Summary: There was never a choice. It was a matter of who he could live with or who he couldn't. Alex knew the answer to that all along. He just had to be faced with the question.

Author's note: Idk, I just thought they needed something good to happen to them

Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognizable herein and I have no intention of profiting on my writing.

Beta: GeezerWench

His

A caravan of vehicles, mostly pick-up trucks and RVs that had seen better days, drove through a cloud of dust and sand on the dirt road leading to the old Foster homestead. The Ranch had been abandoned sometime in the sixties, and there wasn't anything left of it except for the land where a neat and tidy three-bedroom house, a red-painted barn and several well-kept sheds had once stood, but the long since gone buildings were not the reason why thousands made the trek out to the former sheep farm thirty miles north of Roswell.

The annual UFO Festival premiered sometime in the mid eighties, when the board of trade came up with the brilliant idea about how to take advantage of the curious and crazy who made the pilgrimage to the scene of the alleged crash of '47.

What had started as a smaller fair of vendors peddling overpriced souvenirs in the middle of the desert had spread all the way into Roswell. The small two-screen theater held round-the-clock showings of movies featuring aliens, from Alien one through four, E.T, Star Wars, Independence Day — but only the one from '96— all five Transformers movies, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Avatar to Pixels, Chicken Little and Home, and everything in between. They even opened the drive-in for a midnight viewing of Men in Black.

The board of Economic Development and Tourism petitioned the city to have an amusement park built at the edge of town, and it had been a hit when it debuted the year before. Live music, carnivals, numerous costume competitions, and enough food to feed a small country. It had grown from a couple of hours long to a three-day celebration ending with the real drawing card—a reenactment of the crashing spaceship.

The most coveted spots filled up days before the main event. People left their cars to save their spots, and the folks hitched a ride into town, just to make sure they would have the best view.

The early afternoon sun burned in the sky; it was hot even for July, and in scattered places steam rose from the desert sand. It had begun its decent, but still hung high. There were hours left before nightfall and the big finale. The pre-party was already in full swing. While tailgating had been initiated by the out-of-towners, it was quickly picked up by the locals, and over the past ten years, it had become a tradition.

Some stayed by their pickups, paper plates and plastic utensils on hand, ready to serve whatever they had brought with them. Others let people help themselves while they wandered among the trucks, sampled the food and talked to friends, old and new.

Rows of tables sagged under the weight of burgers and hot dogs, tamales, gorditas, quesadillas and churros.

The day had been windless up until then, but something spread mouthwatering flavors from the many barbecues. Cilantro, parsley and ginger, garlic, lemons, and pineapple, cayenne, allspice and cumin, honey, brown sugar and sweet soy sauce filled the air. Spicy marinades, sweet marinades, fruity marinades and more.

It was a meat-eaters paradise. Plump breasts, drumsticks, wings, and even whole chickens. Pork chops, racks of ribs and tenderloins; rib eyes, New York strips, filet mignons, and a couple of roasts grilled to perfection; and for those seeking alternative options, there were a number of veggies and fruit skewers to choose from.

After an incident involving a deep fryer and a 20 pound turkey, the city of Roswell called on Kirtland Air Force Base to make sure nothing got out of hand—or set on fire. Instead of putting a damper on the gathering more rallied; the town loved their military.

Alex Manes had been in town to get something to eat and buy a sixer of beer, but on his way back to the hunter cabin where he was living, he had a sudden change of heart. An illegal U-turn later, he was heading towards the Foster homestead.

The last minute decision left him without many options and he had to drive far off the beaten path until he found somewhere to park his truck.

The long walk was miserable. When Alex left home, he hadn't planned on a hike through the desert, and the sneakers he was wearing were crammed with enough sand to fill a sandbox. By the time he finally reached the crash site, his sturdy cane was the only reason he was still standing. Pain shot up his right side from the added strain of the uneven terrain, and sweat soaked through the back of his shirt. The skin around his lips whitened and were drawn tight from exertion.

Leaning heavily on his cane, Alex took a moment to calm his breathing by drawing in slow, steady breaths, avoiding the looks of everyone there. He felt the stares—their pity, and their revulsion, for the one-legged man, the gimp.

Alex's chest heaved with each labored breath. His face felt impossibly hot, so did his neck, and his ears. The humiliation burned hotter than the New Mexico sun. His heart pounded. Dizziness and nausea quickly followed. There was a roaring in his ears that sounded disturbingly similar to his father, "Excellence in all we do, Alex, remember that. People are watching. People are always watching."

The roar lowered to an almost hypnotizing hum, lulling him into a trance where he heard whispers, "You shouldn't have come. Showing weakness is worse than being weak."

It took everything that he had to not curl into a ball, cover his ears, and scream as loud as he could to drown out the voice in his head.

The pain subsided with the slowing of his breathing and his ashen complexion returned to its normal fair olive tone. Alex tightened his hold around the beer, and limped forward to the sound of glass bottles clinking together.

Alex and his friends had been regulars at the Festival growing up. It had been the highlight of their summers, especially the big finale. While he had never believed in UFOs, and didn't understand the fascination with aliens—it had been a nuclear test surveillance balloon from Project Mogul, the Air Force had released that information in the 90s—it was a tradition. One Alex hadn't realized how much he missed.

Dressed in his civvies, dark blue flannel with red seams, a dark tee and jeans, Alex felt practically naked, it was a feeling he'd better get used to. They were still processing the papers but it was just a matter of time before his medical discharge went through. He might as well accept reality.

He wobbled over to the front row where he knew Michael Guerin's battered old pick up would be parked.

It had always been an enigma, how he always ended up with the most coveted spot. It didn't matter if he parked there days in advance or if he drove up five minutes before lights up on act one, Guerin had watched the show from the same spot since he could legally drive. That was the big Roswell mystery, far more intriguing than aliens whether they came from across the border or the universe.

According to Grant Green, the nutcase with a podcast he broadcast from a booth in The CrashDown diner with the catchphrase Make Our Planet Great Again, they were all after the same thing: rob Americans of their jobs, and their women, and spend taxpayers' money. The next step would probably be asking for donations to build a wall to keep them on their side of the galaxy. Alex followed the podcast religiously. It was a guilty pleasure of his, he had to know how Grant planned on getting it up to space, and which material would be the most favorable.

When he reached Michael's truck, he saw Michael wasn't alone. Alex hung back a little, and tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. That, along with the sudden burn in his chest, was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. The woman tossed her hair and giggled at whatever Michael was saying. Alex had never seen her before, making her an out-of-towner, which meant she would be leaving in a day or two. It didn't make him feel any better, a lot of things could happen in two days. He watched Michael scoop up what looked, and smelled, like Isobel's famous macaroni salad onto a paper plate.

When he handed it over, their fingers touched and a shiver ran through the woman's lithe body. Michael didn't seem to notice. His smile was polite, a little distant maybe, and if he was aware of the woman's flirting, he never had been that good at reading signals. But whether he noticed or not, it was clear he didn't reciprocate.

The sultry smile disappeared in an instant. Her eyes narrowed, and with pursed lips and flaring nostrils, she clenched the hand not holding the plate into a tight fist and stormed off.

Michael stared into one of the two two-and-a-half gallon buckets by his feet as if it held the answer to her behaviour, then shrugged as if he didn't care either way.

It made Alex feel better, even if only a little.

A middle aged man with a beer gut walked by wearing a red MOPGA cap pulled down on top of a bad combover. Alex had seen a couple of those hats on his visits to town. Grant sold them from his 'office' for fifteen bucks.

As Alex took a couple of faltering steps towards Michael, he squared his shoulders and steeled himself for rejection. He put down the six-pack on the lowered tailgate of the truck. "I'll give you half if you let me watch the show from here," he said,with a tight smile, hoping Michael couldn't see how nervous he made him. His stomach was filled with butterflies the size of pterodactyls.

Michael didn't look up from stirring the salad. "Aren't you worried what people might think when they see us together?"

Alex shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He pressed his lips together and frowned. Alex knew that he had given Michael a reason for the cold shoulder. Hell, he had given him more than one. Still, he had to forcefully push back a wave of annoyance. "No."

Michael eyed him closely with a guarded look in his eyes. The seconds ticked away into an eternity before he nodded to the empty spot next to him. He didn't have to tell him twice.

Finally getting off his feet, Alex sighed in relief. He raised his left leg on his knee and pulled of his sneaker to clear it of sand. It looked like tiny shards of glass running through his fingers. When he went to do the same with his right, he hesitated before removing his sneaker. The prosthetic made him self-conscious, it didn't matter that Michael had seen everything before, he hated being seen as weak.

Michael placed his callused, scarred hand on top of Alex's and gently nudged it out of the way. He carefully removed the shoe, poured out the sand, then put it back on.

Alex's heart hammered in his chest. With just a simple gesture Michael managed to put him right at ease, and also made his jeans uncomfortably tight.

Any chance at discretion was out, so Alex just palmed and adjusted his dick, and he smiled slyly when he noticed Michael's eyes followed his movements.

People came by, several of them greeting Michael by name, wondered where Isabel was, and teasingly asked about the salads.

"Did you make 'em, 'cause if you did I'm full," an elderly man declared and gave Michael a toothless grin.

Michael put a hand over his heart, "Aw, Buck, would I do that to you? You hurt my feelings."

The old man brayed like a donkey when he laughed. "Can't hurt what you ain't got?"

Alex looked at Michael and their eyes met. In their depths, Alex could see everything he himself felt and more.

Michael was first to look away. "Yeah." His chuckle sounded hollow, lacking its usual warmth. "Can't do that."

"So Isobel made them salads?"

Michael nodded. "That's right. She dropped both off at my trailer this morning when they drove to the airport."

Alex remembered hearing something about that; Isobel's husband Noah whisking her away on a second honeymoon to convince her they were ready to start trying for a baby. But just because she wouldn't be there in person didn't mean her macaroni and chicken, and tex mex salads couldn't. Apparently they were real crowd-pleasers because a line had begun building,leading up to Michael's truck. Some brought food for Michael seeing as he was stuck on server duty.

More people walked by, some stopping to chat, others just accepting their plates and continuing on their way. The tourists all seemed to love him. One middle-aged guy who looked as if he hadn't stepped out of his mother's basement since the last festival, gave Michael the Vulcan salute which he mimicked then sent him off with a "The truth is out there."

Alex scoffed. "Yeah, it's out there, all right." He twisted off the cap of his beer and took a sip.

One family brought a basket of tortilla chips and a large bowl of guacamole to trade for some of Isobel's salads.

After the family left, and Michael and Alex had a few minutes of peace, Michael grabbed a handful of chips and used them to scoop up the dip. Loudly munching on the snack, he held one up towards Alex's mouth, raising his eyebrows in offering.

Alex shook his head. "No thanks, avocado gives me..."

"...Gas?" Michael snorted. "I remember." He dipped a chip in the bowl and dug up a huge dollop of guacamole. He licked it clean, letting the dip roll on his tongue he hummed with pleasure.

Alex's dick pushed against his zipper, and he swallowed a groan.

"Mmmm," Michael moaned. "That's so good."

Sure he was drooling, Alex wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

Michael continued his teasing. He finished chewing and licked his lips to catch any crumbs or dip that might have escaped. "You're really missing out. Are you sure you don't want one?"

Alex shook his head no.

"Why?" Michael leaned forward and put his lips to the shell of Alex's ear. "Maybe you'd like it."

Alex had to clear his throat three times before he could speak. "I would love it. But I'd be in pain tomorrow."

Michael sombered. "I don't want you to be in pain, Alex." The wet shine in his eyes told Alex they weren't just talking about avocados. He gestured to what was left of Alex's right leg. "Knowing that you have been… I ca… It kills me."

Alex swallowed and closed his eyes for just a moment. He raised his head and looked into Michael's dark eyes, locking their shared gaze. "This…" He rapped his knuckles against the prosthetic, "...is not your fault. You weren't even there."

"Maybe I should have been?" Michael's asked thickly.

"Don't say that." Alex grabbed Michael's shoulders and shook him. "Don't even think like that. You could've been hurt...or worse, and…" A lone tear trickled down his cheek. "I-I would never had survived that."

Michael's eyes glistened. "Alex…"

Alex put up his hand to stop the next words coming. "No, please … I don't want to talk about … it. Talk about there," he pleaded, his voice cracking. Memories from his time in Baghdad darkened his vision. And for one horrifying second it was almost as if he was.

Michael opened and closed his mouth repeatedly before wisely deciding to keep quiet.

The silence that followed was anything but comfortable, so it was a relief when the painful awkwardness ended.

They ran out of salad when a group dressed in elaborate insectoid extraterrestrial costumes with wings, scales, and huge dichoptic compound eyes stopped by. Michael carefully scraped the bottom of the buckets but even after he collected every last pea, there just wasn't enough to serve four.

A comical look of frustrated defeat flickered across Michael's features. "Sorry." He smiled sheepishly. "I'll make sure she makes more next year."

Alex's dick twitched.

The short alien pushed back the mask to its forehead, revealing the face of a little lady that looked to be a couple of hundred years old. She shook a wrinkly fist in his face, grinning good naturedly. "You better, Mickey." She reached up and pinched his cheek.

Alex held his sides, gasping for breath.

Either the lady didn't notice, or she didn't care, because she continued as if nothing had happened. "Or I might forget to give your number to my granddaughter when I visit her next week."

The laughter died in Alex's throat and his neck bones popped when his head snapped towards Michael, a bubble of doubt exploded in his stomach. Transforming first into jealousy, then an almost crippling fear, and lastly anger.

The group of bugs soon went on their way

"What the fuck was that about?" Alex spat. He knew he didn't have a real claim,but he didn't care. Michael was his.

Or he should be his.

Alex wanted him to be.

"They ask about my love life every year…" Michael explained quietly and rested a hand on top of Alex's right knee, just above the stump. "It's just easier to tell them I'm single and hand out my number, or agree to dates than…"

"Than what?" Alex's whispered harshly. "Tell them you're gay?" Or more like bi, but it wasn't the time for semantics.

"No! It's easier than telling them I'm pining for someone who doesn't want to be seen with me."

"Guerin…"

"Forget it." Michael collected the empty beer bottles and threw them in one of the buckets together with the last of the plates and napkins. "I'm gonna get something to eat."

Alex pushed himself down off the tailgate onto the ground. "I can grab us some burgers."

"No," Michael said firmly. "I'll go."

"I'm not a paraplegic, Guerin." The muscle in Alex's jaw ticked. "I can get us some fucking burgers."

Michael threw his hands in the air. "Fine, you do it. But if there's pickles on mine, I'm making you walk back to your truck after the show."

"You're giving me a ride to my truck?" Alex asked with a tentative smile.

"Not if there's pickles on my burgers I won't."

Alex chuckled. "Deal."

He had to walk around for a while, it had gotten pretty late and as with Michael's salads, most were out of food. It wasn't until he rounded the lot and was almost back at Michael's truck that the scent of burgers reached his nose.

The couple manning the barbecue recognized Alex and they thanked him for his service. He hummed noncommittally, feeling awkward and chose to quietly watch while they added buns and other fixings to the burgers, and made sure two were without pickles. One of the men offered to help him carry the burgers back to his truck, but Alex politely declined. They were just trying to be helpful, but he was tired of being treated as a cripple. He waved goodbye with a forced smile, then, holding his cane in his right hand and balancing a plate of burgers in his left, he walked carefully back towards were Michael was waiting for him.

He was stopped a couple of time by people wanting to say hi, and thank him for serving his country.

"We're so glad you made it home in one piece," Mrs. Gerty gushed, until Mr. Gerty hushed her and pointedly nodded to his cane. "Oh… I didn't…" She blushed.

"Three fourths of one piece is better than none at all." His attempt to joke fell flat and everybody was grateful when the elderly couple came up with an excuse to leave and scurried off as fast as their legs could carry them.

The truck was in his line of sight and a feeling of relief spread throughout his body, lessening the tension there. Just as he was about to clear the last row he realized he had breathed out too soon. There, in the middle of his path stood none other than Master Sergeant Jesse Manes.

Alex had done three tours in Iraq and was decorated with the purple heart, there were few things he was afraid of. The first was losing Michael, the other was the man standing in front of him. One disapproving look from those cold blue eyes and he was a kid again, hiding from the father doing his best to beat the gay out of his youngest son.

Alex looked over his dad's shoulder to where he could see Michael. He was talking to Mrs. DeLuca, the quirky mother of one of their old classmates. 'Good,' Alex thought. He didn't want him to try and interfere.

Jesse followed the direction of Alex's eyes. His upper lip twisted in disgust. "Your… tastes… have always left a lot to be desired, but this is a new low, even for you."

Alex straightened his back and faced his father. "Do I embarrass you, Dad?"

"You're a decorated Airman, and Guerin will never be more than a petty criminal. You're embarrassing yourself."

A small smile played on Alex's lips when he realized the old need for his father's approval wasn't there. "It seems, as with everything else, we have very different ideas of what counts as embarrassing. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

For the first time in his life, Alex turned his back to his father and walked away from him with his head held high. He felt the older man's stare burn into the back of his neck with each step, but never faltered…despite the missing limb.

By the time Alex reached the truck, he felt out of breath. But as soon as he met Michael's eyes and saw the worry in them, the pressure over his chest loosened and he could breathe again.

Michael furrowed his brows. "Are you okay? I saw you…" He gestured to where Alex's father remained, still staring.

"I love you." He got up onto the bed of the truck and sat close enough so their legs were touching.

Michael's eyes widened. "What?"

"I love you." Alex pushed himself onto his knees and brushed a kiss to Michael's parted lips.

Michael pulled away and looked at him searchingly. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Smiling Alex laced his fingers through Michael's curls. "I've never been surer."

Alex claimed Michael's lips in a slow, drugging kiss. He explored his lips with the tip of his tongue, gradually adding pressure then licking the seam to tease them apart. At first it was nothing more than the tip, but it wasn't enough and he delved his tongue deeper into Michael's warm, wet mouth, kissing him hungrily. Alex circled his tongue around Michael's, twisting, curling, dancing. He explored his mouth, tasted, tested, sucked and nibbled.

Alex dick was painfully hard and leaking precome.

When they finally broke for air, Alex father was the farthest thing from his mind.

Michael mouthed, "Wow."

Alex couldn't stop grinning. He felt seventeen again. "Yeah."

"You showed him."

"I did, didn't I." Alex laughed breathlessly, as if he couldn't believe what he had done. "I thought about giving you a handjob, but maybe that would have been a little too much."

"A little." Michael agreed, smiling. His smile grew pensive, and he hesitated slightly before asking. "So, you're mine?"

"I am," Alex answered, his smile impossibly wide.

His.

The End

Endnotes: At least no one died this time.

Definitions

People in the armed forces use civvies to refer to ordinary clothes that are not part of a uniform.

Tailgating - host or attend a social gathering at which an informal meal is served from the back of a parked vehicle, typically in the car park (parking lot) of a sports stadium.

The truth is out there - Is the famous catchphrase from the TV show X-Files.

11th Air Refueling Wing motto - Progresso Sine Timore Aut Prae Judicio (Progress without Fear or Prejudice)

The 11th Wing (11 WG) is a United States Air Force unit assigned to the Air Force District of Washington.

U.S Air Force Core Values. 1) Integrity first 2) Service before self 3) Excellence in all we do

In the 1990s, the US military published two reports disclosing the true nature of the crashed object: a nuclear test surveillance balloon from Project Mogul.

The Vulcan salutation is a hand gesture popularized by the 1960s television series Star Trek. It consists of a raised hand with the palm forward and the thumb extended, while the fingers are parted between the middle and ring finger.

Call made by Stage Management to the rear of house PA system to say that the performance has started. (e.g. "Curtain Up on Act One"). An alternative call is "Lights Up on Act One".

Many insects have dichoptic compound eyes, meaning two eyes that are located separately and symmetrically, one on each side of the head.