by Lia Silver
“I took a bite, and my mouth went completely dry. It was impossible to swallow. I sat there chewing and chewing on that one bite of fucking Pop-Tart, knowing that something was seriously wrong with me and hoping it would miraculously fix itself before DJ noticed. It didn’t. The Pop-Tart broke into smaller and smaller crumbs, until I had a mouthful of dust. I had to spit it out before I choked on it.
“The look DJ gave me… It was like he was on patrol in an area he already knew was dangerous, and he turned the corner, and there were two thousand insurgents and a thermonuclear warhead. Like, ‘I knew this was going to be fucked up, but not that fucked up.’
“I felt like I’d been caught with my pants down. I said the Pop-Tart was spoiled but DJ’s not an idiot, so that didn’t fly. He told me that he and I were going to go report that I was severely stress-injured and I needed help.
“I asked him if he believed that I was unfit for duty and endangering others. I could see he was tempted to say yes, but he was too honest. He said that as far as he could tell, the only person who was in danger was me. I told him I was fine, which went over about as well as claiming the Pop-Tart was rancid. Finally I explained that if I kept reporting in with combat stress, I could get forced out on a medical discharge. He said that if I was, it might be for the best.”
Laura was amazed that anyone would have the nerve to say that to him. “You must have gone ballistic.”
Roy nodded. “I felt completely betrayed. I told him that if he ever thought I was putting other Marines at risk, he should tell me, and I’d turn myself in. Other than that, I didn’t want to hear one more word from him. About anything. Ever. When we got in that helo together, it had been about two months since we’d said anything to each other that wasn’t strictly business. As far as friendship went, I thought we were through.”
Laura’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit, seriously?”
“Seriously. Oh, and right after the Pop-Tart incident, Marco sent me to the doctor for combat stress again. I assume DJ talked to him. It was the same deal as before, except the doctor had me rest for three days and gave me medication to take regularly, to help me sleep and settle my stomach. Looking back now, I probably didn’t have to worry as much as I did about the medical discharge. I was still pulling my weight, we were short on manpower, and they obviously didn’t want to lose me. But I was paranoid about it, so I ended up pissed off at Marco too.
“At that point we’d all been in combat nearly every day for seven months. Marco was taking sleeping pills too. DJ was constantly chewing on instant coffee crystals to keep himself alert, and sometimes he got so wired, he’d say stuff that didn’t make any sense. The moment Alec put down his rifle, his hands would start shaking. I wonder now if getting sent off to do trainings was someone’s idea of giving us a break.
“You know,” Roy added thoughtfully, “I’ve never dreamed about the helo getting shot down. I lost a lot that day. But it’s also when I found out that I hadn’t lost my best friend.”
Roy’s eyebrows drew together as he peered at Laura. “You don’t seem as surprised as I thought you’d be.”
“I was totally surprised. And speaking as a con artist, excellent job on the mislead,” Laura added wryly. “I had no idea.”
“Not about my fight with DJ. I meant about my…” Looking away, Roy muttered, “My PTSD.”
It was the first time Laura had ever heard him use the word. She’d heard enough about it on the news to get the impression that post-traumatic stress was common, even expected for soldiers in intense combat. But cancer was common too. Death was common. Just because something was familiar didn’t make it any easier to deal with.
“No,” Laura said gently. “I’m not surprised. You said a while back that you only spent ten percent of your time in combat, but that ten percent adds up, doesn’t it?”
“That was misleading, too,” he admitted. “It’s about ten percent actual combat, yeah. Averaged over my entire career. That last deployment was more than that. But I wasn’t counting all the time when you know you could get attacked or drive over an IED at any second, but you don’t.”
“How long were you in a war zone, total?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t added it up. I enlisted when I was eighteen. I had my nineteenth birthday in Iraq. I wasn’t overseas the entire time, of course. But I’m almost thirty now.”
“Maybe people weren’t meant to be under that much pressure for that long.”
“Maybe not. But so long as I could still do my job, I couldn’t leave my team. I…” His look of guilt intensified. “I wonder if a part of me was glad to not be able to go back.”
Roy sat up. His silvered gaze drifted to the window, and the scattering of snow on the mountains outside. Laura didn’t know which of them looked more distant and cold.
She put her arm around his shoulders. “You didn’t choose to leave them, though. No matter how hard it was.”
His muscles were hard and tense under her arm. “I still left.”
“What about other Marines who left?” Laura asked. “They got hurt, they retired, they moved on to other things. Do you blame them?”
“Sometimes. I know I shouldn’t. But yeah, I get what you’re saying. If this had happened to some other guy, I’d say he did all he could.” He shifted, forcing his shoulders down, though the muscles remained tight. “I’m sorry, Laura. I didn’t mean to dump all this on you. In the middle of the night, too. I know we need each other, but… It’s a lot.”
“Roy.” Laura squeezed his hand tight, as if she could force the truth of her words into his flesh. “I love you. You think I’m not getting anything out of this? You think I’d trade you for an empty bed and an extra hour of sleep?”
He shook his head, but didn’t seem entirely convinced. “I just wish you’d met me earlier, when I was in better shape.”
“I don’t. For one thing, you’d never have been around. I’d have been lying awake anyway, worrying that you’d gotten yourself killed ten thousand miles away. It would have driven me crazy.” Laura stroked his hair. It was as wet as if he’d stepped out of a shower. “For another thing, you only understood what I was going through because you’d been there yourself. And that goes both ways. If I’d met you when you were that flawless hero, I never would have had the nerve to talk to you at all.”
“I wasn’t ever a flawless hero,” Roy said, amusement softening his voice. “But I used to be less high-maintenance.”
“I’m not that low-maintenance myself,” Laura pointed out. “I definitely expect you to help me out if I have any more nightmares.”
“Deal.” Roy yawned so widely that Laura heard a tiny pop from his jaw. “Okay, let’s try again. Maybe this time I’ll make it through the night.”
He lay down and pulled Laura into his arms. She kissed his cheek, then his lips, and laid her head on his shoulder.
“One thing’s better,” he said, his voice slowing as he spoke like a car drifting to a stop. “I’m giving it another try. I used to… Even after Marco talked me down… I used to just stay…”
With that, his eyes closed and his muscles relaxed beneath her. Laura stayed awake longer, irrationally convinced that he’d sleep safely so long as she guarded him. But eventually weariness overcame her, and she too fell asleep.
***
For the first time, Laura awoke before Roy. It was long past dawn but he still slept, his face buried in a pillow, nothing showing but his tousled black hair. She wondered if it meant something that he’d never taken a pair of scissors and clipped it short.
Laura showered, then went to the quiet, empty kitchen. She made coffee and poured a cup for herself, stirred cream and sugar into a second mug, and headed to the bedroom with them.
If he was still asleep, she’d let him get his rest. But if not, she’d keep him company. She had a feeling he might have woken up but not made it out of bed.
Sure enough, Roy lay staring at the ceiling, his right hand under the pillow where he kept the gun. The
dark smudges under his eyes were so pronounced against his pallor that he looked like he’d been beaten.
“Thanks.” He sat up and took the coffee in his left hand, keeping his right under the pillow.
Laura settled herself beside him. “How do you feel?”
She was already debating over whether she should accept the inevitable “fine” when he said, “My whole body aches.”
Laura hadn’t expected him to mention anything physical. “Are you sick?”
“No, it’s from having all my muscles tensed to maximum for… however long I was doing it.” He took the tiniest sip of coffee, wincing as if even swallowing hurt, and put it down to massage his jaw. “I always feel terrible the day after I dream about that fucking ambush. I’m just glad I don’t have to put on eighty pounds of gear and go get shot at.”
“How about…” Laura trailed off, uncertain how to phrase it.
“The soap scum? It’s all over me.” Roy lowered his head to gaze into his coffee mug, as if whatever he had to say would be impossible if he looked Laura in the eyes. “I know this sounds funny, but you were a lot more honest with me than I was with you. I wasn’t deliberately trying to mislead you. It’s hard to talk about. It’s hard to think about. But I wanted you to know, if… if it wouldn’t make you think less of me.”
Laura put her arms around his shoulders. His body jerked as if she’d startled him, though she knew he’d seen what she intended.
“Of course it doesn’t. If you touch fire, you get burned. If…” Laura had to brace herself before she could go on. “If you’re forced to choose someone to die, you feel guilty. You can’t stop thinking about it while you’re awake. You dream about it when you sleep. What does that say about me?”
Roy tapped Laura’s chest, where he’d pinned the imaginary medal. “It says you’re an incredibly courageous, resourceful, quick-witted person who went through hell, and it left a mark on you. Like you said, if you touch fire, you get burned.”
“So what does it say about you?”
“The same, I guess.” He didn’t sound convinced.
Laura squeezed his hand. “Listen to me, Roy. I think you’re strong, and tough, and brave, and hot, and sweet, and funny, and caring, and all-over awesome. You took a bullet for me. You even cleaned my bathroom, and it’s probably harder to find a man who’ll do that.”
Roy smiled a little at that.
“I love you, not some imaginary superhero who can bounce bullets off his chest,” Laura went on. “You believe me, right?”
“Yeah.” He still sounded doubtful, then seemed to hear himself. “Yeah, I do. I guess the person who really needs to stop thinking I ought to be Captain America is me.”
“You’re already starting to.”
“Am I?”
“You told me about your PTSD.” Laura didn’t miss his tiny flinch at the word. “And a couple minutes ago, I asked you how you felt and you told me.”
“Okay, but how do you feel?” Roy asked abruptly. “How hard is this for you? Please don’t lie to make me feel better.”
“It’s not as bad as you’re probably imagining,” Laura assured him. “I hate seeing you in so much pain, but I can handle it if you tell me what’s going on instead of stonewalling me. Your stories aren’t too disturbing for me to hear; I’m not some delicate flower, and I’ve been through a lot myself. And I don’t mind taking care of you when you need it. Actually, I kind of like it. It satisfies my nurturing instincts.”
Laura hoped he’d believe her. After all, she was being completely honest.
And then she realized that she was conning him in the exact same way he’d done to her. She hadn’t done it deliberately either, but she too had told the truth while leaving out the most important part.
Misery seeped into her, bitter and cold. What she’d just done was exactly what she was afraid of doing—what she was afraid to even mention.
“And…?” Roy asked, frowning. “What are you not telling me?”
The only way Laura could force herself to say it was to remind herself that it must have been at least as difficult for Roy to tell his secrets to her. Unlike him, her eyes welled up at the thought of it, and her tears overflowed as she began to speak.
“You think your problems are the problem in this relationship,” she said, struggling to get the words out. “But what’s hardest for me isn’t what’s wrong with you. It’s what’s right. I’m crazy about you, Roy, and that scares me to death. I don’t know how to have a relationship. I’ve never had a serious boyfriend. I’ve never had any real friends. I lie for a living, and sometimes I don’t even notice when I’m doing it. I’m afraid I’ll screw this up, and I’ll hurt you. And then you’ll leave me. And it’ll be my fault.”
Laura sucked in a shaky breath. “I love you, and I absolutely believe that you love me. And that terrifies me.”
“Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.” Roy took his hand out from under the pillow so he could put both his arms around her. “I don’t know how to convince you I’ll stick around. Though maybe you’ve noticed I’m the loyal type.”
Laura tried to smile. “I’ve noticed.”
“But I can tell you that I’m pretty good at long-term relationships. I had the same girlfriend all the way through high school, until I enlisted and she went away to college. I’ve had three other serious girlfriends and I was with each of them for years, until they broke up with me. Leigh couldn’t take the stress of worrying about me getting killed, Holly got fed up with me being gone all the time, and Alison met someone else while I was deployed. If I’d stayed a civilian, I’d probably have gotten married years ago.” Roy caught himself, looking embarrassed. “And then I’d have met you and things would have gotten sticky. Sorry, that wasn’t where I meant to go with that.”
Laura patted his shoulder, her tears already drying up. “I know what you meant.”
“And then there’s the guys in my platoon,” Roy went on. “Different type of relationship, but you mentioned not having friends. Apart from that one incident with DJ, which only happened because I was out of my mind at the time, I’m extremely good at friendship.”
“I’ve noticed,” Laura said with a sigh. “When you told me about DJ standing over you with the Pop-Tart, I couldn’t help being jealous that at your absolute worst moments, you were always with someone who cared about you and was trying to help you.”
“I sure wish I’d seen it that way at the time. But didn’t you have anyone at all, when you needed help? Friends from the bank? Your father?”
“Dad offered me the cabin, but he was gone by the time I got here.” Laura shrugged. “And that’s Dad. He loves me, but he’s not going to rearrange his life on my behalf. As for friends from the bank, I woke up one night and I desperately wanted someone to talk to. But I didn’t have anyone’s phone number.”
“You can always wake me up and talk to me,” Roy promised her. “Always.”
Laura wanted to believe him. Even his solid weight in the bed beside her, tipping the mattress toward him and her body into his, suggested an unshakable stability.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she said. “I completely trust you. I don’t trust me.”
“So I’m more experienced with the long-term than you are,” Roy said. “That’s okay. Relationships are all about picking up the slack for each other. If I need to be talked down, or if I need emergency backup or to have someone persuaded, I’ve got you. If you need someone to stand by you and always be there for you, or if you need something destroyed or someone shot, you’ve got me.”
Laura giggled, then put her hand over her mouth. “I don’t know what it says about me that I thought that was funny.”
“It says we have compatible senses of humor. You should hang out at a police station lunch room some time. You’ll hear way darker jokes than that.” Roy put his hand over hers. “How are you doing? Do you believe me?”
Laura nodded slowly. “It’ll take some time to sink in. But maybe you can hold
up the part that makes sure we’ll have time. How about you? How are you feeling?”
“I’m better, thanks,” Roy said immediately. But his shoulders were like steel bars under her arms, and the skin around his mouth and eyes was taut with pain.
“Really, Captain America?”
“Ouch,” said Roy. “Well—I felt better while I was talking to you. We should have an in-depth discussion of our relationship every time I’m feeling bad. But no, not really. I’m exhausted and my head aches and my stomach’s upset and I feel like fucking Gregor is going to walk through the wall at any second, or maybe a bunch of suicide bombers. Where’s your ibuprofen?”
Laura reached into her purse, which was on the floor, and passed him the bottle. “Here you go.”
Roy opened it, a little clumsily; his hands were shaking. He looked down at them, then up at Laura. “I could get up—”
“Don’t.” Laura had never met DJ or Marco, but she completely understood how they must have felt when they’d tried to force Roy to see a doctor. “You’re sick, Roy. It doesn’t matter why. Get some rest.”
“I will. I just wanted you to know that if I have to fight, I can. Look, I’ll show you.”
“You don’t have to—” Laura began.
“Safety’s on, don’t worry.” Roy moved the pillow aside, put the pills down on the mattress, and closed his hand over the gun. Like magic, his tremor vanished.
“That’s amazing,” Laura said, fascinated. “You couldn’t stop it before, right?”
“No. I used to practice shooting with a dime balanced on the barrel, to teach my hands to keep absolutely still when I held a gun. Now it’s instinct.” Roy let go of the gun and replaced the pillow. His hands immediately began to tremble. “Well, there it goes again. But if Gregor or Donnie shows up, you won’t be on your own. Don’t worry about that.”
