A/N: So, this one is for raijindork. Because you killed my soul, I must kill yours in return. I hope. Such an odd thing to hope for, but it's good to have goals.

There are a few notes at the end for those of you who find something a tad offensive or disconcerting in this chapter. I would put them at the beginning, but then it would ruin the story for those of you who want to be surprised by what will happen next.

So, have a sad modern AU...

Summer
Bickslow x Cobra
Rated T

"I swear, it'll be like I never left," he whispered into his husband's maroon hair. Cobra didn't mind that they were both sweating, waiting for the repairman to come out and fix their AC unit (again) while temperatures skyrocketed across the city. It was almost like his body hadn't gotten the memo though, because he just felt cold inside knowing where Bickslow was going and what he would be doing over there.

Knowing that there was a good chance he just wouldn't come back made Cobra want to vomit and kick Bickslow's ass and kiss him and beg him to go AWOL all at the same time.

At one point, he would have hated someone for making him feel like this. He would have just thrown his relationship out the window and turned tail and stayed far the hell away from any sort of emotional attachment that would only lead to him getting hurt again. Except this was Bickslow, and Cobra had never been able to keep his distance from the blue-haired moron.

"Just fifteen months, okay?" Bickslow whispered. "And once it's done, I'll have a bunch of leave saved up. We can go wherever you want."

"I hate it."

"We've been through it before though, and we survived."

The last two deployments were utter hell, for both of them. Cobra hadn't known what to do with himself, had always found himself waiting by his phone on the off-chance that Bickslow actually had time or the ability to call him. And Bickslow had spent every single day he was overseas in Alvarez patting the pocket over his heart where he kept their wedding picture, reminding himself that no matter what happened, he would be home and with Cobra again soon.

Cobra wanted to argue that this could be the last deployment for him, that he could end his contract with the military and just spend the last few months at a desk job, then get the hell out and be safe. He wanted to say that Bickslow might not make it back home, that it could be the last time they ever saw each other, because his husband had some ridiculous sense of patriotism.

Instead, he rolled onto his side and shifted higher on the bed so they shared the pillow, then brushed his fingers over Bickslow's hair. "Have I mentioned lately that I miss your mohawk?"

"No," Bickslow chuckled. "But I couldn't keep it, baby."

He just didn't look right with a "high and tight," but Cobra much preferred that to the completely shaved bullshit he'd had right out of basic training all those years ago. "Can I know where you'll be?" he whispered. No matter how hard he wanted to change the subject, he couldn't. Not for long.

Bickslow gave him a sad smile and shook his head. "Op-sec," he whispered. "I can't say until I'm home."

Cobra wanted to tell him that his operation security could lick his fucking asshole, because he had a right to know where his damn husband would be. That way, when he watched the news every day and saw some base from Ishgar had been bombed, he would know whether or not to worry that Bickslow had been there.

"Bix…"

"Hm?"

Cobra bit his lip, looking into those familiar mesmerizing crimson eyes, then let out a quiet sigh and slid back down the bed to rest his head on Bickslow's chest. "Just come home, okay?" he whispered.

"You know I will."

"Not in a body bag."

"I'll try my best."

"I don't care if all of your limbs are blown the fuck off," Cobra said, taking a shaky breath and blinking away his tears. "No matter how much of you is missing, just come home to me."

"You'll wheel me around, won't you?" Bickslow chuckled, though it was tense.

"Always. We'll pimp out your wheelchair too."

He was at work when they came with their pressed dress blues and rows of barred pins that showed how important they were. Right in the middle of his lecture on free radicals with his moderately intelligent third and fourth year students, a year after Bickslow left, they quietly opened the door and stood just inside, and waited.

Cobra stopped in the middle of everything - speaking, thinking, breathing, maybe even existing in general - and his single eye honed in on the two officials that had come to tell him the news he didn't want to hear. Didn't they only go to people's homes to do this sort of thing? Wasn't he supposed to answer the door and find them there with those somber expressions, hear the news, and then wait for whatever else he had to do?

Finally, they came forward, apparently realizing that they didn't need to wait until his class was finished. Except Cobra couldn't breathe. He couldn't hear the hushed murmurs from his class who had never seen any expression from him aside from cold, authoritative disdain, who were now seeing the tears welling in his eye and how he had to steady himself on the podium.

"Dr. Vivas," one officer said. By the quick glance Cobra sent his way, he was a captain. "Could we speak to you outside for a moment?"

He shook his head, licked his lips to try and wet them again. "Just… Just say what y-you have to," he whispered. God, he remembered sitting in that briefing years ago, one of the few times he'd gone down to the base with Bickslow, like it was yesterday. And somewhere in his head, he knew that them showing up at the university meant they'd tried to get in contact with him at home first and he wasn't there. Bickslow had put it on some form somewhere that he worked at the university, and that if he wasn't at home, he was there. Well, Cobra could only assume that's what he'd done.

"Would you like to dismiss the class?" the other, a chaplain, asked.

He shook his head again. And when he looked back to the captain, the man who would have to tell him, he found a blank, professional mask. When Cobra looked back on it, he would come to realize he appreciated that small gesture.

"The Secretary of the Army regrets to inform you that your husband, Colonel Bickslow Vivas, was killed in action this morning while on a mission. Reports indicate that it was a mortar attack, but most of the details are unclear right now." Just that morning. They moved fast, he supposed. He didn't hear how his students gasped at the news carrying through the mostly silent room. He didn't see their wide, teary eyes as they watched on in horror. "There is an ongoing investigation. Once the investigation is complete, you will have full access to the report. A casualty affairs officer will be in contact with you soon to help you through this process."

Cobra didn't know why it happened, he didn't know why hearing the words made it so much more real for him, but one moment he was looking them right in the eye and ignoring how his tears blurred his vision, and the next he was sitting on the floor and gripping his hair and trying to just stop his bone-shaking sobs from echoing in the lecture hall. The captain stepped back to give him some space - part of his job, Cobra knew - while the chaplain knelt beside him. He shook off the gentle hand that tried to rest on his shoulder.

"Why?" he croaked. "Wh-Why did he…"

"I'm sorry to say, I don't know," the captain said, and he could hear the sincerity in his voice.

"Dr. Vivas, what can we do to help you right now?" the chaplain whispered. "Is there someone we can call?"

Cobra shook his head, unable to say anything. Maybe it was a good thing that one of his students spoke up then, because he sure as hell couldn't even begin thinking about what he might need or who could fucking help him deal with this.

"His TA should be on campus somewhere," the student said. "Wendy Marvell. She'll know who to call."

"Is it alright if we contact Ms. Marvell for you?" the chaplain whispered. Cobra just nodded, completely forgetting to dismiss his class, even to just wave his hand. And, of course, none of the students wanted to interrupt him and ask if they could leave since it was obvious the lecture was done. Or even if they should leave.

They were all stuck in that weird sort of limbo. Uncomfortable and unsure of what to do until the hour passed and the class was officially done. Finally the students silently packed their things and exited the room in a single file line, leaving Cobra with the two military officials.

Cobra didn't know what to do with himself while he stood in the crowd at the hangar on Bickslow's military base. They were all relatively quiet, but he knew that this plane that had just landed was the one holding his husband's casket. It wasn't holding Bickslow though. All they'd been able to find was his boot that had one of his dog tags attached to it, and his ACU top with Vivas velcroed on the right side of his chest and their wedding picture in the left breast pocket. All that was in the casket were those two things, most likely covered in sand and dried blood and singed from what he'd found out later was shrapnel from a mortar attack blowing through some wall that had taken almost every member of Bickslow's unit down in one blow.

He was alone here though. Midnight and Laxus had offered to come with him, but he hadn't wanted them there. He hadn't wanted them to see him like this at the time, but when he saw the first casket being carried off the plane with Ishgar's flag over it, Cobra wished he hadn't been so stubborn.

They were being unloaded in alphabetical order to make it easier for families to come and claim the bodies. Mostly so they could fill out paperwork that acknowledged their loved one had been brought home so they could be transported to the morgue. Bickslow would be on the plane for a while longer. No, his jacket and boot would be, Cobra reminded himself.

Because his husband wasn't on that plane. His body hadn't been recovered, so he was still in some province in Alvarez. Dead.

The counselor told Cobra that the sooner he accepted that Bickslow was dead, the easier it would be. And part of accepting it was to remind himself that his husband was dead. To use the word dead. To not avoid it, to face it head-on. Apparently, the guy had realized that Cobra wasn't like most other people who came to see him, and that it wasn't the dying part that bothered him. It was the Bickslow being gone part that tore him apart and made him unable to sleep without waking up and thinking his husband would be in the kitchen trying to cook him breakfast and failing miserably, but claiming it was still better than MRE eggs.

A blonde woman beside him sniffled quietly, then let out a soft sigh, drawing Cobra's attention. She was alone as well. Except when he looked at her and saw how her belly was rounded, and that the rest of her was still thin, he realized she wasn't really alone. She had a little someone with her, and god help him… he felt worse for her than himself.

She turned toward him when she realized he was staring at her stomach, her hand lifting and rubbing a slow circle over it. "Hi," she whispered.

Cobra looked at the ground and hummed a response.

"You're alone too?" He nodded, looking back toward the plane and the caskets being unloaded. "Your wife?"

"Husband," he said. "Colonel Vivas. You?"

"Husband," she said softly, turning back as well. "Sergeant Redfox." They stood in silence for several minutes, then she said, "He wanted to name our daughter Tali."

"... It's an interesting choice." They didn't speak after that, and when the procession was finished, they turned and started milling through the crowd toward their respective spouses' remains.

Cobra felty every shot from the twenty-one gun salute. The sounds ricocheted through the cemetery and pierced his soul as he stood before Bickslow's grave. He watched in silence as soldiers wearing white gloves removed the flag from his husband's casket and folded it in half, in half again, then one corner over to make a triangle, down and across, over and over again.

The weight of that flag threatened to knock him over once it was in his hands. He couldn't handle it though. No matter how much Cobra had insisted to everyone that he was fine, that losing Bickslow hurt but that he would be alright, he knew it was all lies. He wasn't okay. He hardly slept anymore. Midnight and Laxus made sure to check on him at least once a week, and the casualty counselor was nice to chat with on occasion, but it was all finally setting in for him.

Bickslow was really gone. It wasn't just some fucked up dream anymore. It wasn't something he and Bickslow talked about between deployments. This was his reality. His husband, the only bastard in the world who Cobra had ever loved, was gone. All because of some war that didn't really affect them, but that their country - or allied countries, was more accurate - had been fighting for decades. All because Bickslow had been so adamant about staying in for twenty years and really making something of himself, because he'd done it the smart way and went into the military after he'd finished college, but still went through everything from the bottom of the barrel up, so he could prove to himself and to everyone else that he was the right man for his job.

Cobra wanted to be mad at his husband. He really fucking did. Except, then he would think about those late nights together, those early mornings before the sun had come up where Bickslow would kiss him and whisper that he loved him before going to work and doing drills and whatever the hell else he did at work before it was even four in the morning.

And it was while he looked at the flag in his hands that Cobra remembered just what it was that made him fall in love with Bickslow to begin with. It wasn't his wild mohawk or his sense of humor when they'd met in college. It wasn't his dedication to his morals or his job. It wasn't the way Bickslow would groan in his ear and grab his hips from behind, or how content Cobra felt when they finally fell to the bed together and kissed and cuddled like there was no tomorrow.

It was his smile. That bright, cancerous smile that infected everyone who saw it. The smile he'd gotten for the first time when he'd threatened two thugs at the university with a knife and chemical burns for teasing Bickslow about being gay.

Cobra missed that smile. He wished it was there, looking back at him in the large picture that was beside Bickslow's grave, instead of his military picture in his dress blues and beret, straight-faced and so serious that it was hard to recognize him at all.

He just wished the love of his life would come home. Except, Cobra knew that would never happen.

It wasn't often that Cobra found himself near Forest Hall, the building that housed the English and Humanities and World Languages departments, but he needed to get to the library for a change to scan pages from an actual book for once for his small summer class on Inorganic Chemistry. And when he saw the large group of people crowded in the grass, he knew why.

Garish red and orange signs with bold black and white text bobbed above the crowd. Between bodies, he caught small glimpses of leatherbound bibles. He had no issues with religion in general. Except these particular people apparently believed that Hell was only twenty miles below campus and heaven resided just above the clouds. Their sign saying, Hell. Twenty Miles Down. was enough for him to know they were morons and making other people of their faith look bad.

The fact that there was a woman yelling at a student, saying she didn't know what she was talking about because she was just some lesbian, really hammered that in.

"God wants to save you all. The sinners will go to hell, unless you repent and find the light."

Cobra's steps slowed as he read another sign.

REPENT SINNERS
Homos & Lesbos
Cheaters & Liars
Potheads & Oxyheads
Sex before Marriage
Beer Fanatics
Trans-anything
Scientist Nonbelievers
Evolution-ists
Women who get Abortions

He'd forgotten about these people. They were smart enough to stay away from the science side of campus - most likely because those students just tended to shout equations at them. They had a pretty inclusive list though, and while he would have just rolled his eye and taken a picture and sent it to Bickslow for them to laugh over the ridiculousness of some people, Cobra was all too aware of how he couldn't do that anymore.

"Soldiers are sinners too, and good riddance to the ones who got killed already."

That had him stopping entirely. He knew, as a member of the faculty, he wasn't supposed to intervene when these people showed up unless they were harassing people. Some bullshit about free speech. Except, that one comment had a good number of students shouting about how these guys needed to shut the fuck up. And if anything, Cobra could feel the tension of an impending riot if this didn't stop.

No matter how much he wanted to rip into the guy who'd so stupidly lumped Bickslow into the sinning group, he had to keep his damn job. He had to remain calm about this. Sexuality aside, because he knew that some people just refused to understand the concept of two people of the same sex being together not actually affecting their lives, his husband died protecting these assholes' right to spew bullshit.

So, he did what was necessary. And only what was necessary, he kept telling himself while pushing through the students to stand at the front of the crowd. The fact that he saw several students with their phones out, recording the whole thing, wasn't that surprising.

What was surprising though, was how many of them went utterly quiet when he made an appearance and walked into the open area where the religious group was standing. Maybe it was his lab coat that he always wore on campus that gave him an air of Trust me, I'm a scientist. Or maybe it was the fact that he was sure the entire school knew that his husband had been killed overseas several years ago, because there was some site that held a virtual vigil in support of Bickslow when the news got around about his breakdown in class. He hadn't checked in some time, but he figured it was still up and active.

Regardless of the reason, Cobra was glad that he wouldn't have to shout. Shouting didn't really get people anywhere.

"Someone stop recording this and call the campus police," Cobra said, staring into the man's eyes while he lowered his megaphone and paused in his sermon.

"You can't stop us from spreading the word of God."

"Free speech," a young man piped up while holding his sign. "We can do this all we want."

"True, but I'm stopping you morons from being murdered," Cobra said. "And while I'm sure you thoroughly enjoy spreading hypocritical hatred and hiding behind that couple thousand year old work of fiction as a point of contention for your beliefs, there's no empirical evidence to support your claims. At all."

"Dayum! Doctor Cobra's gonna rip these assholes in half!" a student called out, sending a round of laughs rippling through the crowd.

"The bible says-"

"Love your neighbor," Cobra nodded. "Pretty sure your fancy man in the sky wouldn't be too jazzed about you saying that gay people are abominations, considering - if we take your word for it - we're all made in his image, right? Which means your vehement denials of homosexuality are also denials of your God's choice to make those people the way they are."

"Homosexuality is a choice!"

"A choice to not deal with men's bullshit, maybe," a female student laughed.

Cobra blinked slowly. "Can you tell by looking at someone if they're gay?"

"Of course!"

"... Am I gay?"

The man paused and stared at him. "What does that have to-"

"For the record," Cobra smirked. "I am. I'm super gay. Some might say I'm so gay that I wear a feathered butt-plug on the weekends and run down the beach in a bedazzled mankini. Uncomfortable yet? Are you thinking that, because I find men sexually attractive, your own masculinity is somehow threatened?"

"You should repent for your sins," the man said. "You're going to hell."

"Well, according to you, my husband's already in hell, so I'm pretty sure I'll be in good company. I mean, soldiers go to hell too, right? Gay soldiers must especially go there. It's gonna be a literal butt-fucking free-for-all down there, and we'll apparently only be twenty miles down, so I'll make sure to moan extra loud for you to hear all my unrepentant heathen fucking."

There was a round of cheers from the crowd that died out quickly when they realized just what he'd said.

"I'd suggest leaving before you get knocked the fuck out," Cobra said, glaring with everything he was worth. "Because while I value my job here and won't ruin my life over making your pathetic ass drink acid, I sorely doubt every single impulsive student listening to your bullshit has the same level of maturity." He paused, then turned toward the crowd. "Seriously, don't fucking go after these assholes. That'll just get you arrested and make them feel more righteous."

He started walking away, ignoring the fire burning across his forehead and how his hands clenched into fists, then stopped when the pseudo-minister spoke again.

"That faggot deserved to die! I hope he suffered!"

Cobra stopped and turned to look over his shoulder. "What did you just call him?"

"I called him a faggot."

"You motherfucker," Cobra sneered. "Don't you dare talk about my husband that way!" He wasn't even aware that he'd lunged for the asshole until there were arms around him and a soft voice drifted from lips pressed against his hair.

"Aw, my cute Coby's gonna smack a bitch for little ol' me?"

Cobra froze, his eye widening and a soft whimper crackling in his chest. Clearly, he'd gone off the fucking deep end. He was hallucinating now. But then the voice said something else, something that only Bickslow would know, because he'd been raised in a religious home and had to point out the flaws his mother's faith concerning her wanting to disown him for his sexuality.

"I'd suggest taking a look at Leviticus," the voice said. "It condemns male same-sex intercourse, which is what I'm sure you're referencing, except it also condemns eating shellfish, rabbit, and pork. And it says you can't cut the sides of your hair short. And that you can't have sex with a woman on her period. But, I mean, you guys do all those things… assuming you actually can find a woman stupid enough to have sex with you anyway. Those prohibitions don't apply to you guys, since you generally just ignore the Old Testament."

"But-" the man started, only to frown when the voice spoke again.

"Also, Paul condemned same-sex lust, not same-lex love. Those are completely different things. And the New Testament talks about marriage being about more than procreation, but a bond of something much deeper, and even compares it to God and the church being committed in a partnership. The words might be about different sexes, but the value itself is the same."

Cobra knew this voice. He'd dreamt about it for years - four years, when he thought about the last time they'd spoken - nearly every night. And when he finally found the will to breathe, all he could smell was Bickslow's cologne. Maybe from the bottle that had been sitting on his side of the sink, that Cobra hadn't had the heart to throw away.

"... Bix?" he whispered. "Please tell me I'm not having a nervous breakdown."

The arms around him tightened just a little. Just enough for him to really feel the truth. This was real. And when he looked down and saw the military standard ACU top was missing, that it was just bare forearms wrapped around him - with one still having a tattoo of Cobra across it - he knew it wasn't a dream.

"Not a dream, sexy," he whispered, kissing Cobra's ear. "Sorry I made you wait so long. But I kept all my appendages, so that's a win I guess."

"Y-You're alive?"

"I am," Bickslow whispered, nestling his nose in Cobra's hair. "I missed you so-"

Cobra pushed Bickslow's arms away and whirled in place, looking up into those familiar crimson eyes with the perfect little swirls on the ends. He took in the dark tan on his face, the clean shave of his jaw, his wide lips curled up into the barest of smiles.

Still, the scientist in him knew that hallucinations could be painfully realistic. So, just to be sure, Cobra looked off to the side and singled out a student. "Tell me you see him," he said, not caring that he sounded so desperate.

"Um… The guy with blue hair and weird eyes?" she asked. "Yeah."

Cobra let out a sound that was somewhere between a relieved laugh and a sob, turning back to Bickslow once again. "You motherfucker!" he sniffled, reaching up to grasp his husband's cheeks and pulling him forward so quickly, so forcefully, that their teeth knocked together once their lips met.

But he didn't care about that. A little pain was worth it just to be able to feel Bickslow's arms winding around him again, beneath his lab coat, crushing him to that broad chest. Bickslow's lips moved over his like a man starved, and Cobra couldn't blame him. Even though some part of him knew that making out in the middle of campus was probably going to land him in some shit with the Dean, he didn't care. Not when Bickslow's tongue slipped past his lips.

Not when he bent and grasped at Cobra's thighs, lifting him and wrapping those thin legs around his hips.

"Sinners! This is disgusting!"

"Oi, shut the fuck up you bigoted dick-munch!" one student bellowed.

Cobra drew back, breathless, and smiled down at Bickslow, taking in the small signs of aging he'd missed in the last few years. With a well-placed heel to the back of his husband's knee, Cobra found his smile widening when Bickslow toppled to the ground, happily going right down with him. "You're not dead."

"Nope," Bickslow chuckled, humming softly when Cobra kissed him again.

"I love you, Bickslow," Cobra sniffled between kisses. "I love you so much!"

"I love you too, baby." Bickslow smiled and closed his eyes when Cobra finally collapsed on top of him and cried. His arms wound around Cobra's shaking body, and his eyes closed while he drowned out the sounds of everyone around them, simply letting his maroon-haired husband cry in his arms. "Also, when did you start wearing glittery mankinis? I wanna see."

"Sh-Shut the fuck up," Cobra sobbed, though he was smiling and not trying to hide either from the people around them.

Cobra wouldn't find out until later, when he'd cancelled his classes for the rest of the day and he and Bickslow were driving from the campus back to the base to check in, the truth of his husband's disappearance. But that was a story for another time.

.The End.

I don't do notes at the end very often, but this one does prompt a couple things from me.

1. While I'm not a religious person, I do not bash other religions or their beliefs, nor do I hate people based on their beliefs alone. The religious people in this chapter are based on my own personal experience at university, and their signs (no bullshit) said those exact same things… I had to reference the video I took of their little gathering just to get the wording right. However, for anyone who has to deal with people like this, being able to use things from their own religious text against them really is a helpful way to combat their hatred. Be informed and be safe. Normally, it's best to ignore them.

2. The different processes of military funeral things were partially researched in regards to American military; however, this is fiction and set in a fictional modern AU, in a fictional country, so I took some artistic liberty with some parts of it. I am aware that some things may be incorrect in real-world contexts, but this is fiction.

3. I most likely won't write what happened to Bickslow. I'll leave it up to your imagination to fill in the blanks. Sorry (not sorry lol)