"Gary, do you think we're doing good here?"
It is something that he's asking Gary Smith this question. Pete knows it's ironic as the words leave his mouth. What a state he must be in.
"How the hell should I know?" Gary asks.
He's a lot quieter than he used to be. He spends less time grinding Pete into the dirt with his heel and more time unloading and reloading his gun. It gives him something to do, though it's not a grand change of pace - usually whatever he's occupied with, it involves the feel of cold metal beneath his fingers.
There are red and brown smears all over Gary's khaki pants. Pete stares at them without shame. It was a long time ago when gore still had the potential to disgust him.
"It's been like five years, right?" he asks shakily, realizing he can't remember.
"Who cares?" Gary says, without looking up from his rifle. "Doesn't matter, does it?"
Pete is glad he isn't the only one who thinks so.
Click. Click. Click.
Gary snaps the magazine out and in again like a maestro. Pete taps his fingers on the butt of his own gun and chews his lip.
He thinks he's probably twenty-three. Not that it matters.
Their commander calls it a civic duty. A righteous eradication. Pete would call it a civil war, if anyone asked. He's a doctor, technically, so he's never had to point his gun at anybody, but if he were told to, he wouldn't know who to shoot. Everyone looks the same to him when they're brought to the medical tent.
Everyone looks the same when they are in pain; when they die. The years are beginning to bleed together into a single, agonized face. Pete's job is to make everyone they bring to him - hostage or ally - comfortable before they die. He isn't equipped to do anything else, and no one ever asks him to.
He hasn't ever killed anyone before, but the others have. Pete can tell if someone has taken another life by looking at them. It changes people. It changed Jimmy. It's changed so many of his friends.
Everyone becomes part of that sea of dying faces at some point. When Jimmy loads his pistol and fires a single bullet into his own mouth, Petey is there to make sure he dies peacefully.
Whatever that means.
Jimmy smiles a lot, though it must hurt. He never liked conflict. Petey thinks he must be glad to get out. It takes a while for Jimmy to die, but they both know he will.
When he does, Pete presses his fingers gently to Jimmy's eyelids and pulls them down, like he has with everyone else. He doesn't know what dying peacefully means, but he knows what it means to die with dignity. In the middle of battle, amidst dust and explosions and all that horrific yelling, there is no room for a dignified death. When you pull the trigger yourself, it takes a certain brand of heroic conviction.
He hasn't ever killed anyone, but he's seen as much death as any of the soldiers. It isn't always the same.
Pete tries hard not to fidget. Next to him, Gary is scowling. Their legs bump every time the truck hits a dip in the road. The wheels are kicking up dust. Pete can't see anything. It must be snowing by this time, in New England, where his parents are. It's hard to conceive, looking out at the dusty stretch of road they've left behind.
From the look on Gary's face, he is no more fond of Nevada than Pete is. His eyebrows are mere threads apart and he is staring at his combat boots.
They are on their way to Respite, a neutral outpost to the west. They need guns and food, and Respite offers that to anyone.
The uniform is too big on Pete, and he feels awkward packed into the truck bed with a group of true soldiers. They've all grown into theirs, but he is bony and feminine. They grip their guns with grim confidence. Soldiers. They will all look the same when they die.
He presses his lips together and stares at the dirt. It's lighter now that the sun is beginning to rise, but he is so sick of dirt and all its variations. He thinks of Monet, and then of Ms. Philips, and then of being fifteen.
He wanted to become an artist. That was very long ago.
The truck bumps and he fumbles for his gun. He gives Gary an uneasy smile, but the other man doesn't look at him.
He wonders how many times Gary has ever smiled at him. Once, maybe, when he meant it.
Gary must have the same insides as everyone else. He has the potential to be like Jimmy - to wrap his lips around a gun barrel and rid the world of another monster, but he won't. Pete might have the potential to be like Gary, come to think of it.
He might love Gary, in the same way he loves sculpting and looking at anatomy textbooks. Gary is as unstable as they come. Somewhere along the way, he stopped being a friend, and became a fascinating case study.
If Pete sometimes thinks about kissing him, it's simply another type of curiosity that has nothing to do with Gary in particular.
At first, when the truck jolts, Pete thinks they must have hit another bump in the road. He doesn't realize until Gary has shoved him to the ridged floor of the truck that they are being attacked. Doesn't think about why Gary shoves him down before leaping out of the back with his M-16 spraying bullets, when he's supposed to be shooting, too.
Pete prays for the first time he can remember. He isn't very good at it, though his mother taught him again and again the words. He hopes God understands.
Everything is loud and he hears that horrific screaming that used to carry through the desert toward his tent each night. Only now it surrounds him. He hears bullets raining down like snowflakes; knows what it looks like when the dying die. Clapping his hands over his ears, he squirms to the back of the truck and hides.
He is a coward. The only reason he is alive now is because, once upon a time, he'd almost attended medical school. He took preliminary courses. He could comfortably look at someone who was dying and pretend that they would be okay, and that had been enough.
They had also given him a gun. He is expected to be out there with Gary, not cowering in the back of the transport vehicle.
Pete's hands shake and he hunches in on himself.
Then Gary is dragging him out and everything is far too bright and far too noisy. Gary strikes him across the face and he realizes he is whimpering. He stops abruptly, feeling the blood leak from his nose, and looks around him at the corpses.
Nameless living faces stare at him, some bleeding, others glaring. Only five. The rest lay in the dirt road where they dropped. There were fifteen of them... ten of their men dead in the road. Pete could be one of them.
Should be one of them, he realizes, as the survivors glower at him. If anyone deserved this undignified death, it is him, the one huddled in the corner of the truck while his brothers in arms fought and bled.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. His throat is dry. Water hasn't been an option for days.
Gary's eyes glitter as he regards the younger man. Pete wonders for the first time why Gary shoved him out of the way, rather than pushing him out of the truck to die. Was it to humiliate him now? Remind him that he doesn't fit in here, where he can't kill for the cause?
The others clamber back into the truck. Gary drags one of the injured men. The smell hits Pete in a tidal wave and he retches into the dirt.
Maybe Gary was protecting him. Pete flexes his fingers and laughs to himself.
They lost ten men, but they still won. This isn't enough for Gary. Three of the men who tried to ambush them are kept alive. Petey treats their minor injuries and then they are interrogated and killed. Gary does most of it. Killing didn't really change him.
Pete stays in the truck, tends to a young man with broken leg and a gunshot wound, and avoids the gazes of the rest of the resistance. They are ten less in number and they blame him.
In the middle of the night, Gary drags him out and makes him watch as he kills the very last of the captives. The man puts up a struggle, but Gary puts his gun to the man's temple and pulls the trigger in the end.
Petey doesn't notice the death; he is so used to the executions that it's almost like watching a movie he's seen a million times. But he notices Gary's eyes gleaming in the light, and the smile on his face. Pete distantly registers that Gary is aroused. His brain floods him with useless physiological bullshit he once read - it's probably from the adrenaline rush of being a survivor, a dominator, an alpha male.
It surprises him how little it affects him.
They get separate tents in the encampment and for that, Pete is grateful. He doesn't want to have to look at any of the other survivors. He wants them to blend with the rest of the people in the camp and fade away.
Most of the people are refugees with no affiliation. It's strange to think about people in the middle of the schism, after having opinion after opinion drilled into his head during their breif training period. A lot of children stare at the tatoo around his wrist, wide-eyed and wondering. Pete realizes that to them, he must seem like a marked killer.
Sitting in the shadows of his tent, he holds out his hand, palm up, and rotates his wrist. The black ink ripples. He remembers that it hurt. Worse than wedgies and noogies and all the other childish pain he'd experienced up to that point.
Gary gets drunk and sloshes into Pete's tent to pass out and slobber on the edge of his bed. Pete doesn't say anything. He got used to this senior year in high school, before everything went to hell. Gary hasn't changed very much.
Pete watches him sleep and smoothes his hair back from his drooling face. It is hard to imagine the peaceful being beneath him murdering other people, but now he has seen it first hand. Humans are amazing creatures.
Pete hasn't changed either. Gary still terrifies him. He is still starving for contact, and Gary still pays attention to him. It's enough.
He kisses Gary's forehead. It tastes like normal skin, if a little sticky from the sweat beading there. God, he hates Gary. He hates him so much.
Putting his head in his hands, he licks his lips and thinks of how Gary would feel if he knew about that kiss. Would Gary kill him? He is capable of it.
Pete curls up and sleeps awkwardly, wedged against the wall with his legs drawn up against him. Gary has room that way, and they are too far away to touch. He feels so sick.
He hates himself more than anyone.
Three days go by before they need him. He finds himself treating children - setting broken legs and cleaning up cuts. This, he thinks, is what he would have liked to do. Before amputations and gunshot wounds and death - so much of that.
Children smile at him, giggle, ignore his tatoo. He has never missed Bullworth more.
He gets to know their names, their ages, their childish crushes and bold, vivid dreams. They wave at him when he goes to eat with the masses, and on the way back to his tent.
He dares to think that there is hope for the future. These somehow innocent beings with dirty faces - they don't know what killing is.
"We aren't doing good here," Gary mutters. He's been helping himself to any available alcohol, and Pete can barely understand him.
"What are you talking about?"
"Fucking... killing everybody, killing shit," Gary says, as though that explains everything. Pete can only watch in helpless confusion.
Gary rubs his face on Pete's shirt and he lets him, eyes wide.
"I don't even know why," Gary says, giggling hysterically. "I don't know, I don't know. How can you stand me, Petey, when I've hurt people?"
"I don't know," Pete tells him honestly. Gary mumbles and rocks into him. Pete pretends the he doesn't notice the crying. Easier that way.
Gary gathers himself together, swallows dryly, and looks up at him. Pete recognizes the face, and his stomach sinks. "I want to die. Fuck, I really want to. I didn't want any of this."
"Stop it," Pete says, dragging him over to the bed.
"I'm a monster," Gary laughs, sitting down complacently. "I'm a monster and they love it because I'm efficient."
Pete sits next to him, letting Gary lean on him. He can't think of anything to say. He's supposed to be the weak one. He isn't capable of anything else.
No matter how much Gary needs him to be.
They wake up early to the sounds of screaming. The sun isn't up yet. It's pitch black inside the tent and Gary kicks his shoulder as he scrambles to his feet. Pete doesn't complain. He crawls forward on his belly like a dog, fighting the temptation to cower on his cot. Gary slings his gun over his shoulder, forces the flap of the tent back, and reels back in, spluttering. Pete can tell why. The stench that blasts in from the opening brings tears stinging into his eyes.
"Fuck," Gary says, his face glowing as he turns to Pete. Pete realizes with a gasp that this means fire. "Get your gun! Come on!"
They burst out of the tent into the chaotic furnace that the encampment has become. Storage crates are burning, the trucks are consumed in flame, the tents and trailers are collapsing into ash. People are dying. Pete's eyes sting and he grips his gun tight. It is suddenly a friend.
In the midst of all of it are two men - one dark-skinned and the other fair and blonde-headed, They could be anybody. They could be from Bullworth, even. The only difference between them and Pete's group is that these men are killing for the wrong side.
Gary doesn't take the time to ponder this. With a furious cry, he sends a bullet flying through the blonde's skull. Petey has seen this before - Gary made him watch it - but there is something elegant about it now. The brief glimpse of surprise on the blonde's face, followed by nothing at all. The darker man's eyes snap open and he brandishes his torch, a pistol in his other hand.
These men were relying on the element of surprise. He isn't prepared to fight Gary with that tiny pistol.
Gary walks up to him, his gun pointed evenly at the other man's face. "Your name."
The man looks at Gary, uncomprehending. Gary hits him in the face with the butt of his gun and then points it forward at him again, saying calmly, "Your name, you fucking worm."
"Jonathan," the man replies. He sounds young, maybe only in his teens. Petey's heart aches.
"What the fuck did you think you were doing here, Jonathan?"
The way Gary is talking, they could be having a conversation about the weather. Jonathan looks terrified. Then, without warning, he swings his torch around and knocks Gary's gun out of the way, holding up his pistol in one shaky hand.
"I'll kill you, you murderer, I'll kill you," he whimpers. "Kyle, my brother, you murdered him. You're all monsters, and I'm going to kill you."
He is trying hard to convince himself to do it; Petey can see the struggle in his face. It's one thing to want to kill someone, and quite another to physically take a life. The only person who doesn't understand this boundary is Gary.
Gary's eyes meet his and he blinks once. Gary wants him to shoot this man.
"I'm going to do it," Jonathan says.
Gary shifts his head and Jonathan jumps, tightening his grip on the gun, his eyes wide and scared. "Are you?"
"Who's got the gun here? Fucking monster!" Jonathan screams. Fire roars around them.
"Petey," Gary says firmly, closing his eyes as Jonathan puts the gun to his temple, as though confident that Pete will do nothing at all. Pete knows what it looks like when people are ready to die. He's seen it on so many faces.
The shot rings out and Jonathan, surprised and shaky, drops to his knees. Gary snaps his head toward Pete, his uniform splattered with dark red blood. Jonathan falls to his side, dropping his pistol, and bleeds into the dirt.
Pete lowers his M-16. His hands feel numb. The scant survivors of the attack who had gathered around - some of them children he has treated - begin to disperse. They start seeking out tents and trying to put out the flames. It is amazing how quickly people begin to rebuild.
Gary spits at Jonathan's corpse and walks over to Pete, clapping a hand onto his shoulder. "Thanks, man. I thought I was dead just then."
Pete doesn't say anything at all.
They lost two more men in the attack, but several of the civilians died. The only neutral outpost for hundreds of miles, and the bastards brought the fight here. Those are Gary's words. Pete can't help but think that they were the ones who brought the fight. They came in, begging for supplies and shelter, and they killed everyone along the way.
The people don't blame them. They tell Pete and Gary that they saved the outpost by killing Jonathan and his nameless friend. The children who are left come to his tent with gifts.
Pete hasn't left the tent since he killed Jonathan two days ago. He doesn't feel like talking or eating. He feels like he might vomit if he thinks too hard. Gary visits him every day. He is trying to have sympathy, but Pete can tell he doesn't comprehend. Gary is right at home in this world.
"Are you ever coming out again? It's been three days."
Gary sits on the edge of his bed. Pete shrinks in on himself, drawing his legs up.
"At least bathe, man. You stink. I can barely sleep."
Pete wonders why he doesn't go to his own tent to sleep, then. But he doesn't feel like saying it. His head is swimming.
"They're asking for you, you know. These people need a doctor."
Pete chews on his lip.
"It's pretty bad, isn't it? But you forget, you know. It becomes something you just... do, after a while."
"I'm never killing anybody again," Pete mumbles. Gary goes quiet, reaches out to touch his shoulder, thinks better of it. "I did that for you, not for any other reason. I hate this whole Goddamn war."
"Nobody likes it," Gary tells him. "Shit, do you think I like it? I never wanted to fucking kill anybody."
"Neither did I."
Gary sighs. "Why don't you stay here then? You don't have to fight anyone. These people could really use your help."
"Why don't you do that?"
"I don't know, man," Gary says, laughing uneasily. "I don't fucking know. I don't think I could."
He wanted to become a psychiatrist. He wanted to know about the mind and he wanted to know about medicine. He wanted to know why people became like Gary. He wanted to help them.
It feels strange to move on, but that's what he does. Respite needs him and he can't allow himself to wallow in his self-pity for too long. But he doesn't mind this so much. The children he treats are innocent, naive, and perfect. He finally feels like he is helping people. Like maybe he can make up for Jonathan by keeping the children safe.
Pete still feels like a child himself. He had barely gotten out of Bullworth when this whole mess started. He is still a lost little college kid. The adult world is something he never got a full taste of. At least, not before it changed so drastically.
He could do this. He could stay here and be a doctor and ignore the war, like these people are doing. It makes perfect sense, the more he thinks about it. Then he thinks of Jonathan, and he isn't certain he deserves it.
The wrist with the tattoo itches constantly.
Gary and the others go out each night. They get drunk and fire their guns at shadows. They laugh and slump around, and the campers don't really like them. They embody the war. The campers wish they didn't even exist.
But Pete knows that Gary is joining in for his own reasons. It isn't as if he likes any of the other soldiers. He doesn't like anybody, and especially not people with power. He doesn't like to share that.
That's why Pete is his only friend. Pete doesn't have any power over anything.
Still, Gary goes out and gets shitfaced and pours into his tent at night all weepy and giggly. Pete is starting to realize why, starting to think that maybe Gary isn't so unaffected after all.
"How is it that, even with all this shit, you're still such a fucking goody two-shoes?"
Pete stirrs, sits up, finds that Gary is laying across his legs. "What?"
"It's like none of this can even touch you," Gary says, gesturing vaguely, then smiling to himself.
Pete doesn't know what he means. It's late, or early, and he was having the most perfect dream about nothing. He's almost mad for being woken up. He'd like to roll over and go back to sleep, but Gary has him pinned in place. And he's being far too noisy anyway, shifting around and sniffling.
"Move," Pete tells him, and Gary shrinks back. Pete rolls onto his belly and tries to ignore the other man.
Tries to, and fails when Gary crawls onto him and begins touching him behind his ear. Pete shivers, flinching away.
"What are you trying to do?"
Gary ignores him, replacing his fingers with his mouth. Pete shudders again; Gary has pressed himself fully against Pete's back, and the warm, wet circle of his mouth underneath Pete's ear is almost too good to protest.
"Quit it, man," Pete hisses, but he's not sure he means it. It is Gary, after all.
Either way, Gary's hands are now roughly running down his sides, stopping at his hips, lifting him up slightly. Like a dog, Pete thinks. He pushes his head down into the pillow and raises to his knees. Gary's fingers dig into his hips, dragging him backward, showing Pete that he is hard.
Pete moans into his pillow as Gary tugs his pants down and touches him with a finger slicked with spit. He wants it and doesn't want it and can't comprehend it all at once.
"Gary," he mutters.
"Shh," Gary says, spreading his legs further apart with a calloused hand.
And it hurts. Fuck, it hurts worse than anything. But he deserves it. He really does.
He wakes up and Gary isn't there. Pete ties his combat boots and pulls the visor of his hat low over his eyes. It's hot here, and the sun is relentless. Biting his lip, he heads to Linda's tent. Linda is blonde and scarred. She serves food to everyone she can, until she runs out. Usually, that is before everyone is fed. Pete only takes a slice of toast, no butter.
Gary is in the corner, eating some burnt bacon and eggs. He ignores Pete when he sits next to him.
"Gary," Pete says, "last night--"
"Shut the fuck up, Petey-boy. You don't understand a fucking thing."
Pete narrows his eyes, tightens his lips, then pries them apart to force some toast inside. Gary picks up his plate and storms out of the tent.
At two in the morning, breath smelling of booze, Gary climbs up next to him in bed and forces him onto his belly. Pete complacently bites his lip and arches his back - anything to keep Gary interested.
"I can't stand you," Gary whispers in his ear. "I can't. I really can't."
"Why?" Pete mumbles, as Gary's hand settles between his legs. He makes a noise that doesn't sound like it came from him, closing his eyes tightly.
"Look at you," Gary says, kissing his neck. "So perfect despite everything... anything I could do to you. I can't stand it."
Pete groans and claws at the mattress.
"Do you blame me, Pete? For wanting to break you?"
He shakes his head.
"You should."
The bed is so soft and Gary is so rough, his fingers unyielding, his voice hoarse and raw. Pete has been broken for a while, and of course Gary did it. He always has.
For once, Pete has earned it.
He opens his eyes and Gary is there. Pete feels like he's drowning. He feels like there are a million people around that could help, but they don't notice that he's going under. He doesn't have any leverage here. Gary is using him, or trying to hurt him, or something, but it's not like Pete's going to stop it. It's not like he wants to.
For a long time, Pete followed Gary without really knowing why. He thought himself a masochist, for who else would subject themselves to Gary? Pete is weak, he is a follower, he is shy and quick to anger. He is everything Gary looks for in a plaything, and that's why he's the only one left.
It was reversed for a while. In that time, Gary was heavily medicated and placated and Pete got to play leader, until Gary started flushing his meds. And it was strange, and interestingly powerful. It made Pete want to be a doctor.
Yet, it felt normal when Gary began to spiral out of control again. Like he'd been observing a caged lion, and that had been fascinating, but it wasn't real until someone unlocked the cage.
Senior year in high school, Pete walked in on Gary and one of the Bullworth girls. The way Gary's eyes were blazing in that moment haunted him nightly for years, fueled a thousand wet dreams, frightened him and intrigued him simultaneously.
It's a weird feeling, wanting to be with Gary. Maybe Jimmy experienced it, when he realized he wanted to die.
"Fuck," is the eloquent way Gary wakes up in that moment. He covers his eyes with a hand and groans.
Pete doesn't say anything snide, though many remarks leap to mind. He remains silent and still, like a rabbit that's just been spotted. Gary could notice him and bolt, or he could get angry. Pete isn't sure which would be worse. He's dreading both.
Gary sits up and touches Pete's shoulder. Pete looks at him warily. Gary turns his head away quickly, keeping his hand where it is, like an anchor. It feels heavy.
"We're supposed to leave today," he says softly.
Right. They've been here far too long already. The only reason they came to Respite was to restock and continue through Nevada. There is a base on the border, where their commander is. If they linger too long, they might be in trouble. The commander is known for overreacting when things don't go as planned.
"When I get there," Gary continues. "I'm going to tell them you were killed in the fire. Everyone agreed that's what we should do."
The way he says it, nobody agreed but him. And then he scared it into them. Pete doesn't know what to say. He has just been given the opportunity to leave the war. Five years in prison and Gary has just handed him a key.
"When are you leaving?" he asks hoarsely.
"When they tell me to," Gary says. He edges off the bed and puts his clothes on in a hurry. He leaves without another word.
He eats leftover meat for breakfast, and comes back to find people in his tent. Most of them are children he has treated, but some are parents and others he has only met in passing. They flock to him with tiny presents - pictures on tattered paper, food in bundles, canisters of water, and necklaces made of salvaged beads. They expect him to leave.
Staying would mean dropping the war as if it never happened. Staying would mean being one of these people, helping them and watching the children grow to be diplomats and peacekeepers. The thought is almost too good to imagine.
People come and go through the day. They wish him luck and bring him presents. He doesn't mention to any of them that he might stay.
Then Gary comes, at a decent hour for once. He doesn't smell like anything but Gary.
"You're back?" He doesn't mean to sound so surprised.
"To... to say goodbye," Gary mutters.
He takes a step forward, scratches his head, then looks at the wall of the tent. There he stands, as if unwilling or unable to move another inch. Pete covers the distance himself. He is not so much shorter than Gary any more. It's something he hasn't ever had the time and proximity to notice before.
"Goodbye, then," Pete says, the heat rushing to his face. He suddenly feels like crying; it's such a stupid, childish thing. "Was that all?"
"Do you have to make everything so fucking hard?" Gary growls lowly, avoiding his gaze.
"Well, does it help to know that I'm well and truly corrupted? Is that what you need to hear? Yes, Gary, I hate you."
"Good," Gary says. "I never liked you, Petey-boy. You're so disgustingly weak."
"Am I?" Pete snaps. He almost smiles. He, after all, isn't the one who drinks and cries in the middle of the night.
"Yes, and I'm so fucking glad that you aren't coming with us. I'm so sick of you following me around, holding your gun like you have any idea what you're doing. You belong here, Petey, with these people who think that war just goes away if you ignore it."
"I'm not staying here, you idiot."
Gary pauses, confused, surprised. He looks at Pete helplessly.
"I've put up with you my entire life," Pete hisses. "I will not sit here in the middle of nowhere while you run around practically pissing bullets. In case you haven't noticed, you need me. I never wanted this, but here I am. It's because of you."
"I didn't make you do anything," Gary mutters.
"No," Pete says. "You didn't. I'm coming because I want to be with... because I want to."
"Petey," Gary says, frowning.
"You can't stop me."
Gary meets his gaze and then jerks his head away. His voice wavers. "Do whatever you need to."
The transport vehicle is as cramped and uncomfortable as he remembers. He hides in the back so he doesn't have to look at anyone, and Gary sits next to him, less like a friend and more like a bodyguard. Pete has never felt so grateful toward him.
He hugs his gun to his chest. It still feels foreign and cold, but it is the sole reason Gary is next to him. Pete glances at his tattoo and realizes that Respite only felt like a dream because it was one.
They reach headquarters after three days of relentless driving. They couldn't afford to stop, with the enemy so obviously on their trail. Pete doesn't regret leaving Respite, but coming here makes him nervous. Their commander is almost a legend to him. He has never met the man. He only knows that the only reason that his companions have killed people is because the commander told them to. People in power make him nervous; it is a lesson he learned at Bullworth.
Still, when Gary goes to give his report, Pete comes. No one at headquarters knows about him huddling in the back of the truck all those miles ago while people died, but he still feels like they can smell his inexperience on him. He radiates weakness.
The base is huge. For the first time in years, Pete is not sleeping in a tent, but a room not unlike his dorm in college. With solid walls and everything. And the commander is in the center of his own building. Gary acts as though he isn't awestruck, but Pete is not so good at hiding what he feels.
They enter without knocking. The commander is facing his window and watching the patrol outside. Pete is immediately surprised by how short and small the man is. Then he turns.
"Gary Smith and Petey Kowalski," Earnest says, his eyebrows rising over the frames of his glasses. "It seems it is a small world after all. I can't believe you're alive."
He looks at Pete when he says it, and Pete knows it was directed solely at him. He is too surprised to be insulted.
"Coffee?" the commander offers. Gary takes a cup with obvious disinterest and Pete refuses altogether. "I've heard interesting rumors, you know. I've heard that Respite burned. You can see why it is imperative that we deal with them quickly. They attacked a neutral base."
"Sir, we were present," Pete interjects. It feels weird to call Earnest sir. "It was directed at us, not Respite--"
"You think they knew you were there?" Earnest interrupts. "No, no. They may be vengeful enough, but they're not nearly smart enough. The enemy is simply a dumb brute, Peter. An animal that needs to be put down before it can harm the innocent."
If they hadn't been in Respite, no one would have been harmed. Pete and Gary both know this. Gary glances at him briefly, swallows, looks away.
"That's why I'm glad you're here, Gary. I have a plan. A great plan," the commander continues. "All I need is a willing participant. See, it's your ruthless aggression that will bring my plans to fruition."
"You need me to do your grunt work," Gary says coldly, surprising Pete.
"Just like old times," Earnest replies, staring him down. "I'll do the thinking. I know your type. You enjoy it more than anyone. Unfortunately, most of the soldiers with your brand of... commitment tend to get too "overeager" to be of any use to me. So, here's the deal: you bite who I tell you to, and I'll let you off your leash."
Gary is chewing his lip in a desperate attempt to keep himself from saying anything. Pete has never seen him restrain himself before. It's fascinating. He wonders if it's because Earnest is pissing him off, or he doesn't want to accept too readily in front of Pete.
"You're angry, I suppose, that I am calling attention to the fact that, for all your power, you're nothing but a brainless dog," Earnest adds. "Which doesn't make it untrue. When the war is over, I'll give you money. I'll give you medals. People will know your name. They'll call you a hero."
Pete isn't supposed to be here. He isn't any brand of soldier, especially not the ruthless one Earnest is looking for. But he's terrified that Gary is.
Gary says nothing, his expression unreadable.
Earnest sighs. "I had hoped you'd be more enthusiastic, I'll admit. I will give you some time to sleep on it, but we don't have much at our leisure, you understand. This war will end one way or the other."
"Sir," Gary barks, fleeing the room. His face is dark and blotchy.
Pete gets up, intending to follow him, then hesitates.
"You're a doctor, aren't you?" Earnest asks him.
"Yes, sir."
Earnest hums thoughtfully, turning back to the window. "You're a dying breed, Kowalski."
Gary climbs onto his bed once it's dark. Pete wakes languidly, his heart skipping each time Gary breathes out too loudly. They are alone, but the little room isn't exactly private either.
"You asleep?" Gary whispers hoarsely.
"Not anymore," Pete murmurs.
Gary touches his shoulder. Pete cannot fathom a reason. "What do you think Earnest is doing? He's a paranoid fuck. Do you think, this whole time we've been fighting, that..."
He can't finish the sentence. It is too terrible to think that this might have been for nothing.
"Earnest didn't start the war. There's a reason," Pete says.
Gary swallows audibly in the darkness. "I don't trust him."
Pete doesn't really trust either of them. He pretends to fall back asleep.
Gary isn't at lunch the next day. He isn't fond of cafeterias, but that isn't the reason.
Pete feels a bit like he is back at Bullworth. He gets his lunch and sits alone and people whisper all around him.
Gary gets back late. He gets back late consecutively for the next four nights. Pete doesn't ask any questions, and Gary gives no indication that he wants to speak. He pushes Pete's head gently into the pillow and Pete obediently bites it so they aren't overheard by anyone passing by.
Earnest must be using him. He must have seen more death. If this is the only way Pete can help him cope, then so be it. He's already sacrificed everything for Gary. He's killed for Gary. This is nothing. There is even a dark place inside him that is glad each time it happens.
Gary silently leaves Pete's bed for his own when they are done. Too tired to shower, Pete rolls onto his back again and stares at the ceiling until he falls asleep.
He wonders which of them will be quiet the longest.
"We don't really have a need for people like you, Kowalski."
Pete enters the room despite Earnest's bizarre greeting and takes a seat in one of the plush chairs. Earnest's secretary blushes and adjusts her skirt as she leaves. Earnest watches her with profound apathy.
"Doctors, I mean," he continues, once the door to his office shuts. "Thinkers. Those are the ones that act against you. Dogs you can feed. As long as you feed them, they do what you tell them. Thinkers, though, like me and you... we don't mesh well. There can't be two masters, you know."
"I'm not much of a thinker, sir," Pete admits. "Ask my patients."
Earnest laughs formally. "Gary Smith, on the other hand, is one in a million. People like him that don't regret getting their hands dirty, that mindlessly accept their duty, those are the people we need here."
"And when the war is over? What about when they don't have any orders anymore?"
"Cages, Kowalski," Earnest says, as though it is obvious. "Cages for dogs. Smith would still be in Happy Volts if it weren't for war."
Pete looks at his shoes. The scariest thing about Earnest is that he makes perfect sense in a disturbing way.
"What are you having him do?" he asks.
"That's classified, Kowalski," Earnest replies, grinning. "In fact, I'm surprised you have the gall to ask. Even more surprised that you have to."
"Gary's my friend," Pete says numbly.
Earnest pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose in an entirely human gesture. "It is interesting that you think so after all these years. I never could figure out why you were always around him. He's an animal, Kowalski. You're intelligent; you know that. And yet you never leashed him. That's why he could walk all over you. That's why you're a dying breed. If you don't train your apes, they'll kill you."
"He's a person, not a dog. Whatever you're having him do, it's hurting him."
"An unfortunate factor of war is the casualties, that's true," Earnest says. "But don't think for a second that you can convince me that Gary Smith has any problem doing the... 'grunt work'."
"What constitutes grunt work, exactly?"
Earnest's smile falters. "You're persistent at least, Kowalski. And you also seem to think yourself Smith's keeper. Or maybe he still frightens you. Either way, you should know that I'm the one with the reins now. And like I said, casualties are an unfortunate factor of war."
Pete gets to his feet. He feels sick.
"If you weren't a thinker, Kowalski, you wouldn't be here. You wouldn't be pressing the issue. And everything would work out just fine and you wouldn't have to know anything about what went on behind the scenes. That seems fair, doesn't it? You don't pry, and I make the bad guys go away."
"You make Gary kill them," Pete hisses. "Are they the bad guys, Earnest, or are they just people you think might challenge you?"
Earnest falls into his seat and steeples his fingers. "You don't have much foresight, do you Kowalski? I'm doing what's best for everyone, in the end."
"Gary won't work for you forever," Pete says. "The minute he realizes you're acting in your own interests, he'll turn on you. He will."
"Maybe you don't know your dog as well as you think you do. He barks just like any of them because I have what he wants: power," Earnest sneers. "And when I'm done with him... well, cages, Kowalski. They do wonders for putting an animal in its place."
The medical building they have is used mostly for chemistry and testing, but there is a wing for the sick. This is where Pete stays, for the most part. The walls are cleaner and he has more tools at his disposal, but still all he's really expected to do is watch people deteriorate.
Yet he has people to talk to here. It's amazing how the young soldiers are so much like the children in Respite. They have dreams and private jokes, crushes on the nurses and a vitality that Pete barely recalls. The people are happy here. Earnest makes them feel safe.
But the barracks are his proverbial cage. His kingdom. A little sector full of his personal war dogs, and he is intent on making Gary one of them. What he doesn't realize, that Pete does, is that Gary is still human, despite his actions at Bullworth. Despite his seemingly unflinching ability to murder people.
He still drinks. He still comes to Pete in the middle of the night. He cries and fucks and feels like everybody else.
He sets Amelia's leg with practiced ease, and when her pain dies down, he gets her to smile. It is the most comfortable he's been in a long time.
David had his right arm amputated, but with Pete's help, he is learning to manage with just the one. He's eating on his own today, having practiced enough and regained the will to.
Sam is twelve years old. Born on the base. Not a soldier, but a child, only here because of a little accident involving a tree and a broken wrist.
It is strange that the most serene place to be is the place where the dogs are sent once they're broken.
This is the last place Pete expects to see Gary, but in Gary waltzes. He comes up to Pete. He touches his gun as one might touch the arm of a reassuring friend.
"The commander wants everyone here lined up," he says.
"What?" Pete splutters. "These are our people!"
"Not all of them," Gary continues. "Some of them are refugees plotting against us. Some are enemy soldiers, corrupting our people with lies."
Pete lowers his eyebrows. "Is that what Earnest told you?"
"None of your business," Gary snaps.
"Oh, come on. Speak, Gary." Pete shoves his shoulder and Gary stumbles back, looking surprised.
More men are behind Gary, all with guns. All with grim faces. Gary motions them to start rousing people from their beds.
"What, you can't speak? Not very well trained, are you?" Pete says frantically.
"Shut up!" Gary yells, cocking his gun.
"Roll over, Gary," Pete continues. For the life of him, he cannot look away, even as his patients are shoved against the wall in a row. "Beg, Gary!"
Gary goes to David first, by some small miracle, and aims the gun wordlessly. Pete's voice is garbled now, even in his own ears.
"Play dead, Gary!" He is practically screaming, but he can't hear it. "Gary!"
He runs at Gary, trying to beat at his shoulder, but the other man knocks him back with ease and two of the soldiers restrain him. They hold him in place. Sam looks at him desperately.
Pete is distantly aware of someone screaming - a keening, desperate noise. It jolts him down to his very marrow and he realizes it is coming from him.
The stains on the wall look like butterflies, red as the hem of a sunset.
He has no reason to expect that innocent people will be spared in times of war. All the Respites of the world will always burn as long as people like Pete, Gary, and Earnest still exist. Yet, Pete feels so impossibly sick now. Betrayed and terrified.
Is this Earnest's punishment for him? He dared to confront the commander and then... this.
He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand why people should suffer because of him, first in Respite and now here. He only wants to help them.
He wishes he remembered better how to pray.
"Are you asleep?"
It is the first time Gary has been here since the shooting. Since he dragged Pete, crying and fighting, back to the barracks and left him here.
"Get out of here," he hisses, crawling backward away from Gary.
Gary inches forward, sliding his hand across Pete's stomach. Pete has never refused him, but he cannot allow this now. Not after watching Gary shoot a row of innocent people on a whim.
"Don't touch me!" he yells, shoving Gary forcibly from him.
Gary pulls back, his eyes wide. Pete feels fear, of course. He has never in his life stood up to Gary Smith. Yet, somehow it matters so little now, in the scheme of things, that he can't find it in himself to care if Gary kills him for it.
"Petey," he says softly.
"You're a murderer," Pete tells him. "Earnest was right, you aren't anything but a dog."
Gary looks at his fists, bunched up on top of his knees. "I know."
Pete glares at him quietly. He wants Gary to go away. He wants Gary to have the common decency to shoot himself like Jimmy did. He wants the worst thing Gary has ever done to be pulling fire alarms on Halloween.
"This is all I'm good for," Gary continues. "But you, Petey, you should have stayed in Respite. You can help people."
"I can't protect anyone," Pete snaps. "Not from you."
Gary puts his forehead against Pete's folded knees and hides his face. Pete touches his hair without thinking, brushing it back gently. Gary's shoulders shake.
"The commander... he, he told me to--"
"Stop it," he whispers, straightening his legs and drawing Gary into his lap. He cradles his head. "Shh. It isn't your fault. I'm sorry."
"Shit," Gary chokes out. "I can't believe you're apologizing to me."
"I'm not."
Gary says nothing. He falls asleep and breathes softly against his chest like a child.
Petey opens his eyes sometime before dawn and Gary kisses him for the first time. It is soft and cautious, and that frightens him.
"You should have stayed," Gary mutters against his lips, running a hand through Pete's messy hair. "You don't belong here, Petey."
He has just sat down to lunch when two of Earnest's men grab him by the arms and escort him to the main building. Pete doesn't ask why. He thinks he know already, he's just been waiting for Earnest to come a decision.
He is shoved roughly into the commander's office. Gary is already there, and he doesn't look surprised when Pete is dragged in. He deliberately avoids the younger man's eyes.
The men leave the three of them alone.
"I've been conducting an experiment," Earnest begins, pouring himself some scotch out of a large glass bottle. "All this war made me curious. How loyal is a dog?"
He edges around his desk, then leans against it, taking a sip of scotch. Gary and Pete both remain silent, though Gary steps closer to him.
"Exceedingly, as it turns out," Earnest says. "At first, Kowalski, I thought you were going about it all wrong. It seemed to me that Gary was the one in charge of you... this was disproven rather quickly, as he opted to slaughter all of the injured people in the medical building rather than lay a finger on you."
Pete snaps his gaze to Gary, whose face goes dark as he looks to the ground.
"I wondered how you did it, of course," Earnest continues. "How could you, with all the weakness you exhibited, possibly be so important? Then it turns out that instead of fear, you rule with love. Imagine my disappointment, not to mention disgust."
Flushing, Pete also casts his gaze to the floor. Of course they had been overheard. They'd never had privacy, not since they arrived here. Earnest was too paranoid to let anything slip under the radar.
"But now we come to the interesting part."
Gary clenches his fists. Pete can only see his left hand from where he's standing. Gary's knuckles go white.
"Yes... I've been curious about Smith's motives. Is it self-preservation that drives him, or you, Kowalski? Perhaps he really is just a dog. But he's cunning, so maybe that isn't it at all. It has piqued my interest." Earnest slides his drink away from him, eyebrows coming together. "Gary. Just as I told you."
Gary holds out his right arm, clutching a magnum in his shaking hand. He immediately points the gun at Earnest's head. Earnest looks remarkably unfazed.
"Interesting. I thought that you might decide to turn on me. Which is why I am giving you a choice, out of scientific curiosity. Kill Petey here, and give me a little reassurance, thereby keeping your own life. Or kill me, and all the men here will be filled with the righteous fury we need to win this war. You see, I've told them that there have been threats on my life; that a spy will try to infiltrate our headquarters and assasinate me. So either way, I win. I get an answer."
"You're insane," Gary mutters. "Half the people you want dead are innocent, that's why people aren't fighting for you now."
"I'm a martyr," Earnest replies, grinning broadly. "There are people who question me, that's true. When I die, they will see that I am right. They are battling an evil. If Kowalski dies, you will have nothing left to lose. Either way, I will see an enemy dead."
Gary lowers the gun, his eyes darting to Pete for direction.
"Come now, Gary, you've never had a problem killing anyone before," Earnest chides.
"Gary," Pete says, reaching out to steady the hand clutching the gun. "It's better if you pick me."
"Are you fucking crazy?" Gary hisses at him, trying to jerk his hand away and failing.
"I really have no preference," Earnest adds. "I'm the hero here no matter what you choose to do."
Pete squeezes Gary's hand. "I can't stand to see any more people die. That's just what's going to happen if you prove Earnest right."
"I can't," Gary mutters, finally pulling free of Pete's grip. He looks at the gun, lost. "I can't, I can't."
The three of them wait in limbo, Earnest smiling to himself as he watches the conflict pass over Gary's face. "Have either of you ever seen a dog when two people are calling to it at once? They take forever to weigh their choices, don't they?"
Pete takes Gary's hand again, rests his head against the pistol, closes his eyes.
"Petey," Gary says. His hands are shaking so hard. Pete can feel it through the gun.
"I love you, too," Pete whispers. "Do what you need to."
He doesn't care what Earnest hears. He closes his hands over Gary's, reveling in the warmth. Gary's heart is racing, pumping blood to his hands through his radial artery. It's beautiful.
Gary closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath, then he nods and steps back, holding up the gun. Pete can't bring himself to look away. He never could.
When Gary turns the gun on himself, there is only a split second for the Earnest's face to fall before he pulls the trigger. Pete doesn't even have time to cry out his name.
A meeting is held in Respite. Earnest is arrested, though the real reason is covered up. They don't want it to look like there's corruption in the army. They put him in an asylum, caging the animal.
The rebels and the military sign a treaty. Peter Kowalski's is one of the signatures. He is given a medal of honor for his reputable work in Respite.
Though most of the cities of Nevada are ruined, people still set up more encampments such as Respite. There are tents, mess halls, medical buildings. Television and radio signals are restored. In a few years, the government will be regulating purified water throughout the country again.
It is amazing how quickly people begin to rebuild.
"... It's been, what, five years?"
Pete looks up from the bandage he is applying, raising his eyebrows. "Five years since what? Since you were last here? Because it's been about five days."
"Since the war ended," Michael says, wiggling his toes. "You fixed it!"
"It was just a scrape, Mikey," Pete tells him, smiling. "... You'd be surprised how different everything is, you know."
"Dad keeps telling me," Michael replies, looking bored. "He says in Nevada there wasn't even any snow! Can you believe that?"
"Hardly," Pete says, chewing his lip. "I was there when the treaty was signed, you know."
"I know already." Michael throws his hands up. Then he slides of the table and toddles a bit, to make sure his scraped leg is indeed fixed. "And your commanding officer was arrested and you got a medal and all, I've seen it and you told me like a million times."
"It isn't my medal, it's--"
"Gary Smith's!" Mikey laughs. "You told me that like a million billion times already, Mr. Kowalski, and I told my dad and he said you're making it up, all that stuff you said about Gary Smith. And then he said you couldn't have been in Nevada when the treaty was brought to headquarters because the headquarters isn't even there."
"You're dad doesn't know where it is," Pete tells him. "Would I lie to you?"
"He told me the news said, and that's on the radio and everything," Michael says uncertainly, wavering. "But I guess not. You're like my mom and I can tell when she's lying."
Pete smiles as Michael's mother sweeps in on cue, pushing the flap of the medical tent back and planting a loud kiss on her little boy's forehead. "He'd like to think he can! Thank you so much, Dr. Kowalski. How much do I owe you?"
"It was just a checkup," Pete tells her. "It'd be a crime to charge you anything for that."
"Oh, you're a sweetheart, Peter. At least let me treat you to lunch? I've got an extra pass, you know how they insist on regulating everything these days..."
"I didn't get dessert last night," Mikey mumbles, suddenly shy in the presence of his mother. "Mommy, you owe me a dessert because I didn't get to last night."
She brushes Mikey's hair back from his forehead, ignoring him for now. Pete scratches the back of his head. "I'd love to, Shannon, but I'm late already..."
"I'm sorry, I forgot. I should've known that's what the flowers were for," she says, touching his shoulder. "He would have liked them."
"No, he probably wouldn't have," Pete tells her, and he can't help but grin. In fact, he knows exactly what Gary Smith would have said if Pete had ever brought him flowers.
"You know something, Mr. Kowalski?" Shannon says, ignoring Michael's insistent tugs against her sleeve. "You're doing a lot of good here. You really are."
"... Thank you," Pete tells her. "It means a lot."
Shannon drops her hand from his shoulder, aware that she's triggered more painful memories. Her parents both died in the war. "Tell him hello from me, will you?"
Pete offers her a smile and puts his hand in his pocket. He feels an old photograph and change. "Yes. I can do that."