Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.
Background music: -
[=]
Airwaves
The image is pixilated and a little grainy, but it doesn't really matter.
"How is it?" Simon asks; Jack recognizes one of his sweaters hanging off the young man's shoulders. The article of clothing is obviously too big for Simon to fit into properly – the collar stretches across his shoulders, exposing a thin collarbone and the sleeves infringe on his palm. There is a mug of warm something emitting steam that creeps into the picture. Simon smiles, a lazy expression as if Jack is just across from him instead of across an ocean.
"Wet," Jack admits, gesturing behind him where a window shows a steady trickle of rain down the glass. "It's been like this since morning."
Simon hums in reply, the rumbling coming from his throat. "It's not snowing, at least," he says at last, taking a sip from the mug. Jack figures it's tea; Simon does not like the bitter taste of coffee and he doesn't think he would use Jack's mug to drink cocoa (after all, he can't stand the stuff).
"Are you staying warm, then?" Jack wishes he could reach through the screen to feel Simon's hands. The idiot always forgot to wear gloves. Simon nods, turning to something off-screen. The apartment behind him looks exactly like Jack remembers it from his last visit. The way Simon is lounging assures him it really is warm, even if the warm brown and white colors in the background already say so.
"Are you staying warm?" Simon counters, staring right deep into the camera. He's trying to read Jack's soul through the airwaves. "I can't imagine army slacks really are comfortable on a rainy day."
"Can't complain," Jack shrugs, the metallic dog tags around his neck clattering as he shifts around on his bed. Simon cocks his head and Jack sees a chain of silver around his neck. He knows the answer to the question even before he asks; Simon has practically spread out his Jack Merridew memorabilia in front of the computer. "Do you miss me?"
Simon looks at the mug and at his sweater. "Not too much today, no."
[=]
Jack's bunkmates Andrew and Thomas breach the subject during dinner.
"So Jack," Andrew says nonchalantly as if he is about to start a conversation about the weather. "I heard you have a little special someone back at home you like to talk to?" Thomas tries not to look interested, but Jack knows by the skirting looks he keeps giving the two that he really is. "I bet he isn't anything like my Shelly."
Jack rolls his eyes. Ever since they became bunkmates, Andrew has not stopped talking about the girl he wed a couple months before he was drafted. It is always Shelly this and Shelly that. He even carries around a picture of the blonde sweetheart, smiling like a doe. When there are lulls in conversation, he whips her out. "I would agree, actually."
Andrew snorts. "Well, I for one would like to see who this kid is. Right, Thomas?" Thomas keeps his eyes on his potatoes but nods all the same.
When Simon connects to the internet, he is slightly taken aback by how there are now three faces in the frame instead of Jack's ginger top. "Oh," he says in spite of himself. Jack recognizes the shyness that always shows itself when Simon is introduced to new people. He doesn't smile as naturally or talk; suddenly tense, he gives Jack a look that asks so many questions.
"Guys," Jack says proudly, hoping he doesn't sound like Andrew talking about Shelly, "this is Simon." Simon gives a little, timid wave through the screen. Andrew and Thomas stare at him blankly for a moment.
"Merridew," Andrew says after a moment, "I may not check out guys – I have Shelly, by the way – but I'm going to be the first to say you've got quite a catch."
[=]
When Jack talks about his army friends, Simon does not ask Do they know about us anymore. Instead, the first question is Will they like me?
[=]
Today, when Jack connects, Simon is sitting in front of the desk, clutching their fat Scottish Fold. Jack remembers seeing its chubby mug in the window and bought it on a whim, depositing the mass of fur in Simon's amused arms. He watches for a while as Simon murmurs soothing words to their bored looking cat Caleb, scratching between its ears as it stares dully into the camera. "Look, it's daddy," Simon murmurs, keeping an arm around its belly. "Say hi to Jack, Caleb."
"Hey, Caleb."
The cat looks at Jack for a second before yawning, opening its jaws wide and exposing its sharp teeth. Afterwards, it contents itself to staring at something outside Jack's range of vision as Simon continues petting it like a villainous mastermind (except the cat is striped and not white and Simon is not smoking a cigar in a suit). "Ralph came to visit today," Simon says.
"Really?"
"He checks up on me from time to time."
Jack makes a face. "It's not like you don't leave the house. You still have the coffeehouse gig, don't you?"
"Sure, but he makes sure I'm not in a drooling mass for you." Simon chuckles, and Jack thinks he hears Caleb's content purr intermingled in the sound. He sees Jack's slight scowl. "It's not like that, you prat," he scoffs. "I thought Ralph gave you his word he had given up on me. He's got a girlfriend now."
"I don't care, but he did…"
"Jack, are you doubting my fidelity?" Simon rolls his eyes and props Caleb on the desk. The cat looks disgruntled at the displacement from Simon's warm lap. "With Caleb as my witness, I promise nothing will ever happen between me and Ralph or anyone else."
"That's fine and dandy, but Caleb can't talk even if you did."
Simon laughs. "I thought you could understand cat, Jack." He lets Caleb jump off the desk and watches as the fat cat saunters away. "But you know…I really won't."
"I know."
"The thing is with you…all those guys in uniform and those exotic women. What am I going to do with you?"
Jack sputters, but Simon silences him with a shake of his head. Leaning close to the camera so all Jack can see is an angle of his chin, he kisses the lens. "This is the first and last time," he warns, as Jack lets a smile overcome his face. "I'm not doing those stupid, newly wed things like making cliché proclamations. I'm dumping your sorry ass if that's what you're expecting."
"Darn, single," Jack says, but he presses a kiss to the camera too, and feels a little lighter when they sign off, Simon slightly pink in the face with a grin threatening to break his composure.
[=]
"Sometimes I worry about you," Simon confesses quietly one night when Thomas and Andrew are fast asleep. He had been attending one of the twins' parties and had only recently gotten back. Jack thinks Simon probably had a couple drinks because he usually isn't that melancholy. "Bad things have happened before, you know. Things in the military…" Caleb is snug in his arms but Simon still looks lonely.
"Simon, you have my word that I won't be killed by the hands of my own side. I'd kill them myself if they tried to pull anything. I told you I wouldn't let anyone make you unhappy and you would be unhappy if they did anything, right?" He smiles confidently, hoping Simon doesn't catch that he remembered an old promise he had so loudly proclaimed during their schoolboy years. But Simon still doesn't look happy. Jack knows he is going through every article he's read about hate crimes in the army and replacing each name with his.
"Did anything happen?" Jack asks after a silence. He wracks his mind trying to think if any of their neighbors had always held a grudge against them. He thought they had gotten an apartment in a relatively liberal neighborhood and he trusted that Roger who lived a couple floors above them would do something about if he heard anything. Simon shakes his head.
"Nothing. It's just…" He finishes scratching Caleb's stomach and watches as the cat turns onto its side. "Be careful, okay?"
[=]
Actually, there is still some hate, but Jack withstands it.
[=]
Between lulls of idleness, there are battles. Jack knows how to use a gun and he does. He's experienced explosions and 'friendly fire'. He has attended missions and has stood in front of a closed door, hoping against all odds there isn't someone behind it waiting to shoot him in the face when he kicks it in. His hair is still a beacon, even if he is wearing a helmet.
"Hustle," Thomas shouts in his ear as they cross between covers, running right into the open. Jack swears he's felt a bullet graze his cheek before, but he isn't really sure. A lot of things happen.
He's seen people die.
During painful silences between the last gun shot and the next one, he thinks about how he's heard and met people who are so affected after wars that they cannot mentally adapt when they are dismissed. When he reloads, he wonders sometimes how Simon would react if he loses it when he goes home himself. He doesn't think he's been in enough battles that he would be seriously lifeless, but he has memories that he does not want to share with Simon. He swore when he was younger he would never kill, and look at where he is.
After one explosion that took the roof off a nearby building, Jack has had stitches on the side of his head and bandages. He hesitates to contact Simon in this state. He readies the speech he has beforehand, full of assurances that he is fine, that he isn't brain dead. But when he turns on the camera, Simon just stares at him and Jack can't bring himself to say a word.
"You're a mess," Simon says eventually, sounding strained.
"I'm alive," Jack replies.
Simon nods, a slow bobbing of his head, his eyes never leaving the gauze wrapped around Jack's head. "You are."
[=]
Sometimes, when Andrew and Thomas are going to be gone for a long portion of the night and Simon turns the lights down low in the apartment, he strips for Jack and touches himself. Jack keeps a blanket across his lap and plugs in the earbuds; because although he isn't touching the skin he misses so much, he can almost feel it under his hands. Simon is flushed and whispering his name, and it's these nights really, that Jack wants to be home the most.
[=]
When Jack logs on, Simon just stares at the camera. He brings a fist over to the camera and opens it slowly, revealing in his tiny scrawl on the palm of his hand in black ink, I love you. Jack lets out a laugh before scrambling for a pen. They exchange messages this way until both of them have a hand covered with ink like a black or blue glove. And even then, Simon uses Post-It notes and Jack steals some of Andrew's letter paper to Shelly (they even smell like the cologne Andrew uses, it's quite gross).
Another time, they sing snatches of songs to each other, the both of them well acquainted with their vocal ranges. Simon hasn't lost his talent even after years of losing his choir boy title. Jack sings the Beatles, and Simon sings Sinatra back.
All my loving, I will send to you.
Please be true; in other words, I love you.
[=]
When Simon checks his mail one day, he gets a postcard with all sorts of official writing on it and numbers that he recognizes from the dog tag he wears faithfully around his neck. There are only three words, hastily scribbled on it.
I'm coming home.
End
[=]
Note: I got a request for it and huh, Obama signed the repeal of DADT so it's a great day! This, therefore, had to be written because I promised myself after I got the request if DADT was repealed, it would get done. Thanks, all!