We both know I’m too old for that much horsepower.”

“But not too old for Tinsel, Mr. Braddock?”

“Never! Where is my sunshine, anyway?”

You purse your lips to keep from smiling. “I’ll get her for you.”

You mean to take both Burdock and Brandy’s reins, but Alex squeezes between the horses to get to your side. You don’t question him, only tilt your head with a smile. 

Kyle watches you go with a raised brow, but keeps Arthur occupied. 

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

You look at him, searching for the lie in his words, but you can’t find it. 

“You want to untack these two while I get Tinsel ready?”

“Yes ma’am,” he says.

“Here,” you say, sticking your head into the tack room. “They each have their own rack.”

You don’t notice Alex leaning over your shoulder while you point, but you notice when you step back into him. He’s leaned one elbow against the door above your head, but the other hand comes down on your hip to steady you. Heat flares, roaring across your skin in spite of the innocence of the touch. When you spin, he leans in as if to catch you. 

It puts you nose to nose. 

Your focus locks on his parted lips, wondering if they’re soft or chapped; wondering what he might taste like; wondering what it might be like to kiss him. Would it be soft, sweet, a little hesitant? Or would he shove you back and eat you alive?

You blink hard to snap yourself out of it, raising your gaze just in time to watch him drag his eyes up, too. 

You both swallow hard at the same time. Then, after no other movement but heavy breathing from both of you, Alex jolts back as if he’s been shocked. 

“Right, yeah. I’ll get the saddles off.”

You nod, turning on your heel back into the tack room. As soon as you hear Alex’s uneven steps in the stable aisle, you press the backs of your hands to your cheeks. 

They’re burning. 

You gather Tinsel’s tack and hurry into her stall, where you brush her at speed. Then you lay out the blanket and saddle, tighten the straps, and slide a bridle over her head. 

You peek into Brandy’s stall as you pass it. Alex has got her saddle off and is undoing the bridle straps, so you continue out into the yard. 

Arthur coos at Tinsel immediately when he sees her, and her ears perk up at his voice. You smile and let her go, melting when she walks straight to him. 

“Oh, to find a love like that,” murmurs Kyle. 

You startle. “W-what?”

He turns so slowly and with such a confused expression that your skin begins to prickle in a combination of anticipation and shame. He finally gestures toward Arthur and Tinsel, who have made their way to the trailhead. 

“Oh!” You laugh nervously. “Yes, yeah, they found it alright.”

“Found what?”

Kyle’s eyes light with a mischief you instantly mistrust. You open your mouth to say something, anything to avert whatever he’s about to say, but he beats you to it. 

“True love.”

Alex chokes. On air, you presume. Since he’s not eating anything. 

Kyle’s face splits into a shit-eating grin. You give him a warning look before turning to Alex. 

“Why don’t you take our guest inside? You can put him to work scrubbing dishes while you make sandwiches for everyone.”

Kyle pouts. “Wouldn’t you rather have lemonade?”

You stare him down. Then you look back to Alex. 

“He can make lemonade first, but he’s doing dishes later.”

Alex chuckles. Kyle beams. He saunters over and throws an arm around your shoulders. 

“And where will our little bird be?”

“I have to take care of the horses. I’ll take a break when lunch is ready, though.”

“You don’t want something before you go?” Alex asks. “You haven’t eaten today.”

You feel your smile softening.

“I think I’ll survive an hour.”

Alex grimaces, but nods. Kyle raises his eyebrows in a way you know means he’ll be asking lots of questions. 

You’re selfishly glad you won’t be on the receiving end. You don’t have any answers. 

So you beeline for the tack room, skin heating all over again when you step in, and pick up your grooming box. 

You go to Brandy first, needing a bit of her steadying presence. You brush her coat and pick her hooves in record time, then make up for it with extra cheek rubs. You detangle her mane with quick fingers, then lavish it with oil. 

By the time you leave her stall, you feel significantly calmer. 

You give Burdock the same treatment, spending a little extra time brushing his face and legs to soothe him, and move onto Flora’s stall. That’s where Kyle finds you. 

“Lunch is ready,” he says. 

“Perfect, I’ll be right there.”

“Can I help?”

You look around at your tools. 

“Sure. Wanna brush her tail?”

“Sure. Start at the bottom?”

“I’m so proud that you remembered.”

Kyle smiles. “Helps to have a good teacher.”

“How is everyone?”

“Good.” He pauses, as if thinking. “John’s back home for a bit, but we’ll be heading out as soon as I leave here. Johnny and Simon are already dark on another op. Kate is… Kate.” 

He smirks. You laugh. 

“‘Nuff said, that right?”

“That’s right.” You share a smile. Then, with a tilt of his head and a voice too neutral to be natural, he asks, “How’s he?”

“Good, I think.”

“You think? He’s not bothering you, is he?”

“What?” you scoff. “No, not even a little. I like having him here.”

“Do you?” Now there’s a teasing lilt to his voice. 

You glare. 

“He’s nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yes, Kyle, nice.” You toss your curry brush into the basket and dust your hands off. “He listens to me, and he’s thoughtful.”

“He’s CIA, birdie. Listening’s a big part of the job.”

You slow in packing the basket. “He’s your friend, Kyle. What’s the problem?”

He bites his lip, not quite meeting your eye. 

“I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

You turn to fully face him. “And you think Alex would hurt me?”

“God, no. Mans is smitten with you.”

You stumble backward, despite being stationary. “S-smitten?”

He laughs. “Don’t be so shocked. You’re a catch, and you know we’ve never let you forget it.”

You feel your mouth hinge open and shut in pure disbelief.

Finally, Kyle takes pity on you and chafes your arms with his palms. Then he grips you lightly and ducks to look you in the eye. 

“He wouldn’t hurt you. But if we have to pull him, I don’t want you getting your heart broken again.”

“I wouldn’t,” you say, but the words come out wooden. “Get my heart broken, I mean. My husband…” You trail off, unsure of what you mean to say.

The smile Kyle gives you is pitying. You get the sinking feeling that right now, he’s got a clearer picture of your conflicting emotions than you do. 

“Loved you dearly, and I know you love him still. But it’s been years, dove, and we both know he’s not coming back.” The words, harsh as they might sound, come out gentle and heartfelt, robbing them of all but the barest of stings. “Just because you love him doesn’t mean you can’t love someone else, too.” 

You nod. Hearing your own reasoning echoed back to you is therapeutic in a way, haunting in another. 

Kyle pulls you into a tight hug. “Now c’mon, sandwiches aren’t going to eat themselves.”

You nod again, but it’s only his arm around your shoulders that gets you moving. 

Alex is pacing the porch when you leave the stable, leaning heavily on his crutch. Your heart squeezes in sympathy and guilt. 

“Don’t tell me I wore you out.”

You kick yourself when Kyle’s head snaps toward you, electing to burrow into his warmth rather than acknowledge him. 

Alex waves a dismissive hand. 

“You could never wear me out,” he says. 

Kyle snickers, drawing you closer. You elbow him, debating on whether it would be bad form to make a slashing motion at Alex who, thankfully, remains oblivious to the child giggling at your side. 

“Let me just wash up.” 

You push Kyle off and shoulder through your doorway. You escape to your bathroom long enough to splash your face with cold water and reapply deodorant, then look down at your shirt. There are streaks of dirt from grooming the horses, but you’ll be back to that soon enough that you don’t bother changing.

You walk back through the house, expecting to find the boys at the kitchen table, but its surface is bare and the room is quiet. You step onto the porch only to realize that you walked right past the table Alex must have laid out while you were grooming. 

He’s laid a checkered tablecloth over the wrought iron cafe table, and brought out two wooden chairs from inside. There’s a plate full of sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade, along with some fresh strawberries you picked up in town.

You wonder how much of your conversation with Kyle shows on your face, and only meet Alex‘s questioning gaze hesitantly. It’s obvious that he knows something happened, but he bites his tongue. You’re grateful, since it gives you time to organize your thoughts, if not your feelings.

You sit, listening to the men chatter as you all eat. After another several minutes, Arthur comes riding into the yard. You wave him over, offering sandwiches and lemonade, and offer your seat, as do the boys. 

Arthur takes yours and gestures toward Alex. 

“You can sit with your boy!” he crows. 

“Oh no, I couldn’t—” You’re cut off by your own yelp as Alex pulls you down into his lap. He slings one arm around your hips to keep you in place, curving a wide palm against your thigh.

“‘Course you can,“ he says. His fingers sweep back and forth in a soothing gesture. 

Arthur chortles, inordinately pleased with himself. 

“He’s still got one good leg, y’know,” huffs Kyle. 

Arthur sobers quickly, sitting up straighter in his seat. 

“Sorry to hear that, son.” He taps his own knee. “I lost mine in Cambodia. 1970.”

Alex’s fingers pause their movement as he and Kyle share a look. “Caucasus region. Few months ago.”

Arthur grunts in surprise. 

“One o’ those, eh?”

“One of those,” Alex confirms. 

They’re speaking a different language, one you’ve heard but never quite understood. You wait for a gap in the conversation before chiming in. 

“Mr. Braddock, I never knew you had a prosthetic,“ you say. “Or even that you went to war.”

He raises his hands, flapping them around his silvered head. “It was a long time ago. Nothing to burden a beautiful young lady with. Besides, if you’ve never noticed, I must’ve been doing a damn good job.”

He winks first at you, then at Kyle. 

“You’re damn right, Mr. Braddock.”

“Now, how many times have I got to tell you to call me Arthur?”

“Always one more, Mr. Braddock.”

You feel more than hear Alex’s quiet laughter, which is what reminds you that you’re currently sitting on a remarkably well-built, exceptionally attractive man. 

You spend half a minute trying to decide whether or not to give in and lean in when you remember that he put you here. 

You let yourself sink back until you’re resting against his shoulder. You feel the moment his heartbeat stutters, fingertips digging lightly into your hip before relaxing again. His forearm curls imperceptibly across your lap. 

You melt. 

Kyle and Arthur have turned the conversation back around to cars by the time you tune into their voices. You let them have their fun, basking in the comfort of being so close to another person for longer than a simple hug. Of being so close to someone you feel more than platonic affection for. 

When the sun tips past its zenith, Arthur announces that he needs to get home to his chickens. When he stands to go, Alex unwinds his arm from around you and holds his hand out for you to brace against. 

You stand, hug Arthur, and walk him to his truck, extracting a promise of more eggs on his next visit.

Kyle and Alex are already clearing the dishes when you turn, so you gesture at the stable. Kyle gives you a thumbs’ up; Alex doesn’t meet your gaze, which relieves you more than you’d care to admit. 

You finish grooming the horses and walk back to the house, ready for a hot shower and some time spent on the couch with two of your favorite people. 

Alex and Kyle sit at the kitchen table, murmuring low. The conversation halts when you step in. 

You raise a hand. 

“Don’t mind me, I’m just going to grab a shower. I’ll turn on some music so y’all can have some privacy.” 

Kyle nods in gratitude. 

Alex asks, “You want some coffee?” 

“Sure,” you say. 

“Wait,” says Kyle. “Who’s making coffee if she’s showering?”

You point at Alex at the same time he says, “I am,” with a pride you haven’t seen on him yet. 

Kyle looks between you in horror. 

“He figured me out,” you shrug. 

“You taught him.” Kyle sounds wounded. 

“I did not!” you laugh. “I swear to you, he watched me make coffee once and then made a perfect pot the next day.”

“I don’t know about perfect,” says Alex. 

“Shut up,” you say, right when Kyle says, “fuck off.”

Alex grins. You giggle. 

“I’ll be back,” you say. You pad down the hall to your bedroom, drop the needle on your record player, and step into your ensuite. After a night spent on hard ground and a day spent in the stables, the hot water does wonders for your aching muscles. 

You let yourself luxuriate in the steam for long minutes before finally turning off the water. Once you’re dry enough, you go into your room and turn off your record player to give the boys enough time to wrap up any sensitive conversations. Then you take out some old flannel pajama bottoms and your softest t-shirt and step into the hall. 

The boys have the TV on with some action theme looping in the background as Kyle regales Alex with a story that sounds an awful lot like an ill-fated date Johnny had. He’s mid-tale with hands in the air as he talks about a woman who insisted he take her home, then woke him up with a ring. 

“He told her he couldn’t take her home! He said to her that he was shipping out and didn’t want to commit to a relationship and she said fine, then she started throwing things at him when he tried to leave!”

“Only Johnny,” you mutter. Alex is laughing, thoroughly enjoying Kyle’s dramatic retelling. You are noticing that Kyle sits in what you’ve come to think of as Alex’s armchair, leaving you to sit next to Alex on the couch. 

You curse Kyle silently. 

“He came back to base, tail tucked, with a big bruise on his cheek. Absolutely cowed by this little five-foot-nothin’.”

He finally notices that you’re hovering in the doorway. A wicked grin lights his face. 

“Siddown, love. Alex doesn’t bite.”

“At least one of us doesn’t,” you mutter. 

Alex chokes on his coffee, barely spitting it into his cup rather than onto your coffee table and the bowl of popcorn sitting on it. The look he turns on you is so awestruck that you almost laugh as you pat him on the back, but the sound dies in your throat when you notice the heat in it. 

Kyle sits gaping. That’s when the heat subsides enough for laughter to break through the barrier in your throat. 

You take Alex’s coffee cup, dump it in the sink, and get him a fresh cup. His hand is still outstretched when you place the new cup in it and pat his cheek. Then you flop down next to him and nod at the TV. 

“What are we watching?”

Both men shake themselves out of their stupors. Alex settles back, laying one arm across the back of the couch, while Kyle picks up the remote to start the movie. 

You allow yourself to relax into the couch, even when it turns into sliding into Alex’s side. 

As the movie plays, the boys pick it apart—inaccurate magazine counts for various guns, unrealistic bullet penetration, bad tactical choices—and you smile along, pleased just to be here with them. 

When the credits roll, Kyle quickly queues up the sequel before making more popcorn. 

You peer up at Alex, who’s allowed his arm to slide down around your shoulders. 

“Do you need to get up?” you ask. 

“Nope.”

“Good. I’m comfortable.”

He chuckles, drawing you just a bit closer. 

“Me too,” he says quietly. 

When Kyle comes back with popcorn, neither of you move. He gets himself a smaller bowl, then sets the bigger one in Alex’s lap. 

Alex eats half. You’re too comfortable to move. 

When the movie ends, you think you should probably go to bed. Instead, Kyle suggests the third film and Alex heartily agrees. You nod sleepily, but drift off halfway through to the steady rise and fall of Alex’s chest beneath your cheek. 

𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰 𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰 𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰

When you wake up, it doesn’t happen all at once. 

First, you feel warm. Bundled up in a way you usually aren’t, swaddled in softness. Then it’s the recognition of another person sharing your space. For a bleary moment, you think of your husband. 

Then you remember that he’s gone and wake up all at once. You sit straight up, scanning your dark living room. 

“Hey.” Alex’s voice is rough with sleep. He reaches for you, grasping your wrist lightly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. A dream, it’s… did we fall asleep out here?”

“Mhmm.” 

You squint, but you can’t make out his features in the dim glow of the porch light. 

You make an effort to soften your voice. 

“Where’s Kyle?”

“My room.”

Your stomach drops in guilt. 

“Oh Alex, I’m sorry. You can take my room for the night.”

With your vision adjusting, you can just make out the shaking of his head.

“No, I’m okay. So long as you leave me the blanket,” he teases. 

“I can’t leave you out here.”

His silhouette stills as he seems to hesitate. “Then stay.”

Your heart kicks against your breastbone. 

“You’re not uncomfortable?”

“No.” This time, there’s no hesitation. He leans down and, at the faint clicking sounds, you realize that he’s unfastening his prosthetic leg. He leans it carefully against the coffee table and repositions himself against the arm of the couch, tucking one leg around you before raising his arms. 

He doesn’t lower them when you don’t move; just waits patiently, without trying to sway you with anything but his presence. 

Carefully, you lower yourself between his legs, onto his chest. You pull the blanket Kyle must have draped over you both along and settle with your head tucked beneath his chin, one hand resting over his steady heartbeat, legs tangled together. His arms circle you, hands curling firmly around your sides. 

“Is this okay?” you ask. 

“I should be asking you,” he murmurs. His voice has already regained its gravel, growing heavier as he begins to drift off. 

“This is okay,” you whisper. 

“Good,” he whispers back. 

Instead of counting sheep, you count heartbeats. 

When you wake again, pale dawn light streaks your living room. Alex hasn’t moved, and you’re not sure you have either. You move carefully, so as not to wake him. But when you lift your head, he’s already looking down at you. 

“Mornin’,” he rumbles. 

“Mornin’,” you whisper. “Sleep well?”

“Really well. You?”

“Really, really well.”

His eyes sparkle, lips tilting at the corners.

“That’s good.”

This close, you can make out flecks of silver in his ice-blue eyes; you can see his crow’s feet and the lines around his mouth, carved from a life of smiling in spite of the world’s cruelty. He looks older, certainly, but also somehow softer, as if you’ve gotten under his guard and the face he shows the world. More real. 

You drink it in. Based on his unguarded expression, he’s doing the same to you.

From down the hall, you hear a shower start. 

The spell is immediately broken. 

You move to sit, using his chest as leverage. 

“Coffee?” you ask. 

“Always,” he answers. 

You hear him reattach his prosthetic as you make a pot of coffee, then he’s beside you in the kitchen. 

“Pancakes?” he asks. 

“Oh my gosh, yes,” you say. 

Alex mixes while you swap out the griddle on the stovetop. Then, while he cooks pancakes, you make fresh orange juice. When Kyle comes out, he takes jams and syrup and powdered sugar out of your cabinets. 

There’s a lot of talk about nothing while you all eat—old stories, the car in the driveway again—but when he stands to go, he’s all business. 

“I’ll tell Kate everything’s good here. Has anyone asked any questions?”

Alex clears his throat. “I actually haven’t left the property yet, except for the day before yesterday.”

“We figured it’d be easier to introduce a new hand without a crutch,” you add. 

Kyle nods. “That’s true.”

You look back to Alex. “I do need to make a run into town for some errands, though. Tomorrow?”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Good,” says Kyle. “Let us know if there are any problems. No news is good news, and all that.” He turns to look at you. “You remember how to use that encryption app?”

You nod. 

“Good.” He steps toward Alex, hand outstretched. They shake, then hug each other, complete with back-clapping. 

Alex remains steady on his feet, a fact that gives you an unearned sense of pride. 

Kyle looks to you, jerking his head toward the door. “Walk me out, love?”

Alex brushes by you on his way to the sink. You move to pick up Kyle‘s duffel, but he swats at your hands.

When the front door has swung shut behind you and you’re halfway across the yard, far out of earshot, he turns to you.

“You like him,” he says smugly

“I like most people,“ you return dryly.

“That’s true,” he muses. “But you like him… differently.“

You stop and turn to face him, planting your feet. “Kyle, what are you getting at?”

He sets his duffle on the ground and takes you by the shoulders. 

“I’m getting at wanting you to be happy,” he says. “We all want you to be happy. If you’re happy, everything’s good.”

“I’m happy. So why the pressure?”

“There’s no pressure.” He clears his throat, looks down at his shoes. Scuffs a toe. 

“Kyle, you’re making me nervous.”

“I haven’t seen you happy like this in a long time, okay?” It comes out in a rush, unlike the Kyle you’ve always known. “It’s good, really good to see that light in your eyes. It’s been years, bird. And I know you.”

He curls a finger beneath your chin, tipping your face up. “If you’re just enjoying the company, if you like him and that’s all, fine. There’s nothing wrong with that. But if you want more, promise me you’ll go for it. Okay?”

You nod slowly. “I promise.”

“Good.” He wraps his arms around you, dragging you into a bone-crushing hug. Then he presses a kiss to your cheek. “Johnny and Simon want to come see you, too. Dunno when they’ll be able to pull it off, but they’re going to try.”

“That’d be nice,” you say. “And tell John and Kate I said hello, will you?”

“You know it.”

He unfurls his cap from his back pocket and smooths it onto his head. You reach up to chuck the bill. He smiles. You blow a kiss. 

Then he lowers himself into his fancy rental. You stand in the yard, watching until the dust cloud disappears around the mountain, then turn back to the house. 

Alex is finishing the dishes when you walk into the kitchen. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

“You’re welcome.”

“I have to do some work with the horses, but I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Can I help?”

You blink. 

“Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“I think so.”

You study him, searching for any sign of hesitation. There is none. 

“Okay.” You nod over your shoulder. “Let’s go.”

You teach him to lunge, first. You begin with Burdock, talking Alex through asserting control over an unruly mount. 

“You have to temper the fire,” you say. “You don’t want to put it out, though.” 

He starts with Brandy, who hardly needs him in the ring, but still responds to his movements. You let him lunge Tinsel, who’s old and steady enough to not cause any problems. 

Then you pull out Flora. She’s pliant enough, but skittish, as she is in all things. You teach Alex how to control her movements with only his body and his voice. It takes a bit of time, but they find a rhythm. By the end of it, Alex is feeling more confident. You can tell that Flora is, too. She comes to him with only a slight tossing of her head, and noses straight into his palm when he reaches for her. 

You let him lunge both of Josh Belchard’s geldings while you groom Burdock. After, you get him a set of brushes and have him bring out Brandy. 

You teach him how to brush her, how to inspect her coat, and how to detangle her mane and tail. You show him the difference in the brushes for body and legs, and teach him what to look for when inspecting her legs and feet. You show him how to clean around her eyes with a sponge, and how to get into her ears without irritating her. 

As in all things, he gives you his full attention while you speak. He carefully mimics your gestures, asks thoughtful questions, and doesn’t rush. It takes until evening to finish, but you’re sure that by the next time you both do this, he’ll be able to groom one horse for every two you do. Considering how long you’ve been at this, it’s impressive. 

He finishes with Brandy before you finish with Tinsel, whose feathers require some extra time, and asks if he can groom Flora. In their short time together, they’ve bonded. You send him to her stall with your blessing. 

Once you’ve got Tinsel taken care of, you poke your head into Flora’s stall. Alex is cleaning her face with gentle strokes of a sponge, moving her huge head back and forth with the ease of someone who’s done this forever. 

You can’t stop yourself from watching him.

He must sense your presence, because he looks over his shoulder.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m going to fill the hay nets. Are you good here?”

“Yeah, almost done.”

“I’ll start dinner, then.”

When the horses have their meal, you head inside to start your own. The fridge is nearly empty, but you have some ground beef in the freezer. You take it out to defrost, then dig a box of noodles out of the pantry. You still have some tomatoes and peppers from your garden, along with an onion from last week’s grocery trip, so you set those out along with an assortment of spices.

You’re cutting the produce when the screen door creaks open and shut again.

“You’ve got time to shower, if you want,” you call. “I’m making spaghetti.”

“That sounds great. I’ll shower while you do that, then you can shower while I get the noodles on.”

He’s back soon, clean-smelling and still damp in a way that’s oddly provocative. Even though you’ve seen him bare-chested, something about the way his t-shirt clings to his skin sends shivers racing down your spine. 

You point to the ground beef in the sink. “That should be ready in ten or so minutes. I didn’t get to the garlic, do you mind?”

“I’ve got it.”

He holds out a hand for the towel you’re using. When you pass it to him, you’re on tiptoe before you realize what you’re doing, pressing a kiss to the stubble of his cheek

Alex freezes in place as you stumble through thanking him for the garlic. Then, you’re scurrying down the hall clutching at your shirt. 

You blame Kyle. 

It’s you who’s gotten comfortable, but he’s the instigator here. He’s clearly at fault. 

Yeah. 

You can’t decide whether to apologize or act like nothing happened. But when you get back to the kitchen, to your relief, Alex has made the decision for you. 

“We’re out of iced tea, but there’s still some lemonade in the fridge. That okay?”

He says “we’re” so easily, like he’s belonged here forever. It does something to your insides. Maybe because as far as you’re concerned, he always has and always will. Belong here, that is. 

You see a ghost at the stove, scooping spaghetti alongside Alex. While the flesh and blood man spins a spaghetti fork through noodles, the shade turns his face toward you. 

His smile is dazzling. So beautiful that it hurts. Your heart aches to reach out to him, but you can’t move. 

Your body understands what your mind can’t. 

I miss you, your soul cries. Come back.

That dazzling smile softens. You hear your name. 

You blink back tears. When you open your eyes, the specter is gone. 

You hear your name again, in a different voice. Warm hands cup your cheeks, stroking tears from under your eyes. 

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say. Alex’s focus sharpens, as if he doesn’t believe you. “Just… seeing ghosts.”

His brow furrows slightly as he looks toward the stove. Then he turns back to you. 

There’s something in his expression you cannot place. 

“Good ghosts?” he asks.

You nod furiously. “Yeah.” It’s all you can get out. 

Alex’s expression holds before relaxing. Something like understanding passes over his features. 

“Well,” he says. “So long as it isn’t Simon, I guess.”

You bark out a loud, startled laugh.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you mutter. 

He grins. 

You sit to eat, lemonade forgotten in the fridge. 

You don’t know what to say, and Alex doesn’t press you. After dinner, you do the dishes together. Neither of you says anything, but the silence is comfortable. 

When you walk to your rooms, something shifts in that silence. It feels strange, suddenly, to step into your own rooms, away from each other. You’ve just spent two nights sleeping side by side. Alex must feel it, too. He’s standing with one hand on the door jamb, and he looks like he’s chewing something over in his mind. 

Finally, though, he looks up at you. 

“Goodnight,” he says, voice soft. 

“Goodnight, Alex.”

When the door clicks shut behind you, you lean against it. 

You’ve been on your own for years, at this point. You’re finally content with being alone. When your husband had died, though, it had taken months for you to adjust to sleeping on your own again. You’d roll over in the night, reaching for him across the sheets. Couldn’t sleep in the huge bed without another person. Kyle, Johnny, Kate, even Simon on the worst nights—they’d all taken turns sleeping in that space, just to fill it.

Kate had curled around you, motherly and protective. You’d clung to both Johnny and Kyle, who held you and soothed you and let you burrow into them in an effort to escape the world. Even Simon had reached for your hand across the expanse of the mattress, a gesture far more intimate than the full body press from the rest of them.

None of them could take your husband‘s place. That had been clear from the start, but still you chased the feeling of not being alone. Eventually, you stopped chasing it. Your houseguests drifted back to the guest room as you stopped waking, shaking, in the middle of the night. You learned to sleep with the space where he should have been.

As you crawl into bed now, that space yawns beside you. Only now, you think it may belong to someone else.

𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰 𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰 𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰

You toss and turn all night, unable to escape the feeling that something is missing.

It’s ridiculous. You’ve been sleeping alone for years, and two nights sleeping beside another person should not be enough to undo those years of independence.

Apparently, they are.

Dawn is breaking by the time you doze off, so you don’t wake until sunlight is streaming through the curtains. Actually, that’s not even what wakes you. 

It’s the knocking. 

You fly up and across the room, flinging open the door. 

Alex’s hand is midair, eyebrows raised. 

“I was worried,” he says. “I didn’t want to wake you, but—”

“What time is it?” you cut in. 

He checks his watch. “8:30.”

You swear under your breath. “I have to take care of the horses.” You’re halfway across the room already, ripping a flannel off its hanger and dragging clean jeans from a dresser drawer.

Alex clears his throat. “I got them oats, and let them into the paddock. That’s what you do, right?”

You stop. “I… yeah. Usually I only give them oats when they’re exercising, but yeah. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He leans against the doorway, then straightens and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. Shoves his hands into his pocket and crosses his prosthetic ankle over his flesh and blood one. 

“You were crying in your sleep.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. 

“Early this morning. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly. “I don’t remember crying in my sleep.” It’s the truth, even if you do remember sleeping like shit.

Alex watches you for long enough that you almost start to squirm.

“Well,” he says. “My door’s always open.”

Then he walks away, giving you the opportunity to collect yourself. 

You dress without shutting the door, brush your teeth, and splash cold water on your face. The house smells like coffee, and bacon.  

Alex has already poured the coffee, but he’s just dishing up the eggs and bacon when you walk into the kitchen. He gestures at the table, so you sit. The role reversal is complete when he brushes a hand across your shoulders as he passes. It sends a shiver down your spine, makes your skin feel tight and electric. 

That feeling doesn’t fade while you eat, or while you do the dishes, or even when you climb into your old ranch truck to drive into town. 

It only dissipates when you notice that Alex has gone quiet in the passenger seat. 

“You ready for this?” you ask. 

“As I’ll ever be,” he answers. “Are you?”

You glance away from the road and at him. “Me? What would I need to be ready for?”

“You’re the one who’s going to be doing all the introductions.”

“That’s fair. I’m not worried, though.”

“Then neither am I.”

You smile. “Just be yourself. Everyone will love you.”

He snorts. “Didn’t think of myself as a lovable guy.”

“You are,” you say. Then you kick yourself for saying something so telling. You rush to add, “Kate and the boys would never have dropped you in my lap, otherwise.”

He doesn’t say anything. You glance over, but he just seems to be thinking. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“For what?”

“For letting me come out here.”

“Of course.” It’s not enough, so you add, “I’ve really enjoyed having you here.”

Alex looks out the window again. “It must get lonely.”

You hum. “A little, sometimes, but it’s not that.” He makes an inquisitive noise, so you go on. “It’s lonely sometimes, but I still have people. I see Arthur at least a couple times a week, and I go into town pretty often. Josh and the Costas call or come by. And of course there are Kate and the boys.”

He laughs, as he always does when you refer to them this way. 

You try to decide exactly how to say what you want to say. 

“It’s quiet, but I’m not starved for human interaction. It’s you. I’ve enjoyed your company.” His head whips in your direction, and you allow yourself to glance at his expression. He looks stunned. “I like the way you’ve taken right to the horses. Incidentally, they love you. And horses are excellent judges of character.” You pause to grin. “But really, you’re thoughtful. You’re funny, and sweet. And maybe it’s just because you never knew me before, but you don’t look at me like I’m broken.”

“Broken is definitely not a word I’d use to describe you,” he says. “But you don’t look at me that way, either. I appreciate it.”

Your skin prickles with shame. “Honestly, I think I forget.” You wave a hand in the general direction of his legs. “I was worried in the beginning because I didn’t know what to expect or whether the ground would be too uneven or whether I’d be able to help you if something went wrong, but you got so much better so quickly that I don’t even think about it most days.”

He’s quiet for long enough that you worry you’ve offended him. You cast a series of glances his way, but he looks anything but offended. You can’t pin down any of the emotions flitting through his eyes, but his smile is so warm that you can almost feel it.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says. 

“Good. I meant it as one.”

In the silence, you think back to your conversation with Kyle. You snort softly.

“What?” Alex asks. 

“You’re a good listener, too,” you say.

His lips curl as if you’ve told a joke. Which you guess you have, if he knows what’s funny. “Well,” he says. “I was in the CIA. Listening’s half the job.”

“Do you miss it?” you blurt out. You don’t mean to ask, but it is something you’ve been wondering about.

You can tell Alex is thinking by the way he drums his fingertips on his knees. He takes a long time, but eventually he answers. 

“Sometimes. Some things.”

You don’t press him for more. 

In fact, you’re sure that’s the end of it. But when you pull into a parking spot at the general store, he starts talking fast.

“I don’t miss being a weapon to be pointed and fired at targets I don’t even pick. I don’t miss the manipulation, or the bloodshed, or the backstabbing.” He sighs heavily. “But I miss the sense of purpose.”

You know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but it still stings a bit. 

“I miss knowing I was doing something important, even if it’s awful. I miss helping people. Captain Price always says ‘we get dirty and the world stays clean’. And I’ll get dirty, if it means someone else doesn’t have to, but that doesn’t mean I miss the dirty work.”

He looks down to his hands. You wonder if he’s seeing the blood on them. 

“And I miss the other stuff, the silly stuff. The puzzles, the adrenaline, speaking another language.”

You watch him. You have no idea what to say. The only thing that comes to mind feels cheap, but you say it anyway. 

“I think you should work with Burdock.”

He looks at you, puzzled. 

“He’s a challenge. And I know it’s not the same, and the stakes are laughable in comparison, but maybe it would help. To have a sense of purpose, and something you have to work for.”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “You’d trust me to work with him?”

You shrug. “Yeah. I would.” 

Over the course of the conversation since parking, you’ve apparently leaned closer to each other. 

Alex is close enough that you feel his warm breath fanning over your lips. If you leaned forward just a couple of inches…

You clear your throat. “And you can speak any language you want.” You lean back in your seat, desperate to put space between you before you do something stupid. “I can guarantee that I won’t understand you, but that’s probably less important.”

You’ve managed to put a precious few inches between you, but Alex obliterates your progress by following you. He’s smiling wide, now.

“Hal li 'an 'aetarif lk bihabi?”*

You blink. “What language is that?”

“Arabic. 'Iinaha lughat jamilatun.”

“Tell me what you’re saying.”

“It’s a beautiful language.”

“And before that?”

He leans back, eyes twinkling. “I don’t remember.”

He gets out of the car before you can question him, but you leap out and round the hood to jab a finger at his chest. 

“Liar!” you laugh. “Tell me what you said!”

Alex laughs, too. “Ladaya ghaya. Huna, maeki.” He flattens your hand where it’s landed in the center of his chest. “I have a purpose. Here.” He takes a shaky breath. “With you.”

Your mouth drops open. You have no idea what to say, but it doesn’t matter. 

The moment is shattered when someone calls your name from across the parking lot. 

You look over your shoulder. Alex drops his hand, and yours falls back between you as he takes a step back.

“How are you doing?” Josh Belchard strides closer, faltering as he lays eyes on Alex. He recovers quickly, though, and holds out a hand. “Josh Belchard.”

“Alex Carter.” He points at Josh with his free hand. “You’re the cattle rancher.”

Josh brightens. “That’s right! Does she talk about me?” He grins your way. You smile back at him, but you don’t miss the way Alex’s eyes flick between you. 

He relaxes when he sees that you’re not bothered. “Well she’s real proud of your horses.”

Josh laughs outright. “Yeah, that’s more realistic.” He gestures between you. “So you’re the new…?”

“Hand,” you say quickly. 

Josh perks up. Alex smiles placidly at him. 

“So you’re telling me there’s a chance.”

Alex raises an eyebrow at you. You shake your head as subtly as you can manage. 

You’re inordinately pleased at the way his shoulders relax. 

Josh, thankfully, misses the whole interaction. 

“History has taught me not to wait with this woman, Alex. If you’re not quick, someone else might come and snap her up.” He elbows Alex lightly as he stage whispers this incredible life advice. Then, he turns back to you with a huge smile. “Let me take you out to dinner, this weekend. We can go into the city, catch a movie if you want.”

You don’t miss the way Alex flinches. At first, you think that maybe, just maybe, he’s jealous. Your heart kicks up against your ribs. But then you think of his confession of wanting a wife, a white picket fence. A normal life, where he can take a woman into the city for dinner and a show. 

A life that he can never have, being flaunted right in front of him. 

“You know, I’m actually busy this weekend. I promised Alex we could take a trail ride, and I’ve got a lot of maintenance work to catch up on.”

Alex raises his eyebrows. Whether or not he knows it, you do have a lot of maintenance to do. But you’re both aware that the promise of a trail ride is a bald-faced lie.

Josh’s face falls. “Too bad. Maybe some other time.”

“Maybe,” you say.

He’s not a bad guy. He’s good looking, charming, polite. He’s treated you with nothing but respect and admiration all these years and, despite your multiple refusals for anything more, he still sends business your way at any opportunity. 

He’s just not the man for you. The sad smile he gives you tells you that he knows it, too. The hand he drops onto Alex’s shoulder, however, indicates that he suspects Alex might be.

“Anyway, I oughta get going. Nice to meet you, Alex.”

He tips his hat at you with a wink. Then, as quickly as he blew in, he’s gone.

“He likes you,” murmurs Alex. He lets his shoulder brush yours as you make your way into the store, and you’re not about to move away.

“Always has,” you say.

He looks at you in surprise. “Really? And you’ve never…?” He looks backward, then at you again.

You shake your head. “Nah. He’s really, really sweet. There’s just nothing there.”

When he opens his mouth, you hurry to cut him off before he can ask more questions you don’t have answers to.

“What’s your real name?” 

He blinks at you. “How do you know,” he says slowly, “that Alex Carter isn’t my real name?”

You give him a supremely unimpressed look. He laughs softly.

He glances around to make sure there’s no one nearby, then speaks under his breath. “Keller. Alex Keller.”

“That suits you.”

“Does it?” He sticks his hands into his pockets as you walk through the sliding door of the general store, stepping behind you. Once you’ve gotten a cart and turned down an aisle, he goes on. “I’ve had a lot of names over the years. How do you know that one’s real?”

You’ve already begun stacking dry goods–beans, rice, boxes of pasta–into the cart. You inspect one of the boxes in your hand.

“I guess I don’t.” You pin him with your gaze. “But you say it like it belongs to you. Like it’s important.” You shrug and look away. “I think that’s the only thing that matters.”

You make it several bays down before noticing that he hasn’t followed you. When you look back, he’s watching you with an awed expression.

You shift nervously. 

“What?” you ask.

He finally strides forward. Having just discussed his prosthetic leg, you notice how well he’s walking on it now. You can’t remember the last time he used his crutch for more than a few minutes at the end of the day.

His lips are pursed when he catches up to you. “Sometimes, you say some of the deepest, most real things I’ve ever heard.” He reaches up, hesitates, and then curls a finger beneath your chin. Your skin lights up in a way it didn’t when Kyle did this same thing to you just yesterday. 

“'Ant tudhhlny,” he whispers. 

“What does that mean?” you whisper back. 

“You amaze me.”

Your mouth drops open, and then you’re the one being left behind. 

𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰 𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰 𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰

Errands go well, from grocery shopping to picking up feed to checking the mail. As always, several of the townsfolk have carts out for their produce. You stop at each one to chat and pick up fresh fruits and vegetables. 

Halfway back to the ranch, Kate calls. Alex puts her on speaker while she asks how you’re both doing, whether you need anything, how you’re both adjusting. 

You share a look as you tell her you’re both doing just fine. 

At the ranch, it’s back to work. There are groceries to be put away, stalls to be mucked, and horses to be lunged and groomed. When it’s all done and dinner is ready, you sit side by side on the couch and watch a movie. 

You fall asleep there, but wake up in your own bed. 

Over the course of the week, you find yourself leaning into Alex. You’re pretty sure he’s leaning into you, too. 

He brushes against you more often, puts himself in your space, finds reasons to put his hands on you. 

Every day, you dance around each other. Every night, you say goodnight at your doors. 

You take a trail ride over the weekend, and Alex rides Burdock. He’s been working with the gelding, to great success. 

You’re grateful to have Brandy to yourself, and pleased to see Alex and Burdock building trust. 

When you camp out, you lay pointing at the stars until you can barely keep your eyes open. Then you crawl into the cave, whispering in the dark. 

You fall asleep with your forearms pressed together like a pair of children in a fort. 

John calls the next day, and Kate the day after that. You do some of the maintenance work you mentioned to Josh Belchard, and then the Costas bring their daughter to ride Flora. Alex is the one who teaches her how to groom her mount, and your heart is filled to bursting just watching them together. 

Two weeks after Kyle’s visit, Kate appears. 

You see a rusted old truck in the yard, and a head of blonde hair at your café table. Alex is driving today, and you don’t even wait for him to put the truck in park before you throw your seatbelt off and yourself out the door. 

You run to her, leaping into her arms. She laughs, squeezing you before she holds you out to look at you. 

“Hello, my darling.” Her voice is warm, palms dry and warm as they cup your cheeks. “It’s been too long. How are you?”

“I’m great. How are you? How’s your wife? I wish you had told me you were coming! I could’ve gotten my room ready for you.”

She waves to Alex as he approaches, and tucks herself under his outstretched arm. “We’re quite well. But I’m afraid I’m only here for a few hours. I have something for Alex.”

Alex looks surprised. “You do?”

“Why don’t we sit down, Alex?” She reaches out to grasp your forearm. “Could you give us some privacy, sweetheart?”

Before your eyes, Alex changes from the relaxed man who’s been living in your house into a stiff soldier awaiting a suicide mission.

“Is it classified?” he asks.

“No,” says Kate. “Just private.”

“Then she can stay.” 

Alex‘s voice is firm, and Kate doesn’t question him. She nods without batting an eye and gestures to your front door, as if welcoming you into her own home.

Alex practically leans on you as you open the front door.

“Alex, I can—”

“Stay,” he says sharply. Then, softer, “Please.”

You nod.

The three of you make the short walk to your dining table and sit. Kate produces a tablet, taps a few keys, and unfolds the stand. Alex has opted to sit right next to you, so you both feel him tense and hear his sharp intake of breath when you see the woman on the screen.

She’s stunning, with rich brown skin and piercing dark eyes that seem to see right through you, even through the screen. 

Farah. It must be. 

Alex touches the screen with a trembling finger, starting the video. 

“Alex,” says the woman onscreen. Then she begins a lengthy message in what you assume is Arabic. You watch as Alex’s throat works, hands clenching and unclenching beneath the table. 

You lay a hand on his knee. 

He covers your hand with a painful grip, but you don’t say anything. He’s visibly shaken. He can take whatever comfort he needs from you.

When the video stops, you have no idea what’s been said. Alex stands quickly enough to tip his chair back. 

It clatters loudly on the floor. He flinches at the sound, picks it up, and storms out of the kitchen without a word. 

You watch him go helplessly. 

“What did she say to him?” you whisper to Kate. 

Kate wipes a hand down her face. She stares at the table as she considers what to tell you. 

“She told him not to come back.”

Your hand flies up to cover your mouth.

Kate sighs. “It’s a long story, but he made himself an enemy of the United States when he stayed with her resistance. Now, she has an opportunity to build that bridge again. She can’t risk it for anything." 

“He wasn’t going to go back,” you whisper.

Kate looks at you sharply. “He wasn’t?” 

You shake your head violently. “No. No, he told me that her war is now and she can’t wait for him. He was talking about never being able to have a normal life because he can’t go back to the US or to Urzikstan.” 

Your focus jerks to Kate. “He wasn’t going to go back. Was he?”

She looks to the door that slammed shut behind him. “I don't know what they said to each other before, when Alex detonated that furnace, but he believed in her cause. He may have planned to.”

“He planned to die that day,” you bite. Your throat closes around the words you’re trying to get out. “He was willing to die for her, Kate! Why would she tell him not to come back? How could she throw away loyalty like that?”

Kate leans forward and takes your hands in hers. “Farah has been fighting a war with scrap material for her whole life. This is her chance to do something good for her people. Alex understands that, even if he’s upset.”

You shake your head as tears begin to pour down your cheeks. “I’m not mad at her, Kate. I don’t fault her, and I don’t want him to go. I’m just so hurt for him.”

“I know you are, sweet girl.” She pulls your head down to her chest, strokes your back and runs her fingernails over your shoulders. “I know.”

She rocks you back and forth until your tears subside. Then she squeezes your arms. 

“Any idea where he went?”

“He probably took Burdock out to the cave.”

“The cave?”

You nod. “There’s a cave we like to camp at, up the mountain.”

Kate nods slowly. “So he’s not coming back?” 

“Probably not. We can go see if I’m right about Burdock.”

“Sure.”

You stand, and Kate follows. When you get to the paddock, Burdock isn’t there. You poke your head into the stable and tack room, but he and his saddle are gone. 

“He left,” you say. 

She sighs. “Okay.” She checks her watch. “I do have to go. And I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be. I’m sure it meant a lot to him to see her.”

Kate gives you a look. 

“What?” you ask. “He really cares about her.”

“Of course he does. And he really cares about you, too.” She shakes her head. “That’s just Alex. Don’t read into it.” She stands, then pauses. “At least not with Farah.”

You stumble as you stand up. “What?”

“Oh, come now. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the way he looks at you.”

You stare. “I just saw the way he looks at her.”

Kate clicks her tongue. “You haven’t seen anything.”

She spins on her heel, whips her sunglasses out of her breast pocket, and strides out the door. 

You follow her like a lost puppy. 

“What do you mean?”

She doesn’t stop walking until she reaches her truck. Then she plants one foot firmly on the running board and looks at you over her glasses. 

“Just do me a favor and pay attention to the way he looks at you. Okay?”

You won’t admit that you’ve been trying very hard not to notice exactly that. 

“I’ll try to come again soon. It’s been too long.”

She blows you a kiss. 

“Drive safe,” you call. 

The moment her truck passes the gate, you turn into the house. You make sandwiches and grab water bottles, then collect the sleeping in bags from the coat closet. You fill the horses’ hay nets, cast a quick glance around the stables, and tack up Brandy. 

You leave the yard at a full gallop. 

The trip takes half as long as usual, what with moving at twice the speed, but dark is falling by time you get up the mountain. When you reach your clearing, you find Burdock unsaddled and tied to the fallen log you always use as a hitching post. Alex is nowhere to be seen. 

You untack Brandy. Then you take the short trek through the bushes to the lake. 

Alex stands in the water, fully clothed, staring up at the sky. 

You go straight in without taking your own clothes off, pausing only long enough to kick off your shoes. The water is shockingly cold. 

You call his name as you wade in. He doesn’t look at you, but he tilts his head. When you reach him, you take his hand and make to pull him out. 

He doesn’t budge. 

“Alex, honey, c’mon. You’ll freeze.”

“She told me not to come back.”

“I know.” You stop tugging at his arm. “Kate told me.”

He looks at you, then back to the sky. “I wasn’t going to go back.”

Despite the heaviness of the moment, you huff out a laugh. 

“I know. I told Kate.”

Alex lets out a bone-tired sigh. You begin to shiver in the icy water. 

“I thought I at least had the option.”

Your blood runs colder now, but it’s not from the water. 

You’re proud of the steadiness of your voice when you say, “Did you want the option?”

“Not so much wanted it as wanted to know it was there.” His head drops forward. “Guess at least now I know for sure that that part of my life is over.”

Instead of giving some inane speech about “things working out the way they’re meant to” or apologizing, you hug him. 

You’re half behind him already, so you wrap your arms around his waist and press your forehead between his shoulder blades. Instantly, you want to melt into his body heat. Your fingers spread over his abdomen, soaking in the warmth he’s managed to maintain. 

Alex raises his hands to cover yours. Then, he spins around fast enough to nearly knock you off balance. 

“You’re shaking,” he says. The vacant tone is gone, replaced by concern and a little indignation. 

You shrug as best you can. 

“I’m fine.”

“Damnit,” Alex grumbles. He yanks you closer, wrapping his arms around your shaking shoulders. After only a moment, he starts backing you toward the shore. “C’mon, c’mon, we gotta get you out of here.”

“Alex, I’m fine. I didn’t come out here to bring you back, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re standing in the middle of the lake in your clothes.” As you speak, his booted toes bump against your socked ones. “And your boots.”

“Not my brightest moment,” he mutters. He turns you as you trudge through the last few feet of water. “Speaking of, what were you thinking following me in?”

“I was w-worried about y-you.” In the crisp evening air, your teeth have begun to chatter. 

Alex swears under his breath. He marches you through the underbrush until you reach the clearing. He pushes you gently down to sit while he scrabbles together a makeshift fire. He gets it lit quickly, but you’re already trembling violently where you sit. 

He notices the sleeping bags tied to Brandy’s back and drags one down, unfurling it beside the fire, before getting you back to your feet.

When he reaches for the hem of your t-shirt, his hands have begun to shake, too. 

You don’t question him as he peels off first your soaked shirt, then your sodden jeans. He lifts each of your feet to remove your socks. Then he stands, pulling at his own shirt as he toes off his boots.

When you’re both left standing in your underwear, he unzips the sleeping bag and climbs into it. He holds the flap open for you. 

You crawl in with him without complaint. 

It’s a tight fit with two people, and he tugs you back in order to get the zip up. You’re pressed together from the knees up, fitted to each other like you belong. He’s begun to shiver now, too, but his breath is warm against the side of your neck. 

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs. 

Your skin prickles as his lips brush the hollow behind your ear. 

“No,” you say, “I’m sorry. She shouldn’t have said it.”

His arms tighten around your waist. And maybe it’s just the cramped space of the sleeping bag, but it feels like he curls further around you. 

“She was right to think I’d try to come back. A few months ago, I might’ve. She knows me.” He pauses. “She’s giving me a gift.”

You turn your head as much as you can, but you still can’t see his face. “By taking you out of the line of fire?”

“By taking me off assignment.”

You make a confused noise. 

“Something I said to her, at the end. ‘I’ve been on assignment my whole life.’ She’s setting me free.”

You mull it over. You can’t argue with the logic of it.

“And do you feel free?” you murmur. 

“I do.”

You hum. “Good.”

Behind you, he seems to have stopped shivering. You haven’t, and he slots a leg between yours as he tightens his hold again. 

“Do you want to go back?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “Too cold.”

“I’ll warm you up.”

You both hold your breath for a beat, then start giggling. 

“Not what I meant,” he says. 

“Oh, sure.”

You wiggle back against him. Something twitches against the curve of your ass. 

You hold your breath. 

Alex clears his throat. 

“I assume Kate left?” His voice is tight. You take pity and ease forward, but he pulls you back. Desire pools low in your belly, but you force yourself to think through it. 

“She did. She said she couldn’t stay. And she said she’s sorry.”

“I’m the one who owes her an apology.”

“I don’t think she was offended.”

“I’m sure she wasn’t, but that’s not the point.”

“I know.”

Alex readjusts, tucking his arm beneath your head. 

He clears his throat again. “Will the horses be okay?”

“They’ll be fine. I left the paddock doors open.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay, Alex. I don’t think I’d have been thinking either.”

He doesn’t respond for a long minute. Finally, he says, “Okay.”

It’s fully dark now, and you’ve finally stopped shaking. Between the heat of Alex’s body at your back and the fire at your front, you’ve finally warmed up enough to be comfortable. 

“We should probably move,” you murmur. 

“Probably.”

Neither of you does. 

You half-wake at some point in the night, side aching from laying on it. You manage to roll in Alex’s hold until your nose presses into his cheek. Whether he’s awake or half-asleep, you can’t tell, but he reaches down to grip your leg and rolls onto his back, dragging your leg across his body as he does. 

Your breath catches as something hard presses against your inner thigh.

You’re wide awake now, but Alex only sighs through his nose as he turns his head toward yours, eyes shut. 

You consider trying to move, but decide it’s not worth waking him up, if he’s still asleep. 

Instead, you listen to the steady sound of his breaths against your cheek. His fingertips twitch behind your knee, but he is otherwise still. 

Just as you’re drifting off, he begins to murmur in his sleep. He’s speaking Arabic, and then your heart sinks when you hear Farah’s name. A minute later, though, you hear your name. 

Your ears perk up, but he falls silent. A few minutes later, you drift back off into blurry dreams.

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

Of Burdock and Brandy [Alex Keller x Widow! Reader] - I. Hemostasis

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from the Modern Warfare series

Warnings/tags: SMUT (18+ MDNI) , widowed reader, descriptions of prosthesis, language, depictions/discussions of grief, fluff

Ranch life isn’t exactly what you ever pictured yourself doing, or even what you might have chosen for yourself. It’s hard. It starts early and ends late. You’re on your feet for most of every day, and you go to bed sore. You’ve got a barn full of horses who depend on you for their food, their water, their safety. It’s a lot more responsibility than you’d have ever taken on by yourself.

Of course, you hadn’t done it by yourself, not really. It had always been your husband’s dream, after all. But he’s been gone for years now, leaving everything to you.

Most days you love it. You’ve grown to enjoy the routine, the satisfaction of working with your hands. And it had been good for you in those early days after your husband died. You’ve learned that horses are more empathetic than most people.

Some days, though, despite the beauty of the open skies and the comfort of the beasts you raise, are harder than others. Some days are lonely. Some simply feel like they could crush you beneath the weight of responsibility.

Maybe that’s why you agreed to this crazy plan.

You check your watch. 11:39 a.m. You’ve got just enough time to straighten yourself out before the boys get here. 

You glance over at your animals, smiling when you see your mare chasing a new gelding around the paddock, and walk into the house. You brush your teeth, scrub dirt from your cheeks, and sniff the shirt you’re wearing. It doesn’t stink, exactly, but you’re not sure you want to smell like the barn to meet your new houseguest. The boys are used to it by now, but who knows how Alex will take it… although you suppose he’ll have to get used to it.

You’re just pulling a fresh t-shirt over your head when you hear the crunching of gravel under tires. A boarder whinnies at the intruders, and you find yourself hurrying out the front door.

You wave at the dark SUV rumbling up your driveway, but jog to the paddock to calm the anxious mare. She’s watching the vehicle warily, snorting and pawing at the ground. You snag a halter on your way between the corral’s rails.

“Hey, Flora baby, c’mere.” You extend your hands, watching her carefully. You’ve been working with her for a few weeks now, but she’s extra skittish and you can’t be too careful. Her attention shifts to you, but she still darts glances at your new visitors. You shush her, reaching forward to pat her neck, praising her when she calms beneath your touch. You slip the halter over her head, and she only tosses it once. She nickers as you lead her to a hitching post in the paddock, tying her off with just enough lead to stretch her legs. Your own mare nuzzles at your shoulder when you turn, and you pat her nose. “I’ll be back for you,” you promise, dropping a kiss on her soft snout.

“Still doin’ this, then?” Kyle’s got one foot on the fence, aviators hanging from his fingertips as he grins at you.

You smile back. “What, you think I’d ever give this up?”

“Nah.” He offers you a hand as you duck between the rails, then uses that hand to drag you into a bear hug. “Good to see you, love.”

“Always good to see you, Kyle.”

“Och, Simon, d’ye see that?” You lean around Kyle to smile at Johnny, who winks when he spots you. “I think our jo’s picked a favorite, then.”

“I’ve always been her favorite!” calls Kyle. He slings a heavy arm over your shoulders as you make your way toward the others.

You blow a kiss at Johnny, who catches it and clutches it to his heart, and wave to Simon as he appears behind the car. He nods, resting one hand on the liftgate.

“Alright, love?” he rumbles.

“Alright, Si.” 

He grunts, turning his attention back to the trunk. “Johnny?”

“Just a minute, LT.” He’s walking toward you with arms spread wide. “I’ve gotta kiss my best girl.” He does kiss you, on both cheeks, as he swings you up in his arms. “Good t’see you, hen.”

“It’s good to see you, Johnny. How’re things?”

He nods toward the back door of the SUV, which has swung open. “Could be better.” He sets you down, only to nudge you in the ribs. “Could be a lot worse.”

“Always could be,” you agree. Kyle lopes past you to extend a hand to the backseat passenger, who steps out gingerly. You watch as a pair of boots swing out, one by one, each planting themselves carefully on the uneven gravel. You wonder absently whether you should, or could, pave the drive, but you can’t even tell which foot is prosthetic. Then a crutch comes into view and you have an idea. As the boots round the door, you follow them up a long pair of legs and over a broad chest until they meet a ruggedly handsome face.

Alex peers around the ranch with an air of caution that melts any reservations you might’ve been harboring about taking him in. You find yourself straightening your spine, clasping your hands loosely behind your back as he takes in his surroundings. Dusty blue eyes scan the fenceline, and you make a mental note to check out the damaged post you saw earlier this morning. As he regards the barn, you do a quick mental calculation on feed. You’ll be needing to go into town by the end of the week. He cocks his head at the training ring before his attention is drawn to the horses in the paddock, and you smile at the wickering you can hear from here. That paddock, your pride and joy. The only reason you’ve been able to keep this business since losing your husband. Your ten acres is manageable, but it’s still a handful. It’ll be nice to have some help around the house once Alex gets, both literally and figuratively, back on his feet. 

He shuffles, pulling your attention back to him. He’s looking at you now, curious but guarded. With effort, he takes a step forward. You dart toward him, reaching out a hand.

“Alex, right?” 

He ducks his head in a quick nod of acknowledgement. “Ma’am.”

Johnny shoves him lightly, but he still stumbles a bit. You instinctively reach forward, but pull your hand back as he rights himself. “Don’t call her ‘ma’am’, she’s nae that old.”

Alex, tall as he is, somehow looks up at you from beneath his ashy lashes. “Sorry, ma’am.” It’s Kyle’s turn to swat him before you chuck the younger man under the chin.

“Leave off, I don’t mind it. At least he’s more respectful than you lot.” You introduce yourself, but add, “Really, I don’t mind being called ma’am,” with what you hope is an encouraging smile. Alex smiles back and you relax just a bit more. “Can I get you heathens some lunch? I’ve got a chicken in the oven, be ready in twenty minutes.”

The boys all talk over each other; you catch Simon muttering about the airport, Johnny’s enthusiastic acceptance, and something from Kyle about vegetables. You wave a hand at them and look at Alex instead. 

“Please come in and make yourself at home. I’m sure our friends can handle your bags.” You make off toward the house, but realize quickly that Alex can’t keep up. You wrestle with whether or not to offer him help, wonder what help you could even offer, and decide it’s not worth the risk to his pride. You simply slow your steps. “How was your trip?” you ask.

One side of Alex’s mouth twitches up, but it looks bitter and his eyes remain locked firmly on the ground. “Just fine, ma’am.”

You only debate for a moment before deciding to test the waters. “Just fine? I thought flying private would have been an experience to remember.” You say it like a joke, with the implication of luxury, waiting to see if it lands. Alex looks up, startled, and falters a bit. You sober quickly. You’re unsure how to act, and clearly he is too. “Sorry,” you murmur.

“Champagne and caviar,” he quips, glancing at you before refocusing his attention at his feet. Well, you think wryly, foot. But that joke is probably far too familiar. You’re just pleased to have gotten some reaction.

“I see,” you say, drawing out the vowels. “Well I’ve no champagne and caviar, but I always have a fresh pot of coffee and a full pantry.”

“Best coffee you’ll ever ‘ave, mate.” Kyle jogs up, dropping his arm around your shoulders. “Takes the skin right off your teeth.”

“Bleedin’ good stuff, but watch you don’t have a heart attack,” adds Johnny. He materializes on Alex’s other side, holding an office file box.

Simon lumbers behind, muttering something indistinct about fools and coffee.

“Don’t worry Si, you know I always have tea for you.”

“And she’s even got a proper kettle, now that you bought it for her!”

“Don’t be daft, Kyle, you know he bought that thing for himself.”

“So what if he did? She’s still got it, hasn’t she?” Kyle squeezes your shoulders. “Haven’t you, dove?”

The two lean around you and Alex to bicker while Simon sighs heavily, shouldering past you all with a heavy looking duffle. He holds the door impatiently, but you can see his eyes twinkle behind his balaclava when you wink at him. You point the boys down the hall to the spare bedroom, breaking off to the kitchen to set the table.

Your table is a massive old thing, handcarved oak your husband made when he got sick. You run your fingers lovingly over the surface and give yourself one deep breath before opening the cupboard.

Johnny is the first one out. He squeezes your elbow on his way to the sink to wash his hands. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Good,” you say. You’ve just set the plates out, and when you turn, Johnny’s holding the silverware. You pick up Simon’s beloved kettle and open the tap to fill it.

“About Alex, I mean.”

You glance up at him. “Yeah, no, I feel good. He seems nice.”

Johnny hums. “He is nice.”

You grin at him. “Well I did actually trust that y’all wouldn’t send a fox to the proverbial henhouse, y’know.”

Johnny beams at you, and Kyle groans as he steps into the kitchen.

“Don’t tell me Johnny’s got you calling yourself ‘hen’, now.” He takes over the sink the moment you walk away, scrubbing his hands and then splashing his face. You belatedly realize you left your breakfast dishes when he begins washing them, but you know it would be pointless to argue with him.

“Only if it makes a good joke,” you say.

Kyle’s eyes crinkle at the corners, fine lines barely visible in his dark skin.

“You lot wouldn’t know a good joke if it bit you on the nose,” grumbles Simon. As always, his approach is silent enough to make you jump.

Johnny scoffs. You laugh. Kyle rolls his eyes. “Tell us a good joke, then,” he says.

Simon stops, considering. You can hear the thump of Alex’s crutch on your hardwood floors, but every other footstep–his real foot, you imagine–is soft.

“You want to know what always makes me smile?” asks Simon. He slips around you without touching you, always without touching you, and takes mugs out of your cabinet. When Alex comes around the corner, you smile and gesture to the end seat for him. He nods, lowering himself carefully and resting his crutch against the edge of the table. “Face muscles.”

The kitchen falls utterly silent but for the faint sound of steam building in the kettle. Kyle’s hands are frozen in the sink, Johnny’s midway to the table with a place setting, and you stop dead in your trip to the fridge. Slowly, you each turn your heads to watch Simon, who stands calmly, a mug in each hand. He gazes at each of you in turn until you begin to giggle. Instantly, the room erupts into noise. Johnny thumps the table and wheezes; Kyle howls with laughter, head nearly touching the faucet. Even Alex’s moustache twitches in your peripheral vision. 

Simon nods to himself and sets the mugs on the countertop. The nonchalance with which he moves, as if he always knew it was only a matter of time before you all lost it, makes you laugh even harder until tears stream down your cheeks. Johnny transfers his thumping from your tabletop to your back, nearly knocking you down.

“Ah, LT, I think you broke our wee bird.”

“Oi, dingus, you’re the one who’s gonna break her!” Kyle swoops in, wrestling Johnny off you while you recover.

You shake your head at Simon. “My husband always did say you were funny.”

The room quiets again. “Your husband wouldn’t know a good joke if it bit him on the nose, either,” Kyle muses.

You snort. “Sure wouldn’t. Now all of you, sit. Let me get this bird out.” There’s a clamor of protest at your choice of words that makes you snicker, but everyone sits except for Kyle. He uses one long arm to sweep the assorted coffee mugs closer to the pot and finally gets into the fridge for the milk and cream you were after.

“Coffee, Alex?” he asks.

“Please.”

“Cream?”

“Perfect.”

There’s something in his voice that calls out to you even in that single, innocuous word; some quiet resignation that resonates in your soul.

“There’s a sugar shaker in the center of the table,” you say, when you see Kyle set Alex’s mug down. Simon’s attention is fixed on dipping a bag of Earl Grey into his teacup, and you’re not sure whether he or Kyle see the slight dip of Alex’s head as he reaches for the shaker. 

Johnny sees it, though. His gaze snags on Alex’s movement before sliding to you. He smiles, just as wide and bright as the first time you met him, before tipping you an understated wink. Your shoulders dip in some inexplicable relief. 

You plate roasted chicken and vegetables, topping each plate with a daub of mashed potatoes before walking them to the table—first to Alex and Simon, then to Johnny and Kyle—before taking a plate for yourself. Kyle hops to his feet to pull your chair out, taking care not to bump your knees against the heavy wooden post, and you feel a crush of gratitude for these friendships you’ve built. 

Lunch is a soft lull of conversation; stories the boys can tell, stories about your horses. Alex stays quiet, eyes on his plate as he methodically works his way through his food. He thanks you when he’s done, excusing himself to his room. You watch him go, worried.

“Give ‘im time,” Simon says. He stands and collects the plates, taking them to the sink in one tall pile that wavers as much as your confidence that they won’t tip and break against the floor. “He’s hurting, and not just from that leg.”

Johnny nudges you as he picks up mugs. “He’ll warm up to you, birdie. Just you wait and see.”

Kyle reaches for your hands across the table. You take his gratefully. “Let him come to you, love. He will, when he’s ready. And he’ll be a good friend.” 

You smile, nerves quelled for the time being. “Thank you,” you say, turning to direct it to all of them. 

You hadn’t realized how lonely you’d been until you had four huge men filling the empty space in your kitchen, washing and drying dishes and complimenting your cooking. For one moment, the ever-present ache in your heart clenches painfully as you remember that, once, this was your life every day. 

You shake it off long enough to walk the boys out, waving through the dust they kick up as they drive off.

With leftovers and your kitchen done and dusted, you make your way to the barn to fill hay nets. It doesn’t take long, but by the time you step back outside, dark clouds are rolling in. Fast. You curse under your breath before calling the horses. 

They come to you willingly, allowing themselves to be closed into their stalls–all but Flora. You slap a hand to your forehead when you remember that you tethered her before lunch. As you hurry out to the paddock, thunder rumbles. You jog out, fingers quickly working through the loops of rope. Flora snorts as you do. You murmur soft apologies, stroking her face before leading her back to the barn. Feet away from the door, the clouds overhead burst and rain pours down.

Flora stops dead in her tracks, tossing her head as her eyes begin to roll. You sigh internally, soothe her with soft words and pats, and manage to coax her into the barn. 

Not before you’re soaked through, of course.

Luckily for you, Flora’s coat is thick enough that you don’t have to worry overmuch about drying her. You ensure that the paddock gate is latched behind her, pat her flank, and leave the barn. The rain is coming down sideways, and you raise one arm to block the worst of it from your face. That and being accustomed to solitude are the only reasons you don’t notice Alex until your boots touch the porch.

“I was worried you might’ve gotten caught out there.” You jump at the sound of his voice. He leans on one crutch and holds out a towel to you with a nervous smile. “Sorry.”

You take the towel with a tentative smile of your own. “Not at all. I’m not used to having anyone waiting on me any more.” You scrub the towel over your head and down your face, slaking off most of the water with the motion. 

Alex is peering out over the field when you look up. You try to think of a way to fill the silence before deciding that it’s not important. You turn your attention out, toward the foothills just past your property line.

“How long’s he been gone?” When you look at him, he ducks his head in a half apology and gestures to your wedding band. “Your husband.”

You sigh and spin the ring. “Five years now.”

Alex gives you a sideways look. “Awful young to be a widow.”

“I was.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “We didn’t get much time.”

He’s quiet for a few minutes. Then, “I’m real sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be.” You wave a hand absently in his direction, even as your heart clenches painfully and your throat swells. “I’m sure you’ve lost people, too.”

Alex’s head tilts a bit in your direction. “Sure, but… not like that.”

You nod, because what else is there to say to that?

Lightning flashes. Seconds later, thunder rolls through with such force that your porch rattles. Alex starts, nearly losing his balance. You reach out on instinct, despite the fact that you wouldn’t be able to keep him upright if your life depended on it. 

Alex flinches the moment you make contact, settling into a near-predatory crouch. Or rather his best approximation of one, with the crutch still under one arm.

You raise your hands and take a half step back. “Sorry,” you murmur.

Alex straightens, runs a hand down his face, and begins to… laugh.

“I think,” he begins, sighing on the tail end of his laughter, “that you and I have apologized to each other more than anyone else in my life in less than a fraction of the time.”

You shrug one shoulder, offering a wry half smile as you look down. “I don’t exactly know how to act,” you admit.

“Neither do I.” He says it on a breath, looking out over your ranch. Then he turns his focus back to you. “Just act normal,” he says.

You arch an eyebrow. “Normally I’m a touchy person, and that hasn’t worked out so well. Although Simon doesn’t like to be touched either, I suppose I could–”

“I like to be touched,” Alex blurts. The moment the words leave him, his cheeks flush a deep crimson. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he murmurs.

You feel your own cheeks heat, which sets your heart to racing. When was the last time you felt like this? The boys flirt with you all the time, but never with any intent—and you’ve never felt a response to it. 

Your husband had always been able to make your stomach swoop and your head spin, even when he’d been sick as a dog.

But your husband has been gone for five years. 

You look up at Alex, so different from your husband. He’s golden and rugged and broad, compared to your husband’s dark beauty and clean lines and slim elegance. Steady and quiet, rather than energetic and charming. An endurance rider beside a show jumper, a gelding to a stallion. 

You wonder what your husband would think, if he knew what you were feeling, but you already know. He only ever wanted you to be happy.

This realization, paired with the way Alex has begun to fidget, breaks you from your trance of Tennessee Walkers and Holsteiners, Criollos and Dutch Warmbloods.

“Well, then.” You let your voice lilt up and, to lean into the moment, bat your eyelashes in a flagrant mockery of flirtation. Then you slowly lay one hand across Alex’s forearm, delighted when he doesn’t react. “Tell me how you like to be touched.” 

You wince a bit as you realize just how suggestive that sounds, but Alex huffs out a soft laugh. “It just… takes me a while to settle back into civilian life. You don’t need to change anything for me.” He looks at you with a sardonic smile. “I’ll adapt.”

You squeeze his forearm. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to adapt.” Without meaning to, your eyes flit toward his crutch. You pull them back up almost instantly, but it’s clear he saw your attention shift. “Not any more than you already have to. While you’re here, with me, this is your home. You set all the boundaries, okay? You make the rules.”

He won’t meet your eyes. “I think you’ll find I don’t have too many boundaries. CIA has a way of trampling those.”

Somehow, this conversation has taken a turn. You’re no longer sure what exactly is being discussed–touch, privacy? Rehabilitation? Decisions he’s had to make? You dip your head until you make eye contact. 

“Then it sounds like it’s time for you to start building them back up.”

His eyes flick between yours, something wild and haunted surfacing as he does. His tongue darts out across his lips before he looks down to where your hand still rests on his arm.

“You can touch me,” he says, voice hoarse. He clears his throat. “Maybe just… not if I don’t realize you’re there. I don’t want to hurt you if you startle me.”

He hasn’t raised his head, which you take as a sign that he’s not ready to meet your eyes. You calculate your response for a heartbeat before you turn back to your paddocks, letting your hand slide down until your arms are pressed together and your palm rests on his wrist. “Jumpy, needs prior notice of intent. Noted.” You pat his wrist and are relieved when he chuckles. You think he leans toward you, but maybe your shoulders just pressed together when you changed position. “Anything else?” you ask.

Thunder peals as you stand side by side. Alex tenses beneath your fingertips, but relaxes more quickly after each clap. “Uh. Knock before you open my door?” Rather than shove him, you reach your free hand over to smack his chest. That gets a real laugh out of him. “I don’t know, I’m really not worried.” He looks at you sidelong. “And you? Any concerns?”

You shake your head without hesitating. “No. Kate wouldn’t have put me in danger, and neither would the boys. I trust you because they trust you.”

He hums, pleased. “What did she offer you, anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“Kate. How did she convince you to harbor a fugitive?”

You scoff dismissively. “Fugitive.”

Alex pulls his hand away, turning to face you. All traces of good humor are gone, replaced by self-loathing and scorn. “That’s what I am,” he says.

You turn toward him, leaning against the porch railing. The wind has picked up, sending icy rain in your direction now. You hold his gaze, unflinching. “Your record lists you as PKIA.” Alex’s jaw drops in shock. “I don’t know much more than that, but there’s a big difference between being a hunted fugitive and being presumed dead. I don’t think I’m in quite as much danger as you think.” You shift your weight up, turning toward the front door. Once your hand makes contact, you look back over your shoulder. “And even if I am, she didn’t have to convince me. She explained the risks. She asked if I’d be willing, and I said yes.”

You let the screen door ease shut behind you, but it creaks open again a moment later.

“Why?” Alex asks. His voice has a hard edge that you’re not quite brave enough to face. “Why risk your freedom and everything you’ve built for a stranger? You could lose everything!”

You whirl on him. “I already lost everything!” He reels back, even though you’re across the room from each other. You let your head fall back as you try to put your thoughts and feelings into words. “When I lost my husband, I lost the will to live,” you admit. Your voice comes out softer than you intended, more strained. “Kate and the boys, well, they really helped me.” You find yourself moving toward your husband’s table, running your fingers along the edge of the wood. “They reminded me that I have purpose here, with the horses. With the people who trust me with their horses. To this dream my husband had.” Your throat closes around his title, just like it always does, but it feels good to finally say this out loud. “I was lost, drifting in a sea of grief. Did they ever tell you?”

Alex doesn’t say a word. You don’t look up. You go on, sure that they never did. “They worked out a little rotation amongst themselves. They’d each come out here for a few days at a time. I still don’t know how they managed it, but they never left me alone. Kate and Kyle took turns washing my hair, doing my laundry. Johnny made weeks’ worth of food, filled my freezer up and left little notes around the house. Reminders to drink water, positive affirmations, sometimes just silly hearts. Simon made me so much tea, and would just sit with me for hours. Reading about the horses, or just staring out into space. I still don’t know who, but one of them called a rancher friend and had him take care of my horses for a while.”

You finally look up. Alex is watching you with such fierce intensity that you nearly take a step back. “You may be a stranger, but they’re not. And I don’t know the details, but I know you’re only a fugitive because you did something you thought was right. Kate asked, so I said yes. If she and the boys think this place will be good for you, then the least I can do is welcome you with open arms.”

Alex searches your face for long minutes. He must find what he’s looking for, because he finally says, “Okay.”

You’ve just given a speech longer than days’ worth of conversations. It’s likely more words strung together than you’ve said in one go in years. You’re so deeply, shockingly relieved by that simple acceptance that you begin first to laugh, then to cry. Alex hobbles toward you, making soft noises, and you don’t stop him from wiping at your tears with calloused fingers. You even find yourself leaning into his hand. You don’t understand it, but there’s something about him that just makes you feel… safe.

“Sorry,” you choke out, frantically scrubbing your eyes. 

“Stop apologizing,” he replies. He makes an effort to balance without his crutch, letting it rest against the table so he can raise his left hand to your other cheek.

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “You first.”

He barks out a laugh. “Yeah, okay. I’ll do my best.”

You nod, dashing away what you hope are the last of your tears as Alex’s thumbs trace slow paths over the tops of your cheeks.

You sniffle. He watches you.

“Are you tired?” you ask. There are dark circles under his eyes, but it’s the heaviness in their blue depths that makes you ask. “I should have asked you ages ago, you’ve had a long day.”

“Just travelling,” he says, straightening and dropping his hands. “But yes, I’m tired.” 

You open your mouth to apologize, but bite your tongue at the last moment. Alex’s eyes glimmer with amusement. Caught. 

“I know the boys moved you in, but it didn’t look like much. Is there anything you need?”

He thinks for a moment, but shakes his head. “No, ma’am. Well, maybe a glass of water?”

You nod, already moving into the kitchen. “Of course. Ice?”

“Sure.”

You wave him off. The tap of his crutch disappears under the clinking of ice, and has faded by the time you’ve poured water from the Berkey on the counter. You pad down the hall after him, knocking lightly against the open doorframe. Alex is sitting, hands lightly clasped in his lap. His lips quirk at the fact that you’ve knocked, since you both know he wasn’t serious. And the door is already open. 

“Enter,” he mocks, voice deepening. 

You make an extravagant bow in return. 

“My Lord,” you tease.

Alex shakes his head violently. “Oh, no. None of that, now.” He takes the water from your outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You survey the room, making sure everything is in its place. There’s an extra blanket folded at the foot of the bed, a fan by the window, and a nightlight leading to the en suite bathroom. You’ve never been more grateful for renovating it as you are now.

“The, uh, shower has a bench,” you say. Your eyes flip to the body pillow that Kyle suggested, then to the duffel sitting on the armchair in the corner. Reupholstering the ottoman had seemed like a fun project, until you realized you had no talent for seamstressing and paid Mrs. Costa to do it instead. It looks beautiful, though. “Is it all right? The room?”

“It’s perfect.”

“Good, good.” You flutter nervously around the doorframe. “Do you need anything?”

You can tell that he’s fighting, but failing, not to smile. “You already asked me that.”

You reach across your body to grab your elbow, pinch the skin between your fingertips. You chew on your bottom lip to stop yourself from saying, “sorry”. Alex laughs lightly.

“Everything is perfect. Thank you.” He drops his gaze, taking his turn to be shy. “Truly, I appreciate this. More than you know.”

“You’re welcome.” You don’t know what else to say, so you turn to go.

“I, uh.” When you spin to face him, Alex’s hands are clutching the blanket. “I have nightmares sometimes. Dunno if Kate told you. So if you hear me yelling… sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” It comes out automatically, but it sounds cheap. So you follow up with, “Thanks for the heads’ up. I won’t worry as much.”

He breathes out a laugh as you step into the hallway. You smile, walk into your own room, and let the door shut softly behind you. You can hear Alex’s crutch thudding against the floorboards as he makes his way into his ensuite. You follow suit and step into your own bathroom to brush your teeth and take a shower. When you’re done, you wrap yourself in your bathrobe and ease your door open. Across the hall, Alex’s door is shut.

After a moment’s hesitation, you leave yours open a crack. Then you tiptoe to your bed, pull back the covers, and slide in.

You’re asleep by the time your head hits the pillow. 

𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰 𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰 𖠰 ↟ᨒ. ݁ ﹏ 𓃗 ﹏ ݁ .ᨒ↟ 𖠰

When you wake up, it’s with the feeling that you’ve forgotten something important. You’re laying still, too comfortable to move, basking in the warmth of your sheets when it hits you.

Alex. 

You roll over to look at the clock on your nightstand. 5:27 a.m. You close your eyes for the last three minutes before your alarm rings, taking the time to listen. 

You hear nothing. 

Your hand comes down on the clock on the first ring, silencing it before it can wake Alex. You flick on the lamp on your nightstand, pad to your closet, and pull out clothes for the day—trusty blue jeans and a plain t-shirt, boot socks, and a light jacket. You carry the bundle into your bathroom, peeking into the hallway as you pass your door.

You pause. 

Alex’s door is open, light off. Room apparently empty. 

You frown. You never heard him get up. 

No matter. You get dressed and, when you step into the hall, you can see that the kitchen light is on. Your heart slows, when you hadn’t even noticed it picking up.

You make your way there, taking care not to step too quietly. You intentionally shut your door with an audible click, put your foot down on a board that’s always creaked, slide your hand along the wall. 

Alex is already looking in your direction when you come into view, hands folded on the empty table in front of him. You smile, and he smiles back. 

“Good morning,” you say. 

“Good morning,” he says back. “I, uh, didn’t want to start digging around in the cupboards and wake you up.”

You flick a hand in the air, dropping it to skim over his shoulders as you pass him. He straightens under your touch, and some long-sleeping side of you preens. 

“I think you just wanted more of my world-famous coffee.”

“You caught me.”

You grin over your shoulder. Then, you make coffee. 

Alex turns in his chair to watch you, eyes tracking your every movement. 

“Eggs and toast okay?” you ask. 

“Sounds great,” he replies. 

You open the fridge. “Sleep well?”

You hear the chair creak as Alex shifts. “Well enough.”

You straighten and turn to look at him. “Was it the bed? We can look at mattress toppers. Were you warm enough?”

Alex cuts you off with a huff of laughter before you can continue your inane prattling. “Plenty warm.”

You quirk a brow, determined to get a real laugh. At least a smile. “Too warm, then?”

Alex levels you with a look so blank that you break first, snorting loudly as you spin away. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you wheeze. You’re not. 

“Sure you are.” There’s an exasperation in his tone that should be a little too fond for your short acquaintance, but it only brings a steady warmth to your chest. You expect that to be the end of it, but when you turn to place a cup of coffee in front of him, he thanks you with a nod and then takes a deep breath. “It’s just so quiet here.”

With the way he holds himself, you expect that there might be more to that statement. You lean your hip against the table and wait, brows raised. Alex pales slightly and then rushes on.

“It’s hard to adjust, and I’ve always had a harder time than most people I know. It’s like the bed is too soft and the house is too quiet. And those aren’t bad things!” he rushes to add. “It’s just different. I went from a war zone to a field hospital to a clinic, and then from safe house to safe house. I’ll get used to it. Ask me again in a week.”

He gives you a weak smile, but the smile breaking slowly over your face is bright and excited.

“I think I may have a way to help with that. Do you think you can get on a horse?”

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

Of Burdock and Brandy [Alex Keller x Widow! Reader]

Summary: It’s been five long years since you lost your husband. And you’re fine on your own, really. Kate and the boys have made sure of that. That’s why you can’t say no when she asks you to harbor an amputee and a deserter, a man who lost everything–life and limb–when he did the right thing. 

You expect for his leg to heal. You don’t expect your heart to.

Author’s Notes: I’m almost positive I started thinking about this after watching Eternity last year, so now y’all get 40K words (yikes) of the hyper-niche Alex Keller x Widow! Reader ranch fic I’ve been stewing on for the last few months. A huge shoutout to my biggest hype woman @geminiwritten for letting me rant, shout, and obsess to her whenever I’m writing. I cannot say enough how much I appreciate you as a writer, a reader, and a friend. This one’s for you. ❤️

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from the Modern Warfare series

Warnings/tags: SMUT (18+ MDNI) , widowed reader, descriptions of prosthesis, language, depictions/discussions of grief, fluff

I. Hemostasis

II. Inflammation

III. Proliferation

IV. Remodeling

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

The sentence

What voice text thought the sentence should’ve been

Right down to the backward curly quote. Smh

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

Do I have any followers who speak and/or write Arabic who’d be willing to spot check a handful of lines? Specifically romanized characters, it’s for a fic

[nondelphic]

writing is just sitting in front of a computer and making up problems for imaginary people while ignoring your own. fun and casual hobby.

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

IT'S ME I'M THE KING

y'all I've been after this achievement for so damn long, since October 2025 but I could NOT get Partisan to spawn in 30+ solo raids. Then this time around, could not manage to hit big man. I'm so happy I could cry 😭

[lasmishen]

[anxietyproblem]

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

Currently in the place of writing the fic I want to read (bc what I want to read is fairly niche and so far unwritten) and MY GOSH when will the writing be done so I can read it 😭

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

Icebreaker HERE I COME

[aphantimes]

🫵 YOU. STOP WHERE YOU ARE

say something nice about prev!!! find something cool about them!! give their blog a skim!!

compliments are FREE TO GIVE so GIVE THEM OUT. pls. thamnk. (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)