(no subject)
EIGHT
Jared had been ringing up a customer when he spotted the man, his fatigues sticking out among the sienna and azure of the desert; out of place and far too distinctive. Squinting a little to see if maybe Cam or Chris hadn't run home to change or something, Jared was surprised and a little worried when he realized he didn't know the guy.
All three of the guys he worked with had been honorably discharged; they displayed it proudly right below their employee photos in the waiting room. But Jared had heard about stop-loss and, not having looked into it further, assumed that it could be done to anyone. The thought of Jensen having to go back into combat made his stomach twist and Jared nearly made a run for the front door to shoo the guy away, stopping himself only because he knew it was a bad idea and a stupid thing to do when he didn't even know why the guy was there. It could be something as mundane as a flat tire, and that's what Jared chose to focus on as he handed the credit card slip back to the young kid with far too much metal hanging around his neck, barely thanking him for his business.
He watched as the guy moved straight for the car bay, one hand coming up to knock against the plexiglass of one of the doors. The sound immediately got the attention of Cam, Chris and Jensen and from the looks on their faces, all three were elated to see the guy. Jared figured they all knew him from their military days and actually found himself smiling as hugs were passed around and they stood in a semi-circle talking for a few minutes, all four guys carrying bright smiles.
When Cam's face suddenly fell, Jared grew worried. Chris shaking his head vehemently had him leaning over the counter, completely ignoring their customers. And when Jensen threw a brand new gas can at the back wall of the building, Jared bolted for the connecting door.
“What the hell's going on?” he asked, looking pointedly at the guy who was no older than him. Jared was taken aback when he saw all four men stare back at him with tears in their eyes. Cam quickly wiped his away with the back of one dirty hand, his steps carrying him towards Jared as he ushered him back inside the waiting room. Despite being obviously upset, Cam merely gave him a gentle smile as he moved towards one corner of the waiting room to explain.
“One or our friends...teammates...died in Afghanistan. Mitch was just coming to inform Jensen, who's technically next-of-kin. The funeral's on Sunday back in Dallas, so if you don't mind helping us get everything ready to close up shop for the next few days, we'd really appreciate it, and so would Jen.” Cam's voice was patient and kind, his eyes focusing on Jared and not the scene behind them where Jensen and Chris were both trying to console Mitch; obviously close to the man who had died.
Nodding his understanding and murmuring that it'd be no problem, Jared set to work, knowing the next few days were going to be hard on all of them.
The flight was short; two hours and they'd moved from the dry heat of Nevada to the slightly more temperate climate of Texas. Jared was filled with memories as each of them stepped off the plane into the frosty-cold arrivals lounge. He'd been there once as a kid, for a family vacation where they'd taken a nice big plane to Florida. It was his last happy memory of childhood and it still stung a little when he thought back on it.
Cam, Chris, and Jensen had all been cleared to wear their uniforms on the plane, and to Jared's surprise the rest of the plane had been packed with Army Rangers; all of them in fatigues and berets. The four of them had taken up the middle aisle with Jensen sitting between Jared and Cam, Chris taking up the far seat. As a show of respect, and as per the rules for clearance, Chris had cut his hair back to military specs, the new hairstyle giving him a more intimidating look than ever. Jared was still getting used to looking over and seeing the older man without a rubber band holding his hair back.
Jensen's dark circles were the only giveaway to the suffering he was enduring, but upon closer inspection, Jared was saddened to see his boyfriend's hands shaking on the armrest. Whoever the man who died had been, he'd meant a lot to all of them.
They made it to Chris' mother's house with little hassle and more hugs than Jared could remember giving or receiving in all of his years on earth. The two story house had been around since the civil war, and it showed its age proudly, cared for by Mrs. Kane with the same love she had showered on everyone that had walked through the door. She greeted him with a big hug and kind words about how thoughtful he was to accompany Jensen all the way home for the service. Jared blushed and thanked her for providing them all with a place to sleep. Mrs. Kane simply smiled and shooed him up the stairs to help the boys unpack.
Silence befell them as Chris and Cam filed into Chris' old room, while he and Jensen took the spare; Mrs. Kane well aware that they were a couple. Setting the suitcase down on the floor next to the dresser, Jared turned to find Jensen sitting on the bed, head in his hands, shoulders slumped.
“He saved my life. D'you know that?” Jensen whispered, looking up at Jared with red-rimmed eyes and an anguish so deep it nearly split Jared's own chest in two.
“No, I didn't,” Jared replied softly, moving to kneel between Jensen's open legs, their faces level despite the difference in position.
“He operated on me when I got shot. Saved my leg, saved my life. When I woke up, he was the one pushing me to get to physio as soon as possible. He knew my strength and he pushed me to the limit for my own good. I wouldn't be here were it not for him operating and Cam stopping the blood loss at the scene,” Jensen continued, his hands quaking so badly that Jared felt compelled to take hold of both of them, fingers interlaced, grip tight and supportive.
A soft, keening sound escaped Jensen's lips, his head falling forward onto Jared's shoulder as he cried. Jared let go of his hands, wrapping both arms around his boyfriend tightly, providing the only comfort he knew how to give the man; unquestioning love of the kind he'd never received from anyone but Jensen.
“I wasn't there!” Jensen wailed, the sound muffled by Jared's jacket. “He was there for me, and when he needed me, I wasn't there!”
“Jensen, this isn't your fault. He was overseas, at war, doing what all of you did; protecting us,” Jared tried to reassure him, wondering if the words were going to help or hurt Jensen. His boyfriend merely nodded, sobs growing softer as he gained control over himself again.
“He's at peace now. Can't hurt anymore,” Jensen finally spoke, his eyes showing Jared that he didn't quite believe it just yet, but that the notion would be enough to get him through the funeral. Kissing his cheek gently, Jared wrapped Jensen up yet again, giving him a few more minutes to deal with everything that had happened in such a short period of time.
By ten o'clock, Jared found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, watching in silent appreciation as Jensen put on his Class A's; not just for how he looked in uniform, but how much strength and courage it imbued into Jensen as he slid on the shirt, the gloves, and the polished shoes. He stood straighter, moved with more purpose, and commanded respect without so much as a word.
It wasn't until they got downstairs and joined Cam and Chris that Jared realized why neither man ever so much as spoke a word of protest against anything Jensen said or did. As they slid their jackets on, it became apparent that Jensen was a heavily decorated member of the Special Forces. His jacket had several ribbons, crests, and insignias on it; nearly twice as many as Cam or Chris.
“Now you know why we call him the boss,” Cam said with a soft smile before standing at full attention next to Chris so Jensen could inspect their uniforms. Jensen made a minor adjustment on each of them before putting them at ease. Jared stood, rooted to his spot, watching the three do final checks as though preparing for battle. This fight, however, would end with Taps and a three-round volley. He could only hope that Jensen would make it through.
The motorcade ambled slowly through the downtown streets and at every turn, Jensen saw people waving the flag and holding up signs saying things like 'We love our troops' or 'R.I.P. God Bless America'. Pride swelled in his heart as he looked at them all, knowing those signs were as much for the living as for the departed.
Dallas-Fort Worth National Cemetery held all of the austerity of Arlington, but with far fewer graves. It was a bleak place that particular morning and despite the sun, Jensen could feel a chill go through him as they pulled through the gates. Jared's hand gave his a squeeze; his boyfriend providing some much-needed comfort that would help him get through the service. Jensen managed a small, sad smile, and as they rolled through the rows of graves he discreetly lifted Jared's hand, kissing the back of it in a silent 'thank you'.
Steve had made it explicitly clear in his will that he wanted his funeral to be a little different. He wanted Cam, Chris and Jensen on the rifle party, wanted Jensen to receive the flag, and wanted to be buried in his home town. Steve had worked on Jensen and the others enough to know what each man could and couldn't do. In Jensen's case, his injuries, coupled with Steve's will, made his position in the funeral very clear. Jensen couldn't carry Steve's casket because of his leg, and he couldn't fold the flag because he'd be the one receiving it. It left the one show of respect he could do, one he was very good at; shooting one of the seven rifles that would fire three volleys over Steve's grave from head to foot. Cam and Chris had taken their spots on the party and Jensen was thankful they'd be there, standing by his side to give their friend his final honors.
His body felt stiff, creaking at every joint as he got out of the car and smoothed down his jacket. Missing the feel of Jared's hand in his, he focused on taking deep breaths and moving forward one foot at a time. He shook hands with the Chaplain, a few other soldiers, and the C.O. in charge of proceedings. All of them had kind words, but none of them stuck with Jensen. He barely heard them, focusing still on just being able to breathe.
It was only them; only the soldiers, the Chaplain, and Jared. Sad didn't even begin to cover it.
Jensen stood rigid as the service began, remembering not to lock his knees so he wouldn't pass out. The Chaplain began with a prayer and then moved on to speak of honor, courage, kindness, and selflessness. All of it rang true to Jensen, who remembered full well that Steve possessed all of those qualities. Despite being a hard-ass about Jensen's physio, he was the one that was there when Jensen had his post-surgery breakdown. He was there when Jensen got angry and frustrated about not being able to walk. He was the one who cheered the loudest when Jensen took his first steps without help. And he was Jensen's family throughout the whole ordeal; providing more comfort and support than anyone Jensen had ever known.
He felt his resolve nearly begin to crumble when Cam and Chris gave their eulogies; his friends as close to Steve as he'd been. Steve had seen them through their own injuries with the same devotion he'd given Jensen. He'd saved three lives; gotten three men back on their feet when none of them felt like so much as opening their eyes ever again.
When it came time for his own words, Jensen took a deep breath, saluting his and Steve's former C.O. with the same precision he'd had while on duty. To see tears in the hardened man's eyes was proof evident of just how cherished Steve was, and Jensen had to bite his lip to keep his own tears at bay. Moving to the podium, he gripped the edges of the laminated wood hard and cleared his throat before speaking.
“I first met Steve during my physical for the unit. I was hoping for a hot nurse, and instead got a big, burly football player with the longest hair I'd seen a guy in the army have.” Cam and Chris both smiled wetly from their positions standing at opposite ends of the casket.
“The next time we crossed paths, he was stitching me up just outside of our hideout, passing me the bottle of Jack despite warning me about it thinning out my blood. He was a paradox that way, I guess, always doing his duty as a medic, but knowing full well that creature comforts couldn't be ignored, especially in battle. When we got back to base that night, he pulled out his guitar and he gave us all an impromptu performance without even being asked. It was so good, and even the C.O.'s were smiling and singing along. I remember thinking that this guy had to stick around, if only to boost morale when things got rough." Jensen cleared his throat.
“He was with me the day I was shot. Steve kept me alive, along with Cam, until we could exfil. Though I don't remember much, I still vividly remember waking up to find him sitting worriedly next to my bed, scribbling in my chart. He gave me the biggest earful I've ever gotten. To date, no drill sergeant has ever come close to the words that came out of that man's mouth about trying to play hero, and being too big for my own britches." Jensen gave a watery smile at the memory.
“Steve stayed with me from the beginning of my recovery until the end. He did the same for every friend he treated and I often wondered how he managed to get any sleep. There was never a day I didn't wake up to find him there. He became my family then, and remains so to this day. Were it not for Steve, I know I wouldn't be here today." He paused to take a deep breath.
“The last time I saw him, he'd come down to visit on a break in his tours. He brought his old Chevy clunker...towed it behind his brother's truck...and asked me to do something with it, to make it special, make it new again. I agreed without hesitation. Later that evening, he pulled me aside and made it very clear just how special the car was to him. It had been his father's, and when Major Carlson had died, it had gone to Steve. I understood the importance, but what he said after is what sticks with me to this day. He said, 'Jen, if I don't make it back home from this big mess we've gotten ourselves into, I want you to have it. If you can't or won't keep it, then give it to someone you love more than anyone. Fix 'er up real nice, and pass 'er on. She's still got life, even if I don't.'”
At the words, Chris's shoulders began shaking hard, his chin still held high and his posture perfect despite the tears that rolled steadily down his cheeks. Cam's face merely crumbled as he stood opposite Chris, his own face soaked, eyes closed against the sharp reality of what was happening.
“Steve will forever hold a place in our hearts and we will never forget everything he sacrificed, every ounce of kindness he gave to us all, when he could have easily just done his job and called it a day. He will forever be my brother and I hope that one day I'll get to see him again and thank him one last time for everything.” Jensen sniffled quietly, surprised that his face had managed to stay dry, and his voice steady through the eulogy.
Instead of sitting, Jensen marched some fifty yards out on the flat field, his posture and timing keeping with the Chaplain's last few words and blessings over his friend's casket. Reaching the firing party, he got into position as the first in the line of seven. Moments after, he felt Chris and Cam fall into line behind him, Chris taking deep, steadying breaths as they all picked up their M-16s in perfect synchronization.
On their C.O.'s command, they presented arms, and on the barked order of 'FIRE', the first of three volleys soared over the grave. Jensen found his hands shaking as he reloaded for the second, and on the same command, fired round two. It wasn't until he began reloading for volley three that he realized he was sobbing silently, the memory of his friend all-consuming. Closing his eyes against the tears that poured down his face, Jensen waited for the command and rang out one of the last shots that would ever be fired next to Sergeant Major Steven Carlson's body.
All six men behind him were crying, if the sounds they were making were any indication, and as their C.O. ordered them to attention, each man rested his M16 and moved to salute their fallen brother as TAPS began to play out slowly from behind them. When the last note faded out into the lolling breeze that had crept up on them during the service, Jensen, Chris, and Cam all broke formation and marched slowly in step with one another back to Steve's casket.
Cam gave himself the opportunity to let out a few soft sobs as they moved; his face still damp by the time they arrived back to the spartan but beautiful setup their unit had provided them with. Being of a higher rank than Cam, Chris took the head of the mahogany box while Cam took the feet. Together, they carried out the ceremonial folding of the flag, both men's faces showing nothing but pure anguish at the loss as they folded the material precisely. On the last fold, Cam tucked 12 of the 21 bullet casings into the flag, the metal polished to a high sheen just for the occasion. The shells would stay in the flag forever, never to be seen again.
It was only when Chris turned to face Jensen that every last shred of his carefully crafted control slipped away. A soft sob escaped him as he let his head fall to meet his chest; Jensen not wanting to hear the words he himself had said so many times to so many other families. A warm hand on the back of his neck gave a gentle squeeze and looking up, he realized it was Jared providing him with the support and comfort he'd been needing the whole time. Taking a deep breath, he watched as his friend took the step forward and then got down on one knee to present the flag to him.
“This flag is presented on behalf of a grateful nation and the United States Army as a token of appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service,” Chris spoke as he held the flag along with Jensen, the words hitched and hard to choke out, even for a man that had stared death in the face and made it through. Not caring whether his fellow soldiers found it strange, he clutched the folded flag tightly against his chest, chin meeting sternum yet again as he finally gave over completely to the tears that bubbled up.
“Thank you,” Jensen whispered, his words spoken to everyone who was there for his friend, his brother, the only family he'd ever known since enlisting.
TEN