Cain sat in the Mess across the room from him, chain smoking and watching Encke's little blond navie, Keeler, as he hunched over a cup of something steaming, looking rough. He looked lost the huge blue sweatshirt he was wearing. The sweatshirt must have been Encke's.
Cain wasn't sure how he remembered James's favorite color was blue or how he ever knew it in the first place, but the rush of memory, of James sitting in his aunts kitchen eating fresh sweet potato pie and sweet talking his aunt into a second piece nearly knocked him over. Sasha had borrowed James's pj's; blue plaid flannel, three sizes too big, so he had to roll up the cuffs to avoid tripping on them. He remembered James's aunt teasing him about not needing a second piece of pie and to give it to Sasha, who needed some meat on his bones. The cinnamon and nutmeg smell of the pies invaded him and refused to let him go. He could hear James's booming laugh filling the room and his aunt laughing back at the both of them. She never questioned what the two of them were to each other; just smiled at Sasha as if he was something special.
Shaking it off, he looked back at the little blonde and could see Keeler was swallowed up in the sweatshirt. He understood what Keeler was doing. He kept the little bag of Ethan in his flight jacket pocket, so that he could touch it when he needed to. He understood what that blue sweatshirt meant to Keeler.
It was hard to notice how much weight Keeler had lost with it on. If you wanted to hide something, like starving yourself, so your Superior wouldn't ask too many questions, it would do the job. Cain let his thoughts drift to how he must have looked when James fucked him. Even emaciated, he was a beauty. He wondered if James was too much for Keeler's tiny body and if James had to hold him down to force his cock in. He wondered if James used lube or if he just ripped him open as he had Sasha. As he studied the vacant ice blue eyes, the fine boned face sprinkled with faint freckles and that long sexy hair he understood that James would have used plenty of lube and would have taken his time because there was more making love than fucking. James would have treated Keeler as if he was delicate, which from the looks of him, was true.
It took Cain a moment to realize that his hair, which was pulled back into a messy braid, was dull with oil and tangles. Keeler's hair was dirty. As Cain studied him, he could see that the pants he was wearing were filthy, grease spots and dirt rubbed into the thighs, the cuffs worn and frayed. Upon closer observation, the blue sweatshirt was stained at the elbows, and wrinkled as it had been slept in more than once, maybe much more than that.
Cain lit another cig from the butt of the one he was smoking and got up to fill his coffee cup again. Since the navie that Bering had given him had shipped out, Cain had lost his appetite and gone back to drinking himself to sleep. At least now, if he passed out, he didn't dream. Abel left him alone.
The waiting to leave the Sleipnir was killing him. Bering had informed his Superiors that his command was staying until the new navigators boarded so those fighters without partners could be teamed up before they returned to their own ship. Cain wasn't thrilled about being left with ghosts but having a regular girlfriend would keep him distracted so that he wouldn't have to face feeling so empty.
He had taken to sitting in the navigator's end of the Reliant with his bottle and cigs, thinking about Abel's lips and the taste of his blood on them. Sometimes he thought he could smell him, all standard issue soap and the smell of the stuff Abel used to make his hair so soft. The smell made Cain's cock fill to semi hardness, drawing Cain's fingers to stroke it. It was only in the last second when he could feel that spark, that itch deep inside of him begin to pulse into explosion that he would allow himself to ache. When his cum was dripping down the navigation screen he would hold his fist to his chest breathing shallow and fast, his heart pounding with sharp stabbing pain. If he was having a heart attack he didn't want to know. He was afraid to go down to the infirmary, afraid he would be pulled off active duty and then have nothing left.
Keeler set his coffee cup back down askew, tipping it over. Its scalding contents flowed across the table, over the edge and dripped on to Keeler's thighs. Cain snorted back a laugh. When Keeler didn't react to the scalding liquid covering his pants and pooling on the floor by his feet, Cain got up and stalked across the room. He yanked Keeler's chair back pulling him away from the scalding liquid; admonishing him, "Hey sleeping beauty, doesn't that fucking hurt?"
Keeler didn't register the tall, dangerous looking fighter with his hand at the back of his chair, breathing smoke in his face. He just looked down at his wet pants, confused.
"What?"
"Your pants, baby, you spilled your coffee."
Keeler stood then shaking a little as if he was trying clear his thoughts. He stared at the growing puddle, then up at Cain. "Um, thanks, I'm ok."
Cain snorted and dropped his butt, grinding out his cigarette underneath his boot. Keeler brushed at the wetness on his pants. Cain could smell him, unwashed, sour and reeking.
"Tch, sure you are. Whateverthefuck." Cain shook his head at him, heading back to his table to grab his cigs and jacket.
Keeler stared at his back, wrinkling up his nose in thought, trying to recollect something. "You're James's friend."
Cain laughed out loud, slipping on his jacket. "Not even close."
Cain moved to the exit, heading down to the gym, he paused in the doorway of the mess, looked back over his shoulder at Keeler and spat out, "Have someone look at that burn and for fuck's sake take a fucking shower."
The next time he saw Keeler he was getting into the lift to go back to his quarters after ten hours on duty. Cain entered the lift, Keeler leaning in a back corner of it, staring into space with unfocused eyes. Keeler still looked and smelled like the walking dead. Sasha remembered when he was a little boy, his babushka telling him and his sister stories of the dead come back to life just to scare them witless. He thought, "That's what Keeler looks like, only he hasn't come back to life."
Cain turned his back on him; it wasn't any of his business what the fuck this officer did. The mechanism moved the lift upwards toward his quarters. All he wanted was a shower, a bottle and a smoke.
"I didn't love him. He loved me, but I didn't love him."
Cain glanced back at the small voice barely a whisper behind him, snorted and then turned back.
"None of my fucking business. Sir."
Cain heard him collapse, sliding down the wall of the lift before he could turn around again. "Tch, fuck!" Cain cursed, kneeling by Keeler's side, lifting his head. "Sir? Hey! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Cain cursed. Keeler's eyes rolled back as Cain shook the limp body still swimming in the same dirty blue sweatshirt he had on two days ago.
Cain got his arms underneath him and picked him up. He was so very slight, like a broken little bird, hardly substantial. When the lift stopped on Cain's floor, he got off and carried Keeler to his quarters. He slammed the latch to slide open the door. Then he carried Keeler into the room and laid him on the side of the bed. Keeler moaned and rolled over to his side, threatening to roll off the bed. Just what he needed, Cain panicked, an officer in his room unconscious with bruises. Cain hauled him back by pulling on the giant sweatshirt, lifting it up and carrying Keeler's body with it. As the arms of the sweatshirt raised up, Cain saw what Keeler had been hiding. Determined little slashes across his wrists, crusted with blood, some older than others.
"Oh fuck, didn't anyone do a psych eval on you, or do officers get off with a hey I'm just peachy keen? Fucking morons." Cain spit out angrily pulling the sweatshirt over Keeler's head. "Damn you stink, what the fuck?" Keeler was filthy, his skin irritated in what little folds he had at his joints, more bone than muscle with a ripe, pungent odor coming off him that made Cain gag. Cain stood back shaking his head.
Cain muttered, "Going to have to burn the damn sheets" under his breath and left Keeler lying on the bed. He flipped on the light in the head, turning the shower on to warm it, wishing he had a tub. Going back to the bed, he finished stripping Keeler, throwing the filthy clothes in a pile to go out with the garbage. Keeler's arms were covered with the evidence of his grief, little bloody slashes from his forearms to his wrists, lines and lines of them. Cain quickly removed his own clothes and picked up the tiny body. Keeler instinctually moved towards Cain's warmth shivering even though the room was warm. Cain carried him into the shower, propped him up, shaking him first gently then more determined trying to rouse him.
"Baby, you are going to have to help me with this. I can't hold you up and wash you, and baby, you really need to be scrubbed." Keeler's eyes fluttered open, calm for a moment; he then panicked not knowing where he was. He sputtered taking in a mouthful of water then turned around pushing Cain away. Cain grabbed at him, not wanting to end up crashing on to the shower floor.
"No, no, no, no, I don't want..." Keeler howled flailing around, pushing at Cain until Cain had to grab the towel bar to keep both of them standing. Keeler went limp, with Cain's arm around his skinny waist. "Shit..." Cain tried desperately to control them both as he slid slowly down the shower wall. Holding Keeler with one arm, he managed to keep them steady with his other arm until he was sitting on the shower stall floor with Keeler in his lap.
"Ok, that's the way it's going to have to be then." Cain muttered keeping hold of Keeler. Grabbing a washcloth of the towel bar with his free hand, he soaped it up and began to wash Keeler's face, gently. "Sir, it would really help if you would wake the fuck up and fucking help me out here," he sputtered, the shower hitting the side of his head, the water running into his eyes and nose.
Keeler suddenly woke again and shoved the cloth away, his terrified eyes looking all around.
"No! Don't! Leave me alone!" Keeler slapped at the washcloth until Cain had to catch his wrists above his head, the rancid sourness of his underarms wafting upwards.
"Hey, fucking knock it off! You're going to hurt yourself and I don't fucking need to have an officer found in my quarters, naked and bruised. Baby, settle down, you're filthy, you stink to high heaven and if you can't wash yourself then you need to let me!" Cain barked out angrily.
Keeler went limp. He turned his head away from Cain his breathing shallow and hitching. "Fuck, don't you navie girls do anything but cry?" Cain growled at him sitting back against the shower wall in frustration.
"Come on baby, we're going to lose the hot water if you don't let me do this." Cain cajoled. The little body still lying across his legs, withdrawn back into his own world still quietly sniffling, relaxed. Cain started wiping the back of his neck, then his back with the soapy washcloth letting the water gently rinse the soap away. Keeler remained quiet, finally resigned and submitted to Cain's administrations. He turned as Cain moved him but would not bring his eyes up to look at him. Cain soaped the washcloth again but hesitated. Disgusted; as the smell of old shit, piss and sour sweat drifted up to his nose, Cain clenched his jaw and pulled Keeler legs apart. Keeler seemed to sink into the cradle of Cain's arm as Cain gently washed his cock and balls. Hugging him to his chest Cain scrubbed Keeler's ass. When he turned him over, Keeler was semi hard, biting his lips, breathing with little quiet gasps.
"Oh no, none of that, Sir, I'm not giving Bering an excuse to throw my gypsy ass in the Brig." Keeler blushed all the way to his toes. Cain moved out of the spray, crossed his legs and pulled Keeler up to a sitting position between his knees. "Now, Lt. we're going wash this disgusting rat's nest of yours. You are going to fucking sit there like a good little girl and let me do it, you fucking understand me?" Keeler just nodded his head, hanging it forward as Cain carefully unplaited his long braid. "Maybe this is sexier when it's clean." Cain muttered pouring the standard issue shampoo generously into it. "This crap won't make it soft and manageable but it sure will make it clean."
Cain started at the front at Keeler's forehead, massaging the shampoo down to the hairline then worked his way back up to the crown. Then he started at Keeler's temples, repeating the massage in the same gentle, careful manner. Keeler moved with the manipulations of Cain's fingers, doing what he was told. His hair was like spun silk, heavy and thick with the shampoo and water soaking it. Cain tilted Keeler's head forward, got up underneath to the scalp then rubbed the long locks clean. "All right baby, almost done, but I need you to stand on your own so I can rinse this crap out of your hair, so upsy daisy." Cain pulled himself to his feet then put his forearms under Keeler's armpits to haul him up so he was under the showerhead. Keeler wavered but stood, letting Cain use the hand held shower to rinse the soap out of his hair until it was clean. Cain rinsed his body again and then studied the matted and tangled wet veil of blonde hair. He leaned Keeler forward with his hands on the towel rack. "You stay right here baby. Promise me you'll not move?" Keeler just nodded his head, not looking at Cain or moving out of the spray.
Cain stepped out of the shower and opened one of the little drawers by the sink. Rummaging around in it, he grasped a little bottle of conditioner that Abel had used. Cain looked down at the little purple bottle. It would be gone if he used it on Keeler but there was no way a comb was getting through that tangled mess if he didn't. He paused for just a moment remembering the scent of jasmine on Able when he nuzzled his soft hair while they slept wrapped around each other. He wanted to put the little bottle back in it hiding place to keep it forever. He took a deep breath; pushed past the greed of his grief and stepping back into the shower he emptied the bottle on Keeler's hair. He gently massaged it through Keeler mane letting it stand for a few minutes like Abel had always done then rinsed it carefully out. The shower filled with the scent of Ethan.
Cain turned off the facets, reached out for a clean towel and wrapped it around Keeler who was already shivering in the cooling air. He grabbed another towel to wrap around Keeler's wet hair then picked him up in his arms; carried him to one of the chairs and sat him down. Cain slipped into his robe, took the other one from the hook to wrap around Keeler. Cain snorted looking at the white fluffy thing; it was the only thing his last navie had left behind because Cain would wear it just to irritate him. He wasn't surprised when it was left behind. He wrapped the robe around Keeler with the pathetic hope of keeping him warm. Keeler looked small and swallowed up. Cain grabbed his wide tooth comb out of the cabinet in the head; it would have to do. He didn't have a brush, that had gone back to Earth with Ethan's things.
Cain pulled up another chair sitting close enough to Keeler that he could feel the little shivers that racked Keeler's body. Keeler just stared off into space letting Cain move his head as he tried to thread the comb through the long wet hair, starting at the bottom, working his way carefully up to unravel each matted tangle. Just as his sister had taught him to do when they were children. He was patient and determined, easing the comb through the wet hair. The cabin was quiet with just the rhythm of their breathing, Cain's quiet cussing when a tangle wouldn't cooperate or he thought he was pulling Keeler's hair enough to hurt him. Keeler never said anything at all through the whole process. Finally, it was straight and hanging nearly to Keeler's waist, still damp from the shower.
Cain caught him as his eyes fluttered close and he slumped forward. "Damn, Sir, you can't fucking crash here!" Cain admonished as he caught Keeler in his arms. Keeler's eyes were shut, his thin lips parted. Resigned, he lifted him up to move him to the bed. Cain had hoped to change the sheets but Keeler was already curling up turned to his side, his eyes closed. "Well fuck", Cain cursed as he kicked the top sheet over the side to the pile of filthy clothes. Reaching down he pulled a blanket off the floor and covered Keeler, who was already snoring, already deep in exhausted sleep. He wondered if James's ghost had been haunting him this whole time.
Cain dried his own hair, lit a cig and pulled out a half-empty bottle. He watched Keeler sleep in his bed. "Fuck me, who would have ever thought I'd have that bastard's girlfriend in my bed? Ironic, huh, James? Your gypsy whore has your fucking pansy bitch right in my bed. Wonder what noises he would make with my big gypsy cock up his ass? I wonder if he'd be loud enough for you to hear him in your grave?" Cain angrily wiped away the moisture at his eyes; he was not fucking crying for James. He was not fucking crying for anyone.
Cain woke, startled, not sure where he was for a moment. Then he realized he had dozed off in his chair, his legs propped up on the other one. He glanced over to the bed; Keeler was still sleeping soundly but had lost the blanket. The robe had fallen open exposing his little round ass. Cain gazed for a moment at the perfect skin, disoriented. He quickly shook it off.
It had been a while since his navie left, and his hand just wasn't the same as a warm tight ass as he imagined Keeler's to be but he didn't want to spend the rest of the time his squad was on this tin can in the Brig. He wasn't going to go where his cock was leading him.
Standing up and stretching, his muscles tight and cramped from sleeping sitting up in the chair, he went to the bed and pulled the blanket over the Lt. He slipped into sweats and let himself quietly out of the room. Heading down to the mess, he grabbed a couple of pieces of fruit, some juice, some toast and a bowl of oatmeal along with a couple of coffees. Who knew what Keeler would eat; Cain thought it best to cover his bases if he was going to get the little Lt. to eat something. He nearly ran back to his quarters, afraid that Keeler would wake up and leave but when he got back to the room, Keeler was in the same spot, still sound asleep. Cain wondered if the last time he slept was the last time he bathed too. He sat back down to suck on his coffee, eating one of the bananas and waited.
He had dozed off again but woke when he heard the toilet flush. He eyed Keeler as he came back into the room and sat in the chair across the table.
"Coffee is probably cold, let me heat it up." Cain grabbed the cup, setting it into the little microwave. Keeler just sat, slumped over, staring at his feet until Cain set the steaming cup before him.
"Drink that, and then you're going to eat something." Cain ordered him. Keeler looked up at him, looking miserably lost. He glanced down at his hands lying in his lap until Cain leaned over and grabbed his arm shaking him firmly.
"Drink the fucking coffee. James would have wanted you to. Whatever the fuck you are trying to do, you're not doing it here."
Tears welled in Keeler's eyes and ran down his freckled cheeks. "Why are you fucking doing this? Why the fuck do you care about me?"
Cain sat back down and snorted "Such language from such a pretty little girl, tch, tch, tch"
"Fuck you," Keeler spat out, wiping the tears off his face.
"I don't give a rat's ass about you, baby, or that piece of shit boyfriend you spread your legs for. However, you aren't fucking killing yourself in my room. Do that someplace else if you want." Angrily Cain grabbed Keeler's wrist and held it up so that the robe sleeve fell exposing the cuts up and down his forearm. "But if you're serious, you fucking bitch, then do it right, not across, cut down like this through the vein." Cain drew down the purple veins in Keeler's wrist with his finger, leaving a red mark on the pale skin. "All you are doing is playing if you do it this way. Be fucking serious, do it right or don't do it at all."
Keeler angrily pulled his wrist out of Cain's grip, sat glaring at him for a few moments, and then collapsed back into the chair. He was quiet while he drank his coffee. Cain put a half a piece of toast and a couple segments of orange on a plate in front of him.
"Why are you taking care of me?" Cain could barely hear Keeler whisper.
"I have no fucking idea." Keeler looked up at Cain who lit a cigarette, sat back in his chair and spat out, "Eat that shit or I'm going to shove it down your throat. Sir."
Cain was weirdly pleased that Keeler ate what was on his plate then asked for more orange. Cain carefully pulled the segments apart offering them one by one to him, like feeding a baby bird. Keeler took them from his fingers reluctantly, put them in his mouth and chewed slowly. Cain used the opportunity to really look at him. Keeler was slight enough to look like you could break him just by knocking him off the chair. He wasn't sure if that would change if Keeler put on the pounds he had grieved off. He had big icy blue eyes with an unexpected smattering of freckles across his cheeks. Cain knew from seeing him before, when life made sense, that he was pretty, all sweet smiles and shy embarrassment. That alone would have kept James's cock hard. Cain imagined Encke couldn't get enough of his navie princess. Keeler's eyes began to flutter again, his eyelids closing. When he slipped easily back into sleep, Cain had to catch him as he fell forward. "Oh no you don't, baby, let's get you back to bed."
Cain laid him out in the bed, covering him again. Cain stood over him and watched him for several minutes. "James, you bastard, how did you ever wind up with such a pretty little slut?" he muttered to himself. Realizing he was exhausted, Cain laid down on the far side of the bed, facing away from Keeler and falling into unconsciousness too.
When he woke up, Keeler was not so much spooning him as having wrapped himself around Cain. His right hand was underneath the right side of Cain's waist; his left draped over the left side; long fingertips brushing across the flat of Cain's abdomen. His cheek plastered between Cain's shoulder blades, his knee's tucked up under Cain's ass, toes between Cain's calves. Cain froze for a moment, confused where he was and who's hard cock was jutting into his back. The sweet jasmine smell from Keeler's hair disoriented Cain and for a moment, he snuggled back into Ethan's warmth. As horrible memories washed over him, he scrambled off the bed, standing by its side, trembling. In the covers, it was hard to tell what ghost was lying next to him, but shaking his head to clear it, he remembered it was Keeler, not Abel. "Fuck this!" he cursed, shaking his head again to clear the cobwebs.
Using the small standard issue hot pot in the little kitchenette, he put water on for instant coffee then headed into the shower. Ignoring his hard-on wasn't working for him, so as the hot stinging water beat his shoulders into consciousness; he roughly jerked himself out, his cum washing down the drain. He didn't think of Abel, but Deimos on his knees with his mouth open, waiting. "BLYAT!" he cried out as he came, "Fuck! Where did that come from?" He hadn't thought of his myshonok since the battle, not even for a second. Having Keeler so close to him was bringing them all back to haunt him, drawing the ghosts of his past back to him like moths to a flame.
Keeler was sitting up in bed when Cain left the head, a towel around his middle while he toweled his hair dry.
"Good morning." Keeler said quietly looking up at him expectantly. "You're Cain, right? Ethan's fighter?" Cain temper flared, hot and quick, wanting to bloody the mouth that spoke Abel's real name. He never wanted to hear it on someone else's lips. Turning away, he calmed himself. He pulled two mugs from the little shelf over the sink.
"Yeah. Was." He spooned instant coffee into the mugs, turning his back to Keeler, and then poured the hot water over the crystals, his hands trembling, not wanting Keeler to see that. He handed one over to Keeler who wrapped his fingers around the warmth of the cup. Abel did that, hell they must all do that. Cain went to his closet, pulled on clean jeans and a t-shirt before coming back to drink his coffee. After this morning, he wasn't giving his cock the chance to get any ideas about Keeler. He didn't want to fuck Keeler. It would be like fucking James and he knew if he did, he would break into a thousand pieces as he had been threatening to do for months now. His delicate balance of denial would tumble then the knife in his chest would carve up his heart. He didn't want to do that in front of James's leftover. Keeler looked up at him from underneath the veil of white blond hair, sipping delicately at his coffee.
The room was silent, uncomfortable after a few minutes. Cain put some leftover orange segments on a napkin, pushed it towards Keeler and said, "Start with those and if you can keep it down, baby."
Keeler pulled the napkin towards him not meeting Cain's eyes and slowly ate the oranges.
"Why are you taking care of me?" he asked softly not looking at Cain.
"I told you, I have no fucking idea."
"Because you were James's friend?"
Cain poured himself another cup and leaned over the cabinet to compose himself aware Keeler was an officer and could still order him to the Brig. "I was James's whore, not his friend! Get that fucking straight, because I don't want to hear about you and him and your fucking life together! He's dead, Abel is dead, they are all fucking shit assed dead and rotting in their fucking graves and we got left behind, so fucking just stop trying to kill yourself over someone you didn't even love!" Cain turned away from Keeler, enraged and embarrassed that suddenly he couldn't stop the tears running down his face, dripping off his jaw. It all came bubbling up out of his gut like a burst abscess, the pus of what was festering inside spurting up out of him. It was too late; he couldn't stop the rage that filled him. He couldn't stop himself from vomiting all his pain at Keeler.
"You fucking ought to be ashamed, you useless piece of shit! What a fucking pathetic little cunt, cutting at yourself, starving yourself, what kind of fucking pansy bullshit is that? You say you didn't love James, fine, nobody said you had to but you fucking used his cock to keep yourself warm, bitch, so don't fucking dishonor him! Don't you fucking disrespect him, you selfish whore! James was a good man, he deserved better than that, he fucking deserved better than me and he fucking deserved better than you, he deserved better than having his fucking face blown off, he deserved better...", Cain choked unable to catch his breath. Keeler looked up at him with wide glassy eyes stunned at Cain's rage.
Cain slammed his fist into the cabinet above him; blood welled up on his knuckles. At least this pain he could understand, not the white-hot vise that gripped his heart making it impossible for him to breathe. He couldn't do this, not here, not now, not ever. If he lost himself, if he lost control he would never get it back and he'd be reduced to drinking himself to death or picking a fight with someone who would gut him. He might as well have stayed in the colonies to be some fucking whore to a bastard Bratva boss.
Keeler got out of the bed, pulling the robe around him tightly and went over to the counter where Cain stood still shaking violently. Softly, without touching Cain, he stood next to him for several seconds just breathing. Then he took the cloth by the sink and rinsed it out in tepid water. Turning back to Cain, he hesitantly reached out his hand to take Cain's. Cain dully looked at the pale shaking hand reaching for his. He thought about it for a moment, started to pull away and then allowed the offer. Keeler gently wiped the blood from his split knuckles. His hands are so soft, Cain thought, sadly biting his lip.
They stood there, holding hands for what seemed a very long time, and then Cain broke away.
"I have duty, Lt. I've got to go. Stay as long as you need to."
Much later, when Cain got back, Keeler was gone. The robe hung back up neatly, the bed made, the mugs washed cleaned and put away. The room was a vacuum, empty and lonely. Throwing himself on the bed with his cigs and his bottle, Cain drank himself unconscious, in despair that his life would never be whole again.
He startled awake hearing his name called. Like a wistful prayer, he whispered, "Ethan?"