Warnings: Idk, go listen to Karma Chameleon and you tell me.
You had gotten used to being on your own. Since Eric had gone overseas, it had just been your Coke bottles on the counter, your snacks in the pantry, your books on the table beside the sofa. Now that he was back, every day you came home from work and were greeted by his Pepsi bottles beside your Coke, his snacks intermingled with yours in the pantry, and his books competing for limited surface area on the table beside the sofa.
He was different, too. More reserved in some ways, while in other ways more outgoing than he'd ever been. He wasn't shy about affection anymore, laying it on you at every opportunity. But every time his service came up, he withdrew into himself. He refused to talk about anything having to do with his time in Iraq, even things that surely couldn't be classified.
And, most oddly of all, he was suddenly obsessed with aliens. Concerningly so.
Still, you accepted the changes as best you could. It was the same as any other big life change, right? You'd had to adjust to being alone again when he left, and now you had to adjust once again to cohabitating with a roommate, even if he was different to the man you sent off to war.
He wore your boyfriend's face, spoke in his voice, looked at you with the same love he always had. Yet he wasn't the same man. But you'd get to know this new version of Eric, love him the same as you had before.
One of your efforts to help him readjust and to get to know this new version of him was to set up a lunch with his service friends. At first, they were just as cagey as he was whenever his tour came up, even though they all avoided the topic like they'd get shot on the spot for even thinking about it.
Jesus, what had happened over there?
Eventually, though, they relaxed. Loosened their muscles and their lips. Alcohol helped. Eric's absolute trust and faith in you seemed to help sway them, too. Rachel got surprisingly close to buddying up to you -- as much as she could, anyway. Even the guys warmed up to you a little.
You were by no means a member of the crew, you knew that much -- you wouldn't want to ever truly impose on Eric's space anyway. These were his friends, from a different time and place in his life, and that was okay. They knew this new version of him far better than you did, and you were just happy to see this different Eric seemingly in his element.
Eventually, his friends started making motions to leave. You saw the jolt of sadness and, worst of all, loneliness, that shot through Eric's expression, but said nothing. These were his friends, and when would he have the chance to see them again? Of course he'd feel that way.
You only sort of convinced yourself.
Motion to your side pulled your attention away from your thoughts as Eric pulled out his wallet to pay for lunch -- and, ever the gentleman, of course he was paying for everyone's.
You made to turn towards Rachel, who had started to ask you something, when a chorus of wolf whistles brought you back to the men's conversation. Rachel looked, too, but she looked more annoyed than curious. You supposed that was to be expected, being one of the only women in their unit (and only surviving one -- Eric still hadn't told you what had happened to Clarice).
"Boy, what have you got here?" Jason was saying as your attention focused on him. He was holding Eric's wallet out of his reach, trying to pass it off to Nick with one hand while he held Eric back with the other.
Nick took the wallet and shook his head. "Man, you know that's not cool." Despite his words, you could see a shine of amusement as he tossed the wallet over to Rachel.
You weren't sure what all the fuss was about until Rachel fixed the angle of the wallet and your eyes caught on the photo inside.
It was the one you'd had taken before Eric had been deployed. It was tasteful, and not fully nude, but was still not something you'd want passed around the locker room. From the various reactions of the men, you could tell that it was their first time seeing it -- Rachel didn't seem surprised, and tangled up in the horror of Eric's friends seeing you like that, you wondered when she'd seen it and why.
And tangled even further, caught in the thorns of despair, was a different feeling -- you were touched he'd taken it with him, that he kept it somewhere so close... somewhere he'd see it all the time, instead of somewhere hidden away and private.
"You keep this in your wallet?" you asked, hand over your heart.
"He's had it in there since we were deployed," Rachel confirmed, handing the wallet to you almost reverently. "I saw it when he dropped his wallet on the plane."
That explained that, at least.
"Eric?"
You looked away from the photo to meet your boyfriend's gaze. He'd been watching you the whole time and you hadn't noticed. You felt a little bad, but mostly you were just stunned.
"It's how I kept you close," he said quietly, simply. "It was lonely without you. I... sometimes pictured it was really you, in a way? I'd hear your voice when I looked at it, telling me what you'd do, or what you'd want me to do... well, what I thought you'd do, or what you'd want me to do."
You laughed a little, the sound wet with surprised and thus far unshed tears. "Really?"
"Yeah."
Jason chimed in, "Guy wouldn't shut up about ya."
Nick shot him a glare -- not that you noticed. Your eyes were only on Eric.
"That means a lot to me," you finally said, thoughtfully. You finally tore your gaze away to look at the picture again. "You know, there were others, but this was the best one..."
Alice requests desk duty for a while after the death of her brother, just to get her head on straight. Joey sees something that he is definitely not supposed to.
Because apparently I’m a masochist who, for some reason, can’t stop thinking about a ‘Jason who dies for his love’ obsessively at the minute, I DID A THING. I’ve never posted fan fic writing on Tumblr before so I’m presuming I just dump it here and you enjoy/hate me for it?
But if warnings first are the norm, there are references to therapy and pain right in the feels, if that’s any help (or enough reason not to read).
Oh, and for context: this is working on the idea that the elevator took a hit on the way down.
The rain hit the window in a soft patter. Even just this small sound, the only sound in the cold office, made Salim want to throw open the window and scream up at the heavens to be silent. To mourn with him.
He clutched at his hands in his lap, relishing the pain as his nails bit into the cracked skin and drew blood. The cushion behind his back was a comfort he didn’t feel he deserved.
‘You said that Jason sacrificed himself for you. Who is Jason, Salim?’
Salim raised his eyes, then. The first time he’d looked at her since moving through the door for their session. How many had it been now… five? Six? He’d stopped counting. Stopped caring. She studied his face placidly, her eyes glancing down to the dark stubble, then back up to the tired eyes. She said nothing, her pen hovering over the blank sheet of paper in her own lap as she waited.
Salim slowly lowered his eyes back to his hands as he let himself remember.
----------
Salim’s lungs were burning, screaming, as he ran through the gloom, the elevator in the distance now, the sight of it making his heart leap in hope, in hope that they would actually get out of here, that he would see his son again –
Jason’s rifle fired again behind him as he brought up the rear, tracking Salim’s movements and panting behind him as the alien screech unleashed behind them again.
As Salim slowed towards the elevator, he realised just how much of a bad shape it was in – the jolt it had suffered when they’d first travelled down had given it a knock along the bottom, and one of the cables looked worryingly loose. Forcing down his fear, Salim grabbed the elevator’s gate and stumbled inside.
Behind him, there was a clang that made the elevator tremble, and Salim span around in surprise to see Jason closing the gates on him. Salim stared at him.
‘Jason, what are you doing?’
‘The elevator ain’t gonna last much longer. It ain’t strong enough for the both of us. And once those things reach us, they’re gonna rip this thing apart. You need to go. Now. I’ll hold them off.’
Salim stared at the American in horror. ‘Jason, no – ’
He threw himself at the gates but they held stuck, bent at an awkward angle now and catching at the side. Salim let out a noise of frustration, raising his eyes to see Jason surveying him with a small smile.
‘Goodbye, Salim. You wish Zain a happy birthday from me.’
And then he reached across and pulled the lever.
The elevator clanked into action, stumbling with the first movement and groaning dangerously. Salim fell back against the sides, until he righted his footing, flinging himself back against the gates, clawing at them. But his own desperate cries, his calling of his friend’s name, were drowned out by the approaching creatures, by the sound of Jason’s rifle unleashing on them and his own ferocious war cry below.
Salim fell to his knees as he heard the gunshots stop.
I need more awkward lovey-dovey Jalim in my life, I am tired of angst and sadness *sobs*
Okay so first of all. @magicmossrabbit IM SO SO SO SORRY I REPLY THIS LATE, things gotten out of hand after i boldly stated i gonna write tons of fics i still want to but uhh it slowed really down
I hope i can make it up for you with this💕 💖
Pairing: Salim x Jason
Summary: Jason offered Salim to show his local cinema but without any instructions, Salim’s left to figure out what the young american means with all this, and what does his own feeling thell him about this situation.
Words: 2900~
Genre: Fluff
Night out
Part 1.
„Don’t worry Baba, you got this! I’m more than sure it’s gonna be nice!” Zain's voice crackled softly from the telephone receiver, Salim pressed the receiver to his ear with his shoulder, busy with which shirt to choose.
His room looked like a blown-up war zone — cabinet doors wide open, clothes thrown on the bed and the armrest of the reading armchair, even succeeded to land a few unlucky jackals and jeans in the big search to the floor.
„I haven't been on anything like this in a long time, son. I've forgotten what it's like, and how to do it.” Salim pulled another shirt out of the closet and stepped in front of the mirror; holding the garment to his chest. He paused and started to study his reflection with a sour look. Since the war ended and Salim moved out with Zain, he felt it was time to rest for a while, he did what he had to do and there was really no reason to keep himself in perfect shape all the time. Not that Salim was overweight, he still had the strength that he had gained in his military years, but his old uniform was already a little tight around his stomach. He straightened his collar with one hand and smoothed the fabric that had folded along the buttons.
It was a long time ago, a very long time ago when Salim had to be ready for a date. The last occasion was a good twenty years ago when he and Zain's mother got to know each other. “It's a memory from ancient times.” Salim thought and turned to have a good look at the back of his shirt.
„What color do you think suits me? „ He asked his son, who had been clanging something on the other end of the phone. “Zain? Can you hear me? What are you doing there?”
Salim heard something, like a slamming door, then buttons being pressed, and finally a few seconds later, the sound of a machine was audible.
„Sorry, Baba, I'm here, I'm listening. I just came down to the laundry to do the laundry.” Zain apologized with a deep sigh, as he made silence around himself at last. “Now I’m all ears, Baba.”
Salim smiled — at home he always had to unpack the mess after Zain, even though he wasn't really a neat man either. If he admits it, Salim’s still aren’t one to begin with. He was glad that Zain was finally able to keep his life together and manage his own things, including tidying up and washing dishes. He maybe should take an example of his son in such matters…
„It’s okay, Zain. I just am having a dilemma which shirt to wear. What do you think? “
“Now that I can't even see what you're wearing, it's hard to tell, but if there's something red or black or something uhh… brown?”
Climbing back into the closet, Salim was forced to turn on the lamp— venturing into the deepest part among the clothes. He found some old shirts, but he didn't think it would be a good idea to go on a first date in a ten-year-old, old-fashioned plaid shirt; even though he's not that old. He finally found two that could compete for a decent look— he wanted to choose between a black silk- and a burgundy red shirt, although he didn't know which would be more suitable for an evening dinner.
Trying on the red, Salim put his vote in this one; he felt that he looked better in this, than in a simple black, which would simply fade into the darkness of the night. After all, red would be the color of love and passion. It might even help him... He straightened the collar buttoning it on his wrists. This way you will definitely look better, than just appearing in an everyday T-shirt in front of Jason.
Speaking of Jason — the older man looked a bit anxious about the upcoming meeting; the young American did not give him any guidance in how Salim should be dressed, as he did not tell him either where or which place Jason would take him.
“Don't sweat it Salim, I got everything in hand.” He said this, two days ago, when they last met; winking provocatively at the older man. As annoying as Jason's nonchalant behavior was, Salim had to admit that he was, at times, sheepish by these actions, and it made him feel giddy.
He didn't think he'd ever feel that way after all this time — let alone for a man, with whom they were enemies and could have killed each other back then.
Slowly this bond, this friendship — the gaze with which they looked at each other, changed. It felt completely different now, when Salim hugged Jason as a greeting or thanks — the touches of the other’s skin; leaving a bubbling, tingling feeling in their fingers, and their hearts.
Salim first avoided thinking about them together, what if they were a thing, if he could show, if he could reveal what he feels for Jason; but he didn't do it. Not because of himself, but because of the younger man. Salim didn't know what Jason could feel exactly, only the man himself could imagine it — only Salim sees what isn’t really there, or Jason is truly interested in him. He did not know what he would say; what he would do; how it would affect their relationship, if Salim would admit his feelings toward Jason.
When they met for lunch together; their conversation— which was always so enjoyable; they could talk about anything and everything. Somehow that day they started talking about movies — what they usually watch, or what kind of genre they are interested in. Salim admitted that since he was young- more precisely- since Zain was born, he hasn’t been to a movie theater since; he didn’t see a single movie on canvas. He always managed to watch everything only by cash on delivery, from disk.
’Till two days ago.
~~~~~
Thus Jason mentioned that he knew some very good cinemas nearby, and that he might have heard of some movies coming out recently, that they could go and check out, so Salim would finally have a real movie experience. Of course, Salim immediately agreed; not knowing what he was getting himself into.
Jason nodded, telling Salim he will get the tickets two day later, and they will go in the evening. The two of them. In the evening. To a cinema.
Salim's feet were moving nervously; as he sat on the couch, scanning the window —when Jason would appear to pick him up. His glances became more frequent on the wall clock; he clenched his fists- then spread his palms on the sofa’s cushion.
If they go together… and Jason buys the tickets for them...
What if he doesn't see it as a date? What if he just sees it as two friends going to see a movie, because Jason just wants to show the movies there? What if Salim is overcoming too formal and elegant; if Jason appears in a ragged hoodie? Then he would certainly see through, why Salim got all dolled up. And if——
A car drove down the street, stopping in front of Salim’s house, and a few seconds later a short honk rang through the air.
Swallowing hard, Salim got up from the couch, smoothing down his shirt one last time. “Don’t need to worry. Don’t need to overthink. Just go and watch that damn movie!” He repeated as he was locking the entry door.
As Salim was approaching the jeep— heart beat faster, his clenched fists started to sweat, feeling as if he had been walking from the house to the road for an eternity. The engine rumbled loudly, Salim felt it was as loud as his own heart in his chest, while he walked over to the door of the front seat to open it.
Jason lay back in his seat behind the wheel, watching Salim from the side, as he made his way into the car, then Jason greeted him. He wore a black leather jacket with jeans, never forgetting his worn-out baseball cap, which had become Jason’s famous signature accessory.
„Good to See You Salim! Ready for the night?” He asked with an excited smile. A gleam ran through his arm when he moved in the seat.
„As ready as I can be.” Salim replied with an embarrassed laugh as he was nestling in the seat. „Let’s get going then, Jarhead.” Jason hummed in agreement, but before he stepped on the gas, he turned to the side, pulling out two narrow pieces of paper from his jeans pocket.
„Our tickets.” Jason raised his arm towards Salim, waiting for the older man to take the ticket. Salim reached for it, their hands touched, what felt more than just a moment, until finally Jason dropped his own, back on the steering wheel.
„To the middle line?” Salim raised the ticket to his face, reading it out loud to dispel the previously created vibe —what he thought was an embarrassing moment.
„Why?” Jason frowned confused, his cap hid half the gesture and Salim's throat clenched; how adorable he looked that way.
„I'm flattered that you think my eyes are so good, that I can see that far away, but unfortunately I can't. Glad I brought my glasses.” He said, reaching into the chest pocket, he pulled out his glasses then wiped the lens with his sleeve.
„Don't worry, you're gonna see in that middle row.” Smiled Jason mysteriously. „...It’s a nice shirt.” He said, watching the older man from the side. „Red looks good on ya Salim.”
Salim's heart jumped at that statement as he wrapped his fingers around his seat belt.
„T-thanks, Jarhead.” Salim coughed, he started scratching his nose, before the American could see the dumb smile that crept up on his face. “Will you start moving or we'll have to wait out the entire movie here?”
Jason laughed softly, turning silently forward he finally drove away from Salim's house.
After a half hour of driving — that partly passed with embarrassing silence, partly with listening to some radio music — a dense woody area appeared in front of them, as they were about to leave the residential buildings. Salim blinked around in bewilderment; if they were going to the movies, shouldn't it be near the city center? Why are they going to the suburbs then? He didn't say a word, Salim trusted Jason, he was reminded of this— countless times, when down in that hell, they fought together. Still, Salim curiously leaned toward the windshield— maybe he would notice a building next to the row of trees.
„Jason?” He asked finally, when the younger man drove down by the line of trees, leading to an iron gate. „What is this place?”
The gates were closed, although a light was shining from the guard booth, and as Jason stopped by the stall, a woman peered out the window. They greeted each other properly then Jason, reaching into his pocket, turned to Salim.
„Give me your ticket.” He opened his palm in front of Salim waiting for him patiently. After a few moments of searching, the Iraqi could pull out his ticket from his pocket, landing it to his friend.
And again — there was the lingering touch, that feeling of Jason’s skin on his own, that Salim could not put into order in his heart — nor in his heart.
“Third row; twelfth position.” Turning back into the bunk, after a little search she reached out, handing Jason a card; squirting a warm smile at them she let them pass through.
Jason drove through the gates and they moved onto a wide pebble road, the lead into the heart of the wooded area.
“Are you gonna tell me where you took me? It is true that I have been in one for a long time…but this is not what cinemas look like in my memory.” Salim squirmed in his seat, trying to see some familiar building in the pitch-dark or anything, that makes some sense, why are they in the middle of nowhere right now.
„Well, maybe you've never been to a place like this, but this is a cinema!” Said Jason, with amusement but confident nevertheless. „You'll see.” He promised, patting Salim gently on the shoulder.
The road leaned to the left as they followed its curve; in front of Salim a huge white board — a canvas board started to come in frame with bright spotlights and plenty of cars around it.
Jason slowed down as they reached the sea of cars, carefully navigating from one direction to another.
“I still don’t get it, Jarhead.” Salim said, scratching his nape confused. “What kind of weird parking lot did you bring me?”
Jason let out a wheeze under his nose, his whole body leaning onto the wheel for support.
“This ain’t some “weird” park, Salim. Fuck Salim, there weren’t any drive-in cinemas, at home in Iraq?” The younger man raised an eyebrow in disbelief, glancing at Salim for the side.
Salim shot a shy smile, biting in his lip, he then just shrugged his shoulders. No, as a matter of fact, where Salim lived, there wasn't even a normal movie theater, they always had to walk or drive to the nearest city if they wanted to watch something. It was a rare occasion when he had a chance to enjoy a good movie.
Jason sighed concerned, he turned to the left, he steered the wheel back, facing the car to the screen; driving between two short iron poles he stopped the engines. Glancing out the car, Salim saw the pole on his side had a radio-like device…like a walky-talky.
About to turn toward his partner, asking about this odd thing, Jason started to pull down both windows in the front as he leaned out of the car, grabbing that mini-radio, he managed to place it on the edge of the glass frame. Turning back to the older man he motioned towards the other radio to Salim.
“Place it next to you, before the movie starts.” He instructed, as Salim quickly did as he was told to do.
“And now?” He asked, leaning back comfortably in his seat, eyes on the blank canvas, curious about the following.
“Now we wait, until the movie starts, smartass.” Jason squinted with a cheeky smile, and Salim felt that drop in his heart again.
„Oh, sure, of course! I thought the same...” Salim stuttered out, feeling that rosy blush creeping up on his cheeks again. He quickly pretended to scratch his head; turning to the side he looked out again, hoping he would find something interesting on the little radio, instead of getting lost in Jason’s gaze.
“Oh I almost forgot!” Jason quickly turned backwards in his seat, leaning to the backseat between his and Salim’s. “I have some snacks for when we get hungry.”
All of a sudden Salim couldn’t even decide what to do, where to look as Jason leaned back in such a way he gave Salim a perfect view on his butt.
For a few seconds he couldn’t dare to look in that way, what if Jason would turn back in that moment, catching him staring; then what would he say, how would he explain himself to Jason?
But this concept lasted exactly for five solid seconds when curiosity defeated his common sense.
First he only allowed a side glance for himself, barely moving his head — Jason was kneeling on his seat, legs hooked under the steering wheel. The black leather jacket slipped up on his back, revealing a gap where there was nothing to cover his hips.
His boxer slightly peaked out of his jeans — it was a dark grayish-blue textile and further down his ass got pressed tightly into the denim, bringing out a nice, round ass. As he moved to stretch further backwards, his whole body started to move with him, including his...
„Gottcha!” Jason chuckled, as Salim heard rattling bags, and soon Jason swung back into his seat, with a loud grunt.
Right at that moment, Salim quickly turned away; leaning down as if he was tying his shoelaces the entire time.
“Did—did you find everything you wanted?” He asked as calmly as he possibly could. He was glad the windows were down, and the night surrounded them, otherwise his lobster red cheeks would be very telling.
The film was quite good — Salim mentally remarked. Not an outstanding creation, but it had exciting scenes he couldn’t turn away from; and it had a few better jokes on which both of them could laugh… But despite all the trying, Salim couldn’t concentrate fully on the film. Only that scene — Jason bending back on the seat, back exposed.
After this, he tried not to look in Jason’s direction so often when the movie started, and when the theme song rang up, he was genuinely relieved to finally get the attention off of him.
~~~~~
Now it was certain, he won’t be able to keep it a secret for long, and Salim was sure in that as well, that he fell in love with Jason.
Dying sucks, but somehow, coming back to life sucks even more. Jason's mind doesn't feel like his own in the drug-filled haze he awakens in, too sluggish and disjointed to focus on anything. It reaches out to his body but comes up empty, and then he thinks he might actually be dead - that this is what death is like – being trapped inside your own skull, helpless and lost, laid out like a dissected bug under the blinding clinical lights.
He would honestly rather have the vampires.
Brightly coloured hazmat suits hover at the edge of his vision. He tries to call out, to scream, but there’s something shoved down his throat that turns any sound he tries to produce into a pitiful wheeze. Maybe it’s a good thing that he blacks out again.
It goes on like this for a while, his consciousness coming and going, with nothing but blackness in between. Eventually, the sedatives start wearing off and he becomes aware of a thousand little discomforts - the straps around his wrists, the itch in places he can’t reach, the fucking tube shoved down his throat. They do take it out once they seem convinced he can breathe on his own, and he finds out just how deep that thing went, because every inch fucking hurts.
“You’re very lucky, Lieutenant.” Says a hazmat suit with a clipboard. “We almost didn’t manage to bring you back.”
For someone who claims to be his doctor, she sounds a little too disappointed.
She ends up giving him a pretty vague explanation of what happened - some kind of delayed anaphylaxis followed by respiratory arrest, followed by him basically being dead for six minutes. The substance he inhaled may or may not have caused it. They don’t know. Jason’s vocal cords feel like they’ve been treated with sandpaper, but he manages to get some basic answers out of her.
It turns out he’s not at Camp Slayer anymore, although he could’ve guessed as much, since the room he’s in is way too bare and modern to be part of Saddam’s palace. They’ve flown him to some kind of medical facility just about two weeks ago, only where this medical facility is is apparently something no one wants to disclose. He gives up on that one and asks about the other survivors.
“You were the only patient they brought us, Lieutenant.” Is all the doctor tells him.
Pretty much all his other questions are ignored, and he’s too tired, and way, way too weak to insist. He’s still unconscious more often than not, but now when he sleeps, he dreams, and his dreams are not peaceful. They are awful, feverish, nonsensical things. Sometimes they chase him out of the cavernous depths of his subconscious and he wakes up in the middle of the night gasping for breath and straining against his bonds, possessed by a distressingly familiar sense of urgency he can't remember the cause of. He imagines it must be the drugs, taking his fresh experiences from the House of Ashes and vomiting them back at him. At least before, he had a choice. Now he doesn't even have that anymore.
Of course, they can't remove the bonds yet. They have to make sure he’s not a danger to himself, he’s told. Who knows what other symptoms could have a delayed onset?
Jason keeps quiet about the nightmares and withdraws into the little corner of himself he still has left. He’s never been very good at being alone, but now it seems that he has no other real company.
His mind turns into a highlight reel of his finest moments.
The blistering heat of the road, the dead silence that follows a single gunshot. Oranges rolling out of a bag.
Nicky, calling out to him in the middle of the night from the top bunk, pleading to have someone to talk to, while Jason pretends to be asleep.
And down in that alien horrorfest of a place, facing a fate worse than death, him finally admitting that he’s full of shit. That he’s as lost as he was two years ago, as lost as he has been all his life, really. Except now there’s blood on his hands and it won’t wash off. He told Nick they’d die in that place if that was what they deserved, but he really only meant himself.
There’s one speck of warmth in his little parade of self-contempt, and that’s the memory of who he bared his soul to. Jason doesn’t know what became of his other comrades, but he tries to convince himself that Salim made it back home to his son. He hangs on to the thought as if it were a lifeline.
One day he wakes up and finally finds himself free to move around, or at least so he thinks until he actually tries. Making his way to the bathroom is a slow and painful process that leaves him sweaty and trembling, and when he finally sees himself in the mirror, he wants to cry. The man staring back at him is nothing but skin and bone.
Incidentally, or maybe not, this is also the day he finally sees a familiar face.
“Shit, Kolchek.” Eric looks genuinely taken aback by the sight of him. "Should you be up and about?"
Jason makes a sound that is either a cackle or a cough, he's not sure which one, and hangs on for dear life to the edge of the bed because the last thing he wants is to need Eric King's help getting back into it.
"Disappointed that I'm not a corpse, Colonel? Yeah, I know. Me too."
"That's not what I meant." Eric frowns. "Listen, I've got some good news for you."
“Did they let you all go, then?” Jason interrupts. “Nick, Rachel… they okay?”
Eric actually looks over his shoulder, towards the door. When he speaks again, his voice has dropped a few decibels.
“This isn’t the best place to have this conversation. But yes. I… promised them I’d make sure you were taken care of.”
“Taken care of?” Something very unpleasant twists in Jason’s gut at those words. As if to add to the pathetic image he must be presenting, his legs feel like they’re about to give out under him, so he has no choice but to plop himself on the bed awkwardly.
“I know this isn’t the usual process, but given the circumstances, expediting this was the best option for you.”
Eric hands him a sealed letter which Jason’s shaking, clammy hands take a frustratingly long time to get open. He skims over paragraphs of official nonsense until his eyes finally catch the words that sound like the last nail in his coffin.
Unfit for duty.
He must spend a long time staring at them, because Eric breaks the silence with a small cough, having probably grown tired of hovering politely.
“Like I said, it’s good news. You’re going home, Lieutenant.”
Summary: Jason Kolchek gave his life and body to the Marines, crawling from the ashes of a life he wanted to forget. When his path crossed that of an Iraqi soldier named Salim, and when he put himself in harm's way for that man it was enough to cause some self-doubt. They are pulled apart by the powers that be, and Jason's life returns to an emptiness like no other — and he realises just how much he misses that Iraqi soldier.
Rating: M (References and mentions of drug use, internalised homophobia, implied racism, war and death)
Chapter 13: cool peaceful air in wonder
——
For almost all of Jason’s life, he’d found little meaning in what he did every day — there was no direction for him, and not even his own parents believed he could achieve anything. Jason Kolchek was a certified fuck-up, and he knew it himself. At one point in his life, he’d wondered if he would ever achieve any sort of normality: if there was any hope for him. But, Jason’s view into the future was foggier than an early winter morning; there was no hope beyond that mist he’d created in his own mind.
If he knew that this was what life had in store for him, he would’ve laughed at himself. Jason never envisioned himself standing in the kitchen of an Iraqi man’s home, completely and utterly domesticated beyond belief. He had spent most of the afternoon just sitting with Salim as they shared warm drinks, talking quietly about things that didn’t quite matter. It was like a little slice of paradise he didn’t realise he needed — and Salim had filled a void in his body that made him value existence. Fighting off those vampires had been worth it, and going back to save Salim had been even more worth it.
Now, they were making dinner together. They weren’t married, but the actions of a domesticated couple had already begun before they even realised it. Truthfully, Jason felt like he was an innocent kid all over again, helping his mom bake an apple pie or prepare a cheesecake for a church bake sale. It was an odd feeling of comfort and sadness, but it was helping him create new memories — ones that he’d not forget anytime soon.
