The Christmas tree was looking pretty bare this year, but that wasn't really what was bothering him.

He stared at the listless branches drooping towards the carpet, watching as a stray needle threatened to detach itself from the middle section. It'd been struggling for days, and he kept checking it every morning to see if the situation had progressed.

No, what was bothering him was that there were gifts underneath the tree but only for himself, from himself. It was the same every year—buy a few things he wanted, wrap them in a mess of overpriced holiday-patterned paper and cheap tape, and stuff them under the warped branches until Christmas morning, when he would wake up, reluctantly crawl out of bed and wrap his trusty yellow and gray robe around his shoulders, and sit down beside the tree to open his gifts one at a time.

It was really the saddest thing, but he didn't have any friends. It was the curse of the military, he assumed. Make some friends, watch them die in battle or lose themselves in horrific memories, and end up alone because no one wanted to take care of him when he'd wake up screaming in the middle of the night, terrified of the monsters lurking in the dark corners of his room disguised as his own shadow.

He'd thought she was the one to be that person, but he'd been wrong.

With another sigh he rocked back and regained his balance, standing up slowly, listening to his joints creak. Another long day of gazing at the bare walls of his apartment had taken its toll on his body. He walked over to the porch door and slid the glass open, stepping outside onto the cold concrete. A shiver ran up his spine as his bare feet padded across the rough surface, and he leaned against the railing, staring out at the street below. No one was out; it was too late for most sane people. Or too early, depending how one would read the microwave clock that read 4:13am in neon green.

Why had she left him? She'd been supportive all throughout his career, cheering for him when he came home on leave, holding his hand when he buried his friends, gently rubbing his back when he cried in the middle of the night, in the supermarket during peak afternoon shopping hours, in the dog park as her chocolate lab Hunter ran around in circles attacking fallen leaves.

All that support and love and nurturing and it was gone in an instant. Her bags had been packed when he arrived home from his final tour, ready to start their lives together. Something about too much pressure, that she wasn't ready for children, that she didn't want to put anyone else through the shit he'd forced upon her. He understood, he really did, and she had kissed him goodbye before leaving her keys on the marbled counter. Understanding hadn't changed the fact that he sat on the couch with a kitchen knife pressed against his wrist for two hours after the door had closed behind her, only able to move the blade away when he realized Hunter was peacefully asleep under the living room table.

The chilled night air refreshed his mind as he glanced up at the sky, noting a few stars peeking out from behind the wispy clouds. It'd snowed a little the day before, just a couple of inches, enough to make it difficult to walk Hunter since he liked to pull on his leash and drag both of them across patches of black ice. His neighbors should have been asleep by then, so he carefully set a foot on the spare metal folding chair propped up against the short wall and climbed up onto the wide porch railing, reaching his arms up above to touch the underside of the upstairs apartment's porch. He took a deep breath and focused on the cool air filling his throat and lungs, prickling his nerves. A robe, flannel boxers, and an undershirt were not the best items of clothing to be wearing in the dead of winter in Colorado, but he didn't care.

"Can I just be good enough to actually make you feel something?" he screamed as loudly as he could, hearing a dog start to bark from the next building over across the small apartment complex street. A couple of lights flashed on in other apartments and he quickly climbed down from the porch, feeling embarrassed but still slightly satisfied that now he wasn't the only one awake at such an ungodly hour.

"You are perfect and you make me feel alive!"

He spun around and leaned over the railing, seeing the flash of a blinking bike light strobe past his peripheral vision. Whoever had responded was already gone, but he was left smiling, having not expected an answer. A brush of warmth passed through the leg of his pants and he looked down to see Hunter perched at his side, panting slightly as he looked up, confusion in his large brown eyes.

"Come on, buddy, let's go back to bed."

Hunter whined and trotted back inside. He followed and pulled the glass door shut, flicking off the porch light.

Well, if he was good enough for a stranger, surely he could find someone to put up with him someday.

Part 1

"I'm fine, really."

"I don't believe you."

"How am I supposed to prove it to you? Look, I even put up a tree!"

"David, this is the saddest excuse for a Christmas tree I've ever seen." Carolina touched one of the drooping branches and sighed. "Couldn't you at least have gotten a real one? The fake ones just look so…well, fake."

"It was cheap. I'm trying to save money. And I think it's charming, so be quiet."

"Whatever. Hey, Hunter! Who's a good boy?" She knelt down as Hunter trotted over from his spot next to the kitchen entryway, looking pleased at the sudden attention.

"So, how long are you staying?..."

"Oh, stop your pathetic attempt at nicely getting me out of here. Mom wanted me to stop by to check on you, says you haven't called her in weeks. Is that true?"

Wash turned his head and frowned. "Wow, I really need to do dishes," he replied, staring at the pile of plates in the sink.

"David."

"Look, it's true, but it's not what you think. I've just been busy."

"Doing what?"

"I have a job, you know."

"Yeah, an office job with plenty of downtime that you could be using to call Mom."

"Lina, shut up."

"Just call her, okay?"

"I will."

"Really?"

"Yes, I promise. Do I need to pinky swear on it?"

She shook her head, reaching up to swipe at a few loose strands of freshly-curled red hair. "I'll believe you this time. What are you doing for Christmas?"

He rolled his shoulders back in a light shrug. "Nothing yet. Probably just go see a movie or something, hang out with Hunter, the usual."

"Still don't have a girlfriend?"

"Nope."

"What about Faye?"

"She was a little crazy for me, sorry. Speaking of which, you need to pick better friends."

Carolina chuckled. "She's just a coworker, I wouldn't really call her a friend. Thought she'd at least be an easy lay for you."

"And while I appreciate the thought, I really didn't appreciate her stealing my car keys so I couldn't drive home after dropping her off at her place."

"Oh my god, really?"

"Did she not tell you what happened?"

"Of course not! She just said you were really sweet and you promised you'd call her."

He huffed and shook his head. "I said I'd call the cops if she didn't let me leave, and she threw my keys into the bushes, ran inside, and started blasting rave music. I didn't even know what the hell was going on; I just found my keys and got the fuck out of there."

Hunter lifted up his head from where he was laying on the carpet and yawned, catching their attention. "I should get going," Carolina said, bending down to pat him on the head. "Are we going to see you for Christmas then, since you're not doing anything?"

Wash nodded curtly. "I'll stop by for a few."

"Good. Mike's been asking about you, he's worried."

"I think he's more my husband than yours sometimes," he joked, watching Carolina's features soften into a smile.

"Yeah, sometimes. He just knows what you've been through, you know, and—"

"Any time I need to talk, he's there," he parroted with a lopsided grin. "I know the spiel. Tell him I'm fine, really."

"Okay. Call me."

"I will. See you later."

"Bye." She disappeared out the front door with a quick wave over her shoulder. Hunter let out a large yawn and Wash smiled down at him, looking into his big brown eyes.

"Do you want to go for a run?" he asked, and Hunter whined in response, lifting his head just slightly.

"Watch where you're going, asshole!"

The SUV continued speeding down the road as Wash flipped it off, his other hand holding onto Hunter's leash, strained as the dog attempted to chase after the offending vehicle.

"Hunter, sit."

After a few more seconds of barking and struggling to break away from the leash, Hunter finally calmed down and sat on his haunches, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, looking up at him expectantly. He squared his shoulders and started off jogging again, listening to the reassuring slap of his tennis shoes against the cooled asphalt. Hunter loped alongside him, trying to keep pace as he sped up naturally, feeling his calves begin to warm up once again.

"Washington! Get the hell down now!"

He toppled over and fell to the ground as gunfire began to echo to his left, immediately crouching into a defensive position, fingers grasping towards the knife tucked in his vest. His right hand held his gun and aimed it reflexively in front of him, straining to hear the direction of the gunfire.

"Incoming from the right!"

He whipped his head around and faintly registered the sound of a dog barking as he raised the gun, his finger a hairs-breadth away from the trigger. His eyes wide, he shouted a command to the rest of his squad and took aim—

"Whoa, buddy, you all right there?"

The sounds of gunfire and shouting drained away, replaced by the familiar pine trees of the nearby park by his apartment building. Wash blinked twice to clear the haze and slowly focused on Hunter's snout, which was hovering just in front of his face.

"You're kind of freaking me out. You okay?"

Hunter licked his face and he flinched, reaching up to pat his nose. Just past the fur he finally noticed the concerned face of a young man hunched over, hands on his thighs, head tilted just so, staring at him with a sideways frown.

"Yeah, uh, sorry." He brushed off his knees and attempted to stand up, wavering a little. A hand was on his arm a second later and he straightened, realizing the man had prevented from toppling over again. "I'm fine. Sorry."

"Your dog was freaking out and running in circles. Did you pass out or something?"

"No, I—sorry. I'm fine. It's nothing."

The man's frown deepened as his hand remained pressed against his arm, radiating calmness. "It didn't look like nothing—"

"I said I'm fine, just drop it."

The pressure immediately disappeared as the man backed away, his frown curving up into a quirked grin. "Cool, cool. Just seemed a little strange, seeing a grown man flat on his ass in the middle of the sidewalk, that's all. Can't blame me for being intrigued. And a little worried."

"I'm fine," he insisted again. "Thanks for calming down Hunter."

"Sure, no big deal. Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah. I live a couple miles from here, we'll get home just fine."

"Okay, if you're sure—"

"Thanks again," Wash cut in, trying to ignore the hurt in the other man's eyes. Or eye, really—he tried not to stare, but couldn't help but notice his left eye was scarred, the scar tissue slightly pink though mostly faded. Probably an injury from quite some time ago, judging by his personal experience with wounds.

"Of course. I'm York."

"David." They shook hands and he offered York a small smile.

"Well, guess I'll get going then," York said, tilting his head. "You sure you're okay, man?"

"Yes. I should get going before Hunter starts acting up." They both looked down at the dog, who was beginning to appear bored, panting under the warming winter sun, his leash still in York's hand.

"Sounds good. Be careful."

"You too." He took the leash back from York and turned towards the direction they'd come, beginning to jog away. After a moment he turned back, but saw that the sidewalk was empty.

Part 2

"How is it even possible that this looks sadder than it did a few nights ago?" Wash asked Hunter.

All he received in return was a sleepy sigh as the two of them sat beside the Christmas tree, staring up at the lights. He'd attempted to spruce up the tree with a few cheap store-bought ornaments, but all they did was weigh down the branches, threatening to snap.

"You're right, we should have gone for a real tree," he said, shaking his head. Hunter tilted his head and licked Wash's palm, nuzzling up against his arm. He smiled and pat his head with his other hand, appreciating the warmth. "I should probably eat something. Actually, have you eaten yet today?"

At the mention of food Hunter lifted his head away from his hands, panting a little in anticipation. He smiled and got to his feet, heading for the food bowl and bag of dog food he kept in the hallway closet. Hunter trotted alongside him and perched at the edge of the doorway, his tail wagging excitedly as he scooped out a bowl of food and set it on the carpet. He watched Hunter attack it and smiled, debating what to eat. He knew he didn't have a lot of food left fit for human consumption in the kitchen, but it was nearly ten p.m. and he hated going shopping while people were still awake. He much preferred the three-in-the-morning shopping schedule, where he only had to deal with college kids and strange people like himself.

"What do you think I should make, buddy?" Wash asked, furrowing his brow in thought. "I think it's between mac and cheese, or some soup that may or may not have originally had mushrooms. Thoughts?"

Hunter continued eating, ignoring him, and he sighed, glancing towards the front door. He knew what he had to do, but was severely dreading it.

"Are you finding everything you need, sir?"

He looked over to see a young girl in a brightly-colored vest smiling unnaturally widely at him, and he nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

"Let me know if you need help!" She practically bounced away as he returned his attention to the wall of sandwich meat packaged in tiny containers with bright blue and red and yellow lids. Nothing was grabbing his attention, but he knew it was more efficient to get enough stuff to make sandwiches for a few days until his unemployment check hit the bank than to dip into savings for fast food.

"They're a little intense here, aren't they?"

Wash turned to see the man from the other day stopping a grocery cart next to the red basket at his feet. The cart was full of fruits, vegetables, and enough different varieties of cookies that even the highest sugar-addicted child would overdose into a sugar coma. "Uh, yeah, I guess."

"Oh, don't worry, this isn't all for me," he said defensively, gesturing towards the cookies. "I work in an office and want to appease my coworkers. It's been really busy lately and we're all a little overworked and overstressed."

"Oh, thank god. I actually was a little concerned," Wash said, reaching up for a container of honey baked ham. He tossed it in his basket as he forced himself to smile good-naturedly. "I mean, you don't look like you eat that kind of stuff, so I didn't want you to kill yourself on sugar."

"On the contrary! I actually love cake, I just don't let myself bake very often or I wouldn't look like this." He raised his hands from the bars of the cart and flexed. Wash nodded and went back to deciding between turkey or roast beef so he could take advantage of the savings advertised on the sticker in front of him. "Sorry, I'll leave you alone. Just thought I'd say hi, check on you, you know."

"Sorry," Wash said, actually feeling a little embarrassed. He grabbed a package of turkey and tossed it in the basket, turning his body to face him. "I'm just…not that great with people. Sorry."

"Oh, don't apologize, I get it. Army, right?"

He nodded curtly. "Yeah. Just got out last year. Still adjusting."

"You're me, just a few years later," York said, sounding understanding. "Did a tour, was going to do a second but got discharged."

"I assumed."

"You and everyone else with eyes. Nah, this wasn't from combat," he replied, pointing to the scar stretched across his left eye and cheek. "Got this back in high school from being dumb with fireworks. I was just the unlucky one."

"Oh? How'd you get accepted into the Army then?" Wash asked, suddenly more interested.

"Technical skills. Computers, lock picking, you name it, I can probably do it. It was a bitch to pass the physical training, because no matter how good my scores were, all they could see was the liability. But I won 'em over and it was the best four years of my life."

"Then why'd they discharge you?"

"Accident during training. Some asshole thought it'd be funny to throw a grenade at me; it wasn't live but it was in my blind spot, and I reacted…violently." York reached down and lifted up his left pants leg, showing off part of a long scar threading its way up his calf. "They had to pull the guy off me after he destroyed my leg with a knife. I mean, I threw the first punch, but he was a good foot taller and a hundred pounds of muscle bigger than me. Should have seen that coming."

"Rough deal. I'm sorry."

"Got to date one of my nurses for a couple of months while he got fucked over with punishments and extra work, so I think I came out ahead on that one," York said with a grin. "Did you finish a second tour yourself?"

"Just one. I wanted to stay in, but they wouldn't let me," Wash admitted, looking down at the grimy tile underneath his boots.

"PTSD?"

"That's what they tell me."

"Sorry, man. Really. It's rough, but you're gonna be okay, I promise."

"Thanks. I'm working on it. I thought I was doing better, but clearly I still need some work."

"I kind of figured, from the other day. I've seen a lot of friends suffer through that, and…well, not all of them made it through."

Silence settled uncomfortably between the two of them for a moment, punctuated by the announcement that the deli section was going to be closing in five minutes. York cleared his throat and settled his hands on his cart once more.

"I guess I should get going, I was going to get some chicken for a snack. Are you…" He hesitated for a split-second.

"I'm fine, don't worry," Wash filled in, nodding. "Gotta talk about it to someone, right? And I don't think my dog wants to talk anymore; he just tells me the same things my therapist does, anyway."

York opened his mouth to say something, then apparently thought better of it and pressed his lips together. He looked down into his cart and a corner of his mouth quirked up.

"Just to be sure—you don't actually think your dog is—"

He was interrupted by Wash's laughter, ringing throughout the aisle. "No, my dog doesn't talk to me, you moron!"

"Thank god. I was going to recommend changing therapists because obviously your current one isn't getting the job done," York cracked.

Wash pressed the heel of his hand over his right eye, wiping away a few tears. His chest was still shaking and he saw York's very pink cheeks through his hazy vision. "I haven't laughed that hard in a long time," he managed to choke out through a fresh burst of laughter.

"Glad I could help," York muttered, sounding annoyed but still smiling.

"I better get home before Hunter really does start talking to me; I haven't eaten all day," Wash said, offering his hand for a handshake. York reached out and grasped it firmly.

"Good to see you again."

"You too. I mean it."

"Hey, hit me up if you want to hang out sometime," he said, reaching into his jeans pocket. He pulled out a wallet and dug inside, withdrawing a business card that he flicked upwards, showing it to Wash. "I'm free most nights. Hell, I'm free most days, at least to talk. I'm serious—if you're having a bad day, please call me."

"I will," Wash agreed, taking the card and shoving it in his back pocket. "I'll text you so you have my number. Weren't you going to get something at the deli?"

York snapped his fingers. "Shit, you're right. Better run!" He grabbed his cart and shoved off, quickly heading towards the deli, which was probably already closed, Wash noted as he checked the time on his phone. He picked up his basket and started towards the snack aisle, suddenly craving cookies.

Part 3

Laughter rang between Wash's ears as he ducked into the bathroom, quickly and reflexively locking the door behind him. He sagged against the wall just behind the door, allowing his head to drop forward, his chin nearly touching his chest.

Carolina was the best sister he could ask for, but man was her laugh irritating sometimes. And the fact that she laughed at every single one of her husband Mike's jokes…it was about all he could do to not haul off on her or stalk out of the house. He'd settled for hiding in the bathroom instead, feigning a headache. It sure wasn't turning out to be the quiet Christmas he'd resigned himself to the evening before when Carolina had called to remind him to bring a side dish. He'd shown up promptly at noon, a plastic container full of mashed potatoes steaming in his hands, and been thrown to the wolves—or, more accurately, Mike's gigantic family of three older sisters, their husbands, and the eleven children between them, not to mention his parents.

Most of the women had been gathered around the television, trying to remain ignorant of the children running around screaming about their new toys, and kept busy chatting while the men sat around comparing war stories while consuming massive quantities of alcohol and eggnog. All three of them had been in the military at one point or another and had plenty of things to talk about.

Once the conversation had turned to the current war and various tactics, Wash had excused himself, knowing exactly what the future held—arguing about whether or not war was necessary, and how dumbed down the military had become over the years. It was the same song and dance he'd been through time and time again over many holiday seasons. His opinion didn't matter because he wasn't loud enough to be heard, anyway.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he straightened a little, enough to dig into the back pocket of his too-new slacks that hadn't been properly broken in yet. He'd bought them the week before in an attempt at 'improving his self-image,' as his therapist and Carolina had both suggested, but felt really weird in them. Checking the caller ID, he felt a small smile creep across his lips as he answered.

"I'm in hell."

"Wow, that wasn't the greeting I was expecting. Christmas not going well?" York replied, obviously amused.

"Too many people, too many opinions. What's going on?"

"I'm bored and everyone is busy doing family shit. I was hoping that wasn't the case for you, but as I was dialing I remembered you saying something about your sister, so I'm sorry for interrupting. Or, well, I guess I'm not, if you're having that horrible a time."

"Can I come over?" Wash asked, biting his lower lip the second he finished saying the words.

"Uh—well, sure, yeah. That's—that's cool, I guess. I haven't cleaned in like a week, work's been crazy—"

"Don't care. I need to get out of here. Text me your address."

"Yeah, sure. I guess I'll see you soon, then?" He could hear a slight hint of panic in York's voice, but dismissed it quickly.

"Probably about half an hour, depending on how fast I can get out of here. I don't think they'll notice me leaving anyway."

"Sounds good. Later."

"Bye." Wash hung up the phone and shoved it back in his pocket, pushing himself off the wall. He gripped the edge of the sink with both hands and stared at his reflection in the tall mirror. His phone beeped, probably with York's address, and he smiled, watching the wrinkles around his eyes deepen. His time overseas had aged him a few years, but he still had most of the boyish charm he'd developed over the years. Despite looking nearly thirty, he was still only twenty-five, though most days he felt older.

He unlocked the bathroom door and stuck his head into the hallway, surveying his exit route. Everyone was still either in the living room or kitchen, shouting at each other over the sounds of dishes clanking and the television blasting some obnoxious kids show.

"Feeling better?"

He nearly slammed his head in the door as he jumped, seeing Carolina leaning against her bedroom door down the hallway. "Uh, yeah. Just needed a break."

"Good. We're getting ready to bake cookies, want to help?" She brushed some of her freshly-colored red hair out of her eyes, giving him a suspicious look.

"Actually, I was thinking of leaving. A friend called and invited me over to hang out, since he's got no one to be with today."

"A friend." The skepticism in her voice elevated just enough that he noticed.

"Yeah. I have friends."

"Since when?"

"Fuck you, Lina."

"Wow, okay, whatever. I don't need your moodiness today, okay? Go ahead, go be with your 'friend' on this big family holiday." She threw her hands up and walked down the hallway to join the others. He briefly wrestled with his feelings of guilt, but finally shut the bathroom door behind him and snuck over to the coat closet, finding his coat buried under a pile of kids jackets, gloves, and scarves.

"Where ya goin', champ?" One of the husbands, Leo maybe, they all seemed the same to him anyway, dropped a heavy hand on Wash's shoulder as he was shrugging into his coat, fighting with the collar.

"Just…out for a bit. I'll probably be back later," he replied, stepping away.

"Goin' on a beer run? I'll join you!" He moved to open the front door but Wash shook his head, jutting his arm out to block the man from opening the door.

"Nah, just out to meet a friend. Sorry."

"You? A friend? I don't believe it."

"Well, believe it. See ya." He ducked outside and slammed the door shut, digging in his coat pocket for his keys. Checking the text, he copied the address into Google Maps and headed for the car, already feeling better.

"So, welcome to my…well, apartment just sounds weak, but home, I guess." York stretched his arms out behind him, gesturing to the small but tidy living room. "Basic tour—living room here, kitchen over there—" His fingers pointed at a refrigerator, stove, and a couple of cabinets, "—bathroom and bedroom down the hall, and a couple of closets here and there, including out on the porch, which is that way." He walked over to the couch and flopped down onto the worn gray fabric, propping his feet up on a scratched wooden table as he draped his left arm over the back. "Why's your Christmas been so shitty?"

Wash remained standing on the tiled entryway, still trying to process the events that had led him to York's place. He started to pull off his coat and glanced around, finally settling for draping it over the back of a chair at the dining table next to the door. "Just family stuff. I was at my sister's place, and her husband has a large family. Couldn't take it anymore."

"Wow, that sucks. I'd kill for a large family though." York smiled as Wash sat down next to him on the couch, sitting straight up with his hands in his lap. "You can relax a little, you know."

"Oh. Sorry." He felt the tips of his ears burning as he settled back against the couch cushions, lifting up one foot to rest his boot on the edge of the table. York shifted next to him and sat up a little straighter, pulling his arm down from the couch back.

"I've got beer, want one?"

"Sure, thanks."

He pushed himself off the couch and walked over to the fridge, propping the door open with his foot as he pulled out two bottles. Wash looked around the apartment, noting the minimal decorating save for a shelf of framed photographs near the sliding glass porch door.

"Who're they?" he asked, taking a bottle from York as he approached again.

"Oh, the pictures?" He set down his beer and walked over, pointing to them as he talked. "Mom and Dad, these few are from childhood, high school graduation, Christmas a few years ago. Don't have many pictures lately, though. I kind of stopped liking getting my picture taken after the…" He gestured to the scar stretched over his left eye and Wash nodded. "Nothing really important has happened that requires documenting through photos, anyway."

"Yeah, I'm not much of a picture guy myself," Wash agreed. "Never really saw the need to photograph stuff when my memory works just fine."

"Oh, really? Did you not have to suffer through awkward prom photos like the rest of us?" York asked, sitting back down on the couch after grabbing his beer from the table.

"No, I did, but those pictures are safely in a box at my parents' house, never to be seen by anyone ever again."

"Aw, I wanna see them!"

"Never."

"You're no fun." York reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out his phone, flicking at the screen to turn it on. Wash sipped his beer as he watched him open the camera app, changing the camera to use the front one. "C'mere," he said, scooting across the couch so that his leg was pressed up against Wash's. He angled the camera so that they were both in the shot, and Wash smiled grimly as York's smile grew wider. "Cheese!"

"Oh god, please delete that," Wash deadpanned, his smile disappearing. York shook his head and played with the phone for another few seconds.

"Nope, that's my new wallpaper." He showed Wash the screen to prove that he was telling the truth. With a sigh Wash shook his head.

"I can't believe you."

"Oh, whatever. Lighten up, man. It's just a picture. You're adorable when you're trying not to have fun."

"Shut up."

"Come on, just smile for me, just once." York prodded his leg, which he realized was still touching York's since he hadn't moved away after the photo.

"I've smiled plenty of times."

"Not today! It's Christmas, that can be my gift."

"Was I supposed to get you a gift?!"

"Well, no, but it's Christmas!"

Wash set down his beer on the table and shifted so that he was facing York on the couch. He folded his hands in his lap and took a deep breath, trying to draw out the tension as long as possible. York was grinning, bouncing his leg up and down.

"Come on!"

"Stop rushing me!"

"Oh god, the anticipation is killing me."

Unable to stand the adorable look of eagerness on York's face, Wash started laughing, allowing himself to smile as widely as possible. York clapped his hands together a couple times and started laughing as well until both of them were collapsed against the back of the couch, out of breath.

"You're strange," Wash said, breaking the suddenly-awkward silence that passed between them.

"I get that a lot," York agreed.

"You're just…not like most ex-military guys I know." He sat up and rubbed the back of his head, trying to find the right words. "Most of us are…well, damaged."

"Oh, I'm damaged." He gestured to his eye and Wash shook his head. "No, I know what you mean, dumbass. It's just like, well, I never saw the merit in getting all up in my head like a lot of guys do. I've seen the same shit, I've walked the same walk, but I don't dwell on it, you know?" York smiled as he sat up, propping his feet up on the edge of the table again. "Doesn't do any good to fixate on shit you can't fix. And I know that from experience."

"No, I get it. Sorry, I didn't mean for that to get all serious."

"It's fine. I kinda figured you needed to talk a little about this stuff. Clearly it's bothering you."

"That's what my therapist is for, not my friends."

"So we're friends?"

Wash frowned as he caught the fleeting surprise flashing across York's face. "Are we not?"

"No, I thought—nothing, it's nothing. Just kind of surprised."

"We've been hanging out and texting each other for a couple weeks, I thought that made us friends." He drew up his arms across his chest, tucking his hands underneath his biceps in a defensive position as he felt York shift to sit a little further down the couch.

"Hey, that's not what I meant," York started, but he shook his head.

"No, it's cool, I get it. I didn't mean to be an emotional burden. I can get like that sometimes, I've been told. I've been trying to work on that."

"Wash, stop it—"

"I'll get more independent, just let me work through it."

"I didn't mean—"

"I'll stop bothering you so much about this kind of stuff."

"Look, shut the fuck up, okay?!"

He stopped talking and turned to see York standing in front of the couch, glaring down at him. "Sorry."

"Stop that! Stop fucking apologizing! Fuck, this isn't—it's not—I don't fucking care if you're damaged, okay?" he finally said, his hands clenched at his sides. "And that's not even it—you're not damaged, you just have shit to work through. We all do, man. That's life."

"I know, but I don't want to burden—"

"We're friends. You said it yourself, and no take backs. That's the rules."

"Okay. I'm sorry."

"Stop. Apologizing." York exhaled sharply, briefly closing his eyes. "Please stop that. Let's go back to just hanging out, before things got weird. Rewind about ten minutes. I'm here if you need to talk, let's leave it at that. Do you want to talk?"

"Not really." Wash was beyond embarrassed now; he had no idea what to say to such a stern look on York's face.

"Then we're good. Call it even, and let's forget about it." He sat back down on the couch next to Wash, their legs touching again. Wash started to move away but York reached over, dropping his arm down so that his hand was resting on Wash's right knee.

"Um…"

"Look, I don't really want to talk about it right this second, but I just want it out there." His hand moved up past Wash's knee a couple inches. "I'm glad we're friends, and I think you're an awesome guy, and I like spending time with you. So let me know if this is being too forward, or if you're just not into it, but…I'm here for you, in any way you'll let me stick around." His fingers danced along the seam of Wash's slacks and his leg tensed up in response.

"York, I—"

"And now that I've made this really uncomfortable, I'm going to go hide on the porch for a couple of minutes," York said, quickly standing up. He went over to the sliding glass door and opened it, shimmying outside into the cool evening air. Wash felt a breeze rush past him as a draft floated through the living room.

"York, please come inside," he called out.

"I'm good out here, thanks," came the muffled reply from the porch. Wash sighed and stood up from the couch, smoothing his hands over his thighs out of habit. He took a deep breath and went out onto the porch, standing behind York, who was leaning against the balcony, hands in his pockets.

"What was that?" Wash tried to control the level of panic audible in his voice, but it didn't work as well as he'd hoped and came out slightly frantic.

"Nothing. Me being stupid. Forget it."

"I'm not going to just forget it, I want to know. Was I…putting off a vibe like that or something?" Oh fuck, this was senior year of college all over again. This was Brent and the completely awkward confession, part two. He didn't want to lose another friend like that.

"No, not really. I think it was more wishful thinking on my part. Clearly that's not the situation, and I understand, and please don't let this ruin the friendship, because I wasn't lying before, I really do like spending time with you." York sounded pained and slightly out of breath from such a run-on declaration, and Wash raised a hand to rest it on his back, lightly and carefully. York tensed under his touch, but didn't jerk away.

"Hey, stop that. It's fine. I don't want to ruin the friendship either. Besides, it's Christmas." He shrugged back his shoulders and stood up straight, patting York on the back a couple of times. "Come on, let's go find something to eat. I haven't eaten yet and the sun's going to go down soon."

"Yeah. Sorry. I think I have a pizza in the freezer we can bake or something." York pushed himself away from the balcony as Wash dropped his hand. He went back into the apartment, leaving Wash staring after him in thought.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Yeah, I'm just studying. Go for it, man."

Wash sat down on the recliner sitting catty-corner to the couch where Brent had spread out piles of study guides and papers in an attempt to study for his final the next day. "How's it going?"

"Busy. What's up?"

"I, uh…" He trailed off, trying to find the right words, only to discover that there was really no way to dance around it any longer. "I was wondering if…I dunno…maybe you wanted to go out for some dinner later?"

"Not tonight, I've got so much shit to memorize. Why don't you get us a pizza or something and I'll hit you back later?"

"No, that's not—I meant—"

"Dave, I really don't have time for this—"

"I meant a date, Brent, would you go out on a date with me sometime?" he said in a rush, watching Brent's face shift from annoyance to confusion to horror over the course of the sentence.

"A…a date?"

"Yeah, I mean, I kind of like you, and well, if that's cool—"

"Of course it's not cool, you asshole, I'm not gay!" Brent started grabbing for his papers and knocked over a stack of textbooks closer to Wash. He tried to pick them up but Brent shoved him away, nearly knocking him down. Brent glared down at him, his hands full of papers, and shook his head. "Stay away from me, you freak." He stormed out of the living room as Wash sunk down into the recliner, attempting to hold back embarrassed and angry tears.

"Hey, grab me a baking sheet from under the oven, will ya?" York asked as he reached into the freezer, digging underneath a pile of boxes of assorted frozen foods.

"Yeah, sure." Wash knelt down in front of the oven and pulled out the compartment underneath, finding a stack of well-used baking sheets. He pried the top one away from the others and raised it above his head, hearing it clatter against the burners on the stove as he set it down.

"Thanks. Thin crust okay?"

"Sure, whatever."

"Great, because it's all I have." York set to work ripping open the cardboard box as Wash leaned against the stove, setting the ancient dials to preheat to the appropriate temperature. He backed up as York carried over the frozen pizza to set it on the sheet.

"I'll grab a couple more beers and find something on TV," Wash offered, slipping past him to get to the fridge. York mumbled an agreement and disappeared down the hallway a second later, closing one of the doors behind him, leaving Wash to make his way to the couch, carefully setting down the two bottles of beer on the table.

Part Four

The rest of the holidays came and went without much more fanfare. Wash had gone back to Carolina's house the day after Christmas to apologize for leaving, and she'd accepted the apology with a smile and an offer of cookies. He spent New Year's at his own place, cleaning the apartment as Hunter looked on, gnawing on a toy York had given him a few days earlier.

Things were still weird between him and York, and he didn't know how to broach the subject. Granted, he'd only tried once, a few days later. It ended with York quickly changing the subject to football and Wash trying to keep up with the conversation, failing horribly. He was more of a soccer fan.

"So I said, if you're gonna make such a big deal out of it, why don't you do the paperwork?" York's hands flew around to illustrate his point and Wash nodded along, dipping another chip in the bowl of queso on the table.

"And I bet that didn't go over very well?"

"Yeah, not so much. I got a write-up, but it was totally worth it." York grabbed for a chip and nearly knocked into Wash's hand, but he pulled it back at the last second, leaving an unobstructed pathway towards the queso. "So how was your day?"

"Fine, I guess. Took Hunter on a hike, and I think that finally wore him out. He's been acting out lately, and I can't figure out why."

"Acting out how?"

"Chewing on stuff he's not supposed to, climbing up on the bed, stuff like that. It's like he's trying to drive me crazy on purpose."

"Weird, he doesn't do that stuff when I'm around," York observed. "Maybe he misses me?"

"I don't think he can comprehend stuff on that sort of level," Wash said with a short laugh. As York shrugged and reached for his beer, Wash remained quiet, not wanting to agree with the statement. Truth was, that was the exact same thing he'd been thinking the past couple of days.

"If you went on such a long hike, does that mean you're too exhausted to see a movie?" York asked, raising an eyebrow. "Don't flake out on me, man—you know I've wanted to see that new action movie for like, two weeks now."

"I'm not flaking out. Did I say anything about being too tired?"

"No, but I know you pretty well by now, and I know you're secretly thinking of excuses not to hang out with me."

"What do you think this is?"

"Pity nachos." York grinned as he reached for more chips. "You just wanted to hear some crazy work stories because you've been deprived lately. Which, FYI, is totally your fault because you've been avoiding me."

"I haven't been—" he started to argue, but stopped when he caught York's glare. "Yeah, okay, fine, I've…sort of been avoiding you."

"Why?"

"I just—I don't know. I thought you were still mad about the whole…thing on Christmas and I didn't want to bring it up again. You didn't react well the last time I did."

"And I don't really want to bring it up right now," York said stiffly, his fingers tightly wrapped around his beer.

"We're gonna have to talk about it sometime, why not now?"

"Because I feel really stupid about it happening in the first place, and this is not an appropriate venue for such a conversation," he replied, gesturing to the bustling restaurant around them. Wash rolled his eyes.

"Okay, I'll grant you that, but we should still talk about it."

"Fine, but not right now. After the movie."

"You know, on second thought, I actually am a little tired," Wash admitted, and grimaced inwardly as York dropped his head on the table in an exaggerated reaction.

"Fucking knew it."

"Why don't we just go back to my place and hang out or something? Or rent a movie?"

"I wanted to go out to the new one."

"There's plenty of new ones on DVD we haven't seen yet."

"All right, whatever. Come on, let's go. I'm not really hungry anymore." York tilted back his head and drained the remainder of his beer as Wash dug in his wallet for some cash to cover the bill, shaking his head.

"See, that wasn't that bad," Wash said, turning off the TV and DVD player with the remote as York stretched out on the couch, yawning loudly.

"Yeah, sure. It was fine."

"What more did you want? It even had the same actor, Jeremy What's-his-face, like the one at the theater."

"Renner, and that wasn't the point. The other one just looked better."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. You're tired, I get it." York swung his feet off the couch and stood up to stretch his arms over his head. "Want a beer?"

"I'll take water."

"Okay." He retreated to the kitchen and started opening cabinets to look for the glasses.

"Second one to the right of the stove."

"Yeah, just remembered. Thanks."

He listened to York bang around in the kitchen some more, and finally came back with a glass of water in one hand and a beer in the other, with a bag of chips under one arm. "Regretting not eating earlier?"

"Shut up," York muttered, popping open the bag. He set the beer on the table and started eating as he collapsed back onto the couch.

"What's up your ass?"

"Nothing."

"Look, I don't like it when you're all whiny and bitchy. I like it when you're fun and joking around."

"We don't have anything to talk about."

"You basically came onto me, York. I think that merits a fucking discussion."

"I apologized and retracted it."

"That's not how it works," Wash said through a sigh.

"Hey, why do you keep trying to embarrass me about this?" York asked, setting down the chips as he sat up. "I get it; you're not interested like that. I'm just trying to move past it and get on with my life, is that so much to ask?"

"Did I ever say I wasn't interested?"

York opened his mouth to retaliate, but instead seemed to be at a loss for words. "Um."

"You never really gave me a chance to say anything," Wash pointed out.

"You had all night. And the past three weeks."

"I tried to bring it up but you kept avoiding the subject."

York stood up, wringing his hands in front of his chest. "What are you trying to say?"

"That maybe we could, I don't know—give this a chance?"

"Are you…"

"I kind of swing both ways," Wash replied, chuckling as York's eyebrow rose.

"I wouldn't have guessed."

"I had to keep it hidden while I was in enlisted. It was…easier that way."

"Yeah." York nodded curtly. "Well…I don't know what to do with this information."

"I don't know either." Wash took a deep breath and scooted across the couch to sit a little bit closer to York, their knees nearly touching. He could see York tensing up and practically feel the tension in the room increase ten-fold. "I was just putting it out there, you know, like you did."

"And what am I supposed to say to that?" York asked, shaking his head. "Leap into your arms like a girl?"

"I never said—"

"Sorry, that was out of line, regretted it the second I said it." He exhaled sharply. "So yeah. Here we are then."

"Yeah," Wash agreed, staring at a piece of chipped varnish covering the hastily-stained table in front of them.

"Goddammit, this is exactly why I shouldn't have said anything in the first place," York said through a groan, leaning forward as he buried his face in his hands. Wash could see his fingers poking through his hair as he gripped the strands, tugging on them. "Now things are going to stay weird and that's exactly what I was—"

His words were abruptly cut off as Wash leaned in and, taking his hands in his own to move them away quickly, kissed him firmly. A strangled noise escaped York's lips as Wash pulled away slightly. He wrestled his hands away, reaching up to curve around Wash's neck, pulling him in to kiss him back.

Only the sound of lungs desperate for air filled the room as they broke apart, York's hands still around the back of Wash's neck, his fingers dancing against the edge of his hair.

"That was…" Wash started, trailing off a second later, starting to fidget.

"Not quite what you expected?" York supplied, slowly dropping his hands away and pulling back.

"Something like that. Did you…?"

"Feel anything?" York bit his bottom lip, as though he were actually at a loss for words. "Uh…oddly enough, not really."

"Me neither." Wash let out a sigh of relief and leaned back, rolling his head back to stare up at the ceiling. "As long as it wasn't just me, then."

"I guess we're not going to fall in love," York joked, letting out a nervous laugh. Wash chuckled and awkwardly nodded.

"Guess not."

"Can we go back to being friends now?"

"Fuck. Yeah, I'd like that." Wash smiled and lolled his head to the side to look at York, whose cheeks were bright red. "Hey, don't be so embarrassed. I'm glad we took the chance."

"Me too, I just—sorry." He smiled back and reached up to idly scratch at his scar. "Just relieved you're not freaking out."

"I've been through way more awkward situations than this," Wash said, laughing.

"I'd love to hear about those sometime."

"Yeah, we'll see."

Part Five

York had lied.

Well, he'd sort of lied. He'd been truthful when he told Wash he hadn't felt anything from their kiss. But moments after he left Wash's place that night, he'd started thinking about how soft Wash's lips were, and how strong his hands had been wrapped around his own, and realized he'd lied. Backtracked, really, instead of lied? Yeah, that was more accurate. He'd been trying to find his way out of the nebulous grey area of feelings he'd fallen into, but he couldn't find a good excuse.

Things just kept getting more awkward the more they hung out, which was getting to be every day. He and Wash had gotten into a routine of taking Hunter on a run together every evening at nine, when the traffic in his neighborhood was quiet and everyone was inside, leaving the paths to just the three of them. He'd even started leaving his workout clothes at Wash's place, claiming it was more convenient that way. About two weeks after the kiss, York had drifted into a daydream while running and veered off the path into a bush, falling flat on his face. He'd blamed it on his lack of peripheral vision and tried to play it off like he'd meant to do it as a joke, but the way the blood had rushed to his cheeks as he sat flat on his ass, staring up at Wash's amused face, he was sure he'd been caught. Wash hadn't said anything as he helped him to his feet, but the rest of the run was strained with heavy silence between them.

He really wanted to kiss Wash again, dammit. He just couldn't find the right opportunity—not that he knew if one even existed. He'd probably blown his one and only chance, and he hadn't even been the one to initiate it. God dammit, he was such a wuss.

But as much as he was lying, both to Wash and to himself, what he didn't realize was that Wash was lying as well—just doing a better job.

York was acting weird lately, and Wash couldn't figure out why. And not a regular kind of weird—a really weird kind of weird.

"Hold up a sec," Wash called out, tugging on Hunter's leash to signal him to slow down. Hunter stopped immediately and started inspecting the lawn they'd stopped in front of while Wash caught his breath. York came to a halt about ten feet in front of them and turned around, jogging back.

"What's up?"

"Just need a second, sorry," he apologized, pulling up the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his forehead. When he dropped the shirt he noticed York's cheeks were flushed. He let his hand linger on the material for a few seconds, then smiled.

"You good?"

"Yeah, let's go." Wash tugged on the leash again and Hunter took off, pulling him along. York quickened his pace enough to get ahead again and Wash rolled his eyes, having figured out why he'd stopped running alongside him since a couple of weeks earlier.

Wash coughed again, shivering underneath the blankets piled on top of him.

"I told you not to go running without me last night," York scolded, clanking some dishes together in the cabinet as he rummaged for a non-chipped mug. "It was too cold and you should have stayed home."

"Hunter was whining," he replied, and Hunter raised his head, cocking it as though he knew he was being wrongly blamed for something that wasn't his fault.

"He would have understood."

"Well, then it's your fault. I was bored."

"I had to work late! I'm sorry."

"Doesn't matter." He rolled over on the couch and pushed his face into a pillow. He felt York's body heat as he knelt next to him and waited for the inevitable gentle shove.

"Come on, drink this."

Wash remained headfirst in the pillow. "No," was his muffled reply.

"Come on, it's getting cold."

"No."

"I'm going to leave if you keep acting like a baby."

He waited another ten seconds to see if York would act on his threat and sure enough, he heard movement. With a sigh he lifted his head and saw York settled on his butt on the floor, legs crossed in front of him Indian-style, with a steaming mug of something in his hands.

"Really thought I was going to leave, huh?"

"Give me that," Wash grumbled, managing to sit up. York just grinned and handed him the mug, rocking back a moment later. He sipped the liquid, realized it was chamomile tea, and took a few more sips with a small smile.

"Good?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"No problem." York tilted his head slightly, looking concerned. "Do you want me to stay a while? I don't have to go into work tomorrow since I was there so late last night and tonight."

"You don't have to, I feel bad."

"Eh, it's okay, I'd rather stick around here than go home to my depressing, empty apartment." He glanced around and smiled. "Though I guess it's just as depressing here. Why didn't you ever decorate?"

Wash shrugged. "Just never wanted to after—just never wanted to," he repeated, cutting himself off.

"After what?" York pressed.

"Nothing."

"Oh. Significant other?"

"…Yeah."

"Can't say I ever had that problem. Unsurprisingly, I've never had a steady relationship. They usually fall apart after a few months."

"Yeah?"

York shrugged, scratching at his knee. "Just don't like the monotony of relationships, I guess."

"Yet you hang out with me all the time and go running every night."

"That's exercise, that's…different." York turned his face and stared down at the floor as Wash sighed.

"If you say so."

"Yup."

"I really need some sleep. How about you wake me up in a couple hours?" Wash suggested, handing over the half-empty mug of tea. York took it and nodded.

"I'll just go on a quick run then. Should I take Hunter?"

"Go for it." He nestled underneath the blankets and closed his eyes, savoring the newly-cooled pillow against his cheek. The front door opened and closed a few minutes later but he barely registered the noise, already almost asleep in a cough syrup- and tea-induced haze.

"I don't know what you want me to say." His words were mostly caught in the back of his throat, stabbing the soft lining of his mouth like shards of glass forcing themselves into the open.

"I think we've already said all there really is to say," she replied, glancing down at the luggage lining the wall next to the door. "I'm so sorry, David."

"Don't."

"What—"

"Don't act like you're so sorry when this is all you. All you." He shook his head a few times, as though this was only a dream he was going to wake up from any moment, any second now… "You're not allowed to apologize."

"Okay." She looked so small, so frail, but he knew it was intentional. She was stronger than he was. She had always been stronger, full of life, hopes, dreams that no longer included him. "I should probably go."

"Wait, just…" He was losing the battle to his tears and he hated himself for it, but there wasn't anything that he cared about more than getting the final words from her. "This is it?"

"I think so. I'm tired, David. Tired of being the strong one. I can't do it anymore."

"I know."

"Good luck with…everything."

"Connie—"

She cut him off with a soft press of her lips to his, having risen up on her toes to reach his height. Using every ounce of his strength and willpower that was left, he resisted the urge to pick her up and kiss her back like he used to, instead remaining in place. She pulled away and he bit his lip, looking down at her pained expression.

"I hope I hear from you…someday," she finally said. He felt his heart break a little further, the crack beginning to splinter off in different directions. Giving him false hope like that—it was just like her, which made him love her a little bit more, despite the situation.

"Yeah." He couldn't think of anything else to say, and watched as she placed her house and mail keys on the countertop to his right. Her hand lightly brushed his arm as she ducked around his other side to pick up her bags, stuffing a pillow under her arm as her fingers gripped the handles of the zippered bags. He stepped back and opened the front door, moving away in time so that she could struggle to get outside. She smiled at him as she reached the end of the hallway, but he couldn't smile back.

"Connie, please stay," he said quietly, watching her disappear down the steps. She couldn't hear him anymore; perhaps she never had. Closing the door behind him, he found himself in the kitchen moments later, the drawers flung open, silverware and utensils everywhere as he knelt on the tiled floor, pressing a serrated steak knife against his left wrist. The small teeth bit into his flesh, leaving behind bright red marks.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

He raised his head and saw York standing over him, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a confused look. "What are you doing here?"

"Much more concerned about what you're doing."

"You're not supposed to be here."

"Yeah, and neither are you. Come on." York held out his hand and Wash stared at it, blinking slowly. The foggy edges to his vision began to fade and he realized he was still kneeling on the floor in the kitchen, his hands empty. He raised his wrist to his eyes and saw that the skin was unbroken.

"Is she really gone?" he asked quietly, looking up at York.

He nodded. "Let's get you back to bed." He gripped Wash's hand and carefully helped him to his feet, using his other hand to rub his back. "What happened?"

"She left," he replied, feeling tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. He allowed York to guide him to his bedroom, waiting as he got the bed ready for him. Finally he was being helped into the bed and heavy, comforting blankets were being pulled up and tucked around his body.

"We'll talk about this later," he heard York say before he realized he was already drifting off to sleep. The last thing he remembered was body heat seeping into the blanket against his back as York pressed himself against him, his arm slung over Wash's side, the pressure comforting and soothing.

Part Six

"There's not much to explain. I'm sure you've been there in one way or the other."

"Been where?"

"That…that place in a relationship where nothing works anymore." Wash reached up to rub his eyes, causing his vision to momentarily blur with black spots. When they cleared, he saw that York was smiling slightly. "Where someone wants to leave, but it's hard to find that moment when it makes enough sense for someone to leave."

"I have been there, actually. When you put it like that…" York shrugged and leaned forward, running his fingers through his hair. "Back when I finished basic, I had a girlfriend, but she decided to dump me when I told her I was being deployed. Turned out she'd been planning on leaving me for a while before that, but the deployment was just a really convenient excuse. I got over her pretty quickly, but it still hurt."

"I bet."

"So, her name was…?"

Wash bit his lower lip. "Connie," he finally said after a moment.

"Bet she was cute."

"Short, feisty, had a mouth on her you wouldn't believe. But she was also the sweetest woman I'd ever met. I was going to propose, actually. Thought she was the one."

"I'm sorry, man."

"It's fine."

"When did it happen?"

"Last May, so…nearly a year. Just after I got out."

"Wow, that recently?" York sighed. "I'm really sorry."

"I was in therapy for a while afterwards. Real nice guy, helped me through my PTSD too, I'd been seeing him since the year before when one of my best friends was KIA." Wash twisted his hands together, tapping the back of his hand. "Sorry, you don't need to know all this."

"No, it's fine. Really. Feel free to talk about any of this stuff; I've been there, for the most part." York reached over and tapped his knee. "I just want you to feel better, and if talking helps, then by all means."

"Thanks, but I think I'm doing better," Wash replied, nodding a little. "I really appreciate you staying over last night, by the way."

"Hey, I'm not the kind of guy to just leave after putting someone to bed," York joked. Wash let out a quiet chuckle.

"Well, either way, thanks again."

"Sure."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching as Hunter wandered in from the bedroom to settle in under the table, gnawing on a chew toy he'd found. York mumbled something and Wash tilted his head, having missed it. "What was that?"

"Hmm? Nothing, sorry, just talking to myself." York's cheeks were flushed, embarrassed due to being caught.

"Come on, what did you say?"

"Seriously, it's nothing."

"Well, now I have to know."

York rolled his eyes and focused on a spot on the couch cushion next to his leg. "It's just something I heard a while ago, and sometimes I think about it, and—god, see, it's dumb, I don't want to talk about it."

"Please? I'm sick." Wash pulled the blanket up to his chin and gave his best puppy dog eyes, which at least got York to look up at him and laugh.

"Man, you're pathetic."

Wash let his lower lip tremble until York shook his head, still laughing. "I'll stop if you tell me," he mumbled through his pout.

"Please, stop that."

"Tell me!"

"Fine!" He waited until Wash leaned back with a normal expression, and then let out a slow breath. "I just said…I was glad."

"Glad?" Wash repeated.

"Yeah. I mean…I'm glad you felt like I was good enough to trust, that you could talk to me."

His words struck something in Wash's memory and he closed his eyes, trying to remember why they sounded familiar. "Oh, uh, yeah. I mean…what do you mean?"

"It's really nothing. It's kind of been like, a goal of mine to get you to open up to me." Wash opened his eyes and saw York shrug, raising his arms above his head in a stretch. "I could tell you needed someone in your life that you could connect with."

"I guess I did." Wash smiled, squeezing the blanket in his hands. "I didn't really realize that."

"I figured as much."

"Hey, you want to hear a funny story?" Wash asked suddenly, his consciousness beginning to make connections in the deep recesses of his brain.

York nodded, turning his body to sit at an angle on the couch to see Wash more clearly. "Yeah, go for it."

Wash adjusted the blanket on his lap and tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling. Hunter wheezed from the floor below them, napping quietly, his chew toy nestled against his cheek. He was probably still exhausted from when York had taken him on a run earlier in the evening. "So, back in December, there was this night where I was feeling really depressed. I think it was early in the month, I'd just put my Christmas tree up."

"Yeah, I remember that tree. I would have been depressed too."

"Shut up, I'm talking." York raised his hands in mock surrender and Wash grinned. "Anyway, it was like, four in the morning or something, and I went to stand on the porch. I probably looked like such a cliché, like someone who was about to jump off the balcony."

"Were you planning on that?" York asked.

"No!"

"Hey, had to ask, don't freak out."

"Anyway, I ended up yelling and someone actually yelled back. I thought it was weird when it happened, but you know, it kind of made me feel a little better, like that random person cared enough to answer me."

York's eyebrow raised slightly and he reached up to idly touch the scar over his eye. "You were yelling at four in the morning? Outside your apartment?"

"Yeah. It was stupid, I know, and I'm still a little surprised someone didn't call the cops on me." Wash chuckled and leaned back against the couch, pulling the blanket up a little more over his lap. He watched York sit up a little straighter, a strange look passing across his face. "Anyway, it was stupid, but like I said, I felt a little better. I just wanted to be good enough for someone. I mean, when I said it, I meant Connie, but…I guess I really just wanted to be good enough for anyone, to make them feel the same way."

"Can I just be good enough to actually make you feel something," York said quietly, his frown beginning to melt away into a more stoic expression.

"You are perfect and you make me feel alive," Wash replied, just as quietly, the words hanging in the still air as soon as they were spoken. He watched the color drain out of York's face.

Suddenly York launched himself off the couch and he quickly walked to the other side of the living room, hands on his stomach. "Oh my god, that was you."

Wash pushed the blanket away and stood up, immediately regretting the decision. He was still lightheaded and immediately saw white spots where York was standing, causing him to roughly sit back down, his hands clenched on his thighs. "How were you even out this far that late at night? You live miles away."

"Some nights I don't sleep much due to nightmares or stress or whatever, and I go out to burn off energy. I decided to go on a ride that night because the weather had been strangely warm, so I just took off and didn't pay attention to where I was going. I ended up over here and I guess I just had good timing, I heard some guy shouting and I just…I don't know, I figured if he was outside screaming in the middle of the night, he deserved an answer." He balled his hands into fists and reached up to rap his knuckles against the sides of his head. "I can't believe that was you."

Wash didn't know what to say, still trying to process the facts. In the back of his head he'd made peace with the fact that the random stranger had essentially talked him out of doing something stupid, had given him a small ray of hope that someone out there cared. He just never thought he'd find out who that stranger was, chalking it up to karma and hoping that person found their own happiness.

"I think I'm going to be sick." York sat down on the floor, burying his head in his hands as he groaned.

"Wait, what?" Wash finally snapped back into reality as he looked over at York. "Why is this such a bad thing?"

"It's—it's a fucking bizarre coincidence!" York shook his head. "I just, I don't know, this is weird, you know? And I'm completely embarrassed—"

"Why are you embarrassed? I was the one yelling shit outside at four in the morning and was probably going to do something stupid if you hadn't given me hope!"

"I'm embarrassed because I've thought about that night constantly," York admitted, finally moving his hands away so he could look up at Wash. "I wanted to know if that guy ever found peace. After I left the neighborhood I almost turned back, to see if he was still outside, or if he'd jumped or something. But I chickened out. I went back a week later and waited outside for an hour, it was like, three in the morning or something crazy, but I couldn't remember which building it had been, and I was tired, and—"

"I did," Wash interrupted. York blinked a couple of times.

"What?"

"I found peace. It took a while, but I did."

"Oh. I—I guess, yeah, okay. You've seemed good for a while."

"Since I met you, actually."

"What?"

"York, you changed me, whether you want to see it or not." Carefully Wash stood up again, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Once he was confident enough that he could walk without tipping over, he made his way across the living room to kneel down next to York, who was still sitting on the floor. "I don't know what else to say other than…thank you."

Having been expecting a hug in return, he was caught completely off-guard when York reached up and wrapped his hands around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. He nearly fell forward but thrust his hands up to brace himself against York's chest, feeling his heartbeat through his hoodie. They continued kissing until York pulled back, staring into Wash's eyes, trying to catch his breath.

"So, that happened," York said, prompting a chuckle from Wash. They smiled at each other and Wash leaned in again, firmly pressing their lips together once again, nipping at his lower lip as they held each other tightly.

Epilogue

"I'm glad to see you've made some great strides," the man said, leaning forward in his chair. Wash sat opposite him in an overstuffed chair, his hands cradling a pillow on his lap, more gently than before.

Wash nodded, picking at a thread in the corner of the pillow's embroidery. "Thanks. Me too. I mean, I've been good. Better."

"I can tell. Your whole demeanor is more positive than it has been in months. I'm proud of you."

He could tell his cheeks were burning, but smiled. "Thank you."

"I don't think we need to meet regularly anymore, but I would like to keep in touch in case anything comes up. Does that sound like a good plan?"

"Yeah, it does. I'll call you if I need to talk."

"Good. Remember to talk to your friends and family if you're having concerns, too. They're there to listen, just like me."

"I know."

"All right. Well, I think we're done for the day, then." He stood up and extended a hand, and Wash stood up, shaking it firmly as he tossed the pillow back down onto the chair. "It's been great getting to know you, David."

"You too, Andrew. Thanks for everything."

"That's my job," he joked, and Wash smiled again. They exchanged goodbyes and he saw himself out of the office, heading for his car in the parking lot out back. Once he got settled in the car he pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and dialed a number.

"Hey! You out?"

"Yeah, do you want to meet for lunch?"

"I'm actually making food, why don't you just come home?"

Wash smiled at the mention of 'home' and reached out to start the engine. "Great, I'll be there in about twenty."

"Sounds good. See you soon!"

"Bye." He hung up and tossed the phone on the passenger seat, pulling the seatbelt over his chest, excited to be going home.

Things weren't always easy, not that either of them had expected as much.

There was the incident in June when Wash had a breakdown in the park, when they were playing catch with Hunter. Something had triggered his PTSD and he'd spent nearly an hour crouched next to a bush, cradling Hunter, trying to steady his nerves as York sat next to him, silently holding his hand.

A few months later, York got a call that one of the soldiers in his unit had been killed overseas. He spent a week alternatively breaking down into quiet sobs or on the phone with his own parents, planning a trip to come see them. He claimed it was all their idea because they'd been pressuring him to visit, but Wash knew it was guilt about not spending as much time with them lately. He planned to drive out to see them for a few days in December for the holidays, while Wash agreed to spend a couple of days with Carolina and their family.

"Are you sure you won't come with me?" York asked for the hundredth time, shoving a few shirts and a pair of jeans into his duffel bag. Wash was leaning against the doorframe, sipping his coffee.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," he replied, shaking his head.

"But I really want you to meet them," he said with a frown, staring at two different dress shirts lying on the bed. Finally he chose the darker blue one and carefully folded it. "I'm sure they'll come around eventually."

"We've only been doing…this," Wash said, gesturing between them with his free hand, "since, what, February? It's still…a little confusing, to be honest."

"We're dating, it's been close to a year, and I don't know why you felt the need to describe us like this," York said, mocking his hand gestures, "because if anyone asks, we're a couple. It's pretty straight-forward—pun notwithstanding, sorry."

"And your parents would be cool with me?"

"Well, not at first, but I think they'd come around eventually. At least Mom would. Dad might take some additional convincing, especially since you're a soccer fan. He's hardcore football, all the way."

Wash chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "You know that's not the biggest concern."

"It's called a joke, and yes, I know. I just said I think it'd be okay."

"How about you go and see them for a few days, and when you get back, I'll have some special surprises ready for you?" Wash offered, setting down his coffee mug on the closest bedside table.

"Such as?"

"Mm, I can probably think of a few things," he murmured as he wrapped his arms around York, holding him from behind, kissing his earlobe. "It'll be something to look forward to when you get back, okay?"

"Fine," York huffed, wiggling out of Wash's grip so that he could turn around to face him. "But you better think of something great, or I'm gonna be pissed off when I get back."

They kissed and York held Wash a little more tightly than usual, finally pulling away with a punch to Wash's bicep. "What was that for?" he complained, watching York grab his duffel bag from the bed.

"You being a dick and not coming with me," he said with a laugh. "You know how much I hate traveling." Wash rolled his eyes and followed after him, waiting by the door as York knelt down and said goodbye to Hunter.

Wash already had the surprise planned. He'd had it ready for over a month, though it had taken some extra measures to ensure York didn't find out. And all it involved was a warm fire in the fireplace, a home-cooked meal, and two plane tickets to Italy.

He suspected that York wouldn't mind travel in this case.

The End