November

November 25: Friday

Morning.

In the old days, it would have been Thanksgiving. Michael reflected on that fact while he paced, waiting in the hallway for Jesse's physical to be over. He'd gotten the first appointment he could manage in the morning. The sun wasn't even up yet. Michael wondered what the holidays would have been like in the old days for him. He'd seen pictures before, in textbooks and old magazines, of people together, smiling, surrounded by their families. They looked happy. It looked nice.
The door clicked open and Michael looked over to where Jesse was stepping out, a couple of papers and a small stack of pamphlets in his ringed hand.
"All done?"
Jesse nodded.
"All done."
he didn't look at Michael, preferred to occupy himself with something in the stack in his hand instead. Michael dipped a brow and came over to him.
"You in the clear?"
"In the clear."
Michael took his hand, trying to draw Jesse's attention to him. It didn't work; the papers were much more interesting.
"You OK?"
Jesse nodded, but still didn't look up at him.
"I'm fine. Let's go."

~:~

Sai woke up cold sweating on the sofa in Suleiman's room. He'd been sleeping there since Grant and Honesty had gone. He hadn't felt safe in his room anymore. Too many ghosts. Here was better. Here, he had the easy in-and-out of Suleiman's breath to keep him company at night, and when Ortega was home, he rustled and kicked and constantly moved so that even when Sai woke up in the middle of the night, he knew not to be afraid - he wasn't alone.

Right now, he felt alone. He looked around - Suleiman was sitting up in bed, watching him. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to catch his breath.
"What did you dream about?"
Sai blinked his eyes and tried to finish waking.
"Sharks." his breath calmed as his sense of balance started to come back.
"I dreamt about sharks."

~:~

"Clint, Clint, no, Clint, cut it out, Clint, STOP IT!"
Sloane wriggled free of his fiancé's arms and fell over the edge of the bed, ending up sprawled naked on the floor. He groaned, rubbed his head, and looked up to see Clint peeking down at him.
"Uh...whoops."
Sloane glared.
"Clint," he said, wearily. "It is five a.m." Clint looked a little contrite about this. "Do you think I like waking up this way?"
Clint looked a little hangdog about it. He reached one hand down to pull Sloane back up.
"Sorry. I just wanted to say goodbye."
Sloane ignored the hand and got to his feet, dragging the sheet off the bed in the process.
"Say it with your mouth, not your dick."
Clint looked a little offended, but Sloane stalked nude past him to the bathroom and he forgot about it and got up to follow him. The bright light blinded them both momentarily, but Sloane pressed on past it and went over to start brushing his teeth. When he looked into the mirror, Clint was standing behind him, giving up his best pitiful but also sex-hungry look.
Sloane shook his head and talked around his toothbrush.
"Doesn't work on me."
Clint glanced to the side, realigning his strategy.
"I got you a present."
In the past four days, Clint had gotten him six presents. And they'd had sex nine times. Almost ten, if Sloane had slept a couple of minutes longer. In fact, Clint had been his ever-present shadowing un-losable super-attached bestest friend for an entire week now, and it was starting to drive him a little bit crazy. And now another present. Sloane rinsed his mouth and blinked at Clint in the mirror.
"What is it?"
"A cat."
"I hate cats."
"A dog."
Sloane rolled his eyes.
"Clint, what is this about?"
Clint sat on the lid of the toilet and mumbled something.
"What?"
he mumbled again.
"It's five a.m. I'm not interpreting your mumble-talk."
"I'M TRYING TO BE NICE!"
Sloane's eyes widened and he turned around to look at Clint.
"What?"
"I said I'm trying to be nice."
"Why?"
"No reason."
"Bullshit."
"No reason, Sloane! Fuck! Can't I ever do anything right around here?! You act like I'm some kind of fucking nutjob, like I don't know how to do anything nice!"
"You don't."
Clint raised a hand to slap him, but stopped and just pumped the air instead.
"Aw, fuck you, Sloane!"
"It's five a.m. Why are you yelling at me?"
Clint stood up, facing off to Sloane.
"Cuz you don't fuckin' listen!"
Sloane stepped back, away from him.
"People are sleeping."
"So? Let 'em fucking sleep, I'm not bothering them."
Clint pushed past him to reach for a towel.
"I'm gettin in the shower. I gotta be on duty at 6."
Sloane tilted his head and watched him turn the water to hot and glance around for the soap. When Clint stepped into the glass cubicle, Sloane went directly back into the bedroom to try to get fifteen more minutes of sleep. He was conscious through the water running, but must have dozed off before it finished, because when he woke up, Clint was dressed and standing over him in the dark, one hand stroking his hair. He jumped. Clint jumped, too, and stepped away. Sloane imagined him scowling, although he couldn't see anything through the dark.
"I'm leaving. I set your alarm for 6:30. And you need some more shampoo. I'll bring it when I come back tonight."
Sloane tried to get free of the covers enough to sit up, but Clint was already at the door.
"You're not on duty tonight?"
"No. I'll see you later."
Clint hesitated a moment at the door. Sloane propped up on his elbows and stared at him.
"Don't you have anything to say to me?"
Sloane wracked his brain to try to remember if he'd missed something. A birthday? Anniversary? Promise of some sort?
"Uhhh..."
Clint exhaled annoyedly.
"Fine. Bye, Sloane. Have a nice day." he snapped.
Oh. That.
"Bye. Have a nice - " the door slammed. Clint was already gone.

~:~

Tiger woke up from a pretty nice dream ridiculously early because something in the bed was ringing.
He blinked his eyes, looked around to try to focus them. It didn't work. He decided to find the ringing thing by touch instead of sight. He put two hands out. They met a warm body.
"Ahh!"
"Šta?! Šta?! What is it?? Tiger, what's wrong?!"
Miljan was awake immediately, on full alert, sitting straight up in bed. He looked around wildly.
"Tiger! Tiger! What happened?!"
Tiger ignored him and began searching the bed. The ringing was incessant.
"Nothing's wrong! You woke me up! You weren't here when I fell asleep! I was confused! I was having a good dream, too, when your stupid thing woke me. There was a beach and a dog and my friends!"
he kept searching for the object of his ire, which seemed to be lost among the multiple, lush, fluffy blankets. Miljan dragged a hand over his face, blinked his eyes, and looked around. He was in his own bed. He didn't fully remember getting here.
"Ah-ha!"
Tiger produced the small, black noisemaking machine from somewhere inside the covers and shoved it at Miljan.
"Make it stop!"
he took it and pressed his thumbprint to the side. Immediately, the sound disappeared. Tiger peered curiously at it.
"What is that thing, anyway?"
Miljan tilted his head at it, reading the message that had come across the screen. It could wait.
"It's called a Bismark. It's for work."
Tiger rolled his eyes and pretended to be uninterested as he watched how Miljan operated it.
"I hate it when you say that. I'm not an idiot, you know, I can understand if you tell me what you use it for."
Miljan twisted his back to crack it and laid back down.
"What time is it?"
Tiger glanced at the clock on his side.
"Five thirty."
Miljan swore.
"That wasn't nice."
Miljan looked at him.
"You understand me?"
Tiger shrugged.
"Sort of. I learns. Did you wear your boots all night?"
Miljan glanced down at himself. He'd had a special mission at midnight that hadn't concluded til three.
"All night since four o'clock."
"You just walked in here and got in the bed like that."
Miljan tried to ignore him and go back to sleep. Tiger poked him.
"Hey. I'm talking to you."
"Tiger, your husband is tired. Do you really want to wake him?" he put a heavy warning into his voice. Tiger ignored it.
"You can't wear outside clothes in the bed. That's disgusting."
Miljan rolled his eyes, got out of bed, picked up a pillow, and began making up a bed on the floor.
"Hey!"
he tried to ignore him again.
"Hey, I didn't mean it to be mean like that. Just get undressed. You can't wear those clothes to bed, is all."
Miljan was too tired to even make a lewd joke about this. He just numbly got up, dropped himself down in the sitting chair, and began unlacing his boots. On the fourth swing of the lace, he fell asleep. When he woke up, they were gone and Tiger was dragging him to his feet and urging him to step out of his pants. He couldn't stop himself from smiling a little as the teenager struggled to support his weight. He tried to shift off of him, to stand of his own accord. He heard a sound and listened closely. Tiger was talking to himself.
" - just stubborn about it. Military. All the same. Can't even take care of themselves. Waking other people up out of a clean, warm bed. Five a.m. Who's up at this hour?"

~:~

At seven, Havar woke up with his belly aching of hunger. He glanced over to his right. Yavisk was still sleeping. He could probably get out of bed without disturbing him. He might as well give it a shot. He wanted food, and he didn't want to have to work for it. Thoughts of what Yavisk would make him do next flitted through his head. He remembered what Yavisk had told him last time.
'I'm hungry.'
'Then kiss me.'
he'd shaken his head.
'Guess you're not hungry enough.'
In a few hours, he'd gone glycemic again. His head hurt; he was dizzy.
'Kiss me.'
Shaken his head.
'Closed legs don't eat, Havar. Kiss me.'
he had. His mouth tasted like sick. He'd wanted to die.

He wasn't doing that again.
Havar slipped out of bed and tip toed across the cold wood floor, around Yavisk's side, towards the door. Halfway there, he froze, thinking he heard a stir. It was nothing. Just the creaking of the bed. He opened the door as narrowly as he could and still fit through, and left.

~:~

Sai realized he would have to make the guy some kind of deal. No way he could face the consequences of frightening words like "possession of narcotics" and "conspiracy to undermine." Those were crimes. Charges. They belonged to some other guy, not him. It didn't make any sense. He chewed his fingernails down to the quick. Rowe House may not be an automatic option, not with a record of good behavior on his side, but even the Rehabilitation Centre wasn't someplace anyone he knew had ever been. He'd heard it was awful. A place for you to sit while they made you lose your mind. He didn't ever want to see the inside of it. Ever. He was a gentle sort of guy. A lover, not a fighter. He'd be happy just sitting by the water, watching the waves roll by and the tide go out. He wasn't ready to go through this. His legs shook in his natori, and he realized he was trembling. Why had he worn a natori? Probably because he'd known he would have to do this. No sense arguing with himself about it. There was no other option. He ate his breakfast listlessly. It was early. No one else was there. The note said Broussard would be in his office from 7 - 10. He might as well go now.

~:~

It was absolutely ridiculous that Ortega could have this kind of energy before it was even 8 am. Jesse leaned his head on one hand as Tega stood behind him, brushing his hair. There were no knots in it like the last time, but there had been a few rough spots where they'd both flinched about it coming out.
"Almost done."
Tega was teasing it now, combing it into some ridiculous kind of style that he'd been assured he'd like. Vichy was sitting on the bed with Torréon, a bowl of oatmeal in his lap, just taking in all the action.
"This is insane. I can't believe you're getting married."
"Can we just not talk about it?"
"I can't believe he's getting married in a couple of hours!" Ortega responded.
"You acted like you don't even like men."
Jesse made a horrified face.
"That's weird because I am a man. Also, there are only men. So generally, that's just a weird thing to say."
Vichy shrugged.
"He doesn't like seeming weak, that's what the problem is. It's all his ego." Ortega pinned something in his hair that scraped him. He wondered if him bleeding would make Ortega stop.
"Yeah. You don't want anyone to know that deep down, you've got this really big, soft heart."
"Can we talk about something else now?"
"What color natori are you going to wear?" Vichy asked, swirling his spoon around the oatmeal. Torréon looked at it interestedly.
"Not white, I'm sure."
Jesse stood up.
"OK, that's enough. Thank you, Tega, my hair looks fine. Thank you Vichy, I'll be wearing a suit. Thank you, Torréon, for being the only quiet one in the room today."
Torréon barked and stood up, excited by all the sudden movement and the mention of his name. Jesse turned to the right, intending to go to the bathroom to get his toothbrush, then suddenly realized he would need to pack to leave afterwards with Michael and turned left, then wondered where they'd be leaving to, since Michael lived on base and turned back again, then realized he was going in circles and just sat down.
Vichy looked at him with a face that was neither entirely amused nor very serious at all.
"Listen. Just tell us where to be, and what time, and we will be there for you."

~:~

Sai sat post-straight in his chair, his arms stretched out on either arm rest and his hands gripping the ends.
"Look, just...tell me what you want to know. Tell me what names, tell me what dates. I'll give you everything I have. How many officers went. When. What they bought." he paused. "I can do some carriers, too."
Broussard regarded him evenly from across the large, expensive looking mahogany desk. He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on it.
"Tell me some."
"The entrance is at the end of the pathway leading from the main building to the gym. There's a door that looks like a storage unit, but they unlock it during sell times and you can follow it down into the basement."
Broussard raised an eyebrow.
"How long you been doin this, cher?"
"Since three months after I got here."
"And how'd you come to know where to go to fix yourself a share?"
"Another carrier introduced them to me. He used to buy extra from Scotty for himself and then resell to me but I guess he was afraid he'd get in too much trouble. He stopped."
"How much can you tell me about these two bonhommes, Mr. Wyatt?"
Broussard indicated the photographs of Scotty and Hunter that lay on the desk.
Sai looked at him and considered lying. It wouldn't be so hard, would it? Make up some fake names, some dates and times, some things he'd seen - some petty crimes? If screwing two recognized assholes over could get him out of this, he'd screw gladly. Broussard looked at him coolly. He couldn't lie. He was an awful liar. He really wasn't cut out for this.
"Not much. But I will give it to you, all. No lies, no pulled punches. But you have to get rid of my charges."
Broussard steepled his fingers and put his feet back on the ground. He spun slowly in his chair to face Sai.
"I got a better deal for you than that, petit."

~:~

The kitchen was still dark when Havar finally found it. Being on the westward-facing side of the house, it was the last room to see the sun rise. He didn't mind. The darkness was sheltering, a comfort meaning he had a chance to hide. In the gray, he could barely make out the shapes of the counters, a cooking island, two stovetops, a bar with stools and a breakfast table with seven chairs. The place was huge. A tiny light flicked on to his left. He dropped to the ground immediately, crouched down in the dark silence.
"I know you're there. You can come out of hiding."
Havar almost passed out at the first few words, but right away recognized it wasn't the voice of his keeper. Didn't sound like Cubrovic either - not familiar enough. He decided to chance it. He stood up. The Doctor held a half a banana out to him and talked around the other half, which he was still chewing.
"Couldn't sleep?"


They ended up having a long silent breakfast until far into the early morning. The Doctor picked things out of the fridge, heated things and fried them, went slowly so Havar could learn where everything was. Havar ate, and listened, and watched intently. When the sun began to peek strongly in to the main hallway of the house, he got too scared and when the Doctor's back was turned, he dashed off on tiptoes into the hallway, then back up the stairs and into his own room. Yavisk still was sleeping. He crept around the bed, avoiding the entering sun, rubbed his feet on his pants legs, and got into the bed to try to go back to sleep. Yavisk opened one eye.

~:~

It hurt.

~:~

Afternoon.

Private counseling was cancelled for the day and Sloane made attendance at Jesse's ceremony mandatory, which was utterly unnecessary since no one would have missed it anyway.
Soria arrived just after noon, all gold bracelets and with a scarf wrapped around her long dark hair, under large clothes trying to hide how female she was but failing anyway, walking into his home on an aura of incense and light. Jesse had never understood why it escaped her how beautiful she was. She had a way of appearing in a room as if from a cloud of smoke, a sudden tangible formation, and Jesse had suspected when he was a child that, if he needed her to, like a genie, she would appear anywhere.

Jesse had called her the night before, and Michael had sent a car to come and pick her up; she seemed genuinely overwhelmed with all the attention she'd received, and it only multiplied as soon as she entered the cafeteria with Vichy, Sloane, Ortega, and he. They tried to have lunch, but carriers kept coming up to their table to ask her questions, and she smiled and answered them all but then pleaded Jesse with her eyes to be taken away. Ortega offered to lead the way, and she picked up Torréon and followed him off into Jesse's room, where they hid out until 3 o'clock, when it was time.

At 3, Soria came in to the bathroom, where he was trying to fix his hair and undo whatever pinned foolishness Ortega had engaged him in. She closed the door behind her and leaned on it for a minute.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Jesse looked at her, then back to the mirror.
"Talk about what?"
"The wedding."
"What wedding?"
she didn't respond; only waited.
"There is no wedding. Just a thing. A ceremony. Formality for me and him."
Soria came over to him, draped her arms around his neck.
"Jesse. I love you."
he nodded. His eyes felt a bit damp. She took the comb out of his hand and set it down, then stroked his face. He melted. He wanted to run and hide under her bed like he used to. He wanted to cry. What a stupid world. What a stupid place to have somebody cut you down. What a stupid place to be. He wanted his mom to fix it. She hugged him instead.
"It's going to be OK, you know."
tears were falling; he dampened her shoulder.
"I'm sorry you never met him, Mom. I'm sorry I didn't do this right."
"Jesse, this is life. There is no wrong and right. I'm not angry with you."
"I'm sorry I didn't call you sooner. I didn't think - I didn't think it would be this bad."
"Nothing's bad, honey. You're OK."
"I'm sorry I cut you out. I didn't want you to see me in trouble."
"Hush, Jesse, you just grew up for a while. That's OK. I'm still here."
"I didn't want you to see me fail at this, Mom."
his explanations didn't make sense, he knew it, but he had to get them out. Had to make her understand. She shook her head.
"You didn't fail."
"I thought I could make a difference."
she kissed the side of his head.
"I'm sorry for what I am - I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Jesse, no."
"I didn't mean to make this happen!"
"Jesse."
she squeezed him tightly in her arms.
"I'm so sorry, Mom, please, I'm sorry."
he couldn't seem to stop himself; it was all a mess, and he was falling apart.
"Hush, Jesse, I know."
"I really don't want to do this, Mom."
she didn't answer him again. "But I know I can't get out. I can't get out."
She just rubbed his back and let him keep dribbling tears onto her arm. After a minute, she moved and he looked up at her, feeling somehow bereft. She took his face in both hands, turned it side to side a little just like she did when he was a boy. Her voice was low, soothing.
"Look at that. There he is. All teeth. One nose. Two ears. Both eyes." she held him square in front of her and let their foreheads meet for a second before pulling back. "You look alright to me."
Jesse smiled despite himself, choke-laughed through some of the tears.
"Let me see your fingers."
"Mom - "
"Your fingers!"
Jesse laughed.
"They're all there."
"Toes?!"
"Ten, and they're fine."
She smiled and brushed back his hair from his face.
"Well, then, I guess you must be alright."
She leaned forward and looked directly at him.
"You're going to be just fine, whether you're Jesse Paik or Jesse O'Connor or Jesse WhoeverYouAre. You're going to be OK."
Jesse stared at her, watched her eyes, the little lines of age and thoughtfulness around them. He bit his lip and rubbed his eyes. She shook his shoulders, urgently. Her face looked serious for a second; her eyes went dark.
"Do you understand me, Jesse?"
he nodded.
"You're going to be alright."
he nodded again and sniffed. The heaviness lifted and the light returned to her eyes.
"Now, are you going to get dressed for this non-wedding formality ceremony, or would you rather go out and greet your groom in the buff?"

~:~

The wedding was in the informal chapel in the lower west wing of the Southern Star Centre. It was large enough to hold just a little over fifty people - Michael's parents and two brothers (also spitting images of their father) who lived nearby were in attendance on his side. So were some of his friends from base, and some of his professors, and some old classmates and comrades and a few of the retirees from the veterans' home where, Jesse just then learned, Michael had been coming for six years, once a week, to exchange stories about the way things used to be and read the news aloud. Vichy sat in the second row with Sai and Suleiman; Ortega and James Irvine filled the last seats. Torréon had been explicitly banned by Jesse and was not in attendance. Sloane walked in, took one look at the full row and wished for a minute that Clint wasn't on duty because then at least he wouldn't have to walk alone to some random seat and everyone wouldn't see that he was sitting by himself. But just in time to save him, Soria showed up and caught his hand, smiled at him, and asked him if he would sit next to her. She didn't know many people, she said. Sloane felt a pang in his heart that seemed suspiciously like an honest, dedicated love.

Up at the front, Michael wore his formal uniform; Jesse wore a dark blue suit but had his hair braided and pulled back in the way that Ortega liked.

At 3:37, the music started.
At 3:49, they said their vows.
At 3:57, they were married.

As they left the altar and Michael led the way out of the room, the only thing that Jesse could clear his head enough to understand was the funny fact that it hadn't seemed so simple coming in from the other side.

~:~

Joey had miraculously managed to arrange for a private room and dinner on such very short notice, and there was even cake - just simple stuff, nothing very fancy. Soria sat next to the Admiral, with Sloane on her other side, and chatted and charmed him until Joey began getting jealous and she switched her attentions to him instead.

By the time Joey felt sufficiently flattered to like Soria again, most of the small meal had been eaten and all of the wine had been drunk. Jesse appeared then, tapping his mother on the shoulder. Michael stood behind him.
"Mom?"
she turned and smiled at him.
"I have to go now."
she glanced at Michael, then back to Jesse and nodded.
"OK, sweetheart."
she kissed him on the cheek.
"Be good. Remember what your mother told you."
he hugged her, and held on to her a long time. He whispered into her hair.
"I'll be OK, right?"
she rubbed her cheek against his head.
"You'll be alright. My Jesse will be fine."


As soon as they were gone, Sai got up from the table where he was seated with the group, and went over to edge into the empty chair next to Sloane.
"Hey."
their leader looked cautiously at him from the side of his eye.
"Hey."
"Can I talk to you for a minute?"
Sloane looked longingly at his half-full glass of wine. He picked up the water instead.
"Sure. What's up."
Sai had his gaze firmly fixed on the tableware. He wouldn't look up at Sloane, wouldn't look around, wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.
"I think I need a doctor's appointment. Preferably today. Preferably right now."
Sloane took a sip from his glass and turned fully to face Sai. This was not the way he'd wanted to end his afternoon. He only had a few hours before Clint came back, and he'd planned to use them wisely.
"Why do you think you might need an appointment? And why is it an emergency?"
Sai let his eyes wander from the table to the floor, to his hands in his lap, shredding the edges of a small piece of paper, then down to the floor again.
"This morning, I let Lt. Colonel Broussard fuck me in exchange for dropping my charges."
Sloane set his glass back on the table.
"Right. Get your stuff. We'd better go."