Black Hawk Down fanfiction

Gary/Randy, NC-17

Summary: After a prolonged silence, the last anybody knows of Randy is that he’s somewhere in a jungle. Gary goes to find him and bring him back.

~*~

Their Dining Facility rec room at Bragg was deathly silent as the room full of operators listened to the nightly news. Wherever guys stood or sat, they were like statues, listening intently to the words coming from the TV.

A number of them had been monitoring the situation in Zaire like they all monitored any situation that could possibly fall into Delta’s arena. Any of them could be called into the fray at any time, and understanding the political as well as military nuances was often what got them in and out in one piece.

Gary sat forward in his chair, stiff with tension, paying attention to precise words being used in the report about a failed coup in the country’s capital.

As he listened the sensation of an abyss opening beneath his feet grew even stronger. His hands were clenched into fists and he couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking every five seconds to where Randy stood against the wall.

Randy was staring unblinking at the TV, seemingly unaware of anything but the news report. Gary gave up pretending not to be watching him and sat staring at him with burning eyes.

He swore silently at him, trying to determine just how physical he could get to make him stay put. He could drag him up to one of the cabins in the surrounding mountains and lock him up for a few days until this bullshit passed.

Randy studiously ignored him.

The coup attempt had taken place around 0100 hours Zaire local time, around 1900 hours U.S. Eastern Standard time since they were six hours behind. He hadn’t known it at the time, and when Randy’s beeper sounded he had caught a ride with him back to Delta’s compound with the intention of hanging around the shooting ranges all evening. He’d ended up doing nothing except listening to the news and following the rapid developments.

But the more he listened, the more wire reports he read, the less sense the events made. Most of the operators already knew the history of instability in Zaire, but having just spent the last two months in Panama skating around the pitfalls of CIA activity, he had practically developed a sixth sense where the agency was concerned. He had smelled them all over this ridiculous coup attempt.

From the tell-tale bug bites on Randy’s body he realized Randy had probably just returned from Zaire, and that he was about to be sent back in. So he had simply meant to pass on his thoughts and advise him to watch his back extra carefully.

But for some reason he had first wanted to talk to a CIA contact of his, and the man’s manner and brevity over the phone, as well as the disturbing finality of things he’d left unsaid, had frozen him to the core. He had immediately tracked Randy down and told him to fuck this mission.

If someone had told him he and Randy could fight so viciously, he would never have believed it.

Gary abruptly stood up and walked over to Randy. He saw Randy’s jaw tighten, but that was all the acknowledgment he got. He stopped directly in front of him and planted his hand on the wall beside his head. Bic, an operator standing next to Randy, moved slightly away from them.

Gary leaned forward and stuck his finger in Randy’s face. “Do not fucking go.”

Randy flicked him a look, his eyes dark and unreadable, then moved his head to look around him at the TV.

“How the fuck else do you want me to put it?” Gary snapped. He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at the screen. “That is a clusterfuck. It stinks to high heaven, and I’m telling you, it’s fucking suicide.”

Randy’s jaw moved slightly.

“I’m with Gordy on this one,” Bic muttered to their left, squinting at the screen. “That looks like shit waiting to hit the fan, if you ask me. Something’s not right.”

Gary stood breathing hard, his gaze still pinned on Randy’s expressionless face.

He felt a hand on his back, and turned to see that Bic had gotten behind him and was crooking his finger at him. Gary let his arm drop from the wall and took a step backward. Just then the news report ended and Randy pushed from the wall and walked out of the room.

Gary started in his direction, but Bic’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

“Be smarter about how you handle this,” Bic said gently. “You two have already set a new record for the longest shouting match in the unit’s history. But I can see you’ve done your homework and figured shit out. So stop yelling, Gary, and go put it to good use.”

Gary stared at Bic. Bic was one of those older SF guys that had been around and seen a lot of things in his time, and he wasn’t the type to waste his time if he didn’t have anything worthwhile to impart.

Gary released a breath and nodded, and Bic patted him on the back and left him alone. He pressed his fingers to his temple, massaging it as he tried to think about how to better handle the situation.

But all he could think was that Randy was leaving even as he stood there thinking.

He bolted for the door.

Across the brightly lit grounds he spotted Randy emerging from the headquarters building. He had his ruck, and was heading in the direction of the parking lot where his transport waited.

As Gary caught up to him Randy shot him a quick glance without breaking his stride. But he slowed down. Gary made to grab his arm, then caught himself. He could do that in private, but after the evening they’d been through it was better if it didn’t look like he was physically attacking Randy.

Randy stopped walking so abruptly that Gary had gone a few more paces before it registered. Randy was staring at him with a face set in stone. He slowly shook his head.

Gary gritted his teeth. “You’re walking into a worthless, pointless, useless trap.”

“You want to keep bringing up an operation that has nothing to do with you?”

“God dammit, Randall!”

“I’m not going to engage in political maneuvering. That’s not the job I’m being paid to do.”

He found himself gripping Randy’s arm despite his resolve. “No, your job is to stay ahead of that bullshit so that you don’t have to engage in it. The CIA fucked up and they want you to go down there and pay for it because you happened to have trained a counter terrorist group they can use. If you take your guys after the coup plotters, no one is going to come out of that jungle in one piece.”

Randy’s eyes shuttered, and he dropped his gaze. “Leave it alone, Gary,” he said hollowly. “Please. I can’t fight with you anymore. This is the job we signed up to do, and you know as well as I do it’s not exactly a leisurely round of golf.”

“None of us signed up for suicide missions.”

Randy looked back up at him. His eyes held an unspoken plea Gary couldn’t decipher.

“Remember that,” Randy said hoarsely. “When the time comes, please remember you said that.” He looked toward the parking lot, but seemed to be looking a thousand miles away. “Roth will know where I am,” he continued slowly. “But you can’t—” His voice quavered, and he stopped talking.

He stood silently with his head bowed as the seconds passed. Gary remained completely still, silently willing him to continue.

“You can’t come for me, Gary,” he finally whispered, staring at the ground. “No matter how badly you want to, if anything goes wrong, you can’t be the one to do it.”

Randy raised his eyes and bore his gaze into Gary, and Gary felt his heart stop. He let go of Randy’s arm, the burn in his eyes getting even worse.

“Randy,” he said quietly. “If anything goes wrong down there, you better fucking believe I will come get you.”

For a heartbeat he got no reaction. Then Randy looked away and his face scrunched up for an instant before calming just as fast. He shouldered his ruck and headed for the parking lot.

*****

Gary went to see Sergeant Major Roth, who had assigned Randy the mission.

“I know, Gary, I know,” Roth said gruffly. “This one’s real bad. Sit down.”

“No, thanks.”

“All right. Well, look. I sent a satellite radio with him and told him to check in every twenty-four hours at 0500 hours local time. You want to monitor that?”

“Yeah.”

“Use the set-up in 12C. And be discreet.”

“Thanks, sir.” He remained standing at the entrance to Roth’s office. “The easy way is if he lets me know ahead of time when things look like they’re going to hell. But if I go a period of three consecutive days without hearing from him, I’m not waiting for a fucking invitation.”

Roth sighed deeply. “I don’t know how smart it is for two of our guys to show up in a situation where one was a bad idea.”

“Yeah, well someone should have thought of that before they sent even one of us in.”

“Listen, Gary. The situation is definitely not good, but Randy can get himself out. Going after him— I support it, but it’s up to you.”

“I’m going to handle it just as I’ve laid out to you.”

“In that case make it two consecutive days.”

*****

Room 12C was the size of an average classroom, set up with rows of satellite radios and sundry other communication equipment. Like tonight, it was almost always quiet, except for whomever was on a radio with an operator or other contact somewhere in the world.

At the moment, it was nearly 0100 hours U.S. Eastern Standard Time, two hours past the agreed daily communication time with Randy. Gary sat leaning forward in the chair, scraping his fingers through his hair, waiting for Randy’s voice to bring the radio to life.

They had agreed on a three hour window before Gary would officially declare a No check-in from Randy, and so far that hadn’t happened in the four days Randy had been there.

The radio finally hissed. Gary breathed and picked up the earphone, pressing it to his ear. Randy’s voice filled his head.

Randy gave him coordinates, pin pointing the terrain progress they had made through the dense rain forest. Gary wrote it all down, shaking his head in disbelief at how ridiculous the situation was. A coup attempt in the capital city of Kinshasa, and even before Delta command reacted the so-called coup plotters had somehow managed to make it nearly to the Sudanese border, over eight hundred miles to the east. Sometimes he was sure even the CIA guys must be impressed by their own efficiency.

He went over the figures, meticulously double checking each one. Randy quietly recited and repeated everything he asked, asking no questions of his own.

Randy had been like this from the first day he had established contact, diligently talking about the mission movement, what he was seeing and digesting around him. Gary hadn’t expected anything less professional from him, as he wouldn’t from any other operator.

But business was all Randy would talk, and he refused to give Gary anything else.

Even though they were on military airwaves that could easily be monitored, over the years they had developed a cipher and could communicate personal thoughts, or even have satellite radio sex, and no one listening would be any wiser.

But when he prompted, Randy wouldn’t respond.

Gary pressed the earphone hard against his ear, tugging absently on his hair, listening to Randy’s voice.

“Randy,” he began desperately, after a prolonged silence.

“Yes?”

He wrapped his arm around his body, burying his chin in his chest. “I’m not sorry I was right.”

“That’s fine,” Randy replied shortly.

“Are you?”

“Of course not. Your efforts put us ahead of the game.”

“Then why—”

“It’s time for me to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Gary dropped his forehead to the table, tossing the headset onto the table as the hiss on the radio indicated that the communication line had been severed. He crossed his arms under his head and stared at the ground between his feet.

What was so wrong about what he had done? Any operator would have the common sense to ask for this kind of back up. Roth had seen the wisdom, as had Bic. Randy was making him feel as though he was out of his mind.

“Gary? Is that you?”

Gary looked up to find Bic standing in the doorway, gaping at him.

“What?” he asked, perplexed.

“Your fucking hair, that’s what.”

Gary frowned, swiping his hand over his head. Then he laughed distractedly. “Oh, yeah. I might have to go somewhere soon and I don’t want to stick out as the only blond in the jungle.”

Bic leaned in the doorway. “Are you going to grow out your beard and dye that as well? You don’t want it growing in a different color.”

“Nah. It grows in dark enough.”

“All right, man,” Bic smiled encouragingly, stepping out of the room to be on his way. “But you know you’ll always be a blond to me.”

Gary smiled weakly and pulled his notebook packed with handwritten Swahili phrases towards him.

He wondered whether dark-haired men were more patient than blonds where their lovers were concerned. He fucking hoped so.

*****

For the next two nights he verbally followed Randy’s progress through the Central African jungle.

Nothing Randy said to him about the mission changed, or was even noticeably different.

But for five years he had slept every night he could by Randy’s side, and he was getting to the point where if Randy so much as breathed differently, he knew.

He realized Randy was getting nervous.

On the second night a news wire report scrolled out of the machine in the hallway, stating that troops loyal to President Mobuto had closed in on – and wiped out – rebel hideouts in the east. Yet Randy and his team hadn’t done any such thing.

Gary tried not to believe that those in control had already unilaterally closed the book on matter. But that was exactly what it looked like, which most likely meant that everything and everyone still engaged at this point was disposable goods that needed cleaning-up.

This was the point at which Randy should have let him know to get down there, but he was afraid that Randy’s judgment was clouded because he was still pissed at him.

As it was, he gave Randy too much leeway, and when twenty-seven hours passed without his hearing from him, Gary didn’t wait for the second day to dawn before getting himself on a transport to Italy.

*****

On the C-130 flight from Italy to Zaire, he befriended an Army paratrooper sergeant who, when they landed near the town of Goma, saved him a few hours transport via UN jeep by offering him a helicopter ride with his troop.

While they flew from Goma towards the north east, despite feeling as though he was suffocating with dread Gary kept his demeanor light and smiled plentifully, chatting easily with the soldiers. He didn’t want to be remembered for any odd or reclusive behavior.

When asked, he patted the cardboard box on his lap, full of books and simple medical supplies he had packed for show, and told them he was a teacher in a school serving several villages on the outskirts.

Ten hours ago he’d had no idea such a school even existed, or even that his destination wasn’t simply a patch of jungle. He hadn’t been able to call his CIA contact before leaving Pope Air Force Base, as it had been only 0530 hours at the time.

But as soon as he’d arrived in Italy he’d called and begged for information harder than he had ever begged for anything, and nearly collapsed with relief upon receiving a half-page fax not long after. The fax contained very little, but incredibly precise information.

A village called Gisenye was the closest place to where Randy had stopped communicating, and the fax had shown the school and other surrounding settlements. The helo ride with the paratroopers would fly right by a UN humanitarian aid landing zone a thousand or so meters from Gisenye.

A few minutes into the flight he saw the sergeant nodding at the ruck between his knees. Gary kept an easy smile, knowing the sergeant couldn’t tell that there was, among other things, a weapon and a lot of ammo in there. He waited for the sergeant to pose a question.

“That yours?” the sergeant asked over the noise.

Gary grinned and yelled, “I got it for twenty U.S. dollars off an army guy. He assured me it was the most reliable thing out here.”

The sergeant nodded and yelled back, “He wasn’t kidding. Twenty bucks, though? Either he was desperate, or you drive a hard bargain.”

Gary beamed the most harmless smile he could manage. “He was desperate!”

That seemed to satisfy the sergeant and he said nothing more, allowing Gary to listen carefully as the soldiers talked about movements of armed militia in and out of the area, skirmishes that had taken place between the rebel Union pour la Democratie et le Progres Social, known simply as UDPS and suspected of staging the coup, and President Mobutu’s soldiers.

But he heard nothing about any activity near Gisenye, which was fine. He had Randy’s coordinates from less than forty-eight hours ago, and once he entered the jungle tracking would be easier.

He waved a cheery goodbye as the paratroopers dropped him off and lifted back up into sky. But he had barely gone two hundred meters into the bush when he heard shouting coming from the direction of the village.

He punched a hole in the cardboard box with a D-ring attached to his ruck, hooked the box, and dropped on his stomach. He crawled the rest of the way, stopping at the treeline perimeter of the village to witness a scene of chaos.

Villagers were running back and forth, shouting across the clearing to each other as they took in a stream of men limping out of the bush from the eastern section of the jungle. They were bloodied and torn, being set on the ground, sitting or lying, women rushing toward them with buckets of water to wash their wounds.

They looked like casualties of a brutal gun battle.

Gary saw by their uniforms and sheer numbers that they were government soldiers, not the counter terrorist force Randy had led. Randy had let him know that his team was made up of twenty men, total, and he guessed that they were probably dressed in jungle camos.

He rose and ran in the direction the men were emerging from, unhooking and throwing the box of supplies in the midst of several women crouched around bleeding men. He didn’t stop to acknowledge the shocked stares he was receiving, just ran into the bush until the stream of soldiers slowed to a trickle, until he saw that the bush was getting thinner up ahead.

He hid at the treeline once more and quickly surveyed the battle scene the men had come from, a clearing containing wooden shacks and choked with military jeeps.

There were more government soldiers here, easily three hundred of them. They were dead, injured, shooting off AK-47s into the air, shouting at anything that moved.

Randy’s CT team must have simply been used as trackers for the operation, and once the location of their quarry was forwarded to their headquarters, government soldiers had been sent to clean up what or whoever was left over from the coup.

He had no doubt that whoever had sent them had conveniently not mentioned that a covert CT group was already in operation in the area and was not to be slaughtered with the quarry.

Suddenly he was pierced by the crystal clear reality that somewhere in this massacre Randy was fighting to make it out.

His knees immediately gave out and he collapsed hard on his ass.

He sat petrified. He licked his lips again and again, huffed hard, and for precious moments was completely at a loss.

Then he sucked in a lungful of air, closed his eyes, and stopped his thoughts cold.

Randy wasn’t an amateur. He had been nervous during the later part of the operation and wouldn’t have been caught off guard.

Gary turned around and surveyed the scene, slowly this time, making himself figure out where he would have retreated to when the battle broke out.

He spied a thick area of trees behind the wooden shacks, an area far from where the soldiers were running rampant, probably kept clear by them as an avenue of retreat. He sank back into the bush and began to make his way around.

Almost directly behind the shacks, he stopped and listened carefully. Further up ahead, four distinct voices were arguing heatedly in Swahili.

He could understood more of it than he would have thought, and what he heard made his heart stutter. He shook with the urge to move, but held himself still. He waited to hear Randy’s voice, to make sure he wasn’t rushing into a situation simply because it sounded like his living nightmare.

He listened to their argument about what to do with the injured man in their midst. Then he heard Randy halt their torrent and tell them in French that they needed to take their chances and move him to the jeep no matter what, because he wasn’t going to make it just lying there.

That was all Gary needed to hear. He moved from behind the tree he had crouched against, shrugging off his ruck as he did so. He was coming up on their left side, and the men kneeling around Randy’s prone body were so focused they didn’t notice his approach.

Randy did. He was covered with sweat and mud, his hair plastered to his skull and his fatigues caked and torn. In the gloom of the forest his green eyes shone with disbelief.

“Where’s the injury?” Gary said curtly.

“Below my left knee,” Randy rasped. “AK-47 bullet.”

Gary sat on the ground beside him, forcing the two men on either side to fall back in surprise, the rag which was serving as a pressure dressing falling to the ground. There was no proper field dressing on the wound.

He carefully but quickly slid his leg under Randy’s calf, elevating it as he dropped his ruck in the space the man on his right had vacated, unzipped the main section and pulled out the small green emergency medical kit.

“How long?”

“Fifteen minutes, approximate,” Randy panted.

The lower half of Randy’s pants leg was black and wet with blood, but thankfully it wasn’t sticking to the wound. He pulled out his knife and sliced the cloth, bending to do a swift check behind Randy’s knee. He saw the golf ball sized exit wound the bullet had made, leaving tissue in its trail, leaving a gaping hole from which blood flowed unchecked.

“I think I’ve lost about a liter of blood.”

“Don’t talk unless I ask. And try to slow your heart rate,” he added sharply, knowing it would be fucking difficult for Randy to do that in his condition, but saying it anyway because Randy might actually believe he could do it if he asked him to.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes ago he was smiling idiotically at a bunch of Army guys, and Randy was getting shot.

He straightened, breaking out in a sweat, pulling out sterile pads, bandages, hydrogen peroxide from his ruck, silently counting off seconds as he did so, allowing himself one per action.

Stop the bleeding, overcome shock, relieve pain, stop infection.

He applied a pressure dressing on top of the field dressing, then a tourniquet below the knee. It was overkill, but when he got on his feet and moved Randy he wasn’t going to stop for anything, and if the bleeding got worse the tourniquet was already on there.

He double checked the dressing before finally looking around at the four men staring at him. They’d each been cut up badly as well, but none of them looked wounded or in immediate need of medical attention.

He asked about their means of transportation and was told they had a jeep hidden in the foliage at the bottom of a hill two hundred meters from their original position.

“We had to abandon that position when the others opened fire,” one of the men said in French.

The man’s voice was choked with venom. The rampaging soldiers were ultimately part of the same army as they, and Gary had no doubt a situation like this would fuck with this soldier’s mind for years to come.

The man gestured at Randy. “We were forced to leave our gear and equipment. That’s why we couldn’t give him aid.”

Gary quickly checked Randy’s forehead while the man talked, and though Randy was sweating, his skin wasn’t cool. So he wasn’t going into shock. Yet. Randy’s eyes were closed, and he was breathing as slowly and deeply as Gary had ever seen.

Gary slid his leg from under Randy’s knee and knelt beside him.

“Let’s go,” he said to the men, and bent over, gently pulling Randy forward. He rose with Randy draped over his shoulder until he was half standing, but the men remained kneeling, staring up at him.

“Move it!” he roared.

The soldiers scrambled to their feet and led the way around the perimeter until they were sliding down a steep hill. They yanked camouflage branches and young trees off a muddied jeep, and Gary carefully placed Randy in the back and told the man who had spoken earlier to keep him steady.

He jumped into the driver’s seat and floored the gas pedal.

*****

Gary didn’t think he would ever forget the series of events that culminated in getting Randy out of East Africa.

He remembered driving for the Sudanese border, which was closer and better than trying to get into a hospital in Goma. He had known going in that due to the constant skirmishes on either side of the border there were medical services set up by international organizations. He stopped to change Randy’s tourniquet before ditching the jeep and boarding him onto an ambulance.

He remembered arriving at a local hospital, shouting at the nurses, getting Randy run into surgery, shouting even louder at someone at the U.S. Embassy in Kigali, pacing for hours, watching Randy sleep, loading him up before dawn to race for more surgery at the Embassy.

He desperately controlled his temper as the CIA station chief at the Embassy wordlessly arranged for their comfortable transport to an airfield, and from there a plane to Italy.

Randy was drugged the entire time, slipping fitfully in and out of sleep, and even when he was quiet Gary was still unable to breathe freely.

They arrived in Italy and Randy was wheeled in for more surgery.

Gary sat in the waiting room for hours, smoking each cigarette the nurses gave him.

*****

It was nighttime when he woke up to someone shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes to harsh fluorescent lighting and followed the nurse into Randy’s hospital room. He remained standing at the entrance, waiting for the nurse to do a last check on Randy before she left.

Gary walked into the room, his eyes locked on Randy’s face. Randy was awake, but his face was turned away. Gary pulled up a chair and sat down next to his bed. He placed his hand on Randy’s arm and felt his eyes prickling to feel good, healthy heat on Randy’s body again.

“They said you should be fine,” he said thickly. He cleared his throat. “We’re leaving in a few hours.”

Randy laid silently with his head turned away, staring unblinkingly at the other wall.

“Randy,” he tried again, and still got no response. He closed his hand around Randy’s forearm, then thought to hell with whomever might be watching, and leaned down and pressed his mouth to the warm skin.

Randy released a shaky breath above him, but when he looked up his head was still turned away.

“I don’t care how upset you are at me—”

“And I am upset at you, Gary.”

Gary lowered his head, the rest of his words dying in his throat. He hadn’t thought Randy would actually say it, or that it would hurt so much to hear him say it.

“You gave me no peace of mind,” Randy continued, his voice hoarse with pain. “The entire time I was there, I couldn’t focus. I felt helpless, knowing that if something happened to me you would… that you wouldn’t…”

Randy stopped talking, frowning harder as he struggled for control.

Gary moved closer. “That I wouldn’t what?” he asked gently. “Come get you? But any of us would have done the same for any operator.”

His words, rather than comforting Randy, seemed to upset him even more, and he could see Randy pulling away from him even without moving.

“Randy,” he whimpered, stroking his forearm. “What is it?”

“What would have happened if you’d come too late?” Randy asked softly. “What would you have done?”

Gary blinked, stilling. “I… I…”

His mind had shut down under a weight of emptiness, leaving nothing but a blank space where his thoughts should be.

He lowered his head and blinked steadily at the floor.

For a long time they were both silent.

Slowly, hesitantly, he stroked Randy’s forearm. Eventually he asked, “So now what?”

“Now, you leave me alone.”

Gary stifled a desperate sound and dropped his hand from Randy’s arm. He remained seated and stared at Randy’s face, at the set of his jaw and cheekbones, at the furrow in his brow. Then he made himself look at his dark, inaccessible eyes.

He stood up and left to wait outside.

*****

At the end of four weeks, he was still waiting for Randy to forgive him.

When he’d returned Roth had told him to forget everything he had seen and take a weekend to go fishing or something. But he hadn’t. Instead he’d signed up with Samer to assist the sniper instructors, half waiting for an assignment that would get him out of Bragg.

But at the same time, he didn’t want to leave. Randy had stayed in the hospital for three weeks since their return, and hadn’t asked for him once. He had thought about simply showing up at his door, but he’d been with Randy long enough to understand that that was not a good idea.

Someone else had taken Randy home from the hospital when he was discharged, but he had been sure Randy would call him that first night.

Randy hadn’t.

For the past week Randy had been around Delta’s compound, eating meals in the Dining Facility and training with their unit. Randy wasn’t ignoring him, by any means, but he wasn’t acknowledging him either, just keeping him in limbo in that indefinable way he had.

After the first five minutes Gary had wanted to get on his knees and beg to be forgiven. But he knew it wouldn’t have made any difference.

He had ended up spending the past seven days trying not to openly pine, instead going through hundreds of boxes of ammunition while chasing his thoughts around in his head.

He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t been able to answer Randy’s question in the hospital room in Italy. Why up until a few hours ago there seemed to be nothing but an empty space where that answer should be.

But he finally had his answer for Randy.

He hadn’t planned on getting there too late.

And that was all there was to it. So the question itself was pointless.

Tonight he was going to Randy’s apartment, whether or not Randy was ready to talk to him, to give him that answer.

As he placed his cleaned rifle and equipment back into his locker in his troop’s Ready Room, he spotted a small black box on the uppermost shelf at eye level.

He stared at it for a long time, listening to the pounding of his heart. He hadn’t left it there, and there was only one other person who had implied permission to access his locker.

He picked up the box and opened it to find a familiar looking door key inside. It was the key to Randy’s apartment.

He had a copy of his own, but that wasn’t the purpose of this action.

Gary shut the locker and went to one of the pay phones to call a cab.

Except for a lone lamp in the living room, Randy’s place was dark as usual. It also looked empty. Gary walked through the kitchen in the direction of the bedroom, the only other place Randy could be.

His feet moved one in front of the other, but he was so nervous he couldn’t swallow, and his heart was still beating out of step from when he first saw the key.

Why did it have to be the bedroom? He knew Randy did it on purpose to put him at a disadvantage. Randy knew he wouldn’t be able to think straight if they were sitting on the bed talking, that he could make his point and push on Gary’s chest and Gary would lie back and forget everything he had to say.

He reached the bedroom doorway and stood there peering into the gloom. He could see Randy on the bed, lying on his back with his arm behind his head, looking at him.

Gary shifted.

“Randy,” he began resolutely. “I want to answer your question. I want you to know that there is no where in the world you could be that I’d arrive too late for you. I…” He felt his mind trying to shut down again, and quickly added, “For me, there’s just no alternative.”

There was silence while Randy laid there staring at him.

Gary shifted to his other foot, opening his mouth to let in more air. “Say something, Randy.”

Randy gazed at him from under half lidded eyes.

“Come here,” he said.

For a few seconds Gary couldn’t make his legs move. Then Randy moved to the foot of the bed and Gary moved towards him like a magnet, lowering himself to cover Randy when he reached him.

But Randy turned, making him sit on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on his chest. Randy gently lowered him on his back, and letting out a shaky breath, Gary fell backwards on the bed.

Coming up on his side, Randy propped himself on his elbow, sliding his leg over Gary’s. He unfastened Gary’s buttons while Gary watched, breathing softly, running his hand over Randy’s thigh. Randy pushed himself into his hip, rotating until his cock was a hard ridge against Gary’s hipbone.

Randy kissed his cheek, softly, then pulled on his shoulder and embraced him while planting more of his kisses down the side of his face. He slid his fingers around Gary’s neck, kissed under his jaw line until his tilted his head back, shifting under him, wanting Randy to say something.

“Do you forgive me?” he gasped.

But Randy only kissed farther down his neck, tracing a line with his finger that he followed with his mouth.

He trailed his finger across Gary’s chest and gently scraped his nail over Gary’s nipple. He felt his body arch off the bed to meet Randy’s finger, like a magician’s act.

Randy’s mouth followed and closed over his nipple, sucking, tasting something he couldn’t seem to get enough of.

Gary breathed deeply, his head on fire.

He twisted, lifting himself, only coming back down when Randy’s mouth slid, warm, over his other nipple. He forced his trembling fingers to work, reaching to unbuckle and unzip his jeans, but Randy sat up and pushed on his shoulder until he turned on his stomach.

Randy stripped off his shirt, and Gary wriggled out of it, stretching his arms above his head.

He closed his eyes. “Randy,” he pleaded, “just say anything.”

Randy grasped his jeans and pulled down, his mouth lowering to suck on tiny portions of his skin. He heard Randy’s soft moan as his jeans lowered past his ass.

Gary gripped the sheets above his head, licking his lips and grinding his cock into the bed. He was gasping Randy’s name, though he didn’t realize it until he felt warm oil slipping between his cheeks and he choked on his breathing.

Randy stayed by his side, his fingers warm and heavy as they moved slowly, settled between his cheeks. He pushed backwards off the bed, making Randy push him back down.

He tightened his grip on the sheets and Randy began to stroke him, gently, sliding his middle finger along the length of his cheeks, dipping it.

Randy didn’t fuck him often and when he did it was always tight and slow and it made his chest feel like a furnace. He began to sweat as Randy’s fingers gently twisted between his cheeks, parting him wider.

He knew what Randy was trying to do, and it was working.

He made himself let go of the sheets and reached for Randy’s free hand, entwining their fingers together. Randy moved with deep, smooth thrusts of his fingers, as if fucking him was a precision art. Randy was breathing in a way Gary knew meant he was watching.

Randy pushed, and Gary groaned softly under his breath, sharp, sweet sensation scorching his body, curling the edges of his mind like burning paper.

Randy leaned forward until their bodies touched. His fingers worked slowly, his breath fanned his ear. “Do you like that, baby?”

Gary whispered that he liked it.

Randy didn’t stop. He made it even nicer, hotter. He gripped Randy’s hand, twisted the sheets with his other. Randy’s fingers went deeper, he writhed with the sweetness, shuddered when they both suddenly found the spot. His breathing cut off and his climax hit him so hard he lost complete control.

He rocked into the bed, feeling a release like he hadn’t felt for a very long time.

He came to, slowly, floating back to earth with Randy whispering in his ear.

“My beautiful blond,” Randy whispered, brushing his lips across his ear. “My beautiful, beautiful blond. Do you know how I feel about you?” Gary nodded. “Do you know that I dream about you?” He nodded again, his eyes wet because Randy was finally talking.

Then, it took him a little while to realize that Randy was taking him to that awful empty place in his mind he didn’t want to believe existed, and more than anything didn’t want to go to.

He found himself turning his face towards Randy, his heart pounding as he quickly tried to say it. “It’s okay, Randy, y-you don’t have say anything.”

“Listen to me,” Randy soothed. “We’re never apart. Even when we’re not together, we’re always with each other. Do you believe me?”

Gary squeezed his eyes shut, determined not to think, not wanting to cry. He had gone looking for Randy, but Randy had been the one who knew why all along.

He prayed that in the morning he would forget that this empty, desolate place existed inside him.

“Baby...”

“I believe you,” he whispered, his voice thick with everything it took him to say that. “I believe you.”

Randy’s mouth brushed over his wet eyelashes, warming his face with his words. “Then please find an alternative, Gary,” he whispered, the weight of his words obvious in his voice. “How can I carry on with work, with everything, knowing you would follow me into darkness?”

Gary broke down, and he let his tears soak into Randy's arm.

Randy soothed him, covering his face with kisses, teasing the edges of his mouth, kissing him until he stopped breathing.

Randy turned him over, and he went, looking down to realize, not much to his surprise, that even though he had climaxed he hadn’t ejaculated.

He stroked Randy’s shoulder as Randy descended between his thighs, propping himself on one elbow as Randy finally took him in his mouth.

He held on and rocked on the bed, letting his head fall back, and told himself to let it go, to let it go...

He gasped Randy’s name until he had pumped himself empty.

He collapsed on the bed. Randy moved up, pulling him into his embrace and burying his nose in his hair. Randy unhurriedly caressed the top of his head.

Gary turned his face into the crook of his shoulder and breathed in the smell of him. Then he laid still.

He silently listened to Randy’s placid heartbeat, the thrumming of his rapidly declining own, and imagined that they had been lying there all their lives.

And would continue to do so forever.

He had almost drifted asleep when Randy asked, “How long will it take for this dye to wash out of your hair?”

He blinked, unsure if he had heard right.

But Randy said, “You can’t expect me to tolerate you as a brunette for much longer,” and Gary felt himself grinning helplessly, and for a long time was simply unable to speak.

When he felt his voice would work again, he said, “I prayed and prayed you wouldn’t notice. And for a moment there, I thought it had worked.”

Randy’s soft snort could almost have been missed. “Who would have thought you could get any more smug as a brunette,” he muttered. And Gary managed to keep his smug response to himself.

~*~