Here We Go Again

by Romeo Alexander

  “Not anymore, not since they cut back on most of it,” Oscar said, a strange look in his dark eyes.

  Troy nodded, feeling along Oscar’s thighs. “Since you’ve been off the meds, have you experienced any unexpected pain?”

  “No.”

  “Stiffness?”

  “No…”

  Troy looked up, frowning at the hesitation. “If you have, I need to know.”

  Oscar’s jaw tightened. “No.”

  Troy sighed, stepping back, more than prepared to lecture Oscar. The man had always been so damned stubborn about taking care of himself. Troy had found himself on the edge of exasperation and despair every time he tried to figure out if something was wrong with the other man, even if it was something as simple as a headache.

  Then he looked down, and his lecture died in his throat.

  “Ah,” was all he could manage.

  The front of Oscar’s plain black boxer briefs were pushed out with a very noticeable bulge. Apparently, Troy hadn’t been the only one struggling to keep himself in control while he’d been examining Oscar. Troy had to suck in a breath as memory and reality collided, and he found himself staring at the thick outline.

  Troy stared at the beast of a man with a cock to match and snorted. “What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

  Oscar’s laugh was deep and throaty. “Well, I was kind of hoping you’d put it in your mouth.”

  “You have such a way with words, Reyes.”

  “I aim to please, Boaz.”

  Troy reached out, caressing Oscar. “I guess that’s why man invented lube.”

  Oscar leaned forward, cupping Troy’s face in a grip that was both sweet and possessive. “I’ll be gentle.”

  Troy smiled, never having doubted it for a second.

  Oscar cleared his throat, jerking Troy from his thoughts. “So, no pain, no discomfort, no...stiffness.”

  Troy brought his head up quickly, adopting a professionally neutral expression as though his cheeks weren’t flaming. “Good. So, no signs of withdrawal, and you’re not suffering, good.”

  Keeping his eyes at chest level and higher, Troy went back to what he was doing. Neither of them spoke as Troy listened to Oscar’s lungs, checked his blood pressure, and the lymph nodes in his neck with light pressure. He checked Oscar’s throat, his pupils, and still careful to keep his eyes where he needed to work, Troy tested his reflexes as well.

  “Seems like you’re doing just fine, other than what we’d expect from someone half a year after almost getting blown up. You’re lucky this didn’t happen a few more years from now,” Troy noted.

  “Why’s that?” Oscar asked.

  “Once you hit thirty, you don’t bounce back quite as easily as you might have before. As it is, you managed it at the tail end of the best years to do it,” Troy noted as he picked up his tablet and began tapping away.

  “That’s...not comforting,” Oscar said.

  Troy looked up, smiling sadly. “Do you want me to be comforting?”

  Oscar blinked before his frown returned. “Can I put my clothes back on?”

  “Yeah.”

  Troy nodded, not surprised in the slightest. For all the progress he might have once made to get through Oscar’s prickly barriers, he’d never got close enough. Oscar was forever holding himself separate from others, and Troy hadn’t learned that until it was too late. There was no comfort to offer Oscar, no hand-holding, and no grief to share. There was only Oscar, impossible to connect with, determined to growl, and stomp.

  “Are we done here?” Oscar asked as he pulled on the last of his uniform.

  “Yeah, you’re free to go. General Winter will be happy to know you’re in top shape,” Troy said, keeping the air of professionalism around him.

  Oscar didn’t wait for Troy, practically running to the curtain and opening it to step out into the hallway. Troy followed as Oscar made for the doorway, his steps stuttering and noticeably slower than they’d been the last time Troy had seen him. Troy watched him, telling himself that this was for the best, and kept his lips closed tightly.

  As Oscar stepped out of the clinic doors and into the sun, he stopped. Troy’s heart beat a heavy staccato rhythm as Oscar turned and looked back at him. It was only for a moment, but it was long enough for Troy to see the pain and indecision in the man’s face. God save him, it was just like the night Oscar had left before being shipped overseas, and Troy felt his heart rip in two all over again.

  And then Oscar was gone.

  Troy didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the double doors until he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Sucking in a sharp breath, Troy whirled around to find Dean behind him, a concerned frown on his face.

  “What’s up?” Troy asked in a rush.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” Dean said.

  Troy forced a smile on his face. “He’s right as rain, fit for duty. You can look over the report to make sure I didn’t fuck it up and send it on to General Winter.”

  Dean hesitated. “Um, sure, but…”

  “I’m going to go do inventory,” Troy said, pushing past Dean before the man could finish whatever he was going to say.

  “You hate inventory,” Dean called after him.

  “It’s on the list,” Troy called, holding the tablet over his head and wiggling it for emphasis.

  He hurried down the hallway, past the office, and with a sequence of buttons on the keypad, slipped into the supply room. Troy shuffled forward, placing the tablet in the nearest space on a shelf. Resting his hand on one of the metal shelving units, Troy bent forward and took in a slow, calming breath.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, voice cracking.

  Tears threatened, burning his eyes and closing his throat tight. He’d pushed all this aside, beat it into submission, and denied it a place in his heart. Without Oscar around, Troy had figured out how to move on, how to live his life, have some fun, and just be himself again. Just seeing Oscar’s face, seeing the score of battle scars and wounds all over him, and that same agonized expression as he left, was just too much.

  Troy sucked in a sharp breath, shaking his head. “No, we’re not doing this, Troy, no.”

  Shoving his pain aside, he bore down on his emotions and wrangled them into his grasp. The tears retreated, and while it was still harder than usual to breathe, his chest didn’t feel like it was in a vice anymore. Straightening, he reached for the tablet, opened up the inventory list, and got back to work.

  He wasn’t doing this again, no more.

  3

  Oscar

  Following the incredibly awkward reunion with Troy, Oscar did the only thing he could think to do, and that was make straight for the on-base gym. He wasn’t supposed to be working himself too hard, though he’d been encouraged to maintain a workout routine to help with the healing process. The problem for Oscar was that if he couldn’t drink because of the meds, then he needed to do something to calm the raging storm billowing away in his head.

  It didn’t really help.

  Two hours of pushing himself to his limit and beyond had done nothing to help him forget the sight of Troy’s big blue eyes looking up at him, his pain and regret boring deep into Oscar’s heart. The flash of horror and sorrow when Troy realized just how maimed and mangled Oscar had become was almost too much for Oscar to bear, and it sat at the back of his mind even as he tried his best to focus on counting his reps.

  God, Troy had done nothing but improve with age. He’d never been what Oscar would have called scrawny, but he’d filled out more since the last time he’d seen Troy. There was more muscle definition to his arms, and what baby fat had been in Troy’s face in his late teens had faded with time. Troy’s features had grown more angular, not quite thin, but still retaining a strong masculinity. When that same impish light of mischief had reached Troy’s eyes as he’d taunted him, Oscar had thought his heart was going to be squeezed to nothing.

  By the time he made it back to his apartment, Os
car was exhausted and worn out on every level possible. For the first time in weeks, he opened the bottle that contained the sleeping pills and downed them alongside the pain pills. He hated how the sleeping pills made him groggy and how they dragged him down into sleep, whether he was ready or not, but he was willing to accept all of that if it meant he could get away from his thoughts, his memories.

  Memories he’d shoved deep into the depths of his mind, where they should have stayed.

  “I don’t understand,” Troy whispered, voice barely audible but dripping with pain.

  Oscar shouldered his bag, drawing it closer to him as if it could use it as a shield. “You had to know this was coming, Troy.”

  Troy’s blue eyes swept over Oscar’s face, full of fear and confusion. “How could I have seen this? How could I see you...ending things?”

  “You knew they were going to put me in the field at some point,” Oscar muttered.

  “Yeah, and?”

  “And how is this supposed to work?”

  “The same way every relationship in the military works! You make it work. It doesn't matter what distance there is.”

  And how was he supposed to do that? By writing letters back and forth? Making calls when they could to whisper sweet nothings to one another? Yeah, right. There wasn’t a person in the world other than Troy who knew Oscar was gay, and Oscar was perfectly fine with that. He didn’t want anyone else to know. It didn’t matter if legally, he couldn’t be treated differently or booted out because of it, what mattered is that he would be treated differently, he would be treated wrong, Oscar had grown up watching what happened to those that were different.

  That wasn’t going to be him.

  “Oscar, don’t do this. Don’t end this because of, of...some fear,” Troy pleaded.

  “I’m not having this argument again, Troy,” Oscar growled.

  Troy’s eyes flashed. “Why, because you say so? You’re being sent off, so you just what, get to say what does and doesn’t happen?”

  “You don’t get to tell me if I get to end this or not,” Oscar shot back.

  Troy clutched the back of the chair he stood behind, arms shaking. “No, but I get to tell you that you’re an absolute shit head and a fucking coward.”

  Oscar leaned back, stung. “What did you say?”

  “I said you’re a fucking coward. You’re so goddamn worried about what everyone else will think of you, that someone might look down on you, that you can’t even be yourself. You can think you’re brave all you want because you ran with some criminals when you were younger, and because you’re off to fight in the desert, but you’re still a goddamn coward.”

  “Fuck you!” Oscar snarled, his hands curling into fists. “You don’t know the first thing about me!”

  “I know you better than your own goddamn brother does. And I know you don’t want to walk out of that door and leave everything behind.”

  “Fuck this. I thought you could be an adult about it, but apparently, I was wrong.”

  “No, you just thought I’d roll over and take it.”

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Oscar didn’t want this. He’d been prepared for Troy to try to change Oscar’s mind, to wheedle and cajole the best way he knew how. Oscar hadn’t been prepared for Troy’s pain to turn to anger, to slap him in the face, and send him reeling. Troy refused to back down, staring him in the face with open agony, but his mouth was twisted in anger, his words cut deep, and Oscar did the only thing he could think to do.

  “I’m done,” Oscar said.

  With that, he whirled around, turning his back on Troy and his apartment, and stomped out the door. As he gripped the door handle, prepared to yank it toward him, and close Troy out of his life for good, Oscar glanced back. Troy’s face was a horribly perfect canvas painted with heart-wrenching pain and utter despair. Oscar’s chest squeezed tight, tearing at his heart, and he slammed the door shut before he could allow himself to give in.

  Oscar shook his head, as though that might dislodge his memories and send them reeling back into the sweet oblivion of forgetfulness. The medicine was thankfully beginning to settle in, blurring the edges of his thoughts and making the memories quieter, less demanding. It wasn’t the perfect solution, but it was better than having his head pounding with too many things he didn’t want to deal with, and he sagged back against the couch to let the meds do their work.

  His last thought, before being dragged into the oblivion of dreamless sleep, was wondering what the hell he was going to do. Every time he needed to have a check-up, anytime he was injured, he would have to go back to that clinic. When he’d agreed to come to Fort Dale, Oscar had known he was walking into a mystery, and that he’d have to change his whole view on what his career in the military would be. Not once had he ever imagined he would have to face the single greatest regret of his life.

  Waking up groggy and out of sorts, and stiffer than he’d been in months, Oscar blearily looked for his phone. When he saw the time on the screen, he grunted and pushed himself up off the couch with fumbling movements. The sleep meds were still dragging him down, leaving him listless and without a whole lot of coordination, but he had to get to his shift, and he preferred to be early.

  Showering and dressing as quickly as he could, Oscar cursed his inability to do anything simple at a decent pace. His mood was not helped when he discovered it was going to take twice as long as it normally would to walk across the base. His hip was acting up even worse than usual, leaving him with a heavy limp as he tried to hurry to make it on time.

  Pushing through the double doors that led to the main building, Oscar hurried to the elevator and pressed the button. Usually, he would have taken the stairs, stubbornly refusing to do anything that would make it easier on him. There wasn’t time for him to hobble up the stairs, though, not with how slow his body was being.

  Stepping out of the elevator, he entered the lobby that served as the buffering zone between General Winter and anybody who entered. The lobby wasn’t as full as it had been the day Oscar had come for his meeting with the general. The row of chairs on each side was empty, but Christian, Winter’s receptionist, sat behind his wide desk beside the door to the general’s office.

  Christian looked up from his computer, a smile gracing his face. “Well, good morning, Staff Sergeant, you’re early.”

  “Force of habit,” Oscar grunted.

  Christian nodded, pushing up from his seat. “So I’ve noticed. You were early for your meeting with General Winter too.”

  Being late for anything drove Oscar crazy. Hell, being late for being early was the quickest way to get on Oscar’s nerves. It didn’t matter if it was for a doctor’s appointment, meeting friends for a drink at a specified time, or showing up for his shift, Oscar firmly believed in showing up ahead of time. If someone or something kept him from that, his nerves grew taut and jumpy, and he tended to get short-tempered and grouchy.

  Well, more so than usual.

  “I’m alright with waiting,” Oscar told the receptionist.

  Christian winked, stepping around the desk. “Don’t worry about it. It just gives us time to get you set up before the day starts.”

  “Uh, General Winter wasn’t exactly clear about what it was I was going to be doing here,” Oscar admitted.

  Christian chuckled. “I’m always telling him he needs to leave explaining things to me. But he insists on having that personal touch.”

  That would certainly explain why the general felt the need to meet Oscar instead of just sending the orders down the line for Oscar to follow. The impression that General Winter was not like a lot of other generals Oscar had dealt with over the past nine years was only reaffirmed by that thought. Most were perfectly happy letting those under them deal with the everyday work, and usually only met with someone when shit was going down.

  Christian looked him over pensively, and Oscar tried to hide the discomfort he always felt whenever a stranger watched him. Where once he might have ignor
ed someone looking at him or just demanded to know what they wanted, that had all changed the moment Oscar had found himself beaten, scarred, and armless. It didn’t help that Christian’s eyes were almost the exact same shade of blue that Troy’s were.

  Christian nodded. “Right, so you’ll more or less be helping me, and by proxy, helping General Winter.”

  “I’m...going to be a receptionist?” Oscar asked, trying to keep his voice as neutral as he could.

  Christian winked again. “It’s not so bad, trust me. General Winter informed me you’ll eventually be taking over training, which means you need to know the ins and outs of the system, the base, and the people you’ll be dealing with. Trust me when I say, being the person between General Winter and the rest of the world will give you a very good idea of what you might have to deal with later.”

  “I-I’m not trained for that.”

  “Well, that’s why I’m here, now isn’t it? C’mon over with me and take a seat, I’ll get you started.”

  Oscar did as he was told, a little bemused by how friendly and passive Christian was, yet somehow maintained an air of authority and control. The man looked to be in complete control of every muscle in his body, not only moving with precision and harmony, but his expression hadn’t altered in the slightest when Oscar had shown dismay at playing secretary.

  “So, how’s your typing?” Christian asked as he rounded the desk.

  “Uh,” Oscar began, looking down at his right arm.

  Christian shook his head. “I meant before.”

  “It was alright,” Oscar said with a shrug.

  “Well, we’ll have to see how you do. You’ll mostly be working on a computer, but there’s a tablet as well that’s integrated with the system. You’ll be able to access everything you’ll need from either one.”

  Oscar followed him behind the desk, internally squirming as he tried to figure out how this was going to work. He’d never been a very good typist to begin with, and he doubted losing a hand was going to make him any better.