November

November 29: Tuesday

Tiger laid on his back in the hospital bed and idly turned the small black box he held in his hand - Miljan's communication device. The one with the map in it. He'd noticed that the first time he'd seen the thing, when it had woken him up at four in the morning one night. Miljan had taken it away from him, made some small explanation about what it was and how it worked. But Tiger had seen the map, there outlined in black and yellow-white. And there, in the middle of the lines so easily recognizable as a map, had been a little blinking green dot, which Tiger suspected was the device itself. A helpful little thing. So when he'd run, he'd taken it. He'd dashed upstairs, taken a painkiller needle, the hormone shot the Doctor had told him he'd need, and the small black box. Then he'd run for home, chasing the little green light all the way.

Tiger squeezed the little box tight in his hand, exhaled, and set it down on the bed. His stomach hurt. Maybe he should eat something. He didn't want to eat anything. He tried to think about Miljan, but found it difficult; a fuzzy curtain seemed to exist between his awareness of now and his memory of the house. His father had told him to try to remember details, about the house, about the other men who had kidnapped him - names, faces, clothing, mentions of job or position, anything that might help his father find them all. He had a journal, a red one that his father had brought, expressly for the purpose of writing down things that he remembered.

Tiger didn't touch it. So far, he'd told them he still felt confused. Traumatized. Frightened. It had taken him six and a half hours to make his way home. The woods were the worst part - there, alone, in the dark with who-knows-what lurking, Tiger had felt more damn vulnerable than he ever had in Miljan's bed. The relief he'd felt upon approaching his own driveway, upon seeing the old blue truck that so distinctly belonged to Vincent DuCourt was indescribable. Tiger had bawled in the living room, clinging tight to his dad whose eyes were still red with sleep, not bothering to stem his tears or wipe his face. The argument about whether he needed to go to the infirmary was brief. Tiger won.

In the on-base medical center, he had stood in the middle of the entryway floor with his father's jacket on his shoulders and the scent of Miljan's pillow still in his hair. He didn't want to talk.

The early morning nurse had allowed his silence, stated that he was probably in shock, and recommended he try to sleep. They took him into a room. His father wanted to stay; Tiger asked if he could have an adjoining room because as much as he loved his dad, he just wanted a little time to be alone, to feel unwatched for a change. The nurse sent them both one floor up and told Tiger that someone would come to examine him in a few hours, then possibly move him to the CEC. The nurse gave him a cursory once-over and offered him something for the pain. Still feeling numb from the running, the walk along the road, the excitement of escape, and the sheer relief of being back home (sort of) again, Tiger realized that he didn't actually feel any pain. He demurred the pills and was offered something to help him sleep instead; he refused, but alone in his room, sleep came fitfully. After almost two weeks in Miljan's bed, the hospital felt cold and small. The blankets weren't thick enough. Tiger turned on his side.

A new nurse, a handsome young carrier in scrubs with blond hair tightly pulled into a ponytail, had come later that morning to take his vitals and make him eat lunch. He'd chatted conversationally to Tiger as he'd gone about his routine, looking up at him expectantly when Tiger was quiet or too slow to answer.
"So how old are you?"
"Seventeen."
"And you're an only child?"
Tiger nodded, disinterested with the conversation. The nurse urged him onto his back, spreading his legs and laying a blanket over his bent knees.
"I'm going to touch you now, Tiger, OK? I know this feels weird, but just try to relax."
Tiger didn't respond, just exhaled and laid still. The nurse probed him for a minute, asking about where and which parts still hurt. After a moment, he sat back.
"Tiger, I think your change is pretty well advanced by this point. I'm going to try to put a finger inside of you. If at any point, anything I am doing becomes painful or even very uncomfortable, I want you to tell me immediately, OK?"
Tiger nodded.
"Tiger, I need a verbal response from you on this. OK?"
"Yes."
The nurse returned to his position between Tiger's legs. He lubricated one finger and slipped it, gently inside of him. Tiger tensed at the coldness of the lube.
"Tiger, try to stay calm for me, OK?"
Tiger narrowed his eyes but focused on relaxing. The nurse moved his finger a little, turning it inside of Tiger and pressing against his walls, then retreated.
"Did that hurt you, Tiger?"
Tiger shrugged.
"It felt weird. And tight. But it wasn't - it wasn't like pain."
The nurse's eyebrow flicked down, then up in interest.
"How long ago did you begin the change?"
Tiger shrugged again.
"Week and a half, maybe. Two Thursdays ago or something."
The nurse nodded.
"Well, that's plenty of time. You're pretty well advanced."
Tiger looked up at him.
"I'm done?"
"Not done yet - not all the way. But you're in working condition."
Tiger chewed on this bit of news for a moment and swallowed. The nurse watched him process this information and smiled.
"Don't worry. You'll be a beautiful carrier."
Tiger's brow furrowed. In his hand, he idly fingered the communicator. He wondered if Miljan would come back for it. The nurse was writing in a chart.
"Of course, we'll have to get the doctor to confirm that your change is completed."
Tiger bit his lip.
"When will the doctor come?"
"Probably in the afternoon. Things have been pretty crazy around here today, so I doubt he'll be free until then. Would you like some magazines to read or something?"
Tiger shook his head.
"Well, after he comes in and verifies, then we'll get you registered as a carrier, and you'll be moved to the CEC, enrolled in a bloc, and assigned a homeroom and some living quarters there."
Tiger swallowed and looked out of the window. The nurse scribbled some more notes and copied numbers into his file.
"Is there anything else you want me to know, Tiger?"
Tiger glanced up, then back down and shook his head.
The nurse continued to write in his chart.
"Would you like to speak to a counselor while you're here? Someone to talk you through the transition?"
Tiger shook his head.
"OK. Are you sexually active, Tiger?"
Tiger hesitated, but shook his head. The nurse looked at him.
"You're sure?"
Tiger's face heated, and he nodded.
"And do you plan to be?"
Tiger frowned, a little taken aback at the forward nature of the question. The nurse half-smiled apologetically at him.
"What I mean is: are you promised to anyone, Tiger?"
The question was asked casually, innocuously, but there was something about it, some demanding note to the nurse's voice that made Tiger balk immediately. He looked up at the nurse, then glanced towards the door.
"Where's my dad?"
The nurse smiled soothingly.
"Your dad is sleeping. We'll wake him up before the doctor comes to examine you in the afternoon."
Tiger shook his head.
"I think - can you wake him up now, please?"
The nurse tsked at him.
"He's very tired, Tiger."
Tiger felt his heartbeat spike.
"I - I want to see him. He's my dad and I want to see him now."
The nurse looked evenly at him.
"Why don't I see if I can find you something to help calm you down?"
Tiger shook his head vigorously, panic rising to the surface.
"No, I'm calm, I'm fine. I just want to see my dad."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, preparing to go find his father himself. The nurse appeared in front of him, one hand on the bed on either side of his hips.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Tiger. You're still healing. I think you should stay in bed."
Tiger felt high on adrenaline. Something wasn't right.
"Well then, can you please go get him for me? I want to see my dad!"
The nurse looked at him sympathetically.
"Tiger. I think you need something to help calm you down."
Tiger shook his head and got back into the bed.
"I - I don't. I'm fine."
The nurse eyed him for a minute, then turned and left the room.
Tiger jumped out of bed immediately. The floor was freezing against his bare feet. He looked around for the clothes he'd changed out of last night, but they were gone. He ran to the far side of the room, to push aside the curtain which led to the adjoining room; his father would hear him if he knocked.
"Tiger, don't do that."
Tiger snapped his head around. The nurse was there, in the doorway, accompanied by a tall, muscular officer in the dark blue scrubs that distinguished officers from carriers in the medical ward. Tiger stared at them for a moment, then banged on the door anyway.
"Dad! Dad! Da -"
The officer nurse covered his mouth with one hand, lifting him and carrying him to the bed. Tiger fought, kicking and biting, but it didn't seem to have an effect and in seconds, he found himself face down on his back with his hands pinned behind him and his ankles strapped to the bed. His breath was coming in pants, and he felt like fighting, screaming, and crying, all at once.
"Let go of me. Let go of me. Please, let go of me!"
The pressure on his ankles was released, and he was flipped onto his back and strapped in again. The two nurses looked down at him. Tiger tried to memorize their faces so that he could identify them later. He took in two deep breaths and tried to breathe evenly.
"I want my dad."
The carrier nurse ignored this statement.
"Tiger, this is my brother, Lucas."
Tiger flicked his eyes over to the nurse in blue scrubs, who was smiling at him.
The carrier nurse turned to Lucas.
"Luke, this is Tiger. He's going to be registered as a carrier today, and he's wondering if there are any officers around base who might be interested in meeting him."
Tiger shook his head. Dread was welling up in him.
"Leave me alone."
"Tiger, Lucas is a commissioned medical intern here in this ward. He'll be completing his training this summer, and will start making rounds on his own next year. He's been thinking that, considering what his new position will be, a fiancée might be just the thing he needs to complement this next phase of his life."
"I want my dad."
"It's very nice to meet you, Tiger." Lucas smiled down at him, and reached out with one hand to gently trace a finger along one of his curls. "Maybe we can be good friends."
"I want my dad or I'm going to start screaming."
"Tiger," the carrier nurse said calmly, "If you scream, then we're going to have to sedate you."

~:~

Miljan sat stone-faced in the morgue room of the base hospital and reflected on his life. Dead brother, missing carrier, abetting of a runaway, and difficult questions demanding answers from his job. Not a good place to begin a day. But Miljan was a man like his father, and beginning in a bad place never worried him. Things could always change.

The autopsy was taking forever, but his commanders had demanded it, and Miljan had demanded he be present for it. It was difficult, watching them cut apart so casually the man whose hand he had held to cross the street when they were small, but Miljan did it because it was a thing which had to be done. If there was another way in which Miljan was like his father, it was this - he did, always and without complaint, the unpleasant things of life which yet had to be done.

Miljan had no true commander, but the closest it came was General Ebert Wilkinson, a man who was stern under normal conditions but downright pissed off now, and kept casting Miljan an irritated sideways glance in the autopsy room.
"I hope you don't think this will just be glossed over like last time, Cubrovic."
Miljan rolled his eyes. Every time, this song and dance. They had to go through it, even though they both knew it meant nothing. "General, I apologize."
"For which part? The kidnapping? Or the in-house gunfight? Or aiding the kidnapping of a carrier, as well as abetting criminal behavior in allowing Demen to escape with said damn carrier in the first place?"
Miljan sighed.
"The situation was unavoidable."
"The boy's father wants blood."
Miljan was silent.
"He's not a man whose demands are ignored."
Miljan shrugged.
"Neither am I."
A pause passed between them. The doctor was making notations about the condition of Anton's body, the pooling of blood. Miljan posed his question carefully, casually.
"Has he spoken yet? The boy?"
Wilkinson snorted.
"He was brought in this morning, a little before 7 am. Doesn't want to see a counselor. Hasn't given up any names."
Miljan didn't respond to this, but inwardly he felt a wash of delight at what might be Tiger's display of loyalty. Wilkinson snorted.
"If you still want him, it's going to be hell to pass. DuCourt is an angry man with a lot of friends. Between that and this business with your brother...and I won't tell you it'll be easy to make the Havar thing disappear, either. The carrier's a damn national story and you let him go and get kidnapped like that." The general shook his head.
"I really don't understand you, Cubrovic. I don't."
Miljan shrugged again.
"My brother had lost control of his faculties in the recent months. The situation quickly escalated to become intractable. I acted to protect my own life, and the life of the four carriers whom were present at the time of the problem."
Wilkinson snorted.
"Uh-huh."
Miljan felt a stab of violent anger at the man's dismissal.
"It was not a decision I made lightly, General, to kill my own brother. But there was no other way."
The reality of what had happened hit him. His grandfather would have to be informed. Problems would arise in his family; anger, suspicion, distrust. Nobody died easily, not amongst them, and especially not at the hand of their own.
Wilkinson glanced sideways at him again.
"Point taken, Cubrovic."
A pause extended.
"And what about the carriers? Where are they?"
Miljan didn't miss a beat.
"The carrier Ami is with his husband, at home. I cannot disclose the location of Cadet Murphy to you - "
"The second carrier's an officer?"
"Was an officer."
"He hid his change?"
Miljan shook his head. The doctor was cutting open Anton's gut. Miljan remembered the meal, the food spilling everywhere, the table upset and Tiger crying.
"He has not completed. He began a few days ago. When he completes, I will give you his location, as well as the name of his husband."
Wilkinson shook his head.
"I don't know how you people do it. You, your brother, your cousins. You pick 'em before they even show signs. It's insanity. How do you know which ones to choose?"
Miljan smiled a little.
"We are simply skilled in human observation."
The general regarded him out of the side of his eye.
"And what about the carrier Havar? How are you going to explain letting a damn national symbol go missing?"
Miljan's jaw tightened.
"I was attending to the emergency care of my brother at the time the escape happened, and was indisposed to babysit the carrier just then. The gentleman doctor took advantage of the situation and my negligence."
The general was quiet for a minute, chewing on something in the back of his jaw.
"I know you, Cubrovic. You are never negligent."
Their eyes met. Miljan stared evenly back at him. The general turned away to watch the doctor make notes about the autopsy in a small black book.
"And what about the last one? The boy, Tiger?"
"What about him?"
"What do you plan to tell his father?"
"I'm going to tell him I want my carrier back."


They finished the autopsy and left the room; afterwards, Miljan felt ill; sorry and disconnected, not himself. For a brief, awful moment, he considered going to speak to his brother about everything that had happened. Then he remembered that his brother was dead. Miljan rubbed his eyes. His vision felt foggy. A presence moved in the room; somebody was behind him.
"You look like hell, Cubrovic."
Miljan turned to face the general.
"Thank you, sir."
"Go home. Get some rest. You've been up all night, haven't you?"
Miljan rubbed his eyes and checked his watch. Twelve-thirty.
"I have work to do, General."
Wilkinson tilted his head, eyeing him like a bird.
"Go upstairs. Ask for a bed. Get some sleep. The last thing I need is my best recon team down. I don't want to see you up and moving around this base until 7 this evening. That is an order. Have I made myself clear, Special Officer Cubrovic?"
Miljan inclined his head in recognition.
"Absolutely, sir."

~:~

Jesse paced around his room, picking up one thing or the other, then setting it down again. He had no idea where to even begin. He looked over at the other bed, now empty and made up with clean sheets, tucked and folded with military precision. Vichy had gone so smoothly and quickly, it was sometimes as if he'd never even been there at all. Being in this room now, Jesse felt very alone.

Michael hadn't spoken to him for most of the train ride. He'd still bought the tickets, helped carry Jesse's bags inside, offered him something from the meal car, but he hadn't spoken to him, not really.

Jesse had been too afraid to call Soria. After Michael had mentioned that she was under surveillance, he'd been too frightened to go anywhere near her, not wanting to attract her any more attention. He looked down at his bed and thought about getting into it. A mid-day nap could be a nice thing, and it had been a while since he'd had one. His cheek still stung where Michael had hit him, though he was sure it was purely guilt-based pain. He'd been mulling over their argument since Michael had left. His husband had disappeared, stormed out into the frigid night, and hadn't resurfaced until almost 3. Jesse had meant to stay up and wait for him, but he dozed off a little after midnight, and only woke again when he heard Michael's voice in the kitchen, explaining in low tones to someone on the phone how he was very sorry, but Mom's old ceramic bowl had been pretty badly broken. After that, Michael had come into the bedroom and undressed without speaking, showered, then gotten into bed.

Jesse had wanted, more than anything, to reach over and put his arms around Michael's waist, to touch the skin that he knew would be hot and moist from the water, to lay his hands on the other body who shared his bed and know that there was at least one other person in the world who he could trust. But in the end, pride and fear had kept him from it, and he hadn't moved to touch Michael, to apologize, to kiss him, to do anything. Instead, he laid still and pretended to sleep.


A knock at the door brought Jesse out of immersion in his own mind.
"Yep?"
The door cracked open. Sloane stuck his head through the slit and glanced around nervously.
"Can I come in?"
Jesse arched one eyebrow. Sloane had quit asking Jesse for permission to do anything months back. What an interesting new development.
"Yeah. Come in."
Sloane entered and looked around for a place to sit. Both chairs were covered with clothes; he then spied Vichy's bed, but hesitated - it looked too clean, too neat and perfectly made. He glanced at Jesse's bed, but just as quickly rejected that suggestion. He looked back at Vichy's bed.
"You can sit on mine."
Sloane looked at him, his eyes pitifully sad and hopeful. Jesse indicated it with a jerk of his head.
"Go ahead. It's fine."
Sloane settled in on the edge of the bed and looked up at Jesse.
"I'm pregnant."
Jesse raised both eyebrows.
"Oh."
Sloane looked away.
"I, um - it was hard, to find out, and Clint thought that maybe if I told people, then it could be - I would feel better..."
Sloane trailed off, picking at the pattern on the duvet.
"I see."
Sloane looked up at him with a look that was suddenly harsh and scrutinizing.
"How was the honeymoon?"
Jesse reflected and rubbed his cheek.
"Fantastic."
Sloane nodded distractedly.
"Good. Good."
Sloane had a seashell bracelet on his left wrist, another gift from Clint, and he started to twist it idly with one hand. Jesse began moving things from his dresser into a cardboard box.
"I'm, um - I don't really know why this is so hard for me, I mean...I work with you guys all day, and I - it's not like I didn't know this was coming, I just - "
Sloane stopped suddenly. Jesse looked at him.
"You don't care, do you?"
Jesse wasn't even sure at first if Sloane was speaking to Jesse or himself, so he kept his mouth shut. Sloane looked up. Jesse paused.
"I care."
Sloane shrugged casually, but his shoulders were shaking.
"It's OK. You don't have to. Nobody has to. I'll be fine by myself. I'm always by myself."
Jesse furrowed his brow. This wasn't the Sloane he knew.
"Are you OK?"
Sloane nodded, but tears were leaking down his face.
"I just - I'm fine."
Jesse stared at him.
"Is there someone I should call, or...?"
Sloane suddenly burst into tears and amongst the sobbing, Jesse was able to pick out that there was no one to call, no one. Not ever, and not now. Jesse sat down next to him on the bed and held him for a minute, disturbed but unsure what to do.
"Do you want me to go find Clint?"
Sloane shook his head furiously.
"No, please! Please don't call Clint, Jesse, don't call him here. I'm - I'm not like you."
Jesse tilted his head.
"What does that mean?"
Sloane sniffled and tried to wipe his face with his sleeves.
"I mean - I'm not like you: my fiancé doesn't love me."
Jesse felt a fresh little stab of guilt.
"I'm sure Clint does love you, in his own way."
That seemed like a lie. But if it made Sloane feel better, so be it. Sloane wasn't buying it; he shook his head miserably.
"Nobody loves me."
It was said with such factual acceptance that it broke Jesse's heart. Sloane looked back up at him again.
"You're so lucky, Jesse. Really, you are." Jesse frowned. Sloane wiped his face with one sleeve. "You just have no idea."

~:~

Sai ducked out on lunch with Suleiman and Ortega, and went instead to go sit at the same small table as yesterday, to drink half a glass of soda and play with his napkin while he waited for Lt. Col. Broussard to appear. The man did not disappoint. He entered smoothly around half past noon, carrying a tray with a plate of food and two apples, glancing around the room before settling his gaze on Sai. Sai straightened up a little, but not too much; he didn't want to look eager. Broussard took up the seat across from him.
"Good afternoon, cher."
Sai's mouth quirked into a smile.
"Cher? I thought we were just friends. That's not a particularly friendly term, is it?"
Broussard also smiled.
"Au contraire, Sai; it is a very friendly term."
Sai grinned and flicked his gaze down to the tray.
"Second apple's for you."
Sai looked back up at Broussard, but the man was disinterestedly chewing on his baked fish and looking around the room. Sai took the apple and bit into it. It was sweet, so sweet that Sai momentarily wondered if it was a CEC special edition apple, complete with carrier 'health chargers' injected. But then Broussard picked up his apple and also took a bite, so Sai discarded the theory.

Broussard looked skeptically over the carrier in front of him.
"Aren't you gonna eat?"
Sai played with his soda.
"Not hungry."
Broussard raised one eyebrow.
"Well, as your new friend, I suggest you pretend. Gonna get youself red-flagged if you don't eat."
Sai shrugged.
"It's just one meal. No biggie."
Broussard picked up another piece of fish.
"Alright, friend. Keep teasin' these kind people who so dearly love their rules."
Sai stared at him. His stomach felt queasy again. Broussard must have noticed his unease, because he suddenly pushed his plate towards Sai and offered his fork.
"Here. You take a few bites, I'll tell the little man at the counter that you ate mine."
Sai hesitated, but the fish actually did look good, now that it had been offered. He took the fork from Broussard.
"So what'll you find yourself to do today, petit?"
Sai chewed a bite of fish and shrugged, then poked at a potato.
"Maybe read. Classes are cancelled 'cuz Sloane's been AWOL for a while now. Might see a movie. It's pretty boring around here, honestly, especially with half my group gone, so I dunno, I'll do anything that entertains me."
There was a pause. Broussard spoke, his voice low.
"Anything entertaining, huh? Is that how you met your man Scotty? His shit was entertaining?"
Sai tensed and became flustered.
"No. No, I wasn't - I told you already about that. Fuck. Thought we let that go."
Broussard shrugged.
"Jus' makin sure I warned you off it good." Sai, irritated, went back to sipping his soda. Broussard chewed his food. "Go on, coco."
Sai looked up at him, then away as he rolled the glass between his hands.
"Well, other than that...Jesse's back, but he hasn't come out of his room, and Tega's back and he's sweet, but also kind of crazy, so I've been steering clear of that."
Sai exhaled and pushed the plate away, leaning back in his chair and tucking some of his smooth black hair back into the ponytail it had escaped.
"I'm just sick of sitting all the time in the same place, doing the same things. I need to do something different. Something fun. I'd like to get drunk, honestly, that's what I'd really like."
Sai glanced up, immediately realizing his mistake; he'd just been harshly chastised about his affinity for illicit substances, and wasn't sure how Broussard would react. But instead of anger, Broussard laughed, his brown eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Well, seeing as we are friends now...such a small, legal," (Broussard put special emphasis on this word) "indiscretion as that may be a possibility which I can arrange. I wouldn't mind myself a full bottle and a deck'a cards. Donnez-moi a few days, cher, and I will see what I can find."
Sai grinned. This whole friends-with-an-officer thing was already shaping up pretty nicely. It sure did help to have a man on the inside.

~:~

Ortega had wandered in some time after Sloane had finished crying in Jesse's arms, and now the three of them were sitting in various stages of repose around Jesse's room, a cluster of four cardboard boxes sitting filled in the middle of the floor.
"I did not know I had so much bullshit."
Sloane roused himself enough to reply.
"I've been telling you that for months."
Jesse cast an irritated glare at him.
"It's our first day as friends, Sloane. Don't push it."
Sloane shut up and sat quietly in the chair, with Torréon nestled snugly in his lap.
"You know we have to do my room next." Ortega pointed out.
Jesse looked over at him.
"Today? Why? I thought you weren't getting married until next month."
Ortega beamed.
"Plans have changed." Jesse cocked his head and Sloane sat up straight to listen.
"We're moving."
Sloane looked surprised.
"Moving? Where?"
Ortega's smile got even wider.
"Home. To the South. To México." Tega sat forward in his seat, practically bouncing on the edge of it.
"Jesse, I'm going home. I get to go home!"
Jesse grinned, caught up in Tega's infectious happiness.
"Congratulations, Tega. I seriously am happy for you."
Tega beamed again.
"The baby can be born in the mountains, and my mama and grandfather can see him, and he can play in the courtyard where I did, and everything will be wonderful!"
Jesse grinned. Ortega looked up at him slyly.
"And by then maybe he will have some other baby friends to play with?" he asked hopefully. Jesse laughed, but it was a brittle laugh.
"Not yet, I don't think so."
"Not even after your honeymoon?!" Ortega sounded incredulous.
"We were very careful." Most of the time. Ortega wrinkled his nose, then narrowed his eyes.
"Did you have a fight?"
Jesse glanced quickly at Sloane, who was looking at him curiously, then back at Ortega.
"A small one."
Ortega sighed.
"Jesse."
"I know, I know. I apologized."
"Really?"
Jesse thought about it.
"No. I think I forgot."
Ortega rolled his eyes.
"What happened?"
"He got mad. I got mad. I broke a bowl and threw a knife. The bowl was his mom's."
Ortega sucked in air through his teeth.
"Jesse!"
"I know."
Sloane was looking at him with an expression so perplexed it was almost comical. Ortega crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head.
"Did he hit you?"
"Michael doesn't do that."
Ortega shrugged.
"He will one day, if you keep acting the way you do."
Jesse glanced over his shoulder at him, a little disturbed by how openly Ortega believed that to be true. Sloane was nodding.
"They'll all do it, Jesse. You just haven't pushed the right button yet."
Jesse suddenly remembered why he hated this place and was glad to leave.
"Did he at least make you wear a natori?"
Jesse reflected.
"No." Michael had not, in fact, made any attempt at punishment or retribution whatsoever. He'd just gone on with life, not speaking but not ignoring Jesse either. He'd created a space where they interacted only in ways that were absolutely necessary. Jesse found it miserable. "I'm going to apologize when I see him."
"When will that be?" Sloane asked. Jesse thought.
"I'm not really sure." there was a meaningful pause in the room.
"Later tonight, probably. I think. Or sometime."
Tega exhaled.
"Don't tell me we're packing for nothing."
Jesse cut a glare at him.
"It's just one fight. I'm a newlywed. Fights are normal. It'll be fine."
Sloane looked doubtfully up at him.
"I don't know, Jesse. You have a knack for the irregular."

Jesse frowned at this, but then got up and went in to begin packing up his bathroom. Decisively, he called out.
"Sloane's pregnant."
Sloane's eyes widened and Ortega spun around to face him.
"What? Since when??"
Sloane turned funny shades of red and white and stared at the dog in his lap.
"I don't know if I really - "
"Oh, no, come on! Tell us! It can't have been long!"
Sloane looked away, towards the door, as if thinking of escape.
"It's not that great, I think - "
"Noo! Tell us! Congratulations! We're happy for you. I bet Clint is thrilled, huh? How long?"
"Ortega - "
"Will you be due in the summer, like me, or in the fall?"
Sloane looked up at Ortega, and his eyes were heavy and mournful.
"I'm seven weeks. Maybe eight."
"Hey! Same as me! So we'll be due at the same time..."
Ortega trailed off as Sloane continued to stare at him, some distant realization become clear. Sloane looked away, at the wall, then back up to Ortega. Ortega cocked his head.
"We got pregnant at the same time."
Sloane didn't disagree, but he did look back away from Ortega's gaze.
"It - Clint, um, fucked me in the car the night you got raped by James."
Ortega's stomach did somersaults at the dredging up of that memory. Sloane's eyes were tearing up again, his breath becoming ragged. Jesse appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, just watching.
"I - I think that it's a punishment."
Ortega didn't respond.
"I think I did the wrong thing." Tears were coming now, but nobody moved to comfort him. "I - I think I messed up. I was, um, I was scared but that - that's really no excuse and then I - " Sloane scrubbed viciously at his eyes with the back of one hand. The other hand trembled, hovering just above the fur of the little black and white dog. Sloane looked up at Ortega.
"I'm sorry, Tega. I really didn't want to do that to you. I'm so, so, so sorry. Please."
Jesse didn't move, just watched the scene play out. Ortega frowned, then his expression dropped and his face hardened. He stood up and fear flashed briefly across Sloane's face. Tega moved closer to him, his chest heaving. He leaned down to look him in the face.
"Hey." he said. "Hey. It's OK."
Sloane's eyes got big, hopeful and wet with emotion. He looked like a man at an oasis, a prisoner seeing sunlight. He looked like he believed Ortega might save his life. "It's OK." Ortega repeated. "I forgive you, Sloane. It's OK."

~:~

Miljan was so close to sleep that when he first heard the voice, he thought he'd been dreaming. He opened his eyes. He was still in the hospital, curled up underneath a pitiful blanket on a too-small bed. He waited, listening, but heard nothing. Then the voice came again.
"No, please, please, stop it, leave me alone. Leave me alone! I want my dad!"
Tiger.
Miljan was on his feet instantaneously, not even bothering to put on his boots as he tore down the hallway in the direction of the sound. He skidded to a stop in front of the nurses' station, and a short, plump middle-aged carrier in green scrubs looked him over.
"Can I help you - "
But Miljan heard Tiger's voice again, had detected the direction.
"Security issue, carrier." He flashed his SO identification. "But thank you for your concern." and then he was off, down a connecting hallway.
The door was locked, but that had never stopped him before. He reached into his pocket for a passcard, popped it open, and threw the door in.

~:~

Downstairs, Staff Sergeant Vincent DuCourt was sitting in the Carrier Counselor's office and rubbing his head. He glanced at his watch. The man was droning on about the benefits of enrolling in the program, how happy Tiger would be, how the rules would help him in his psychological development, and how much he was going to enjoy the program. DuCourt scoffed. As if he'd had any other choice. He'd tried to convince his son not to report, not to go in and admit what had happened to him, but Tiger insisted that there was no other way. He needed medical attention, he needed medicine, he need to face what had happened because they both knew that he wasn't going to be able to hide it forever. Vincent had felt such a weird mix - a surge of pride in Tiger's ability to handle a situation that, at his age, was unimaginably awful, a bit of anger at the program, the military, God and the world in general for allowing this all to happen, and a little bit of miserable fear because this was not the life he wanted, for Tiger or for anyone.

The carrier counselor was on to logistics now, talking about what DuCourt could expect out of the program and what the first day's schedule would be. Vincent glanced at his watch again and decided he'd had just about enough. He had a meeting with the hospital director at two, and before he went, he wanted to check in on Tiger, who he was sure would be missing him like mad right about now. He'd left him sleeping peacefully this morning, and knowing Tiger's energy, he was probably awake by now. It was almost one o'clock.

~:~

Tiger had thought he'd known relief before, but the smash of emotion he felt upon seeing his ex-kidnapper standing there in the doorway, head up and eyes angry, dwarfed it completely. The carrier nurse and his brother both snapped their heads up, eyes belying both surprise and fear. Miljan didn't even speak, just kicked closed the door and began moving towards the larger one - the dark blue scrubs, who still had his hand knotted in Tiger's hair. The man backed away, but not fast enough, because Miljan moved fast and before he even fully understood what was going on, the man was against the wall, his wrists behind his head, being disarmed. Miljan dropped his standard-issue handgun and kicked it across the floor, into the corner farthest from all of them.
"'Jan!" Tiger wriggled and tried to lift his head, but it was difficult with the restraints still on him. "Jan, don't worry about them! Help me! Get me out of this!"
"Who the fuck are you??" The carrier nurse was already reaching for his radio, calling for backup from security. "Nobody's allowed in this wing. You're not supposed to be in here." Miljan paused, still holding the officer in place, looked evenly at the carrier nurse, and wrenched one of the officer's arms upward at a painful-looking angle. The man groaned, and the carrier nurse shut up immediately. Miljan smiled kindly at him.
"I am authorized to enter all sections of this hospital, and this base. Now give me the radio, sweetheart."
Miljan's accent was thick on the words. The carrier backed away, and the officer nurse tried to jerk away towards the door while Miljan was distracted. Miljan caught his other wrist and twisted it until he groaned about that as well.
"Miljan!" Tiger couldn't get see what was happening, but he knew it wasn't good.
"Were you running away, officer? Going to leave your friend?"
"Miljan, stop it!" Tiger wasn't very convincing. Miljan decided to ignore him for the time being. He focused on the carrier nurse, who looked terrified, standing in the middle of the room, unsure about whether he should go for help in the hallway or go into the fight himself. Miljan reflected that it was a brilliant practice on the part of the CEC to make their carriers record their strength losses. Even now, he could see the man judging, calculating whether he could still take on Miljan, whether he'd been able to before and whether he thought he could now. It took him just a few moments to make his decision; he began to tense for a lunge. Miljan shook his head.
"Don't do it, baby. I break both his arms then. Put the radio down and come over here."
The officer tried to move his wrist and Miljan moved them both into one hand, then with the other, grasped the man's hair and slammed his face forward into the wall. The man yelped and the carrier nurse cried out.
"OK! OK! Stop it! Please! What do you want? Who are you?!"
Miljan smiled a half-smile at the carrier.
"I am Tiger's husband, sweetheart. Didn't he tell you?"
The carrier tensed and his hand flexed on the radio. Miljan rolled his eyes. This was how it was with some people - always wanting to be a hero.
"Put the radio down, little carrier. I won't tell you again." He slammed the man's head into the wall again and heard a tiny crack as the man cried out and tried to move his wrists again. The carrier still hesitated. Then it made sense; the man was signaling to the carrier. Minute signals meant familiar ones. Lovers would have no use for Tiger; brothers, then. There was enough resemblance between them. Miljan was surprised he hadn't realized it before. He spun the officer around, one hand still in his hair, so that he faced the carrier. He released that hand, wrenched the one holding his wrists upwards again for good measure, extracted his pocketknife and held it flush against the man's throat. This, Tiger could see.
"Miljan! No! Ne! Prestati! That is not a nice thing to do!"
The carrier nurse was absolutely still, his eyes darting between watching his brother and watching Miljan.
"Look at him, your little carrier. Your brother, isn't he? Pretty thing. Is he promised to someone? Is he promised like my Tiger is promised to me?"
The man swallowed, testing the closeness of the blade. Miljan pressed it in until it drew blood. The carrier's eyes got wide.
"Please - please leave him alone. I'm sorry about Tiger, I didn't - I didn't know he was yours. I'm sorry."
Miljan ignored this and spoke directly to the officer, who was gritting his teeth against the burning sensation at his neck.
"He could be mine, you know. Your little brother. The baby boy." Miljan continued casually, as if they'd been having this conversation in a bar, and not in a hospital room with a knife to one man's throat. "If I take him. If I cut your throat and put him against that wall over there while you bleed out." The carrier's whole body tensed up and he looked to his brother for instruction, but Miljan could tell he wanted to move now, wanted to run. Miljan wondered if they were still signaling each other. "And to think you were going to run from me and leave him. For what? To go find help? Did you really think that help would get here fast enough to save your brother if you left him with me?"
The carrier's gaze flicked down to the officer. His breathing changed and Miljan could tell he was on the verge of panicking.
"Do you think he's the type that cries while you fuck him, or do you think he'll be strong about it?"
Neither man answered.
"He'd probably cry for you. Even though you were going to run away and leave him. That's what a good brother does. Cries for the other's death."
The knife pressed in farther.
"I didn't cry when my brother died. I suppose I'm not a very good brother."
Miljan's voice went a little funny at the end of the last sentence, and Tiger began to sense an escalation of emotion in the room. The carrier's eyes had full, fat tears preparing to roll down his cheeks at any minute.
"Miljan." Tiger was trying different tactics now, keeping his voice calm and steady. "My husband. Stop. I'm OK. That's enough."
Miljan glanced down at him once, then back up to the carrier, who was shaking. Rage or fear, Miljan wondered. Probably both. Suddenly, unexpectedly, Miljan removed the knife and shoved the officer violently forward. He tripped into his brother, then ended up facing Miljan, with his brother half-hidden behind him. Miljan jerked his neck to indicate the door.
"Go. Now. Both of you. Tell no one that I am here. If you do, I'll come back for you, beautiful."
Miljan used his knife to indicate the carrier.
"Get out."
They both took off immediately, and Tiger exhaled in relief. Before they even got through the door, Miljan was already at the foot of the bed, freeing Tiger's feet. He did his wrists next and Tiger sat up immediately and threw his arms around Miljan's neck, squeezing tight. His words were sort of muffled against the thick military jacket, but Miljan understood them anyway.
"You're crazy, did you know that? You are so goddamn fucking crazy, but I have to say I'm very happy that you're here."
Miljan hugged him back, held him tight against his own chest, smelling his hair, his skin, the scent of nights in his bed.
"Tiger. Tiger, Tiger, mladunce, my love, my little cub." Miljan exhaled and pulled away, held the boy at arms' length, his large hands heavy on Tiger's shoulders.
"Why did you leave me, Tiger? Why did you run?"
Tiger looked at the man in front of him, his face miserable with worry and awful pain and for a moment, he had no answer.
"Because, Miljan, it was still the right thing to do."
Miljan looked crushed. His eyes flicked to the ground, to the window, to Tiger's eyes, to the door. Tiger pulled him back into a hug, and Miljan went, but unwillingly, recalcitrant in his arms. Tiger spoke against his jacket again.
"It was the right thing to do then, but it wouldn't be the right thing to do now."
Miljan frowned.
"I missed you. And you - I think you were right, before, when you said my life wouldn't be better...I don't want to stay here; I don't want to live in the CEC and go to classes and do dumb stuff and just sit around waiting until somebody who's not you comes along and decides to pick me. I'm not an animal. I'm not a dog in a shelter, and you don't, well most of the time anyway, you don't treat me that way. And I won't - I mean, I like living with you. I like being your wife. I don't want to go somewhere else, I don't want to live with somebody else, and I think I can figure out that whatever else is out there, it's not for me. I think you are. I think you...found me for a reason. And with you, I feel like I'm at home. And that's all I want. I just want to go be at home with you."
Miljan felt something pricking at the backs of his eyes, but he decided that it surely must be residual pain from his headache and so he resolutely ignored it.
"OK. OK, little one. I will talk to your father, and maybe you can - "
"No."
Miljan pulled back, surprised.
"No?"
"No."
Tiger wriggled out of his grasp, got down from the bed to stand in front of him.
"Lock the door."
Miljan frowned a little, but complied, unsure about what was going on. When he turned back, Tiger was sitting back up on the bed, his legs spread. He looked up hopefully at Miljan. Comprehension dawned immediately.
"Tiger - "
"Please just do it quick."
"You're not - "
"I am. I'm done. I'm finished. The nurse, he checked me out, he said I was fine this morning. I just have to wait for the doctor to come and verify that I'm fine."
Miljan looked skeptical.
"I don't want to hurt you."
Tiger shook his head, pleading.
"You won't. You won't, I promise. But if you do this now, and you do this quick, then we still have a chance to make things right. Please. I don't know when my dad is coming back, and I don't know when the doctor's coming, or where the nurse is. So we really only have right now to do this."
Miljan hesitated.
"For your first, I don't think - "
"We can redo it later. We can redo it tomorrow, or the day after, or everyday after that if you want, but please, please, Miljan, come fuck me right now."
Miljan, also like his father, was not a man who needed to be asked twice. He came to the bed, settling between Tiger's spread knees, and unbuckled his belt. He kissed Tiger and batted his hands away when he tried to get Miljan's pants off of him.
"I'll do it."
Miljan dropped them and ran his hands up the sides of Tiger's thighs.
"Nothing under here?"
Tiger shook his head frantically.
"They didn't give me any."
Miljan grunted and pushed the hospital sheath up to Tiger's stomach. Tiger tensed and flushed at the exposure, but then Miljan dropped down to his knees and enveloped his cock in such a wonderful warm wetness that he forgot to be embarrassed. Tiger hardened in record time, his cock swelling to full hardness under Miljan's ministrations. Delightful as it was, Tiger had to stop him. He tapped Miljan's shoulder.
"Time...time. We don't have time."

~:~

That was the one damn thing about walking around this part of base, Staff Sgt. DuCourt reflected. You couldn't move two feet in one direction without some underling stopping you with some kind of stupid question. Just between the carrier counselor's office and entrance to the hospital, he'd been accosted three times, each of the questions long-winded, pointless, and ultimately answerable by a simple fact-check or a few moments of critical thinking.

He glanced at his watch again. One-fifteen. If he didn't hurry, by the time he got there, Tiger would already be awake. He quickened his pace as he entered the hospital.

~:~

Miljan released Tiger with a slick pop from his mouth and stood up. He grinned and kissed his little mate hungrily. Tiger allowed it for a second, then reached forward for Miljan's cock, which was already hard with anticipation. He grasped it with less awkwardness than Miljan expected, a fact which he filed away for later consideration.
"Miljan, please. In me. Now."
Miljan nodded, and put both hands on Tiger's hips to pull him forward to the edge of the bed. He tested the waters first, pressing one finger into Tiger's hole. Tiger flinched a little and Miljan drew back, looking at him suspiciously. Tiger rolled his eyes.
"I'm fine! Go! Please!"
Miljan paused, unsure. Tiger exhaled and leaned forward to kiss him.
"Volim te."
Miljan grinned.
"Volim te, Tigar."
Miljan urged Tiger closer, lined his cock up, and thrust fully in.
It was better than heaven. Better than Christmas, better than victory, better than his best day at war, better than coming home, better than anything he had ever heard of, seen, touched, or tasted. Tiger was perfect. Miljan groaned, and rested his head on Tiger's shoulder. It lifted and fell in an uneven rhythm. Miljan leaned his head back. Tiger had his eyes closed, was clenching tight to Miljan's shoulders, his fingers spastically tightening into the skin. He was biting his lip. Miljan's stomach dropped a little. He nuzzled Tiger's jaw, laying a kiss there.
"Tiger. Tiger. Are you OK, little one?"
Tiger nodded sharply.
"Yes. Yes. I'm fine. I'm fine, it just - you, um, caught me by surprise there."
Miljan kissed his cheek and nuzzled his face again.
"I know. Žao mi je. I wanted the pain to be quick. A virginity does not yield itself so easily."
Tiger nodded.
"Can you just, um, can you stay here for a second, just be still?"
Miljan nodded. The urge to thrust was powerful, roaring in the back of his mind, but he was a man and he could control himself. He waited. He could be patient. Tiger's fingers slowly began to ease their grip on his arms. The tension began to ease out of his body. Then a bang on the door scared the fuck out of both of them.


Vincent DuCourt was, above all things, not a stupid man. So he'd specifically asked this morning that there be special security around Tiger's room. The nurse, a pretty blonde carrier, said that he understood completely how a father might feel, and that he would personally see that all was well. A lock on the door, however, most certainly did not constitute special security. DuCourt made quiet notation in his head of the young nurse's name. He knocked again.
"Tiger! Tiger! Open the door."


Tiger looked up into Miljan's eyes.
"Finish! Finish now!"
Miljan made a comical face of disdain and whispered.
"It doesn't work like that."
Tiger lifted his legs and tightened them around Miljan's back, pulling him in deeper.
"Miljan, if you want me, you have to go. Now!"
Miljan gave himself a mental pep talk and went, thrusting slickly in and out of Tiger's glorious wetness. He groaned.
"Tiger?!"
The voice at the door became inquisitive, urgent. Miljan tuned it out and focused on the sensation, burying his face in Tiger's neck to get his scent. Tiger shouted over his shoulder.
"Just a minute, Dad!"
Miljan moved his hands down to Tiger's ass to pull him closer and Tiger yelped once at the depth of the thrust.
"Tiger? You OK in there, kiddo?"
Tiger bit the back of his fist.
"Yeah, Dad, I'm fine. I was just - just give me a second here!"
Miljan could feel his peak approaching, zooming in from the horizon.
"Finish finish finish please finish please just finish please - "
"Tiger." Miljan growled.
"Is there someone else in there?!"
"No, Dad! I'll - I'll be out in a second!"
"The hell you will."
The next sound was not a knock, but a bang, and it was close to the edge of the door. Vincent DuCourt was going to kick the door in. Miljan had a brief image of being dragged hard and slick out of Tiger, and his peak retreated. He blocked it out and kept thrusting, imagining Tiger in his bed, in his arms in the chair in the study, chasing him around the gardens behind the house -
"Where the fuck is my passcard?! Nurse! Call security! I want officers, I want armed backup! Illegal entry to the carrier ward, assault may be in progress!"
"DAD! Just hold on, hold on a second, I'm going to - "
"Fuck that, I'm going to - "
"Tiger, I'm going to - "

To Tiger, it felt like everything happened at once. The door came flying open, his dad came bursting in, Miljan came hard inside of him, and what seemed like the entire medical staff of the second floor came chasing down the hallway after them.
Everyone, his father, the blonde nurse, and the doctor included, came skidding to a halt just inside the room. Tiger blinked wildly at them all. Miljan twitched and groaned, then casually straightened up. Tiger flinched a little, but still held on to him.
Miljan shivered for a second, then pulled out of him and turned to face the stunned crowd, pulling his pants up from where they'd pooled around his knees. He zipped himself up.
"Hello, everyone." he drawled. "Kako si?"
Sgt. DuCourt lunged for his throat.

~:~

He left the cafeteria and turned down the hallway which led to his office. The light was on inside. He paused, wondering who it might be. Slowly, Broussard opened the door. Scotty was sitting in the chair at his desk. He closed the door quickly behind himself.
"Thought I tol' you not to come here, Scott."
Scott grinned.
"Come on. Nobody saw me. I just stopped by to see how everything was going."
Broussard relaxed and took up a seat opposite the man, leaning against his own desk.
"If you must know, quite well."
"He eat it all up?"
Broussard picked up a stack of papers, rifled through them distractedly.
"Ev'ry last bit."
Scotty laughed.
"So are you guys friends now?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"And how long's that going to last?"
Broussard's eyes lit up.
"Not too much longer if I can get some decent whisky by Friday. The poor damn thing wants to get drunk."
Scotty stared at him, open-jawed.
"I didn't know they made 'em that easy."
Broussard glared at him.
"It ain't like that."
Scotty raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"You already fucked him. Don't tell me it ain't like that."
Scotty made a curious face.
"Why didn't you just keep him then, anyway?"
Broussard looked disgustedly at the young man and slapped his hand away from a box of pens he was playing with.
"Because trading charges for sex is a crime, Scotty. I get me a wife and no damn job, what good does that do me?"
"They'd forgive you if you said you had to feed your family."
Broussard rolled his eyes.
"My reputation is very important to me." He slapped the stack of papers down just in front of Scotty's fingertips.
"I'd advise you to keep that in mind."
Scotty regarded him coolly.
"I just came here for my finder's fee."
"Your finders fee is you're not in jail right now."
"I want to see you shred the docs."
Broussard stared at Scotty.
"Why, son." he asked, his voice even but threatening. "Are you saying you don't trust me?"
Scotty held up his hands and shook his head.
"Just saying I like to be thorough. Shred my docs. I don't want anything fishy going on after you get what you want."
Broussard stared at him for a moment longer before he acquiesced.
"Fine. But believe me, son. If'n I don't get what I want," he opened a file and began running papers through the little machine. "There will be hell for you to pay."

~:~