by A. R. Moler
"Um, no offense 'cause I do actually like the guy, but I'd rather it was you than him."
"He might conceivably be better at solving the problem."
"I'll keep that in mind. I'm okay. I'm functional. I can do my job. It's just…"
Peter sensed the frustration in Mason and he relented. "Okay, okay, I'm just throwing out ideas." He got up and pulled the rolling desk chair from under the desk in the corner of the room. "Just lean your head back against the cushion." Peter pushed the chair around behind the upholstered chair where Mason was and sat where he could easily place his fingers against Mason's temple. "Just close your eyes and pull up your shields. I'm going to poke around."
Mason obeyed.
Exploring the texture of the protective layer in Mason's mind, Peter was hard pressed to decide exactly what was wrong. The surface wasn't quite smooth, but Peter had seen much worse. A few cautiously applied prods proved Mason was capable of defending against average contact.
"Are you okay with letting me in?" Peter asked.
"Yeah, fine. I think you get off on poking around another healer's brain."
"Do not… much," Peter teased.
With Mason's shielding dropped, Peter's psychic touch was more careful. What he found both surprised him and mystified him. The damage was subtle. It probably didn't even qualify as damage per se. It was more like hypersensitive edges, a little reminiscent of skin rubbed until a blister was almost about to form but stopped short. He put a little pressure on the spot and Mason flinched, eyes squeezing shut. Mason's shields came up in a messy half-assed reflex.
"Okay, easy, I won't do that again," Peter said. He thought about trying to soothe the pain, then realized he wasn't sure how.
"Are you done?" Mason demanded, voice tense.
"Yeah, I'm done. Sorry."
"So? What did I do wrong this time?"
"I'm not sure you did anything wrong. I don't really know what the problem is or how to fix it," Peter admitted.
"Great." Mason rubbed his eyes.
"Drink your beer. I need to think about this for a while, and Stephen still may be a better option at figuring this out than me."
***
The pain of the headache thudded behind Cam's eyes with nauseating force as he sat on the edge of his bunk on board the carrier. His shift would start in an hour and there would be the obligatory briefing before he flew, followed by the air discrepancy book check before he ever climbed into the cockpit of his F/A-18. That gave him maybe three hours. Too bad he wasn't scheduled to be a "tower flower" today, he probably could have faked his way through just being up on the oh-ten level and answering questions for the air boss as launches and recoveries occurred down on the flight deck.
He sat there with a boot in his hand, flight suit half unzipped wondering whether he was really capable of getting behind the stick. Leaning down to set his shoe on the floor made the decision for him. The surge of agony with bending over nearly made him vomit.
No pilot wanted to be declared med down, but there was just no way he was fit to fly. His vision was doing wonky things because of the head pain and the lights in the room felt laser bright. Sunshine would be worse.
Cam fumbled his other boot on and reluctantly made the decision to go down to sick bay. Hopefully somebody there would give him a handful of Motrin at least and sign off on letting him come back here to sleep for a couple of hours, or at least lie down there and not have to move.
As he headed from the 03 level down toward the second deck, the pain got worse and so did his vision. Damn, he could barely see out of his right eye. It felt like somebody had stabbed a big-ass dagger into the side of his head.
Halfway down the ladder between 01 and the main deck, Cam missed a step. He felt himself falling and made a flailing attempt to grab the railing. He missed. His back and elbow slammed into the steps then his ass and he hit the deck at the bottom with enough force to drive the air out of his lungs. Lost in pain and fighting to draw a breath, he lay in a crumpled heap.
"Holy shit dude! Um, Sir. Are you okay?" asked a male voice.
Cam managed to open his eyes enough to see some Petty officer who looked barely old enough to shave bending over him.
"No," and Cam passed out.
***
Cam woke up as he was being strapped to a back board. A couple of corpsmen and a doctor carried him down two more decks and through about fifty compartments to sick bay. He was X-rayed and asked dozens of questions and generally poked and prodded before the decision was made that he was suffering from "only" a migraine and a lot of bruises from his stumble in a really bad spot. They kept him in sick bay for a couple of hours to make sure nothing else showed up, then had the squadron corpsman walk him back to his cabin to rest.
The Percocet and phenergan combo obliterated his already shaky shields but he ceased to care because he got six straight hours of drugged into oblivion sleep.
Chapter Ten
Because it was hard to predict exactly when he would get back to the base, Cam had emailed Mason that he would come find the doctor when he got back. The planes left the carrier sometime during the day prior to the ship pulling up to the pier, and flew straight back to Oceana.
Cam drove to Mason's office, glad he had broken down and bought a second hand Honda Accord because the sky was spitting rain and the temperature was only a few scant degrees above freezing. Riding his motorcycle in this weather would have truly sucked. He glanced at his watch as he drove. It was just a little before lunch time. Hopefully he and Mason would have an hour together before Mason had to see more patients.
At the orthopedic office, Tyra must have seen Cam come in, because she crooked her fingers, beckoning him to come into the back.
"He's with a patient, but he should be done in about ten minutes," Tyra said. "Go wait in his office."
Cam nodded and walked down the hallway. It would have been easier to pull open the door he knew Mason was behind and reach for his partner, but if he'd waited fifteen days, he could wait ten more minutes.
Mason's office was quiet, quieter than Cam had heard in two weeks. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the ceiling for a moment, telling himself it was almost done.
The door opened and Mason strode in. Cam felt frozen, his brain telling him to move, body immobile in noncompliance.
Mason held out an open hand and Cam finally took a step forward, nearly stumbling, as he was folded into Mason's arms. Mason kicked the door shut and leaned back against it, holding Cam tightly.
It was like suddenly being able to breathe after far too many minutes trapped underwater. Cam clung to his lover, hands fisted in the fabric of Mason's shirt, emotion raging inside him, making his body tremble.
There were no words. Mason just held him. Cam buried his face against the side of Mason's neck and they slid down the back of the door until Mason's butt hit the floor. Cam ended up on his knees, legs straddling Mason's thighs, their chests together, arms holding each other. Minutes passed before Mason nuzzled against the side of Cam's face, placing soft kisses along his jaw.
"Missed you," whispered Cam. It was a vastly inadequate thing to say but he couldn't come up with any other words. He turned his head to meet Mason's mouth. The kiss was long and soft and Cam wanted it to never end.
I love you, Mason murmured in Cam's head.
It was the breaking point. Cam tried to choke down the sob that tore at his throat. Mason just held him tighter. All the tension, all the madness, all the pain and misery just came barreling out in hard tight sobs. Mason rubbed his back and let him fall apart. As the brief, fierce emotional storm dwindled to hiccups, Cam felt like he was barely capable of moving. His muscles were shaky, twitching Jell-O, while he lay draped against Mason as Mason stroked his hair.
"I'm a fucking wreck…" Cam muttered. Half his brain insisted that he should be mortified that he was crying in Mason's lap like some injured child, the other half was so relieved it didn't care. The word "injured" circled around in his head and he r
ealized that Mason was pouring warm soothing energy into his body.
"Wanna tell me why you have bruises in eight places?" Mason prompted.
Now Cam was embarrassed. "I… uh… I missed a step going down a ladder and fell the rest of the way."
"Keep going. I can tell there's more."
"I probably missed the step because I had a headache so bad I could hardly see."
"Jesus. And this was something like three days ago, judging from the way your bruises feel. Why didn't you tell me in one of the emails?"
"I figured you were having a hard enough time without worrying on top of it," Cam said.
"I'm really hoping you had a corpsman or someone take a look at you when it happened."
"Yeah." Cam said, not really wanting to confess the rest. "Between the headache and the wipeout, one of the doctors had a little freak out and started babbling something about… It started with a "T" and had a couple other letters." He felt Mason stiffened.
"A TIA?"
"Yeah, I think that was it, but after he asked me some questions he decided that it was just a combo of bad headache and a stumble in a stupid place."
"Fucking hell. Do you understand he thought you might be having what amounts to a mini-stroke?" Mason was holding Cam's face in his hands, looking angry.
"I'm okay. Like I said, as soon as he asked me some questions about my fingers and something about tingling, and did this reflex test thing, he changed his mind."
"If I wasn't so damn glad to have you back, I'd punch you for being a raging asshole! Don't you think I need to know if you're having headaches so bad some other doctor considers the idea you're having a stroke!?"
"Sorry," Cam mumbled.
Mason took Cam's hand and laid it against his temple. "Look."
For a moment Cam thought Mason meant it literally. No, Mason meant psychically. Cam obeyed and was confused by the sensation. He knew he didn't perceive psi things the same way Mason did, but he could tell Mason was damaged too. Not bruises, but something that could pass for a raw oversensitive abrasion in Mason's mind. It was only slightly different from the way his own felt.
"Why?" Cam asked.
"I don't know."
Behind them, there was a soft knock on the door. Tyra's voice was heard saying, "If you two are naked this is going to be really embarrassing, but lunch is over and we've got patients waiting."
Mason snickered a little. "All clothes are on. I'll be there in a couple minutes." Cam and Mason slowly got up off the floor. "Why don't you lie down on the sofa and try to get some sleep?" Mason suggested.
Cam glanced at the couch. "Wouldn't it make more sense to go home?" Even as he said it, Cam knew that would put a dozen miles between them.
"No." Mason's hand curled around Cam's neck, fingers rubbing on skin. "I want you no more than a couple rooms away. The sofa's actually pretty comfortable. I've used it."
Cam nodded. Mason brushed another kiss across Cam's mouth, and then headed for the door.
***
Tyra made a concerned face when Mason came out into the hallway. "Is something wrong?"
Mason heaved a sigh. "He fell down a ladder on the ship, and I'm only now finding out about it." There wasn't any easy way to describe the rest to her.
Tyra grimaced. "Ow. No offense, but having a Y chromosome sometimes carries a side order of stupidity with it."
Mason smiled. "Are you implying I lack a Y chromosome?"
"No, I just think yours is tempered a little," she teased and patted him on the cheek.
***
Mason peeked into his office in between the next two patients. Cam was curled up on the sofa with Mason's winter coat spread over top of him. He blinked wearily glancing toward the door. Mason crossed the room and knelt down beside the couch, laying a hand on Cam's arm.
"Do you want me to help you get some sleep?" Mason asked.
"That sounds disturbingly like something Peter would say."
"Considering what he's taught me."
"I'd rather you didn't. If I wake up and…" Cam's voice trailed off. Mason understood the implication.
"Okay." Mason kissed him gently and went back to his tasks.
The next time he checked on Cam, the man had obviously lost the fight against fatigue. Cam's eyes were closed and his body was slack, one hand dangling off the edge of the cushion. Mason hoped Cam would continue to sleep until the end of the afternoon.
A little over an hour later, Mason was about to go into the exam room that held the next patient when he felt a spike of disoriented panic that could only have come from Cam. He bolted up the hallway to his office and yanked the door open. Cam was sitting up on the sofa. His elbows were on his knees and his forehead was pressed to his palms. He looked up at Mason's sudden appearance.
"I'm sorry. I thought… God, I'm just so messed up," Cam said.
Mason sat beside him on the sofa and wrapped his arms around Cam, hugging him tight. "I'm here, right beside you."
"I know. It was just for a minute… I woke up and thought…"
"That being home and being near me was just a dream. I got that part." Mason pulled Cam's head against his shoulder and rubbed his fingertips through Cam's hair.
"Go back to work. I'm done with my spaz-attack. I think I'll see if there's any drinkable coffee down in the kitchen."
Mason placed a kiss on Cam's temple. "Just a couple of hours then I'm done."
***
Home was that mix of place and possessions and loved one. Cam sank into a kitchen chair while Mason paid the guy delivering Chinese. They had agreed that was the simplest solution to dinner before leaving Mason's office.
"We're going to trade information now," said Mason, setting the plastic bag of food on the table.
"Huh?"
"I want every last freaking detail of what kind of problems you had while on board, because I had some of the same ones, without the falling down the ladder part."
"You are going to kick my ass for months about not telling you, aren't you?"
"Yes." Mason handed Cam a plate and a fork, and spent the next five minutes telling Cam about his own downward spiral of problems during the separation.
"So Peter's stumped about this, too?" Cam asked.
"Pretty much. He's been discussing it with Stephen Benford. I suspect that now you're back, the two of them are going to want us to pay a visit out to the complex soon." Mason reached across the table and squeezed Cam's hand. "I had somebody sympathetic with at least half a clue to talk to during this, I know you didn't."
Cam stared down at his plate. "Yeah… It might have helped."
"Your turn. I want your best estimate as to when it started, how bad and anything that helped or made it worse, the whole nine yards."
"No." He didn't want to examine the misery of the last couple of weeks right then.
"Cam, we need to," Mason began.
"Later, or tomorrow. Right now… I just really need you."
Mason looked faintly embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I've been feeling like I was half losing my mind for days and I just got stuck on trying to figure out how to avoid having this happen again."
"I get it. I really do. I just…"
Mason rubbed his thumb across Cam's wrist. "Leave the plates."
***
In the bedroom, Mason watched Cam toe off his shoes and start to unbutton the shirt of his uniform. Mason stepped in front of him and closed both hands around Cam's own.
"Let me," Mason said.
Cam gave him a half smile and allowed Mason to begin undressing him. The shirt and t-shirt got dropped to the floor as Mason skimmed his hands down across Cam's chest and then up his back. There were visible bruises on Cam's shoulder and forearm, a legacy of the fall, Mason surmised. He felt his healing Talent flare to life with barely a hint of intent. It was a reflex response to seeing the damage to his lover's body.
Cam's head leaned forward to rest on Mason's shoulder. His hands were tugging Mason's shirt up out of his slacks.
<
br /> Mason let his shielding fall away along with the clothes, and Cam's presence was a warm, intense sensation inside his head. There was almost the same level of desperation from earlier in the day and Mason wished he could soothe it away as easily as the physical aches. Oh God, he needed Cam in his arms so badly.
Naked, Mason stretched out on the bed and pulled Cam down on top of him. Their mouths met in a hard, aggressive kiss, tongues fighting for the familiar taste of each other. Cam's arms wrapped tight around Mason's torso and he could feel Cam rutting against his thigh in short tight strokes, skin slickened by pre-come. And then Cam was jerking, body spasming in the throes of orgasm.
"Oh… fuck…sorry," mumbled Cam, burying his face against the side of Mason's neck.
Mason cupped his hand on the back of Cam's head, his other arm around Cam's body. "It's fine. We have all night. Mostly I just want to curl myself around you and not let go."
Cam let out a long shuddering sigh.
Nuzzling against Cam's temple, Mason placed a line of kisses down the side of Cam's face. Here at the end of the day, beard stubble rasped against the same. Mason slowly tipped Cam's face back up toward his own so he could nip at Cam's mouth. They rolled sideways, bodies still entwined, and Cam's hand slipped between them, stroking Mason's still hard cock.
"Want you in me, in every possible way," murmured Cam.
The raw need from Cam had only dropped off a notch or two and Mason's own aching emotional want was like a physical wound. "Roll over," whispered Mason. He only spent a few moments on lube and loosening Cam up. Neither of them had the patience for more. Spooned tight against Cam's back, Mason pushed into his lover's willing body.
Love you so much, Mason said.
Cam's thoughts were a heartfelt echo. Love you too. Couldn't live without you.
Hips rocking hard against Cam, arms around Cam's chest, Mason was drowning in the combined sensations from Cam and himself. It was impossible to tell whose body was whose; the line of separate reality was blurred. When the climax slammed through him or Cam or them, consciousness starred out in an epically bright lightning strike of ecstasy.
After a while, Mason was aware that Cam had turned back to face him, slow sloppy kisses brushed across his face. Cam's hands were tracing gentle circles on Mason's chest and the back of Mason's neck. Cam's arm was threaded beneath Mason's shoulder.
