A major German offensive scuppered. Twenty POWs delivered into Allied hands, including a top level German officer with valuable information. Thousands of lives potentially saved. Four men coming home from a mission that by all rights should have killed all of them.

There were "well dones" all around, claps on the back, and permission to take well-deserved time off. Hitch forced a smile onto his face as they walked out of Colonel Quint's office into the boiling heat. He put his hat back on and pulled the brim over his eyes.

"After that debriefing, I could use a drink," Troy announced as fixed on his own slouch hat.

"Hear, hear." Moffitt said.

Hitch added a muttered, "Yeah," while Tully nodded.

"What do you say we drive into town, and go check out that bar Corporal Lopes was talking about?" Troy said. "We can get some rooms at a hotel. We don't have to be back on base until Monday."

Moffitt. "Can't say no to that. Hitch, Tully?"

Tully fished a toothpick out of his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. "Sure."

"Yeah, sounds like a plan," Hitch added. He hoped his enthusiasm didn't sound too faked.

Tully looked at him and cocked his head an inch to the side with a slight frown. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he repeated, standing up straighter. "Just kinda tired."

He talked and joked with Troy and Moffitt as they drove into the town by the Army base. Occasionally, though, he'd catch Tully looking at him with that same barely-decipherable look of concern on his face. Hitch deliberately averted his eyes and tried to tell himself it didn't mean anything.

They stopped outside of a hotel popular with soldiers on leave. In Arabic, Moffitt ordered them two rooms with a pair of beds each; pretty extravagant, but it would be a relief after weeks of sleeping practically on top of each other on a pile of sand in the desert.

Once Hitch got a look at the bed, he knew he couldn't fake a casual, jokey attitude over a night of drinking.

"Listen, guys, I think I'm just gonna hit the sack. I'm beat."

Troy was the first one to nod. Hitch knew he would understand at least some of it. "No problem. You get some sleep."

"You guys have a good time."

Troy clapped Moffitt on the shoulder and grinned. "Seeing Mr. Stiff-Upper-Lip fall-down drunk is always a night well spent. Tully, you coming?"

Hitch's stomach sank as Tully shook his head. "Nah. I think I'll turn in early too."

"All right."

"You two should share this room, then" Moffitt said, "so we don't wake you up when we come in."

Tully nodded.

"We'll bring you back some whiskey," Troy said.

"Thanks, sarge."

Troy grinned and slung his arm over Moffitt's shoulder as he led him out of the room. Hitch wished to hell and goddamn back that Tully would say, "Wait," and follow them out, leaving Hitch alone to brood.

Instead, the door shut, leaving the two of them alone.

Hitch, crossed the room, not meeting Tully's eyes, and dropped onto the nearest bed. He lay on his back, arms crossed behind his back, staring up at the ceiling. As soon as he was still and supine, every ache in his body made itself heard. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

"God, it's good to sleep on something other than fucking sand," Hitch said. He cracked an eyelid to see Tully leaning against a dresser. "You sure you don't wanna go out with Moffitt and Sarge?"

"No." Tully rolled the matchstick he was chewing on around his mouth. "You wanna talk?"

"About what?" Hitch snapped.

Tully shrugged. "I dunno. Just looked like you wanted to talk."

"Well, I don't, all right?" He rolled over so his back was to Tully. The one time he actually wanted Tully to shut up, the guy suddenly got chatty.

"Seemed like you had a rough time out there," he went on. It was the same lazy drawl as before, but somehow Hitch thought there was something else under the surface: something careful, uncertain, hesitant.

"No, being captured by the Krauts was a goddamn party," Hitch snapped. "We had tea and did each other's hair."

"I'm sorry."

Hitch threw himself onto his other side and pushed himself up on his hands. "What the hell are you sorry for? What do you want? To hear about everything? You want all the details?"

Tully blinked. For once, Hitch saw just a hint of worry cross his staid face. "Just sounded like there was something more that you wanted to say that you didn't tell the Lieutenant."

"There's nothing, okay! What do you want from me, Tully? Christ…"

Tully shifted his feet around. "Didn't mean to upset you."

Hitch dragged in a deep breath. There was no reason for him to blow up at Tully. Whatever was going on inside the other man's head, Hitch knew he meant well. He exhaled slowly as he pulled himself to a seated position. "Listen, it doesn't matter now, okay."

Tully raised his eyebrow in the silent question: what doesn't matter?

"Nothing."

Tully looked vaguely downward while he fiddled with a splinter on the edge of the table. Hitch had started to think Tully had finally gone back to his usual tight-lipped self, when he continued in the same flat drawl. "Blowtorch. That's what the Sarge said right?" He looked back up, his expression somehow simultaneously open and inscrutable. "I caught on fire once when I was a kid. Me and my brother Dell messing around with a gas can. Went up like a firework. Dell got a tarp, put me out in a few seconds. Scariest goddamn seconds of my life." His fingers stopped moving. "I hate fire. Everyone does, I guess. Should at least. My sister Edie used to set 'em all the time. Crazy people in the world. But, I know I'd've been scared, blowtorch in my face like that."

"What're you talking about, Tully?"

"I mean, if you were scared back there, that'd be normal."

Hitch waved his arms uselessly. "Yeah, of course I was scared. Tully, what the hell are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say whatever happened in there, it's not a problem."

Goddamn him . Of course Tully would be able to see right through him.

"You mean if I talked?" Hitch said, his voice coming out a bitter snarl.

Tully shrugged. "Whatever. Just saying, I probably would've, if I was where you were."

"No you wouldn't have. You think that I told them what they were asking?"

"I don't know. Just saying that if you did, it wouldn't be anything to be ashamed of."

"Yes it would." He looked away, his fists clenched at his sides.

"No."

"Yes! Yes, it would! If I talked…" He knew the if had to sound as hollow to Tully's ears as they did to his own. "That's something to be goddamned ashamed of."

"I don't think so," Tully said in the same calm, level voice.

"You don't understand!" He wanted to grab Tully by the shoulders and shake him until he stopped acting like as if all of this was fine. "You're right! I gave up! They beat me! They won! I'm a coward!"

"Whatta you mean?"

"They were trying to get me to tell them about the plans, and I was about to. I was going to tell them everything they wanted to know just so they would fucking stop!" Hitch hated himself for the way his voice cracked. "Because I was fucking scared!"

"But you didn't say anything, right? Troy did."

"I saw him looking at me." He jumped out of the bed and stared Tully in the eye. He let everything that had been rattling around his head all day spill out. "Sarge was looking at me, he saw I was going to break, and so he talked. He knew if I talked I'd tell them more than he would. If he hadn't said anything, I know I'd've broken, and I'd've told them anything they fucking wanted! I'm a coward! What if we get captured again? I'll tell them whatever they want to know. I could get soldiers killed! I could get all of you killed!"

Hitch's fists were clenched and shaking. He wanted to see some reaction from Tully. He wanted Tully to be angry with him, to agree that Hitch was useless and dangerous. Maybe after someone gave him the hate and judgment he deserved, he could move on. But, Tully's expression remained impassive. Hitch screwed his eyes shut and tried not to remember the scorching heat on his cheek coming closer and closer.

"We were going to kill Moffitt."

His eyes snapped open. Tully's posture was still casual, but there was a quiet intensity in his gaze. "Huh?"

"We were going to shoot him."

HItch thought a moment. "You mean when the Krauts captured him after he went to get that map? When they were going to turn him over to the Gestapo?"

Tully nodded. "Is Moffitt a coward?"

"No! Of course he's not."

Tully didn't even have to raise an eyebrow to make his point.

Hitch gritted his teeth. "That's not…"

"We were gonna kill 'im, because he'd've talked. If they'd've gotten to him like they did you, he'd've sold us all out."

"They didn't even touch me!" Hitch waved his arms, hating that stupid, calm, knowing look Tully fixed him with. "Moffitt woulda held out. The Kraut just scared me, and I…" He couldn't find the words to finish. He dropped onto the bed, muscles tense, hands balled his hands into fists.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tully push off from the dresser and walk toward him. "Doesn't matter. You'd've done what they wanted. Sooner or later. Whoever you were."

"Maybe they'd've killed me first," Hitch grumbled.

"Shut up."

Hitch's head snapped up. He had never heard Tully say anything like that, especially in the tone that he did: sharp, direct, like a punch on the jaw. Before his eyes even met Tully's, the other man leaned in, grabbed him by the lapels, and dragged him to his feet.

Tully stared into his eyes, holding him so their faces were inches apart. Hitch's instinct was to pull away, but Tully's grip was like iron.

"Then you'd be dead," he said, in the same cold, brutal, un-Tully voice. "The offensive probably would've gone through, the Army would be out one of its best goddamn men, and I'd've lost my best friend."

Hitch froze, trying to process what Tully had just said.

Tully didn't break eye contact, and his grip didn't lessen. The silence between them like was like a taut metal cable. It was only broken by the distant sound of the call to prayer.

Hitch sucked in a deep breath and stepped back. Tully let him go.

Tully finally broke eye contact and looked down at the scuffed floor. "Sorry."

"No." Hitch swallowed hard. "I—I don't know why I said that."

"Because you got tied up and had a blowtorch in your face today."

It wasn't all that funny, but Hitch laughed anyway, desperate to break some of the tension. It was a weak, shaky sound, but at least it was something. He dropped down onto the bed again. "God," he breathed.

Tully sat down beside him. His bearing shifted to something more loose and unassuming, more typically Tully-ish.

Another stretch of quiet passed, before Tully said, "It's good they didn't kill you."

"I'm glad you think that," Hitch said, unsure how else to respond.

"We're gonna be in books."

Hitch stared dumbly. Tully looked as unconcerned as he always did when he threw out a non sequitur.

"When they write history books about all of this, they're gonna have to mention us." He put his hands behind him on the bed, and looked up at the ceiling. "'The advance was halted because of information obtained by a seasoned commando unit consisting of Sergeant Sam Troy, Sergeant Jack Moffitt, Private Mark Hitchcock, and Private Tuly Pettigrew.'" His Kentucky accent receded as he recited the imaginary passage. "'Information captured in a daring night-time raid by..,' 'The Long-Range Desert Operations Unit informally known as the Rat Patrol participated in numerous intelligence and sabotage operations,' 'This four-man unit, awarded with numerous commendations for valor distinguished itself with a record of extraordinary missions crucial to Allied victory in the North African theater…'"

"Okay, okay, I don't think they're gonna go that far." Hitch wasn't surprised at the stream of complex, sophisticated language from Tully. The former moonshiner read more history books than Hitch thought he had read while he was in college.

"Maybe there'll be a book all about us," Tully continued. "Think about it: if you weren't one of us, and someone told you about what we've done, you'd think it was wild stuff."

"I guess. What's your point, Tully?"

Tully looked down at Hitch, his face dead serious. "We're heroes. We've saved enough people to make up an army, and we wouldn't have done it if you weren't there. So, you're not a coward and stop saying it."

Hitch wasn't comfortable with the mess of emotions roiling inside him. A part of him still wanted to try to convince Tully that he was the furthest goddamned thing from a hero. But, when he met Tully's cool, earnest gaze, a stronger part dared to feel heartened. He wanted to believe what Tully said was true, if only because Tully believed it.

"I'm really your best friend?" Hitch asked

Tully rested a hand on Hitch's shoulder. "Course." Everything in his voice and expression said that it was the most obvious thing to him, like he hadn't even had to think about it.

Hitch's smile grew without him even noticing.

Even though he'd never said those words, or even thought about it like that, he knew that it was true. He couldn't think of any friend, back home or anywhere else, who he needed as much as Tully. When he'd spent the day seeing things he knew would be in his nightmares until the day he died, he knew that he could go to Tully. Talking with Tully about anything, from the books he'd been reading to how the grass here was different from the grass back home, let him sleep at night.

"Yeah." Hitch put his hand up on top of Tully's. "Of course. I'm glad you're my best friend, Tully. I'm lucky as hell."

The corner of Tully's mouth lifted in a lazy smile. Slowly, he moved one of his fingers to cover Hitch's. The calloused parts of his hand ran over the soft parts of Hitch's.

Hitch startled a moment when Tully pulled off his glasses, even as gently as he did it. Hitch didn't stop him. Tully laid them down on the bed, not breaking eye contact. He brushed away a stray strand of hair Hitch hadn't noticed, then placed two fingers on Hitch's left temple.

"Do you remember when you got shot?"

He almost wanted to respond with, "Which time?" only partly joking. He realized, though, that Tully was referring to when he was shot in the head by Meekin.

Hitch couldn't remember much of what had happened, only flashes in a haze of the worst pain he'd ever felt, but he remembered Tully's cool hand on his forehead. He remembered Tully hovering over him, clutching his rifle, his eyes steely when he looked forward and soft when he looked down. He remembered feeling inexplicably safe, even when he knew his life was in danger.

"Yeah," he said. His voice was weaker and quieter than he expected.

"I'm glad you were okay. I didn't think you were going to be." To Hitch's surprise, Tully's voice was too. His hand was still on Hitch's face. "My sister died when she was a baby." Hitch nearly got whiplash from the abrupt change of topic. "An hour after she was born. She was too small. We knew she wasn't gonna make it. My daddy passed her around to all the kids to hold for a little bit. I was scared to take her. She was all wrinkled up and blue. I thought I'd break her. My daddy made me, though. He said I'd regret it when she was dead. We buried her in the plot in a hat box. I still remember when I held her."

"Tully… What are you talking about?"

"I still love her. What my daddy meant was you regret it when you don't spent the time you can with the people you love. 'Cause you're too scared."

When Tully spoke for that long at once, it usually had nothing apparently to do with what was going on, and it was always incredibly important.

Hitch was still trying to figure out what he meant, when Tully leaned forward. He didn't realize what was happening until Tully's lips touched his.

The kiss—kiss, kiss , Tully was kissing him —was barely there. His lips were dry and chapped, just like Hitch's. Hitch's mind was blank. He couldn't think to pull away or do anything else, paralyzed by shock.

Only when Tully's hand trailed down from his forehead to his cheek, did sense finally flood back. He jerked backwards and shoved Tully with both hands.

"What the hell was that!?" he shouted.

Tully's mouth was hanging open, his eyes wide. Hitch didn't think that he'd ever seen Tully so visibly rattled, not even when they were being shot at.

"What the hell are you doing!?" Hitch jumped to his feet. He backed halfway across the room. "What the fuck!?"

Tully didn't say anything. For once, it looked like he wasn't holding back because he didn't want to say anything, but because he couldn't.

Hitch couldn't look at him. His hands were shaking. Even making them into fists didn't stop it.

"Hitch…" Tully finally said, his voice full of utter confusion.

Hitch turned and marched out of the room. He slammed the door behind him. He was shaking all over, breathing hard, his heart pounding. His legs were too weak to keep walking. He slumped against the wall, pushing his head into the stucco. He shut his eyes as his mind raced madly.

Tully had kissed him. He couldn't deny that was what had happened. He couldn't write it off as a quick peck on the cheek. That was the same kind of kiss that he'd give to a girl.

It didn't make any sense. Tully was his friend. Tully was a guy . Men didn't kiss each other. The only men who kissed each other were…

And they weren't. Tully wasn't. Hitch wasn't. It didn't make any goddamned sense.

Hitch couldn't stay there. He couldn't risk that Tully would leave that room and try to talk to him. He shoved off the wall and stumbled towards the stairs.

He barely remembered how he got back to the base. The inexplicable contradiction between what he knew and what had happened echoed over and over through his dazed mind. He made his way to the barracks he and Tully shared with Troy and Moffitt. They were still out—probably having just a normal evening, with nothing more on their minds then celebrating their latest victory and middle-finger to death.

He dropped onto his bunk. He shucked off his shoes and then wrapped himself up in the thin scratchy blanket. He only realized then that he'd left his glasses back in the hotel.

The memory of Tully's hand on his cheek, the feel of his callouses scratching at his skin, crept in on him. He remembered how Tully's lips had felt, cool and gentle. Tully's eyes had been open. Hitch remembered now that he'd shut his for just a moment.

He turned over and buried his face in the pillow. At this point, banging his head into a brick wall sounded like a good idea.

The only men who kissed other men like Tully had kissed him were homosexuals. And he knew that neither of them were like that. They just weren't. Hitch wasn't. He was a normal, red-blooded man. He'd loved girls his whole life. He'd never wanted to be with a man like that.

The closest he had come was on a packed transport train, shoved into a tiny bunk with a man he didn't know. In the dead of night, when Hitch was trying and failing to sleep in the rattling car, he'd felt a hand under the blanket sliding over his hip, down to his groin.

For way too long, Hitch hadn't done anything. Mostly out of shock, but also because being touched by anyone felt so goddamn good and it had been so goddamn long. The man had started feeling him through his pants, then undid the button and slipped inside. Hitch had struggled not to make a sound, only shaking from head to toe. The two of them had lain back-to-back, the only sound their slightly heavy breathing. Neither of them had acknowledged the other, as if what was happening had nothing to do with them.

Finally, it had slammed into Hitch what was happening: that he was letting another man jerk him off. He'd grabbed the hand by the wrist and shoved it away. The man hadn't protested. He'd taken his hand back to his side of the bunk and hadn't said anything.

Hitch had lain on his side, inches from the wall of the train. His legs were still shaking, and he hadn't been able to make them stop. The feeling in his groin hadn't gone away, only getting more painful. He'd had to take care of it himself. It had only taken a minute. He'd tried to stay quiet and not move an inch, but he'd known the man next to him had to know what he was doing. He'd realized the other man was doing the same. He'd twitched and let out a low grunt, then they were both done.

Thankfully, the roiling sense of shame had lost the fight against exhaustion.

In the morning, the two of them had been too tired and dazed to feel awkward. They hadn't talked, barely made eye contact, and never saw each other again. Hitch made his best effort to never think about it. He did a pretty good job. When he did remember it, he told himself that it was just a sign of how overwhelmed he was in those days after he'd enlisted and was about to be shipped overseas.

It was a strange episode that could only have happened once and never would again. It didn't mean anything about him. Obviously, it didn't mean he was anything other than normal.

Then there were his days at prep school. There had been certain boys everyone knew were close, though nobody ever wanted to really think about what that meant. He'd only learned after graduation that there were people who had thought that about Hitch and his best pal. That was ridiculous though. They'd never done anything close to like happened in that train car. They'd held hands sometimes when they were alone, just because they felt like it. Aaron would get bouts of acute homesickness, and the only thing that helped was for them to share the bed for the night. And Hitch hda liked those nights too, just because it was comforting to be close to another person. Nothing else to it. Obviously.

It didn't mean anything.

Unless, maybe, it did.

Shit .

Hitch didn't know how he managed to go to sleep or how long he stayed asleep. He woke up to the bugle call.

He ground his hands into his eyes, and forced himself to get up, even as his aching body whined in protest. Robotically, he dressed and tugged on his boots. He pulled the laces carefully, deliberately, with intense concentration. It didn't succeed in smothering the memories that crept back to the surface.

Last night, Tully had kissed him. Hitch had let him. Hitch had kissed him back. They both knew exactly what the kiss had meant. He remembered how Tully's hand on his cheek had felt. He remembered the look on Tully's face after Hitch shoved him away and yelled at.

His hands were shaking by the time he finished the last knot. He sat on the edge of his bunk, breathing heavily. He buried his face in his hands, digging his fingers into his hair.

"Shit," he muttered. He ground his teeth. "Goddamnit."

He snapped to his feet, like an officer had just walked into the tent. He needed to forget. That was the only way that they could go on from there. He'd write it off as just another crazy thing that happened in the heat of war. He'd pretend that it never happened until they believed it. He'd trust Tully was smart enough to do the same thing. They'd stay friends, brothers, and nothing would change.

He marched to the canteen for a pile of whatever food they were serving and a cup of black coffee. He talked a little bit with some of the other soldiers on the base. It reminded him that the Rat Patrol almost always stuck by themselves off duty. They'd earned a reputation as being a bunch of weirdos, warped by too much time alone in the desert. Hitch mostly listened while they bitched about superiors and talked about girls back home.

"What about you, Hitchcock?" Private Waggner said, directing all eyes to Hitch, waiting to hear about his sweetheart.

Hitch shrugged. "I've got enough girls here to deal with."

Private Dougherty snorted. "Oh, yeah, right, Hitchcock. I'm sure you four've found some good-looking camels out there."

Hitch laughed along with them, and the conversation turned to jokes and fantasies about bejeweled harem girls. He took the first excuse to get out of the canteen. He wasn't in the mood for conversations about sex and romance.

He was giving one of the jeeps a top-to-bottom cleaning when Troy and Moffitt walked over to him. "Hitch," Troy said.

Both of their uniforms were rumpled, making it clear they'd had a long night. Moffitt looked more the worse for wear. It made sense; the guy looked like weighed about ninety pounds. He was a total lightweight, but Troy was always good at making him forget that and got a real kick out of seeing the proper Englishman absolutely sloshed. Moffitt would start reciting the Iliad to baffled women or tell what he thought were hilarious stories about his public school days. If the other three could coax him into singing, they'd have schadenfreude material for a least a month.

Moffitt and Troy were both smiling, so obviously they hadn't gotten into that much trouble.

"Hey, Sarge," Hitch said. He leaned back on the balls of his feet and put down the rag he he was using. "How'd the R&R go?"

Troy clapped his hand on Moffitt's shoulder and shook him. "Professor here spent about twenty minutes telling the whole bar about rocks that move on their own."

"Sailing stones," Moffitt said. "It's a well-noted phenomenon mostly in dry lakebeds. They don't actually move on their own. The stones move when ice sheets form during winter nights, then break apart during the day. Wind speeds-"

"That, but making about 10 percent as much sense."

Moffitt shot him an unconvincing glare. Hitch grinned, recalling how inscrutable Moffitt's accent became when he was three sheets to the wind. One time, he'd spent a full minute trying to figure out what he was saying before realizing Moffit had started speaking in Arabic.

"When did you get in, Hitch?" Moffitt asked.

Hitch strood and then shrugged, acting as casual as he could. "I slept at camp last night." He answered Moffitt's raised eyebrow. "The bed in the hotel was just as hard as an army cot, and there are at least a few less cockroaches here."

"Where's Tully?" Troy asked, leaning against the Jeep.

"He's around here somewhere."

Moffitt stood up straighter as he looked over Hitch's head. "Speak of the devil."

Shit .

Hitch turned around, probably faster than he should have, to see Tully ambling toward them.

Tully was wearing his jacket zipped down to his belly without his shirt, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops. He waved vaguely in greeting as he stopped by Moffitt's side. "Hi," he said around the matchstick between his teeth.

"Hey, Tully," Troy said. "You went back to camp early too?"

Seeing the first hints of confusion on Tully's face, Hitch cut in, "Rats, right?"

Tully nodded. "Yeah. Rats. Those speckled ones." He looked at Moffitt. "Kind of fat, fluffy?"

" Arvicanthus niloticus ," Moffitt provided, with the enthusiasm that came with any chance to show off his knowledge. "African grass rats."

Tully noddeed. "Yeah. Arvicanthus . Mean sons-o'."

Hitch was grateful for Tully's poker face. If Hitch could keep up the same casual front, the both of them could pretend that nothing had happened— at least in front of Troy and Moffitt. He still wasn't sure what he was going to do when he and Tully were alone.

Tully turned his eyes to Hitch, and it the gaze hit him like a punch to the stomach. He remembered Tully looking at him from only an inch away. He remembered feeling Tully's breath on his lips. He remembered how warm Tully's mouth had been on his.

"Anything up with the Jeeps?" Tully asked.

"Just giving 'em a quick tune-up. Getting some of the sand out."

Tully nodded, acting like nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Strangely, there was a part of Hitch that was furious at him for it. He'd thrown Hitch into this whirlwind, and it looked like it didn't bother him at all.

"You know you don't need to bust your ass fixing 'em up," Troy said. "We're not gonna be shoving off for at least a few days and they've got repairman who can take care of it."

"Yeah, I know, I just, uh…"

"Don't let the Lieutenant know that you're looking for something to do," Moffitt said.

"Hey," Tully said in a flat, measured voice.

As Hitch looked over him, Tully reached into his pocket. He held out Hitch's glasses. "They're kinda dirty," he said. "I wasn't sure what to clean them with. I know some stuff doesn't work with 'em, so…" He shrugged.

"Thanks." Hitch reached out to take the glasses. Despite his best efforts, their fingers still brushed as Tully handed over the glasses. Hitch quickly looked away, forcing down the memories of last night, even as they did their best to reach the surface.

"Me and Moffitt need to get our hands on some coffee," Troy announced, apparently not noticing the way that Hitch had pulled away from the contact. "You two wanna come along?"

"Sure." Doing something with the four of them together would be a lot better than being alone or, worse, alone with Tully. He made sure that he kept his distance as they walked to the mess hall, keeping either Troy or Moffitt between himself and Tully.

He knew he couldn't keep this up forever, but he was sure as hell going to try for as long as he could.

A week and a half passed, in the usual military mix of speeding up and dragging by. Their mission escorting the sniper was supposed to be an easy one, but there was no way Sam Troy would choose the easy option over the right one. Seeing Troy's steely glare as he stared down the sniper, Hitch had never been so proud to follow his commander into battle. When he looked over at Tully, he knew he felt the same.

Tully did a good job of acting like nothing had happened, which helped Hitch play along too, to the point that he could almost imagine it was true.

Sometimes, though, he asked himself: if Tully could so easily ignore it, why in the hell had he done it in the first goddamn place?

He kept repeating the same mantra to himself. This would pass. It was an isolated incident, a bit of temporary madness that never had to come up again. Soon he'd forget about it.

Then the dreams started. The stupid dreams, as if his brain was trying to taunt him.

In the first, two days after that night in town, he and Tully were standing under the bridge near his house. Throughout his childhood, he'd gone there with friends, with girls, or just to sit alone and read. Snow was just starting to fall, white flakes collecting in Tully's hair. Both of them were in their civvies. Hitch Tully's shirt was undone halfway down his chest in spite of the cold.

"Let's go home," Hitch said.

A slow smile spread across Tully's face. He nodded, before taking Hitch's hand in his. In the dream, it was the most natural thing in the world.

In usual dream logic, they were instantly in Hitch's bedroom, which looked exactly like it had the day he left home. They sat on Hitch's bed, and Tully kissed him. The kiss was warm and slow and easy, like it had been in the hotel room in Africa, except this time there was no panic. Everything was as it should be.

They were lying on the bed, Hitch straddling Tully as they kissed. He pulled off his suspenders, undid the remaining button on his shirt, and ran his hand over the few fine, blond chest hairs. His hands slipped down to the button of his pants. Hitch knew what his own body felt like; it didn't feel much different touching Tully. Tully gasped and writhed under him.

Things got fuzzy from there.

Not all of the dreams stopped there, though. Some of them were copies of the first, just in different places from his life before the war. In some, they were back in the hotel room, but Hitch was filled with nothing but happiness when Tully's hand touched his. Sometimes there was no setup. It was just him and Tully naked, pressed together, sweaty, gasping and grunting. Hitch never remembered anything specific about what they did; he only felt the heat and the wild pleasure spreading across his whole body.

A few times he woke up with a stains on the front of his shorts. It was like he was twelve again, confused and sick with guilt. He remembered burning with embarrassment as he stammered out a confession to his pastor. The reverend assured him that what he was feeling was perfectly normal; all that mattered was that he didn't act on anything he felt until he was married. He wondered what in the hell Pastor Edwards think if he knew Hitch was fantasizing about fucking a handsome soldier (a Baptist one at that).

It doesn't mean anything. Your head is just screwing with you. You're just stressed and confused and this is how your brain is dealing with it. It'll go away soon and it doesn't mean anything.

He wished to hell that he could believe that.

It got harder to be casual around Tully, with the twisted images still in his mind. Every moment of contact turned into fuel for his mind to torture him with. He found himself looking at the muscles of Tully's arms or his exposed chest, his hands, the way he rolled the toothpick on his lower lip, and remembering the vivid images from his dreams. He didn't have to imagine how Tully's lips felt on his.

He still loved girls, like he always had. When he thought about smooth skin, long hair, rounded breasts, and soft thighs he felt the same as always. That meant he couldn't be a queer, a homosexual, whatever the word for it was. But, then there were the dreams. There was the way he looked at Tully, the way that he'd felt about Aaron, how he'd felt when the soldier touched him in that train car. He didn't know what that made him. All he knew was that it was wrong. It was sick and sinful. Hitch knew that he had to make it stop, but he had no idea how he could.

Hitch knew that Moffitt was bored out of his mind when he actually took the piece of bubblegum he offered him. They'd ordinarily be drinking tea, but tonight they needed the caffeine hit that could only come from a cup of coffee. It was still several hours until Troy and Tully's watch. Hitch thanked God that he hadn't been assigned watch with Tully, so he didn't have to worry about either spending hours sitting together or, worse, sleeping back-to-back in a tiny tent.

More than that, it was a relief to be able to spend some time alone with Moffitt.

Sometimes, in an odd way, it was easier to talk to the Brit, as they both shared the experience of growing up with a silver spoon in their mouths. It wasn't any kind of snobbery, just that neither of them could really relate to Troy and Tully's stories of growing up in a tenement building or rural shack. The two of them probably couldn't relate to Hitch and Moffitt's background either.

Moffitt slowly chewed his gum. Hitch waited with bated breath, but he wasn't granted the life-changing sight of the oh-so-proper professor blowing a bubble.

"Good right?"

"It's better than sucking on a rock to keep the mouth from getting dry."

"Yeah, that's something I didn't think I was going to be doing before I got sent out here. Honestly, you actually like being out here?"

Moffitt smiled. "I spent a good portion of my childhood in North Africa on digs with my father. I feel almost as ifI grew up here. To be honest, I really can't stand English winters anymore."

"I miss the snow." He stretched his arms over his head and barely stifled a yawn. "Though, I guess there's probably guys in Europe right now who'd like to tear my throat out for saying that."

"We'll make a desert rat out of you yet, Hitch."

They sat in easy silence for a moment. Hitch hugged his knees and scuffed the sand with his boot.

"Hitch…"

Hitch looked up. "Yeah?"

Moffitt just looked at him for a moment, his brow knitted as he seemed to chew over his words. "Is anything wrong?"

Hitch's stomach twisted up like a spring. He tried to keep calm. "No. Whatta you you mean? Other than there being a war on."

"It's just that it seems like you've been acting… strangely lately. Did you hear anything from home?"

Of course that was where Moffitt's mind would immediately go. All of them had noticed the way that he handled mail from home like live bombs. He never spoke about what had happened only a few months ago, at least not to Hitch or Tully. Hitch was amazed at how he managed to keep himself together after getting news like that.

Hitch shook his head quickly. "No, it's nothing like that. It's nothing."

"It's just that you've seemed quieter lately. And… I don't want to overstep any bounds, but it seems as if, in particular, you and Tully haven't been speaking as much."

Fuck . He gave what he hoped was a casual shrug. "Yeah, maybe. I don't know."

"It's just that you two are usually thick as thieves. I was wondering if there was something you wanted to talk about. It's fine if you don't want to. I just supposed…"

Distantly, Hitch had to appreciate Moffitt's stuttering attempts at overcoming his British reticence to reach out. "It's…" He kissed me and I can't stop thinking about it and I don't know what's wrong with me and I'm not even sure if I know what I am anymore and it's driving me crazy and I … "I don't know. Things have just been… strange lately." Hitch knew what he couldn't talk about, but in that moment , he needed to talk about something, get some of it out. "Hey, Moffitt."

"Hm?"

"How did you join up?"

"Pretty easily. As soon as we declared war, I joined. My goal was always to come back to Africa, but they needed me at Dunkirk. I finally made my way down here."

"What did your parents think?"

"Father reacted positively. He already part of the war effort, so he war proud of me. My mother was terrified, but she knew it was what I needed to do." Moffitt opened its mouth, but quickly bit back what he was about to say. They both knew what family member he was about to talk about. "And you?"

"My parents didn't want me to join up. I was in college, so I coulda got a deferment, but I didn't want to. After Pearl Harbor, me and everyone else wanted to join up. Do our part, ya know?"

Moffitt nodded. "But your parents…?"

Hitch laugh humorlessly. "If my parents had the choice, they'd cover me in plastic like an expensive couch and never let me out of the house. I think it's probably because my aunt and uncle lost both their kids really young. After that they were terrified about me getting hurt. And, I'm their only kid."

Moffitt was nodding along, in sympathy and understanding. Hitch was bolstered to go on, feeling a little less like an idiot for rambling about his feelings .

"I feel like grew up in a bubble. I was in private-public, whatever-schools my whole life. The only friends I had were other rich kids. Are you religious, Moffitt?"

He nodded. "Church of England. And you?"

"Episcopalian."

"Why do you ask?"

Hitch looked at his shoes and kicked at the dirt. "It seemed easier before, right? When you were at home, with your family, with your church. It all just made sense. You didn't have to think about it. Then, you actually go out into the world and… I mean, you've spent all this time in Africa and Arabia. You must have met all different kinds of people and seen all different kinds of stuff." He wasn't sure if he was making any sense, but when he glanced up at Moffitt, he was nodding as if he understood.

"Being exposed to different perspectives necessarily brings one out of one's… comfort zone, I think is the term. You do find yourself questioning things you never thought that you would. It can be troubling, but, ultimately, I think, enlightening. On all of my travels I've seen and even done things I would have thought were wrong if I'd never left England."

"Like what?"

He shrugged. "I've participated in Muslim and pagan religious ceremonies, I've met people of dozens of faiths, who were all good, kind, and as sincere about their beliefs as I was about mine. I'll admit it… shook me a bit, I suppose. Then, there were cultural practices that would have been either socially unacceptable or outright illegal back home. Men with multiple wives, animal sacrifices, homosexuality practiced openly."

"Really?" Damnit . Hitch gritted his teeth and hoped he didn't sound too eager to hear more about that topic in particular.

"Mhm. Many cultures allow or even encourage homosexual relationships in given situations, both ancient and modern. It's a fascinating topic, honestly. In many cultures, they don't conceive of it as a sin or mental defect or something boys play at in boarding school."

Now, Hitch knew that he couldn't hide his startled reaction. He met Moffitt's eyes and saw the faint smile of understanding. Moffitt knew that they'd shared the same experiences, were probably remembering the same things. It almost felt like Moffitt knew what had been spinning through his mind those past few weeks. And like he didn't mind.

Hitch couldn't handle following those thoughts. He broke the gaze. "Weird," he mumbled.

"It seems like it at first, being exposed to different values. Ultimately, though, it's a gift. If you never move beyond your front door, you never have the chance to grow, to make the most important choices. Sometimes, the things you thought were ironclad laws, rights and wrongs, really… aren't."

"You know, I think you're exactly the sort of person my parents didn't want me hanging around with."

Moffitt threw back his head and laughed. Hitch couldn't help but smile; it was rare to see Moffitt really full-on laughing, abandoning his show of British reserve. "You're alone in the desert with an amoral intellectual, a former moonshiner, and a madman in a slouch hat, dodging bullets and rubbing shoulders with dodgy foreigners."

"Yeah, I try to keep that out of the letters home. Don't tell them about half the stuff that we get up to, either."

"You're going to have to keep the Purple Hearts in a shoebox under the bed."

Hitch grinned, glad for the conversation to have turned to less weighty topics-what passed for light conversation with them. "I'd be okay with not picking up anymore of those."

"It would be a source of comfort for us as well."

"I don't know if anybody back home would even believe me if I said I got shot with an arrow."

"One day, our children are all going to think that we're either liars or gone 'round the bend."

"Well, that last one might be true. "

They both faded into chuckles. Hitch didn't know exactly how, but the weight on his shoulders felt a tiny bit lighter. Somehow, the extra layer of confusion Moffitt had added made his weeks of angst a little less exhausting. He didn't know how long it would last, but at least it was something.

"Thanks, Moffitt," he said.

"I don't know for what, but you're welcome."

In a low voice, he said, "I'm not sure if I know either."

The wind howled as sand battered the canvas. Despite their best efforts to seal the tent, some sand still crept in under the flaps. By the end of the night, or whenever the storm subsided, they would probably be a foot deep in the stuff.

Hitch huddled up against the most secure corner, hugging his knees to his chest.

He tried to shake some of the sand out of his hair. He felt like he'd had sand in every possible spot on his body since the moment he stepped off the goddamn plane.

Fucking desert. Fucking godforsaken shithole. How did Moffitt get so poetic about this awful place? He visualized green grass, towering oak trees, a warm swimming hole in summer. No more fucking sand as long as he goddamned lived. He wasn't going to even go to the beach.

Tully was still fussing with the tent flaps, trying in vain to cinch the thongs tight enough to create a windproof seal.

"It's as good as it's gonna get, Tully," Hitch said. "Come over here."

Tully gave the canvas one more tug, the shuffled over to the corner, dropping down beside Hitch. He scratched at his own head, more sand spilling out. His face was coated in a layer of beige dust, leaving the outline of the goggles. Hitch was sure he must be in the same state.

"Think Moffitt and Sarge got to the town in time?" Tully's voice was flat, but Hitch could easily read the concern and anxiety underlying it.

"Yeah, they shoulda."

They didn't want to risk more than two people trying to bluff their way into the house of ill repute where the Kraut Colonel visited his Arab girlfriend. If Moffitt and Troy could capture him, it'd be a great coup for the allies.

Hitch and Tully were supposed to meet them on the outskirts of town. The sudden sandstorm had thrown a spanner into the works, as Moffitt would say. Now, they were stuck waiting for the storm to pass, hoping Moffitt and Troy weren't in trouble. Even when the sand settled, they'd still have to spend God knew how long digging at least one of the Jeeps out. Hitch tried not to think about each wasted minute dragging painfully on. He pulled off his glasses to make a try at cleaning them.

"God, I hate getting sand in my teeth," he grumbled." I think I might hate that more than getting shot at."

"You know, Moffitt told me that the Ancient Egyptians died real young, on accounta they'd get sand in their teeth from the bread they ate. Then they'd get cavities and get infections and die."

"Wouldn't that be a hell of a way to go. 'We're sorry to inform you, Mrs. Hitchcock, your son died of a toothache.'"

"I had to get three teeth taken out when I was a kid. Only the one was really messed up, but the dentist was there so he figured he'd take two that looked kinda off, 'cause he might not be out to our house for a while."

Hitch laughed as he resettled his glasses on his nose. "Okay, are you sure you didn't grow up in Ancient Egypt?"

Tully shook his head. "No. Less sand, more kudzu. Jewelry wasn't quite as fancy. Lots of cats though. I miss my cats. Patch, Emerald, Zip."

"I've got a dog back at home," Hitch said. "Joe. He's a little beagle. God, I miss him."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Sorry about your cats."

"Yeah. You know. Soon, hopefully."

"Uh-huh." Hitch could almost laugh at the absurdity of it: the two of them getting choked up about their pets while they were at war, in the middle of a brief interval where they weren't getting shot at by Nazis.

The silence that passed started out casual, but gradually became more tense and pregnant. Hitch knew Tully had to be feeling it too. He wasn't sure about Tully, but his mind was drifting back to that night in that hotel room, as much as he tried to haul it back.

"Tully." His voice was small and half of him wanted to stop before he went any further, Why did you kiss me?"

Tully was silent for a long time. As Hitch studied his face, he saw no trace of the usual inscrutable, taciturn expression. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open. He worried the knee of his pants as he plainly struggled to find what to say.

"I… wanted to."

"What the hell do you mean you wanted to?"

Tully carefully laid out his words between long pauses. Hitch figured that was his version of stammering. "I kept thinking about it… for a long time… then you were there… you were...and I just… did it. I'm sorry."

"Are you still thinking about it?"

Tully shook his head.

Hitch let out a hard, ragged breath. "Then screw you, Tully, because I've been thinking about it ever since then."

Tully met Hitch's eyes for a second. He opened his mouth like he was about to speak, but then shut his eyes and hung his head. He said something Hitch couldn't hear over the storm outside.

"What?" he demanded.

"I'm lying," Tully repeated. His voice was louder, but cracked. He looked up at Hitch like he was afraid to meet his gaze. "Lying. I still think about it. I've been thinking about it since it happened. Still… I don't know... why… I just think about you and… It's… I…" He shook his head, hair falling into his face. "I don't understand," he mumbled. "I know I'm not supposed to feel like this."

The two sat in silence for what felt like minutes, not making eye contact, only listening to the roaring wind and the sand battering against the tent. During all of Hitch's confusion, self-doubt, and (he couldn't pretend it wasn't) lust, Tully had been going through the same muddle of emotion. Whatever the hell he was, Tully was it too.

Did it really change anything? If Tully had always been feeling like this, did it change their friendship at all to admit it? Hitch's heart raced as the dangerous questions rushed through his head. Whatever the hell this thing was, how wrong could it be? In the middle of a fucking world war, what did it matter if they jumped off this bridge together?

Fuck it .

Slowly, falteringly, Hitch reached out his hand. His fingertips found Tully's, already searching out for his.

Their hands locked, and they turned to face each other.

"What did you think about?" Tully asked.

Hitch didn't think about anything. All that he could do was show him. He closed the space between them and kissed Tully on the lips.

Memory, fantasies, and present all collided, and in that moment everything felt right , in a way Hitch couldn't quantify. Any trace of doubt disappeared. It was just him and Tully; nothing else mattered.

Hitch's hand moved of its own accord to Tully's cheek, stubble scraping his calloused palm. Tully's arms circled around Hitch's back. Their tongues met, and Hitch suddenly couldn't be close enough to Tully. His fingers tangled in Tully's thick hair. He couldn't breath, was getting dizzy, but didn't care

Tully broke away. Hitch tried to follow him, desperate to continue the kiss, then Tully's lips latched onto his throat.

Hitch let out an undignified moan. "Tully…" He couldn't think of any coherent thought to follow that. "Tully…"

Tully hands rested on the small of Hitch's back. Hitch was confused when he started tugging on his shirt, until it slipped out of his pants, and Tully's hands were on his bare skin.

Somehow, Tully's hands were always cool in the relentless desert heat. If it wouldn't have been inconceivably awkward, there were times when Hitch would have asked him to hold his hands or face or neck, just for a moment of relief. Now, with his skin on fire, Tully's icy palms felt wonderful. At the same time, Tully nipped at his ear.

Hitch needed to touch Tully everywhere, needed there to be nothing in between them. He forced himself to pull away to scrabble at the buttons of Tully's shirt. For once, they were done up all the way, and Hitch's fingers were barely functioning. While he struggled, Tully cupped Hitch's face in his hands and continued to kiss him passionately. The blood pounding in Hitch's ears didn't help his concentration or dexterity.

Finally, he was able to shove the shirt over his shoulders. Tully pulled it off the rest of the way and threw it into the corner. Hitch stared at his tanned, muscular chest. They'd all seen each other in various states of undress many times over the years, but in this moment, he might as well have been seeing him for the first time. Everything felt new and strange now, like he couldn't be sure of anything around him.

In a second, they were kissing again, hands roaming over every inch of exposed skin. Hitch didn't know whether he'd kissed Tully or the other way around. Then, Tully was holding his shoulders and gently pushing him downard. Hitch let himself be laid down on the woolen army blanket. Tully leaned in on his hands and knees, covering Hitch. He lowered his head to kiss across Hitch's collarbone and down his chest as he unbuttoned Hitch's shirt

Hitch tangled his fingers in Tully's hair. Every thought was being pushed out of his mind, paralyzed by the haze of pleasure. He could feel his erection straining against his pants. Only one tiny voice in his head was still stunned that this was actually happening. He realized that he had been unconsciously rolling his hips up, searching for some kind of friction. Judging by his heavy, uneven breathing, he guessed Tully had to be in the same state.

Hitch groaned as Tully's tongue rolled over his nipple. His hands roamed over Tully's back, both of them drenched in sweat. He felt like it was his first time. He didn't know what he supposed to do or what was going to happen next. He just lay back, gasping and writhing, digging holes in the sand with the heels of his boots.

Tully moved back up to kiss Hitch on the lips. Hitch could taste dust and sweat on his tongue.

"Hitch," he breathed, gasping for air like he'd just run a mile. "Can I… Do you…?" His strong hand drifted down Hitch's body to barely brush the front of his pants.

Hitch's hips bucked up uncontrollably, desperate for more contact. He nodded frantically, while he struggled to form words. "Yes. God, yes. Please, I don't know… Just tell me what to do. You tell me what to do."

"Shh," Tully whispered in his ear. "I've got you." He kissed the spot just under Hitch's ear he'd apparently already figured out turned Hitch to jelly, while he started to work on Hitch's belt. He freed one hand to gently pull off Hitch's glasses. Hitch didn't pay attention to where they ended up, only focused on Tully's other hand, undoing the button on his pants and pulling down the zipper.

Hitch's back arched and he let out a strangled gasp as Tully touched him through his underwear. "Fuck!"

Tully paused. "Okay?"

"Oh, God, don't stop."

In the dim light, he could just barely see a smile cross Tully's face, before he pulled the thin fabric away and wrapped his hand around Hitch's cock.

"Fuck!" This in a choked voice.

Tully started stroking him, first slowly, then picking up speed and force. Hitch's toes curled and his fingernails dug into Tully's skin. It wasn't just that it had been so goddamn long; this felt different than anything else before. He couldn't begin to explain just how, but he could feel it everywhere.

It wasn't enough. Hitch couldn't just lie there feeling this on his own. Tully needed to be there with him. He needed to know he was as close to Tully as Tully was to him. He groped blindly between them for Tully's belt. "Let me…"

Their bodies pressed together and moved in tandem. Their gasps and moans were smothered by a fierce and desperate kiss.

Tully broke away from the kiss to press their cheeks together. He spoke in a low voice in Hitch's ear. "You're brave. You're beautiful. You're… You're incredible. You're smart. You… Ah!"

Then, there were no more words. Hitch's mind fuzzed out, and all that mattered was Tully's beautiful, heated body pressed as close to his as possible. Tully followed him over the edge.

For a moment, they stayed like that, shuddering against each other. Hitch felt overcome, wrecked, almost on the verge of tears. Finally, their straining muscles gave out, Tully rolled over beside him on the blanket. They listened to each others heavy breathing, the sound of the storm fading back in.

He heard Tully shifting around beside him. He opened his eyes just as Tully was delicately putting his glasses back in place.

"Thanks," he said, grinning.

Tully smiled his you're welcome as he carefully hooked the temple tips over his ears. Once he was apparently satisfied they were securely attached, he settled back onto the blanket beside Hitch.

Hitch wrapped his arms around Tully and wriggled in close. It had always been second-nature to him to cuddle after sex, to the point a few girls had had to tell him to give them a little room afterwards. Tully didn't seem to mind, though. He shuffled onto his side, so they were nose-to-nose. Hitch didn't know why Tully had bothered putting his glasses back on, as they were already sliding off.

"Hey, Tully."

"Mhm."

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" Tully looked like he genuinely couldn't think of a single thing Hitch would ever have to be sorry for.

"For back in that hotel room all that time ago. How I acted, everything I said."

Tully shook his head. "No. I shouldn'ta just sprung that on you. I don't really know how I shoulda done it. This worked, I guess."

Hitch burst out laughing, "Yeah, I guess it did."

Tully smiled, then shut his eyes and rested his head on the blanket. At that moment, the only way that Hitch could describe him was angelic.

"That night, you said I was your best friend." He started the train of thought not one hundred percent sure where it was headed. It was too late then for hesitation, he guessed.

Tully's eyes opened, soft, languid brown. "Yeah. And you said I was yours."

Hitch nodded. "Tully, you're brave." He thought about all of the things Tully had said that had made Hitch's heart swell. "You're insane, but in the best way there is. You're smart, and you're handsome." He paused as he struggled to find any adjectives that could accurately describe the incredible, inexplicable man in front of him. "And you feel like this about me. You want me, like I want you. You said all those things about me."

Tully nodded, as if that were the most natural thing in the world. "Yeah."

Hitch raised his hand and pressed it into Tully's tangle of golden hair. "I think I love you."

Tully looked up at him in silence and, for a half a second, Hitch was terrified that he'd taken this delicate thing and just smashed it to pieces. Then, slowly, Tully's face split in a grin, the wildest, most unguarded, most genuine expression that Hitch had ever seen there. Even his usual flat drawl was gone, as he said, "I love you too, Hitch."

If this was going to send him to Hell, he'd gladly dance down into the fire, as long as Tully was there with him.

They could get mowed down by German bullets tomorrow, end up on the wrong side of a grenade, or crushed under a flaming Jeep. They could be reassigned to opposite corners of the Earth. Once the war was over, they could get onto two separate trains and never see each other again. They could get off at the same station in Kentucky or Connecticut or anywhere else. Ten years from now, they could be tangled together in the same bed, still making each other smile and, Goddamnit, that sounded good right now.

He could be damning his immortal soul, he could be signing himself up for a dishonorable discharge, or he could be making the best decision of his life. There was no way that he could change that now. In that moment, the only thing he knew was that he was never going to regret telling Tully Pettigrew that he loved him.

He kissed him. The sandstorm battered at their little tent like it was trying to drown them both. As soon as it passed, they'd dig out the Jeep and go back to war. Until then, Hitch was going to stay in Tully's arms and no God or general or desert was going to tear him away.