Prompt:

He ran as fast as he could through the forest until he came to a small clearing. Gingerly, he placed the package underneath a bush where it could be hidden.

“Goodbye.” He whispered, and disappeared into the forest.

TW: implied su*c*dal ideation, internalized homophobia, religious trauma

Ever After

For a long time, everything had been going so well, but something was still missing. He’d talked Buck into moving in with him. It made sense financially, they’d agreed. Two disabled military vets didn’t have a lot of spare cash. It didn't matter. Lane was helping Buck recover, and making up for all that lost time. They spent their days like retired old people, despite both only being in their early thirties. They went for slow walks. They made it down the street for coffee now and again, or to a doctor’s appointment. At night they watched TV, Lane pretending to know anything about football, Buck finally energizing a little bit and explaining all the rules and plays, occasionally picking a team to root for. They caught every Cowboys game. Then they’d sleep, or try to, and Lane would lie awake, listening to Buck toss and turn in the other room, to paralyzed with fear to fall asleep himself.

Partially he feared Buck going silent, or missing the moment a window might creak open. They were on the fifth story. Buck insisted that wasn’t a problem anymore. Lane wanted to believe him.

It wasn’t just worry for Buck that kept him up. The city was so loud compared to the rural, ruined countryside he’d been used to for so long, and at night the shadows threatened to turn into something else. The city wasn’t perfect, someone could break in. Lane would have kept a gun by his bed if he hadn’t been too afraid to have one in the house. Buck might find it.

Then they’d meet in the kitchen, usually between five and six am, both commenting falsehoods about how well they’d slept, or sometimes Lane had to go help Buck out of bed and to the bathroom where they would spend hours applying lidocaine patches and pressing heated clothes onto aching joints until the medication kicked in. It hurt to see his best friend, this six foot ten, once elite soldier, slumped over on the ground in utter defeat as again and again the pain refused to fade.

***

All of this, and Lane couldn’t bring himself to talk about the one thing weighing on his mind. It hung heavy between them, a misty memory he was too afraid to ask about. Maybe it had been a dream. Lane could certainly believe it. He’d been in critical condition and barely conscious when Buck had carried him out of the burning wreckage. His memories of their capture were blurry at best, but he remembered one part just vividly enough to let himself believe it was real.

“I love you,” Buck told him, fierce and genuine, and wracked in an entirely nonphysical agony, the kind of a man accepting eternal damnation, the silver cross swinging from the chain around his neck like a symbol of judgment. But he’d held Lane’s hand like nothing else mattered, repeating the phrase again as he tried to keep Lane awake and alive.

“I love you,” Lane thought he’d replied, but he could never be sure if he’d said it out loud or not.

The scene hung tantalizingly out of reach. He couldn’t summon the courage to ask Buck about it, but deep down he knew Buck remembered the same thing. He’d seen it in his eyes the day they’d been reunited as they took each other in, Lane fresh from combat, Buck fresh out of the hospital. They’d been separated for nearly a year, and Lane hadn’t gone a day without thinking of Buck. The look in Buck’s stricken face told him his friend had been the same.

***

Lane woke up to his door opening slowly. Instantly he flew out of bed, before any potential light could find him. He hit the ground hard, but scrambled to his feet and dove towards the shadowy figure creeping through the doorway. He didn’t have a gun, but he did keep a knife on the bedside table, and in a second he had it and tackled the figure to the ground. The man fell with a pain grunt, folding like a card under the attack. Lane met no resistance as he pinned the intruder and buried the tip of the knife just under the man’s jaw, right at the jugular.

“Ow, fuck, Lane, stop,” Buck gasped, weakly clawing at Lane’s arm.

Lane’s heart had been thundering in his ears, but as soon as Buck spoke, it went dead still, dropping in horror.

“Oh my God, Buck,” he said, leaping off his friend and almost throwing the knife aside. “I’m so sorry, you scared me, are you okay? Take it easy for a minute, stay down."

Buck groaned, and Lane jumped up to get the penlight from beside his bed, clicking it on and returning to Buck’s side. He laid a hand on Buck’s shoulder, unable to do anything else as they both struggled to recover.

Finally Buck let out a long breath, gingerly relaxing and closing his eyes for a moment before reaching out for Lane’s hand. Lane cautiously helped him to sit up, letting Buck lean against him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and Buck nodded wearily. Lane shook his head. “I’m so sorry. What did you need?”

“I..” Buck trailed off, his shoulders slumping. “I was worried about you.”

“Testing my defense system, huh?” Lane joked, softly circling his palm over Buck’s shoulders. “Happy to report it's in good enough shape to take on a brute like you.”

“Not like that.” Buck didn’t laugh. “I had a dream, and it reminded me that it’s my fault you almost died and got lost behind enemy lines, and I just…I got worried that something bad was going to happen to you.”

"Woah, woah, what do you mean?" Lane asked, baffled. “Buck, you’re the only reason I’m alive right now. I would never have survived that crash if you hadn’t pulled me out. You negotiated with the enemy to save my life, Buck, I don’t think it’s your fault our army didn’t know we were in the camp they were bombing. All that matters is we both survived. And we're back together now."

“No,” Buck muttered, staring at the ground. There was a long silence where neither of them spoke, then Buck began talking, each word coming out faster and faster. “Lane, I made a mistake when we were in that prison, and I’ve been punished for it ever since. I don’t think you remember, you were still hurt so badly. I admitted something I shouldn’t have, and-”

“Enough. That's enough, big guy," Lane interrupted gently, any doubt he might have felt about the misty memory replaced with sudden certainty. "You said ‘I love you.' I remember. I never stopped thinking about it.”

Though Buck’s only reply was a sharp exhale, to Lane it was as good as an agreement. It felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and he realized he finally had permission to talk about that moment.

“Buck…” He drew the cross necklace out from under Buck’s shirt, letting it fall against his chest. “You’re not being punished. I know you know that. You can’t let this old religious nonsense control you, hey? You’ve been a good Christian boy long enough, it’s only ever brought you pain. Can’t you see how much unnecessary guilt you’re carrying?”

He paused, but Buck didn’t reply, his head bowed. Lane very tentatively wrapped his arm around Buck’s shoulders, pressing in close to him. His friend didn’t pull away.

“Let it go. I know you meant it when you told me you loved me. I tried to tell you I loved you. I always have. I haven’t been struck down by lightning yet, and I’ve been openly gay since I was twelve. Why do you think this only matters if it’s you?”

When Buck still failed to reply, Lane sighed and pushed himself up, taking Buck’s hand and helping him find his feet.

“Stay with me, okay?” Lane said, lightly pushing Buck towards the bed. “I don’t think I’m getting back to sleep, not now, but you should. I’ll stay up and make sure nothing bad happens. To either of us.”

“Okay,” Buck finally muttered, and Lane helped him settle down before retreating to his armchair and drawing his knees to his chest. As he listened to Buck’s breathing slowly even out, an idea slowly began to form.

***

“I’m not sure about this,” Buck said, holding the bundle of packaging paper uncertainly. Lane smiled and gently pried the bundle out of Buck’s hands. The two stood at the edge of the hiking trails, a place neither of them frequented, mostly because the trails were too hilly for Buck to climb, but the ever oppressive presence of a church at the back of the park added a lot of motivation to stay away as well.

“Just trust me, okay? Wait here. There’s a bench right there, you enjoy some sunshine, and I’ll be right back.” Lane let Buck lean on him as they hobbled slowly over to the bench. Buck’s pain was worse today than normal, and though he hadn't spoken a word of complaint, Lane still felt guilty.

I’m making it up to you, I promise.
As soon as he was sure Buck was settled, he took off at a brisk jog up the trails, heading straight for the church. He felt a moment of hesitation, wondering if it was alright to leave Buck alone, but he pressed on. He’d only be a few moments.

He was more out of shape than he’d realized, and by the time he reached the top of the hill, he was winded and had to take a couple seconds to catch his breath before picking up the pace on the way down the other side. He ran as fast as he could through the city’s pathetic excuse for a forest until he came to the clearing where the church sat, pristine on its nest of perfectly manicured grass and bushes. Lane picked a blue-flowered shrub right by the door, and strode to it purposefully, placing the bundle under the bush where it would be hidden. He paused for a moment, suddenly fiercely glad that he’d convinced Buck to part with the necklace.

“Goodbye,” he whispered, hoping his plan would work and without the constant weight of the cross around his neck, Buck could finally begin to heal. Then he stood, dusted off his knees, and darted back into the forest, eager to get back to the one man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.