I Love You

Part 1

He couldn’t hold the box anymore. It just weighed too much. Despite his best efforts, the smooth cardboard slipped through his fingers before he could make it to the table, and he tried to stop it with his knee. As the bottom edge hit his leg, the weight hit his kneecap like a knife and fell anyway, upending and spilling books across the floor.

Buck sat down before his anger got the better of him. His knee hurt. His back hurt. His arms hurt, his neck hurt, everything hurt. A thump came from the other room as his companion heard the ruckus and quickly set down his own luggage.

“Are you okay?” Lane’s voice was etched with alarm and concern. It almost hurt more than the aching in Buck’s joints.

“I’m fine,” Buck called back forcefully, but Lane was already there, stopping in the doorway and taking in the scene, his face clouding with a kind compassionate sympathy that made Buck’s skin crawl.

“Sorry ‘bout your books,” Buck said, before Lane could speak. Lane shook his head, crossing the short space between them and kneeling to start picking up the books one at a time, righting the box and packing them away again.

“It’s fine, they’re just books. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” Buck didn’t say anything else. The silence grew between them as Lane struggled to make the books fit like they had before. They just didn’t want to. Finally Lane gave up and rocked back on his heels.

“Okay, fuck that. Project for later me.” Buck could hear the frustration in his tone. They had been packing and moving things around since dawn, and the process was getting the better of both of them. Between Lane’s need for perfection and Buck’s slowly deteriorating joints, an odd tension had grown between them that had little to do with each other, and yet everything to do with each other all at the same time.

Buck looked at his watch. It was only nine am. Lane caught the gesture and shook his head.

“When did we become such old men?” Lane asked with a laugh that Buck could tell was forced. “I swear I’m only thirty, used to be able to haul shit around all day. Never seemed this hard in the Navy.”

“It didn’t in the Army either,” Buck replied, because he had to. To stay silent would just shift Lane’s attention away from moving. The last thing Buck wanted was concern.

Lane was staring at him. He didn’t meet Lane’s gaze right away, awkward under the intense stare, but then he realized he wasn’t sure what Lane’s face was saying, and he felt it important to try and figure it out. As he lifted his eyes from the floor, he was met with a face he knew better than his own, wearing an expression he didn’t understand at all. Lane hadn’t shaved in a few days, his slight scruff was longer than normal, his black hair similarly unkempt. Buck hadn’t noticed until just then. His brown eyes weren’t locked on Buck’s, they had found the simple silver cross pendant Buck wore. It grew heavy around Buck’s neck as he realized Lane was staring at it. Lane looked something akin to sad, but there was an element of something else Buck couldn’t quite place.

“Lane?” Buck asked, and Lane jerked his head away, jaw tightening noticeably.

“Sorry. Just got distracted. Tired, you know?” Lane pushed himself to his feet, moving to help Buck, but Buck was already forcing himself up, pretending not to see Lane’s outstretched hand. He didn’t want Lane to touch him.

Lane was there regardless. As Buck struggled to rise, his knee popped sharply, sending him back down with a curse. In his attempt to catch himself, he felt something in his shoulder tighten like a metal clamp had snapped down, preventing the muscles from working properly. As he knelt, frozen, trying not to hurt anything else, Lane’s hand came down on his shoulder. Buck nearly flinched - he’d done so much to avoid contact with Lane since they’d been reunited - but Lane’s hand was warm and gentle. It cut through the prickling discomfort he’d harbored in his anticipation of the contact. For a moment he subconsciously leaned into it before he caught himself. His stomach clenched with guilt, but he couldn’t make himself pull away. The cross grew heavy again.

“Let’s be done for today, okay?” Lane said, and held out his hand again. Buck let out a slow breath and took it, his much larger hand enveloping Lane’s. As Buck found his feet again, Lane had to brace himself to avoid being pulled over.

“We’ll never get done at this rate,” Buck pointed out, but Lane waved him off.

“We’ll come back to it later then. Maybe those kids below your apartment would agree to help us.”

“Yeah,” Buck said, thinking back to every time he’d crossed paths with his downstairs neighbors in the past year. The three had been aggressively helpful once they realized Buck was disabled and alone. “They probably would.”

“Let’s go get coffee or something, eh? I don’t think either of us are caffeinated enough, that’s our problem.” Lane was already heading towards the door. “Then we can go to your place and start planning out where you want me to fit. I saw you had a spare room?”

“You can have it,” Buck replied, limping after his friend. “It’s kinda small.”

“Oh, who cares? I’m kinda small,” Lane joked, throwing his jacket on. Buck managed a smile, grateful for Lane’s easy-going nature. Lane made everything easier. It felt like he’d made it a personal mission to take care of Buck, coming over to his apartment every day, usually before the sun rose, letting himself in with the spare key Buck had given him. It had been Lane’s idea to move in together. It would be cheaper for both of them to share an apartment, and their combined disability checks were just enough to cover basic expenses. There were other reasons Lane suggested it though. Buck was certain, because he shared them. Lane wanted to help Buck recover. Buck wanted to help Lane recover. It was as simple as that, and as complex as that.

“Are you okay to walk or do you want to take the bus?” Lane’s voice cut through Buck’s thoughts, and he made himself smile at Lane. Lane never took the bus if he could help it.

“If we take the bus we can’t buy coffee,” he pointed out. It wasn’t really true, but he knew Lane would feel bad for making him walk if he didn’t come up with some reason not to. “We ain’t rich.”

“Ah, good point,” Lane said. “We’ll walk slow.”

And they did. Lane lived on the ground floor of a shitty apartment complex in the heart of the city. The walk to the closest coffee shop was about five minutes. Twelve for them. Lane could have outpaced Buck easily, but he didn’t, matching Buck’s pace with a militant accuracy, as though it was the most important thing in the world for him to stay right at Buck’s side. It mattered to them both.

Buck let Lane talk, replying only when he needed to, most of his attention taken by the simple act of walking without hurting himself. He was acutely aware of Lane’s arm, occasionally brushing his as they wove in and out of the morning foot traffic. Lane leaned a little closer every time they stopped at a crosswalk, as if he was afraid of losing Buck when he looked both ways.

They often walked like this, to get coffee, or to Buck’s doctor appointments. The city was a lot for them. The constant noise was one of Buck’s least favorite aspects. He’d been raised on a ranch in Texas, where the closest thing to a city was the tiny auction town forty miles away, but it wasn’t just his familiarity with quiet that made him hate the city’s rumble. Somehow being surrounded by all these people made him feel even more alone and isolated. He’d spent too many nights staring out over the skyline and listening to distant traffic, usually bleeding, though he hardly ever remembered making the cuts. He was terrified of dying. Yet the window called him, and he would watch the sidewalk five stories below, yearning for the impact.

That was before he knew Lane was still alive though. He didn’t feel like that anymore. The sounds of the city at night and the curtained off window still stirred something in him though, no matter how much he tried to push it away.

By the time they made it to the coffee shop, he was exhausted. He let Lane order for them both, and they found a nearby bench to sit on and watch the world go by. He wished Lane was sitting closer, he was just far enough away that it made casual conversation difficult over the sounds of the road in front of them. Buck couldn’t bring himself to be the one that moved in. He caught the wishful thought and pushed it aside. He wasn’t supposed to crave proximity. He wanted Lane at a safe distance.

They drank in silence, and then Lane suggested they take the bus home. Buck wanted to argue, he knew how much Lane hated crowded spaces, but his joints had stiffened as they sat, and he could only agree with a weary sigh.

He could see Lane’s demeanor changing as soon as they stepped onto the crowded bus. Buck had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling, ignoring the looks he got from the passengers. He’d long grown used to sticking out thanks to his size. When Lane asked a middle aged man if Buck could take his seat, the man was quick to move, motivated either by Buck’s intimidating stature or Lane’s sharp tone.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Buck murmured as he painfully sat down. Lane snorted, leaning against the seat, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“You’re hurting, that guy can stand,” he replied, his voice clipped. He kept his back to Buck, scanning the bus over and over, his eyes flicking left and right and taking in every face, every detail. Buck didn’t argue. It was a short ride anyway. Lane was the first off when the doors opened, and by the time Buck made it out after him, Lane was back to his normal self, so far as Buck could tell. It was hard to tell. Lane could be so good at hiding his emotions when he wanted to.

“How about I come over to your place tonight?” Lane asked as Buck joined him. “You said the Cowboys were playing the…uh…fuck, I swear I know this.”

Buck had to laugh as Lane blanked. He’d mentioned the game in passing a few days ago. He hadn’t expected Lane to remember, Lane knew as much about sports as Buck knew about flying a fighter jet.

“The Eagles. I didn’t know you cared a lick about football,” Buck teased. “I was plannin’ on catchin’ the game.”

“The Eagles! Right. I knew that.” Lane matched Buck’s smile, playfully shouldering him. “Why don’t I come down. We can watch it together. Maybe we can order pizza or something.”

“Coffee, the bus, and pizza?” Buck raised his eyebrow. “You’re sure in the mood to spend.”

“I don’t know, it feels like we should be celebrating,” Lane said with a shrug. Buck tilted his head.

“It does?”

“Well, yeah.” Lane hesitated, as if he was only just now thinking through his own words. “I’ve been back what, a week or two? It feels like nothing. It feels like I just got back. Sometimes I still expect to wake up and it was a dream.”

Buck frowned as Lane spoke. He didn’t think much about the deployment that had separated them. It had been over a year since he’d been medevaced, but Lane had been trapped there until just recently. It had taken Buck a few months to overcome the constant feeling of danger, the constant worry that something around him would just…stop making sense. Of course Lane would still be spooked. Buck had blocked out most of the memories, too caught up in his everyday struggles to spend time dwelling on the nonsensical horrors he and Lane had faced. The city provided a strange sort of barrier between Buck and the mysteries of the Great Plains. The deployment had been classified. There was nothing about it in the news. He wasn’t allowed to talk about it with anyone else. It had almost been easy to forget.

“It’s not a dream,” he said. Lane glanced at him for just a moment, his face etched with doubt.

“I know,” Lane replied, too quickly. “But I’m moving in with you now, officially. It seems like a good reason to celebrate. I really missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Buck replied before he could think the words through. As soon as the words were spoken, he realized he still did miss Lane, in an odd sort of way. Though his friend was right there in front of him, Buck felt like there was an invisible barrier between them that they kept running into whenever they tried to find the closeness they’d once shared. Buck knew it was his fault.

Then again, wasn’t everything his fault?

I Love You

Part 2

It took them four days to move Lane into Buck’s apartment. Lane started sleeping there the same night they caught the Cowboys game. He’d been unable to make himself leave, not after watching Buck grow more and more like his old self, glued to the action, hardly able to explain everything to Lane before the next new exciting thing happened. Lane lost track of the game before the end of the first quarter. The little numbers at the bottom of the screen were neck and neck throughout the night, but he didn’t care much about that. He spent more time watching Buck, listening to the Texan accent come out more and more, for once the arthritis forgotten. Lane wondered if he got this excited about every football game.

Maybe I should pay more attention to sports, he thought to himself with a faint smile. If this is the end result.

The Cowboys didn’t win, but despite how invested Buck had been, he didn’t seem upset by his team losing. He turned to Lane with a grin Lane hadn’t seen in over a year. The one brought to life by a sparkle in Buck’s nearly-black eyes that had nothing to do with the lights around them.

“Welp, and that’s football,” he said, as though he’d been able to explain anything at all to Lane for the last two hours. “See? It’s fun.”

I love you.

“It looks fun,” Lane replied. “I’ll watch more with you, if you want.”

“Yeah, sure,” Buck said, turning away as though he’d just realized his own exuberance. Lane could see him shrinking back within himself again, and wanted to grab him and plead for him to stay. Ever since they’d been reunited, Lane had been acutely aware of the shell Buck hid within, a wall thrown up between them that Lane didn’t know how to climb over or break through.

“It’s late,” Buck said, and Lane realized he was right. The street lights lit up the world below Buck’s apartment, and almost every window around them was dark. They were an isolated bubble of warm yellow light in a vast sleeping darkness.

“Why don’t you stay the night?” Buck suggested, his voice soft and his gaze averted. “I ain’t fond of you walkin’ home alone this late. You can have the couch.”

I love you.

“Thank-you. That’d be good.”

And that had been that. The next morning they had set up Buck’s spare room, and Lane had been there since. Lane might as well have been living there full time, reminded of his other residence and things only when he found things missing. He realized he didn’t have his razor when he finally found the energy to get his beard back under control. Rather than let Lane walk halfway across town, Buck offered his own for Lane to borrow. Lane realized how unkempt they both were as he caught a look at them side by side in the bathroom mirror. Buck’s reddish-brown hair tangled its way down the back of his neck, nearly touching his shoulders. Lane nearly offered to brush it, or trim it back to its original length but he bit his tongue. Buck’s physical distance hadn’t escaped his notice. Lane didn’t want to push Buck further away. He already felt like he was clinging to their friendship like a drowning man to a slippery shard of a boat destroyed by a storm. What was once solid and secure now shattered into a hundred tiny pieces.  It hurt that Buck’s first instinct was to touch the cross around his neck, not Lane.

Lane didn’t sleep any better in Buck’s apartment than he had in his own. He spent every spare waking second with Buck as a distraction, but once he was on his own there was nothing stopping his mind from going back to Nebraska. He hadn’t talked to Buck about it. He was sure that Buck had signed the same papers promising not to tell a single soul what was happening in the Great Plains under threat of court martial for treason. He understood why no one could talk. If the general public knew why the Great Plains had been evacuated, and knew the military had no idea how the fuck to get rid of it, they’d probably think the apocalypse was happening.

Hell, Lane wasn’t too sure it wasn’t. Even the soldiers sent in to evacuate civilians didn’t know what they were getting into. Lane couldn’t smoke enough to erase the memories. Remembered falling, and landing hard. He could still feel the grass prickling his face as he opened his eyes and realized there was a line of ants starting at the edge of the fence he had been inches from crashing though, standing perfectly still, heading into the pasture. He’d heard someone call his name in concern. He never replied to the call, and no one called a second time. They were all too stunned by the scene before them.

Like the ants, the cows stood perfectly still, each craning its neck upwards, eyes wide enough to fall from their skulls, or so it looked. They were all dead. Held up by God knows what, showing the first signs of decay in sagging skin and fur falling out in clumps. Right in the middle of the herd stood a woman, her eyes wide, neck craned up, standing as stiff as cardboard, her skin completely blue. It had been the first time any of them got a taste for what was to come.

A shadow darted at the edge of Lane’s vision and he jerked his head around, heart jumping as he realized he was still in Buck’s apartment, still awake. There was nothing out of place in the room. He let out a slow breath and pulled his knees closer to his chest, sinking back into the memory. Somehow it was more comforting than the oppressive darkness all around and the threat of new unexplainable events.

Buck had practically leapt on Lane, dragging him away. He hadn’t stopped until they were behind Captain Hodge and the others, and then Buck hadn’t let go of him, his tone urgent.

Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you feel alright? Tell me the second anything feels different.

Lane had been fine. It seemed the barbed wire fence surrounding the pasture designated the cut off point of…whatever that was. Lane hadn’t fallen through. He lingered on the memory of Buck’s arms around him, staring into the dark room and wondering if the phenomenon would spread. Could it reach him here? Was he really here at all? He had no idea what was real anymore. He listened to the building shift and settle, listened to the air conditioning unit kick on with its calm little hum, listened to Buck toss and turn in the other room. He wondered how much of Buck’s restlessness was for the same reason as Lane’s and how much of it was pain. Buck didn’t seem to share the same constant prickling fear Lane felt. Was Lane crazy? Had he made up everything that had happened in some wild attempt to block out worse, more realistic memories?

Shut up and stop thinking, he snapped at himself. He dug his hand under his pillow and pulled out the knife he kept stored there. Like it would do him any good.

Buck fell silent in the other room, and Lane immediately began to worry. Only his current belief that his floor had vanished kept him from leaping out of bed to check on his friend. The possibilities were endless. Maybe Buck had finally fallen asleep. Maybe he was gone, never there at all. Maybe he was standing at his window, looking down at the pavement below. Or maybe he’d already jumped.

Lane couldn’t make himself move to check. Buck insisted he didn’t want to do that anymore. Lane had no choice but to believe him, struggling to push aside the shame he felt at the realization that he wasn’t able to overcome his own fears to ensure Buck’s safety. It wasn’t until dawn’s first light began to trickle in through the window that Lane finally found it within him to get out of bed. He opened the curtains and chased away the last of the night’s lingering shadows and got dressed. The knife was tucked into his belt.

He was generally the first one up, but both of them would wake before six am. He immediately went to Buck’s door, listening closely and sagging in relief as he made out Buck’s deep, slow breaths. He was still there.

Lane made breakfast while he waited, but Buck never came out of his room. Six came and went, and eventually Lane made his way back to Buck’s door, hesitating for only a moment before knocking softly.

“Everything alright?” he asked. When Buck failed to answer he pushed the door open, more concerned for Buck’s safety than he was worried about his privacy and as he did he was faced with an extent of Buck’s disability he hadn’t seen before.

Buck radiated discomfort. As soon as Lane opened the door he tried to rise from where he’d been sitting on the edge of his bed, but as he moved, his face twisted in pain and he barely stopped himself from falling.

“Oh my God, buddy.” Lane swooped across the room, stopping Buck from moving again by grabbing his shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Buck replied, his voice reflecting the tension in his body. “It’s just a flare up.”

“Stay still, I’ll be right back.” Lane tore himself away. He didn’t need Buck to tell him what was needed. He’d seen Buck’s medication on the kitchen counter, and located the lidocaine patches in the bathroom cabinet from memory. He soaked a rag in warm water and brought everything back to Buck’s room.

“Here,” he said, setting it all down on the bed and kneeling in front of his friend. “Tell me where it hurts.”

Lane was so focused on helping Buck feel better that he never noticed Buck staring at him until he looked up to ask if there was anything else he could do. The words died in his throat as he met Buck’s gaze inadvertently, immediately getting lost in the void-like depths. For once Buck didn’t look away. Neither of them moved or spoke for a long time, Lane’s hand frozen on Buck’s knee, the cloth slowly growing cold under his fingers and water dripping down Buck’s leg.

“Lane?” Buck finally said, and Lane blinked.

“Huh?”

“I’m real glad you’re here.”

I love you so much.

Lane couldn’t say it. Buck’s necklace hung right in front of him like a grim ward, barring him from surging up and hugging Buck like he wanted to. Like the cross was staking a claim over Buck, one only Buck could remove, but Lane wasn’t sure he ever would. If he even could.

“Of course, man. I’d do anything for you.”

Neither of them moved, but now Lane was transfixed by the necklace, the glinting silver bringing back another memory, the one he tried the hardest to repress. Perhaps because, like every other memory he had, he wasn’t even sure it was real, and he couldn’t bear the idea that he might be wrong. He wanted it to be real.

He’d been in critical condition and barely conscious when Buck had carried him out of the burning wreckage of his jet. He could hardly remember how he crashed. He’d been flying, trying to get an understanding of the land, and then everything went white and he knew he was falling, unable to eject from the burning plane. Buck had been there somehow, but his rescue was a fog of numbness, Buck’s shaky voice, and a sense that he was badly, badly broken. 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 gripped by a nonphysical agony, the kind given to a man accepting eternal damnation. The silver cross hanging from the chain around his neck like a symbol of judgment. It was all Lane could see if he tried to picture the scene, shining in the light, right above him as Buck leaned over him. Buck had 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 could never be sure if he’d said it out loud or not. He wanted Buck to know it, to hear it, so maybe he wouldn’t hate himself for speaking the unforgivable.

He opened his mouth to ask if Buck had heard him, convinced for a brief moment that if he just said it out loud, everything would be better. The cross on Buck’s chest stared coldly at him, and he closed his mouth without speaking.

“Y’alright?” The question felt foreign when addressed towards him. He’d done his best to hide his own struggles so Buck didn’t have to worry about Lane as well as himself. He’d grown used to always asking about Buck, never giving Buck a chance to ask after him.

“I’m good,” he said, trying to summon conviction to his tone. “Just didn’t sleep a lot last night. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“I think I can get up now.”

“Great. Breakfast?”

“Sure.”

I Love You

Final

Lane slept better that night. Maybe it was the exhaustion finally catching up with him. He’d fallen asleep sitting up, wedged in a corner where he couldn’t be seen from the window or the door. Even though the door was shut and the curtains were drawn, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him. At least in the corner, he was hidden, and with his knife threatening to fall from his fingers at any moment, he dozed dreamlessly.

He was roused by his door opening. He heard the knob turn oh so slowly, heard the wood glide across his carpet. He was acting before he fully understood what was happening, scrambling to his feet, fumbling his knife from where it had fallen to the floor in front of him, and diving across his bed towards the intruder. He could hardly see anything in the pitch darkness. The only light came from the tiny pieces of city that managed to creep past his drawn shades, but it was only enough to show motion, no details. The shadow in the doorway was huge, almost inhumanly so, an inky darkness that leaked into the room from the top of the doorframe down. Lane tackled it head on.

The shadow folded like a card, falling back into the hallway with a pained grunt, Lane finding no resistance as he pinned the creature and pushed his knife into where he thought it’s throat should be, keeping the pressure light enough to avoid breaking skin. He was breathing so hard his hands were shaking, one struggling to hold the knife steady the other gripping a handful of what felt like cloth. The creature reached up for his arms, a strange, thin wheeze breaking through Lane’s wildly pounding heartbeat and reaching his ears at what seemed like a great distance.

“Ow, fuck, Lane, stop,” the creature gasped, weakly clawing at Lane.

As Buck spoke, Lane’s heart went dead still, dropping in horror. Silence replaced all other sounds as Lane realized what he had done.

“Oh, God,” he said, leaping off his friend and throwing the knife aside as if it had burned him. A different panic built in his chest as Buck failed to immediately rise.

Fuck, Lane, fuck. Goddamned idiot.

“Easy buddy, stay down. I am so sorry, are you okay?”

For a long moment, neither of them moved, Buck gripping Lane’s arms with as much strength as he could summon as pain tightened his joints, Lane too frozen with horrified guilt and panic to do more than hold Buck’s arms too, both just trying to recover.

Then Buck let out a long breath, letting his arms go limp, only held up by Lane. Lane forced himself to relax, giving Buck his arms back, afraid of hurting him again. Buck pushed himself up into a sit, Lane hovering next to him and flinching every time Buck let out a sound of pain.

“Are you okay, Buck, ol’ boy?” Lane asked, and Buck nodded wearily. Lane placed a cautious hand on Buck’s shoulder, shaking his head as Buck leaned into him. “You scared the shit out of me. What did you need?”

“I...” Buck trailed off, slumping in exhaustion. “I was worried about you.”

“Testing my defense system, huh?” Lane attempted to joke, 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, staring at the ground. He hugged his knees, twisting his fingers together. For once there was no hesitancy in his tone as he spoke, only sad certainty. “I had a dream, and it reminded me that it’s my fault you almost died, and I just…I got worried that somethin’ bad was going to happen to you.”

"Woah, woah, what do you mean?" Lane asked, baffled and suddenly concerned. He tilted his head, trying to catch Buck’s eye. “You’re the only reason I’m alive right now. I would never have survived that crash if you hadn’t dragged me out. You saved my life. So we got separated. There was so much shit going on, Buck. You couldn’t have done anything to stop it. All that matters is we both survived. And we're back together now."

“No,” Buck muttered, refusing to meet Lane’s gaze. There was a long silence where neither of them spoke, Lane helplessly staring at his friend. Then Buck began talking, each word coming out faster and faster. “Lane, I made a mistake when I rescued you, and I- we’ve been punished for it ever since. I don’t think you remember, you were still hurt so badly. Everything was so confusing, I can’t even remember half of it now, but I admitted something I shouldn’t have, and then we were separated, and I thought you died, and-”

At that moment, it all made sense. Buck, forever haunted by the threats of some fiery Hell waiting for the unwantable, unlovable, unacceptable sinners. Of course he thought every bad turn of events was his fault. Clarity hit Lane like a stack of bricks. He had no explanation for the strange things happening in the Midwest, but Buck would see it all as some sort of religious sign. Of course he would. He hated himself so much, of course he would think it was all his fault too. For a moment Lane was staring at the cross again, hearing the crack in his friend’s voice as he swore over and over, I love you, I love you. This time the memory was perfectly clear.

“Enough. That's enough, big guy," Lane interrupted, his voice echoing his heartbreak. Any doubt he might have felt about the memory was long gone. "You said ‘I love you.' I remember. I’ve never stopped thinking about it.”

Though Buck’s only reply was a sharp exhale, to Lane it was as good as an agreement. A great weight was 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 wrapped his arm around Buck’s shoulders, pressing in close to him, offering comfort if Buck wanted it. His friend didn’t pull away.

“Let it go. I know you meant it when you told me you loved me. I wanted to tell you I loved you. I do love you. I love you. I always have.” Lane had to force himself to stop saying it. “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? Why do you think you’re to blame for all that stuff going on out there? I don’t know what is happening, but I know it’s nothing to do with you.”

When Buck still failed to reply, Lane sighed and pushed himself up, taking Buck’s hand and helping him find his feet, bracing against the doorframe as Buck’s superior weight threatened to pull him over.

“Stay with me, okay?” Lane said, gently pushing Buck towards the bed. “I don’t think I’m getting back to sleep 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. He stared into the darkness, listening to Buck’s breathing, tracking the rhythm over the two hours it took his friend to fall back asleep. The exchange left him both heavy and uplifted. He didn’t know how to help Buck physically or emotionally, and he wondered if both of them were past help. Two ruined soldiers abandoned by the military once they wore out their usefulness, sworn to carry a secret neither of them knew how to come to terms with. All they had was each other, and he wasn’t sure that would be enough. At the same time, Lane wasn’t scared of the shadows anymore. For the first time he was certain Buck was real, certain he had escaped. The last time he’d felt this sure of anything had been when he first saw Buck again, two weeks ago. One returning to civilization, the other recovering from his attempt to leave it again. When Lane heard what Buck had done he hadn’t stopped to care about the cross warding him off, he’d hugged Buck as tightly as he could, unable to look at the bandages around Buck’s wrists for fear of losing control of his emotions. Buck had been warm in his arms. The only thing Lane knew was real.

***

Lane shook himself awake, realizing he’d fallen asleep in the chair, slumped into himself. He rose with difficulty, wincing as his sleep-stiffened joints creaked in protest. Buck was already awake, laying in the bed half propped up on his elbow, facing away. Lane made his way around the bed, resting a hand on Buck’s shoulder as he sat down.

“How are you doing?” Lane asked. Buck looked up with a dull expression Lane took to mean his friend wasn’t able to get up by himself. Lane wordlessly offered his hand, and Buck wordlessly took it, pulling himself up so they sat facing each other. Both avoided eye-contact.

“Can we talk about it?” Lane finally asked. Buck didn’t reply right away, and Lane pressed forward through the silence. “Come on. You already said it once, right? You know I feel the same. If you just say it again, maybe-”

“I can’t,” Buck said with such vehemence Lane flinched. Buck was staring at him with an expression so torn with anger and grief Lane felt like he’d been punched.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” The words failed and suddenly all his insecurities came crashing back. Had he misread the whole situation? Was he pushing Buck further away? He didn’t think he could handle losing this friendship. Without Buck he had nothing.

“I just can’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Buck shook his head helplessly. “I just…can’t.”

Lane couldn’t decide if he wanted to cry, or break something. Maybe both. He’d let himself get too optimistic. He hadn’t expected a complete rejection, but Buck’s words were anguished, not angry. Lane clung to that fact like a life-line, but he didn’t know what to do or say.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, his voice as small as he could make it. Buck grabbed his arm tight enough to bruise, shaking his head and then wincing as he pulled his neck.

“No, no, Lane, it’s not you,” Buck hunched into himself, holding the sore muscle on the side of his neck. The words came out around the pain, as though Buck thought they were the most important words in the world. Lane let them sit in the air, trying to wrap his mind around them.

“You just can’t say…I love you?”

Buck nodded miserably, caught between wanting Lane to understand and wanting to keep up the barrier he had spent so much time building between them.

“Do you want to?” Lane asked, cautiously placing his hand over Buck’s. Buck hesitated for only a moment, then nodded once, abruptly, immediately dropping his gaze in shame. He didn’t draw his hand away. Lane finally remembered to breathe, letting all his tension out in a single breath.

“Then don’t say anything,” Lane told him, pausing between each word as he tried to fuddle through his jumbled thoughts and emotions. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted to say at all. “It’s okay. Don’t say anything.”

The words came out a little faster as he began to realize what he needed Buck to know.

“It doesn’t matter to me. I love you, Buck. I’ll wait.”

Lane looked up at Buck to see the impact of his words, but just as quickly he dropped his gaze again, not wanting Buck to know he’d seen the tears pooling in Buck’s lashes. He waited in awkward silence, unsure what else to say, unsure if he’d said anything helpful at all.

He missed the moment Buck leaned forward, hesitant, wrapping his arms around Lane and pulling him in close. Lane stiffened for a heartbeat, eyes wide in disbelief. He was completely enveloped, Buck’s heart beating nervously against his ear, his arms almost hovering around Lane rather than holding him. Lane slowly untangled his own arms, moving them around Buck’s waist as though he was afraid of chasing him off. Buck didn’t retreat. Instead he leaned into Lane, resting his forehead against Lane’s shoulder. For a moment Lane was back on the field, held in perfect safety no matter what was going on around them. No matter how much reality broke around them.

This was what he had been missing. This was all he needed.

“Thank-you,” was the only thing Buck said, and it was the only thing either of them needed to say.