The farmhouse stands quiet sans Rocky patrolling the pastures or chasing flies. She barks, but Mitch can't get into the headspace to even pet her when he comes home. He hops out of the truck and tries the door handle to the house – only to find it locked, which means that John is not here. A quick glance into the barn reveals he's not there either. So Mitch stands alone, untethered, smiling, crying. He can unlock the door but he's so tired on top of everything, he doesn't even do that.
Instead, he saunters to the old oak and sits down under its shadow. Rocky comes trudging and greedily seeks out affection, licking his hand and bumping it with her nose. She stares at him with her wide eyes and Mitch, with the weight of everything today, can't help himself from hugging her. The dog accepts it curiously, tail wagging, patiently sitting by his side until noises from the driveway cause her to wriggle out of the embrace and bark at whoever is coming. Her reaction makes it clear that it's not a familiar guest. If Mitch was in a better mood, he'd be upset. But he can only sit here and mourn the crumbling of his relationships.
His stomach bottoms out when he sees a two-seat sedan pull to a stop behind the truck and Anna leaving the vehicle. Her face is a little red and her hair a little frizzy. Her eyes dart around the property until she spots Mitch by the oak when Rocky runs over to her. He can't stand to look at her or the worried gaze that grows stronger like rancid cancer as she crosses the yard and soon stands over him.
Swallowing hard, Mitch stands up but his throat runs dry and he's rendered mute. They stand there in awkward silence that does a headfirst dive into the uncomfortable as Anna swings her arms around him and pulls him tight like she needs to make sure he's still here with her, bloody and all. Mitch tries to hold it together, dammit, he tries so hard, but he still fails. He fails badly and his breath hitches until tears gather in his eyes and pour down his cheeks.
"I'm sorry," he whimpers. "I'm so sorry."
"Why, honey?" Anna asks, confused but gentle while she wipes his face.
Because he knows that this will be the end of it.
Mitch breathes in deeply and says, grainy and wet; "I don't want you to choose between me and Will. You'd be better off without me."
"What?" Anna cocks a brow, almost affronted at that suggestion. She shakes her head and cups his face to force his eyes to her only. "Don't be silly. Will didn't mean the things he said. It's just a lot of things have been dumped on him and we know how he reacts when caught off guard. He'll calm down and he'll apologize – as he should."
Mitch can hear the ticking of the landmine growing louder, feels the heat of the bomb about to go off, and smells the scent of smoke in the air. No one knows it's there but Anna will if he lets her. If she knows what's good for her, she'll dive for cover while everything explodes around her. For whatever goddamn reason, she does not.
"You know how he is. He's just looking out for you," says Anna warmly and wraps an arm around him to direct him away from the yard. It's like being dragged to the gallows and it doesn't feel like relief because the landmine follows him. All the way to the two-seated sedan. Right by the trunk of the car is where they stop, and the bomb stands watch.
Mitch's eyes find solace in the ground, but it can't save him when Anna's arm leaves his body.
"Honey, I've been thinking. A lot. You know Will is right when he says that Rambo has been spending a lot of time here for what was supposed to be a temporary stay," she says, blunt like Will but twice as intelligent. "But unlike him, I don't think there's anything wrong with it. You're still you."
Mitch doesn't look at her as his entire body freezes. He can't even move, let alone talk. He just closes his eyes as the explosion begins.
"I see how happy it makes you out here. How happy he makes you. John Rambo. It's not at all obvious though but…" Anna continues in a tone he can't discern. It's judicious but forthcoming. Cautious but open, like she's beginning to smell the smoke too. Therefore, she asks; "What is he to you?"
Mitch takes in a deep breath, lets it out, and lets the landmine ruin everything. He doesn't want her to lose her husband because of him. It's not a child's game, it's torture. Cruel to force her to rip herself in half for the men in her life. So he makes the choice for her.
"He's special to me."
Anna doesn't respond. She gently grabs his chin and forces him to look at her and the lack of hostility in her eyes that blurs from tears. It takes a long time for her to formulate what else she intends to say, but when she does, what she says makes him feel faint with shock.
"It's not much of a surprise really that it's a man."
The explosions go off. They burn and roar. They scorch the area; they leave craters in the ground. But no one is hurt. Nothing is burned. No blood, no death, no Mitch Rogers being blown into pieces as the world around him crumbles into nothing.
"…What?" he asks in a grainy shudder and doesn't know what to make of the way Anna just shrugs.
"I mean, I've had inklings about you. I always wondered to myself if you were different. No girls ever caught your attention. Not even Leroy's daughter and you won't believe what Will says he hears about her from the boys."
"Ah…" Mitch feels the sting crawl into his eyes again and pour tears down his face because he just can't control himself.
"You know me. I've been to all kinds of fringes of society. I've been interviewing hippies in their communes where men slept with men and women slept with women. It has never faced me. For some people, it was just an experiment. For others, it was a chance to be themselves," Anna speaks with all the confidence in the world, but her eyes begin to glisten and her voice wavers as she continues. "Did you think I'd disown you because of that? Oh, don't be so ridiculous."
She hugs him, tighter than she has ever hugged him before and gently strokes his hair. Her entire body hitches in quiet sobs while she holds him, holds him for a very long time. So when she pulls back, Mitch carves open his own heart and bares his soul for her. The New Year argument, the hunting trip, the changes made, the testing period, the misunderstandings, his feelings for John, the incident on game night. His hopes and dreams for things to stay as they are, even if they have been shattered beyond repair.
"I've always known I was different," he says, relieved because the explosions have ceased. "I thought it was wrong of me because that's all you hear. You read about people like me getting beat up or killed. You hear how it's bad or how it will end society or how it's unnatural. How others recoil when they talk about it. And you wonder if it's really because there's something wrong with you. If you deserve to be alone forever."
Anna nods along but never looks away from him, listening to every word like she's conducting an interview, and asks accordingly; "But despite thinking it's wrong, you do love Rambo?"
"So I do," says Mitch, and feels his cheek flush into a deep crimson. He has to bite the inside of his cheek in order not to smile. "He makes me feel normal. Keeps telling me that I am who I am and that's fine. Out here, where it's just the two of us, it's fine."
It's liberating to say as it is horrible. A picture of something sacred and wonderful that serves as an admission of the hostile world he lives in. He thinks of the people of Hope, of his mother wherever the hell she is, of his uncle and cousins wherever they are, of Will and the rest of the deputies. Thinks of the shades of cruelty and hatred he could feel if they all knew. Dares not to dream of getting accepted. He closes his eyes and his throat itches with the urge to cry all over again.
"I love you," Anna tells him gently and reaches up to playfully pinch his cheek. "No matter what, I do. Rambo's right when he says that you are still you and if he makes you happy, then that's all there is to it. Hippies may not be a thing anymore but the people and their wishes for community still remain."
Sometimes it's hard to understand how someone as unorthodox as Anna managed to marry her complete opposite in the very traditionalistic Teasle. Teasle who hates hippies and drifters and vagrants and Vietnam War vets. The minds of the very same people, Anna spent years engaging with including the mind of the man who lives out here. So the thought of Teasle knowing causes Mitch's skin to itch with nervousness and fear.
"I hope they found happiness. It's hard, it can be lonely, really. Spending so much time in the dark, thinking and feeling like the world could end at any moment. Hell, being scared that the person living with you could kill you for it. It doesn't matter how normal it seems. The fear erodes it all. Unlike John, I'm not strong. I don't adapt to loneliness or people's hatred. We're both outliers for different but relatable things. Things that made me wary of sending him away besides the obvious."
Mitch tries not to steer into his assumptions about Vietnam or the source of the scars or trauma. That's not his story to tell. He doesn't know it honestly.
"Because he was in 'Nam. Green Beret," adds Anna thoughtfully. She's a little apprehensive about it but not for the usual reasons. Still, it leaves Mitch's breath a little weak.
He nods and flushes. "People blamed it on him and he built this shell around himself. Makes him intimidating."
"Scared you too, huh?"
"Mm-hm. But I found out that he's actually not malicious. And under that shell, it's really warm and soft."
Anna subtly changes the topic into something related. "Would it help Will if he knew as well? He doesn't think highly of them – people like you unless he'd change his mind if he saw that you're normal."
To this, Mitch can't help but jitter at the implication. "I don't know if I'm ready for that. Even with you there, it'll be hellfire and brimstone."
"You don't know that. He cares about you too," says Anna like it's common sense. But it's so easy to think in hypotheticals, especially generous ones. And Mitch reminds her of the fact that; "He really hates John. If he knew what we were to each other, he'd see it as some sort of attack on me and run the man outta town."
Anna sighs. Yes, she knows. But she, in her own ruthless truth counters with; "He might ask more questions the longer it goes on."
"Or he'll keep his nose out of it and just back off," says Mitch hollowly, while his bleeding heart contorts all over again in residual anger and the smell of smoke lingers once more.
"Well, no matter what happens, I'll stand by your side," Anna reaches up to cup his face. Her eyes are red and puffy, her makeup is ruined. But in her gaze, there is nothing but motherly affection. Even more so when she says; "First off, your face needs a washing."
John isn't sure what to make of the scene he comes home to. The scene of Mitch and Anna Teasle baking in the kitchen, talking merrily amongst each other. He pets Rocky on his way inside and stands in the common room while they put the cookies into the oven.
"Oh, you're back," Mitch perks right up while he pours a cup of tea for Anna.
He smiles but the sight of him is alarming. His nose is bruised and bandaged. Pieces of tissue have been stuck into his nostrils and he stops to change them, revealing that they are soaked with clots of blood. His eyes are very red and salty trails of faded tears streak down his cheeks. Anna looks just as wounded. But they are happy, very much so.
"You'd like some tea? We just baked some cookies, if you don't mind," she asks and reaches for another mug.
John nods because he doesn't know what else to do. He accepts the tea and the invitation to sit down with them at the dinner table while a scent of ginger begins to fill the common room. The door remains open to the outside so an occasional breeze wafts it away. John sits in front of Anna and next to Mitch, staring into his cup when he's not staring at the woman while she observes.
There's a sense of stagnation in the air, like the calm before a hurricane hits. But why this bliss in the middle of it? John can't wrap his head around it as he puts his cup down and feels for a moment what it is like when the landmine that Mitch uses as a metaphor goes off.
"I know about you two," Anna says quietly as the whole thing explodes. He lifts his head and stares at her.
"It sort of came out after everything today," adds Mitch and quells the resulting fires with a faint but bitter smirk. He looks so tired, a little angry, much relieved. It's like a jumble of conflicting emotions.
"And I pulled it out of him," Anna adds proudly, maybe even a bit overbearing but a smile softens it. "I promised I'd stand by his side no matter what. That he is still him. And because you mean so much to him, I'll watch over you too."
It's a bit challenging to her emotionally, John notes. But for the unconditional love of a mother, foster mother, it's a small price she pays. Mostly John however just wants to pull Mitch aside, hug him tightly, and figure out what has happened. Figure out how angry he should be at the sheriff. For now, he simply sits and observes, listening to the chatter between mother and son. Notes how the sheriff is not mentioned at all.
Fifteen minutes later, Anna leaves to use the restroom before she drives home and Mitch stands over the sink, washing mugs while the cookies cool. Still a little tepid to the touch, he divides them and puts half into an open box for his mom. His nose has stopped bleeding, but he looks on edge, deep in thought.
"What happened?" John asks once they stand next to each other by the kitchen counter, watching how Mitch flinches at the question. His brow pinches together while he dries his hands with a tea towel, then shuffles uncomfortably on his feet. There is a pause, a long one before he looks at John and smiles just vaguely. He rubs the back of his neck and sighs, looks up at the staircase, and hears nothing.
So when they are sure to be alone, he says; "I told the sheriff about The Order, the lodge, Galt. Didn't go well."
Bitterness drips off every word he says while he speaks of the confrontation, of the sheriff's reaction, of the pivots of discussion, of the subsequent physical altercation. It's not what wounds Mitch the most. Oh, he's angry, he's hurt, he's worried. But he shakes when he talks about what had been said to him. That is what hurts him the most.
"He used my dad's suicide. God…it's…" he covers his face with his hands and winces when he touches his nose. It occurs to John that he's never been told why Mr. Rogers took his own life. He's not sure he's ready for the answer but he reaches out for it, reaches his arms around Mitch's shoulders, and holds him close. And John finds himself moderately furious at the sheriff. His heart just about breaks on behalf of the young deputy when he says; "My dad shot himself while I was in juvie for the last time. I killed him."
Nightmarish visions, veterans, warfare, gore, lingering guilt in the one left behind. It all begins to make sense. Like a jigsaw puzzle putting itself together, forming a complete picture, John lets the truth settle over him like a haze, contextualizing all of Mitch's actions and behaviors, putting a giant explanation behind his familial relationships. Most telling is that it costs him to say this, even think of it. His body settles against John's, heavy and devoid of energy suddenly. In need of something to tether him, to ground him.
For a while, they stand there as John holds him tight and quickly realizes he doesn't know what to say. But he guesses that words are not needed. What Mitch needs at the moment is the support of someone accepting of his vulnerability. Someone more linguistically gifted could tell him that he is not a killer. He, as well as his father, were trapped in a dark ring of circumstance.
No one wants nightmares, no one wants to stay behind in the war. No one wants to remember the comrades they lost. But they do because the mind works in merciless ways. John does too, thinking of the colonel and Baker Team. Thinking of Mrs. Barry with her children a few miles outside of Hope and the visions of the man she had to watch die. John could figure it out on his own, but he has never stopped to think about how deeply war affects the loved ones of soldiers.
Maybe because he never had anyone to return to. But he's aware that the war follows everyone home, dead or alive. And it stays with the ones left behind.
It just doesn't end with the flick of a switch. You just don't turn it off.
John pulls back and cups Mitch's warm blotchy cheeks. His eyes are red again and he shakes but he relaxes just a notch.
"Sometimes I don't know what I would do without you…" he says softly with a dour smile only to curse under his breath. "Fuck, I hate how much I've cried today."
It's a touching sentiment considering he's done far more for John than the other way around. John, who sometimes wonders if he's a leech now that the farmhouse is complete. But he likes it out here, he likes Mitch. He likes the reality of having a home and people to come home to. A dog, two cats, and birds. He likes to worry less about which bench he can sleep on or when he'll get his next meal and more about when to plant fruit trees and the sheep meat, Smith will get for the farm so John can make Atoo' the right way.
It's so mundane but the normalcy is what makes it beautiful. It's a second chance that he never expected to get. Not one that he feels he deserves. But now that he's here, standing in the middle of it, feeling the warmth of the person who gave it to him, he wouldn't trade it for anything.
It makes the nightmares easier when the memories of daylight are sweet.
Mitch reaches up to cover John's hands and gives them a gentle squeeze. He closes his eyes and leans against the touch. He has a tendency to look a bit like Rocky when she's getting scratches behind her ear. The thought of keeping him home for a few days begins to manifest just so he can avoid getting badgered by the kingshit sheriff while still so wounded. John can already imagine he'd say no but throwing him to Teasle sounds heartless. No, John would love to keep him here on the farm to heal, to rest in their sanctuary.
"How are the cookies?" it comes from the staircase, a sudden interruption that makes the men jolt apart reactionarily.
Anna stands on the last step, rubbing her hands and fixing her hair. Her expression is neutral until she smiles, and John still has to adjust to her acceptance. Any acceptance in general. It must have occurred to her that she has intruded on something and she sticks her hands down the pockets of her jeans and descends past the final step of the stairs with a little hop that makes her look thirty years younger.
"Oh, don't let me interrupt you," she says and heads for the kitchen to check on the cookies. She takes one and tastes it, humming in satisfaction. "These turned out to be pretty good. I gotta remember to thank Bea for the recipe."
She stops and looks up at the clock, her brows pinching together in discomfort. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what's on her mind. Given what has happened, it's quite clear. Even more so when Mitch asks; "Will you be okay? I mean with…"
"Oh, I can handle that big oaf," she perks right back up. "Don't you worry about me. In fact, I bet he has cooled down by now. If not, I'll just stuff his face until he apologizes."
Mitch can't help but be deflated by her answer. "…If you say so."
Now, the sheriff is a lot of things. But he's not a violent drunk, John will give him that. He's not Reevis Rambo. But he got the same bad temper and that same inability to reign it in before someone gets hurt. Not just physically. Yet the amending smile of Anna's says that he can feel guilt and he can feel bad about the things he does when it harms the people in his life – and he's not in a position to physically harm her. John can believe that when he looks at Anna but at the same time, he understands Mitch's apprehension.
"Don't look at me like, honey. You know Will. You know how much of a firecracker he can be until he relaxes," Anna takes the box of cookies, closes the gap between her and Mitch, and gives him a tight hug. Her hand cups his face and draws circles with her thumb.
"Are you gonna go to work tomorrow?" she asks gently though by the way her brows move, she's subtly voicing her opinion on that. Or maybe it's just wishful thinking. Momentarily, Mitch shifts his eyes to John.
"I think you should take a day off. If they need you, they'll call you back in," he says and gets a nod of approval from Anna. Of course, Mitch is hesitant, but he accepts the suggestion and smiles.
Pleased by this choice, Anna lets out a breath of relief. "Good. I'll tell the sheriff when I get back."
She leaves shortly after, and a sense of serenity falls over the farmhouse. It's the type of which that usually comes when it's just Mitch and John out here but there's an undercurrent of something different. It might be the surprising tolerance of Anna in a time where people tend to worry about who you sleep next to – where small towns are a couple of decades behind the rest of the world and the world itself isn't even that tolerant.
So, one ally, someone knowing of the esoteric happenings in the sanctuary that is the farmhouse, feels…oddly nice. Shocking that it happened at all.
Almost, John recognizes that this is what it feels like to have a mother as a grown man.
Later that day, at nighttime, it rains. John lays awake and stares at the ceiling, then turns his head to Mitch sitting next to him and watching the downpour patter on the window. Before the week is done, they have hopefully installed some curtains. But John's mind rests elsewhere. He lifts his hand and gently places its back against the visible bones of Mitch's spine. Right in the middle of freckles peppered all over.
For the first time, he doesn't tremble.
It takes a pleasant pause before he responds by turning around and smiling. Slowly he lays down and crawls under the covers, rolling over to look at the ceiling and the early stages of cobwebs that'll be gone before the weekend. Hopefully.
"It's gonna be weird not showing up to work on a weekday," Mitch utters into the quiet. He takes a deep breath and sighs, closing his eyes. He can breathe through his nostrils now, so his nose isn't broken thankfully.
John slinks up next to him until their shoulders touch and says; "It'll be good for you. To just…switch off for a day."
To forget that the world exists for a full twenty-four hours. The sheriff knows of The Order. He's an asshole but he's a man of the law. It's his duty to investigate. He may not have believed it then but when cooler heads prevail, the lawman inside of him will hopefully act. If not, John has the feeling that Mitch will try his darndest to pick up the slack – even though that's a tall order to put on just one deputy. It's a lot to put on one man.
John, existing as a civilian, can't do much more than keep his eyes and ears open. But he can slide his hand over Mitch and tell him that he's not alone. That he won't be hurt. That no matter what, he got someone in his corner. Civilians have a tendency to work for their own self-interest. They are not all the same, but they are a fickle bunch. Out here in the peaceful world, there's no code of honor.
But there is room for a bond of trust and solidarity.
It is for that realization that John finds the wavering strength to speak of Vietnam, to tell Mitch of the horrors. And receives nothing but acceptance and understanding.