Chapter Text
Jason went home.
Not immediately of course, life was never that simple.
No, first he had to endure seven months of answering the same fifty questions over and over, all manner of lies and gaslighting, a battery of medical exams that ventured on sexual assault, and signing 'keep your fucking mouth shut papers' that the CIA would consider overkill. After all of that, he still had to kick his heels while the honorable discharge went through. The only ways he'd had to kill time were language studies, futile as that was, and the hours he spent getting tattooed when they'd finally allowed them a bit of freedom.
When he finally came out the other side, he had a fat paycheck on top of his full year's pay that had sat largely unused while he did a whole lot of nothing. So for once in his fucking life, he had something he'd never really had before: options.
Home hadn't been home for a long fucking time, but it was the starting point on the crazy idea percolating in his head, so home he went.
He landed at CVG just after one in the morning, and took the airport express shuttle into downtown Cincinnati. From there he napped on a bus stop bench at the depot near the PNC building until a place that sold real coffee opened at five AM. Then he drank his coffee while he thawed out from the December chill until the shop where he kept his car stored opened up.
Thirty minutes later he was headed back into Kentucky, past the cities and into the country, to the shithole holler where he'd grown up.
The house hadn't changed much from the last time he'd seen it nearly three years ago now, when he'd decided it was time to stop making that mistake. It'd been standing since well before the place became a mining town, boasting several generations, but would probably become one more husk in a dead town once his parents finally had the grace to die.
He didn't bother knocking. Definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, or something like that, and he was many things, but crazy wasn't one of'em.
If he knocked, his father would answer it. Then he'd glare hatefully and tell Jason to get lost. His mother would avoid staring at him from the peeling, wobbly kitchen table as she drank her bourbon-flavored coffee. If his sister were here, she'd look at him with pity for a brief moment. But he didn't see her car in the drive, so that was something. Maybe she'd managed to leave finally, though more likely she just had an early shift at whatever job she was doing now.
So he avoided the house altogether and went out to the barn that was only sixty percent still standing. All the way in the back was the footlocker he'd had since he was ten. Army, amusingly enough, given to him after Pawpaw died. There wasn't much in it, but it was all important enough he had wanted to keep it.
Thankfully, the thick layers of dust and detritus said it hadn't been messed with for years. He wiped it as clean as he could, then grabbed the handle on one side and hauled it out across the yard to his car. Which was his only real pride and joy, a 69 Plymouth Roadrunner he'd bought for next to nothing back in the day when the guy who'd sold it just wanted it gone as his family left for hopefully a better life anywhere that wasn't there.
And now, thanks to Uncle Sam's shut up payment, he wouldn't ever have to sell it, not if he was smart and played his cards right. Though of course he couldn't take it with him if all went according to plan, but he could give it to Nick, which was just as good.
After the footlocker was loaded up, wedged into the trunk with his single bag in the backseat, he drove off again, putting his past in the good riddance pile once and for all. If the porch light came on and a figure appeared on the steps as he was driving off, that made no never-fucking-mind to him.
He picked a slightly nicer hotel to rest at just because he could, and after shower and food, slept until he was damn near late checking out.
Feeling better than he had in literal years, at least physically, he grabbed breakfast and hit the road.
From Nowhere, Kentucky to Washington, DC was about seven hours and some change, closer to eight with stops.
He enjoyed the quiet. No one yelling at him. No one barking orders. No gunfire. No wondering if today he'd be responsible for yet another innocent dying. No more giving orders that handed out death.
No more of that fucking clicking sound followed by a shriek that heralded imminent death.
Not even the radio. Just blessed peace and quiet.
When he was nearly there, he stopped to do some shopping, then swung over to where he kept a P.O. Box to retrieve the gifts he'd had shipped there.
With all his Ts crossed and his Is dotted, at least for this part, he finally headed to his destination, a house about twenty-thirty minutes outside of DC in Alexandria.
He'd barely parked the car when the door opened and Nick came rushing out to greet him right there in the drive, hugging him tight enough to pop a lung. Jason would complain, but it wasn't like he was going easy himself. "Hey, Nicky. How's it going? Ya'll settling alright?"
"We're getting there."
Jason waved to Rachel where she stood on the porch, grabbed his bag, and headed on inside, where he and Rachel exchanged a far less rib-breaking hug. "How's it going, Rach?"
"Perfectly normal bullshit to deal with, I'll take it. Want some coffee?"
"I would love some coffee."
"Your room is this way," Nick said, and led him up the stairs and down the hall to the kind of picture perfect room Jason had dreamed about as a kid, instead of growing up in a room half-filled with junk his parents hadn't wanted to throw out but couldn't be bothered to move neither, 'cause why would a kid need a whole ass proper bedroom anyway?
Fuck, he didn't miss that place one goddamn bit. Thank god that whole part of his life was done and dusted.
"You really settling all right, you and Rach?"
Nick gave one of his barely-there shrugs. "You know how it is."
"Yeah, yeah I do."
Back in the living room, a cup of coffee waited for him. Black, like he'd always taken it, but not tasting like the shit coffee he was used to all his life. "Thanks, Rach. How's life in DC?"
"SSDD, but I'm Queen Bitching my way through it like always." Being CIA, Rachel had actually gotten off easier than the rest of them, somehow, and had a new job waiting for her the moment they'd hit the States.
Nicky collapsed on the couch next to her, across from the recliner where Jason sat, slinging an arm easily across the back of it. In the warm, twinkling lights of the Christmas tree, they looked like the cover of a family Christmas card. Envy wove through him, but it was easy to ignore, tamp back down with so much else. Some people simply weren't meant to have certain things, and he'd accepted that a long time ago.
He was grateful to have friends to spend Christmas with. Not having to go back to the desert, and more importantly, down into the dark, ever again was a Christmas present good enough for the rest of his fucking life. "So what are you up to, Nicky? Other than enjoying life as a kept man."
"Shut the fuck up," Nick said with a laugh. "I'll start looking for work after the holidays. Money enough I have that luxury, and ain't that a Merry Fucking Christmas to us all. Even if it came with that bullshit denial crap."
Rachel rested a hand on his thigh. "We know the truth, that's all that matters. Anyway, Eric stayed in that mess to ensure shit doesn't get buried. Well, that the truth doesn't get buried, but the vampires definitely do."
"I'll fucking drink to that," Jason said, and down his coffee, despite it still being really fucking hot. Some things just didn't phase him anymore. He waved her off when she offered to get him more, a bit creeped out that Rachel was being so hostess-y when normally she was the 'take care of yourself' type. Like him. They'd always gotten along, him and Rachel, because they came from different but similarly shitty backgrounds. Knew things most folk just didn't, if you didn't grow up in the trenches. Didn't have anyone thinking you were less, for one reason or another, though Rachel had the worst of that by far.
Sitting down again, he was happy to simply be, keeping to casual conversation and mostly just relaxing, all the stress and anguish of the past few months finally starting to trickle away. Maybe because here with friends he literally trusted with his life he felt safe. A foreign feeling, no mistake.
The next day was Christmas Eve, but of course Rachel got called into work and likely wouldn't be home until around dinner, possibly later.
"What the hell are we supposed to do now? I ain't baking cookies or some shit," Jason said when she was gone.
Nick laughed. "Do I look like I've baked a day in my life? Fuck that. Wanna hit the gym?"
"Yes, I fucking do."
So they did, and after that they went grocery shopping, and then picked up the food for Christmas dinner that Rachel had ordered ahead of time because the woman was smart. They'd gotten free about a month ahead of him, as Nicky wasn't an officer and Rachel was CIA. Nick was lucky he hadn't copped a court martial for hooking up with a married woman whom he also reported to, but in the grand scheme of things, that hadn't even made the list of things people were worried about. And now Nick was out, it didn't fucking matter.
After dinner, Rachel was kind enough to help him with his self-imposed language lessons, which was nice because going it alone with all his books and shit wasn't fun. Sitting around staring at books had never been his strong suit, surprising nobody.
By the time the day was done, he was more than happy to pass out again, sleep becoming his favorite activity real fucking quick.
Then it was Christmas, something he usually dreaded because growing up he figured out real quick that Santa only visited the houses with money, and poor kids got socks and underwear and an asswhooping for crying about it.
His gift for Nick was a fancy ass watch, the kind he'd never buy for himself but loved more than life. Rachel got a pile of glitzy giftcards because that woman loved control more than all else, and her face said she was pleased with his decision. "I almost got you some fancy diamond earrings just to see Nick's pissy face at me buying his girl jewelry, but I went with not getting my ass beat."
Rachel laughed, and Nicky rolled his eyes.
"Here," Jason said, tossing Nick the keys to his car. "I won't be needing it anytime soon. So take it. We'll get it signed over to you before I leave. Take good care of it."
"We will," Nick said. "I'll wait at least a week before I call to tell you I totaled it."
"Jackass."
Instead of asking where he was going, Rachel only mimicked his "Here," before handing over a thick envelope, the kind that always came filled with important papers, usually none of it good news, most of it work to do. "Our gift. I know it doesn't look like much, but trust me."
"You know I do." Jason took it, snorting at the cartoony Marine sticker holding the thing closed. He slid the contents out onto his lap—and then just went still.
A plane ticket for London with an open return. Work visa. Other international odds and ends that would make it real fucking easy to settle in the UK for as long as he fucking wanted. The last slip of paper was an address, the only part of his tentative travel to London and make a damned fool of himself plan that'd been missing. "Here I thought I hadn't been so fucking obvious."
"It's obvious you wanted to find him again," Nick said. "Past that, I wasn't assuming shit. You do you, man. Salim's a good guy."
"How'd you get his address?" he asked as he carefully slid the papers back into the envelope. He hadn't even been certain that Salim would be in the UK, given how difficult it would be for him to get the papers, but he just couldn't picture Salim sending his son off alone with zero support.
Rachel scoffed. "Please, that's light work. It's barely work at all. He moved there in August, I assume to get his kid settled before the college term started. A friend said he's definitely still there, and doesn't seem to have plans to move anytime soon. Must have friends of his own, to make that kind of move and settle so quickly."
"Someone damn well better have had his back," Jason hissed.
"Down, tiger," Rachel said. "If ever anyone could take care of himself, it's Salim."
Nick laughed. "Buffy for sure."
Jason still didn't get that reference, but he didn't feel like being laughed at for it, so he didn't say anything. "Can don't mean should have to. Anyway, thank you. This means a lot." He wasn't used to people seeing into his brain and not getting pissed off with what they found there.
"Flight leaves on the fifth, so be ready. We'll put up with your sorry ass until then."
Rachel smirked. "Plenty of time to learn how to bake cookies."
Jason laughed. "Oh, fuck you. Don't see you making a home cooked meal, Martha Stewart."
"To hell with that," Rachel said, and went to get the breakfast stuff that was part of the order-ahead feast they'd picked up.
All in all, it was the best fucking Christmas he'd ever had in all his thirty-one years.
On January 5th, at zero dark o'clock, he left the US again, after spending just a few months there, most of it under lock and key. After previously being overseas for years. Hopefully this go 'round would be better than the first one.
He landed at Heathrow entirely too long later and found his way to the hotel room waiting for him. Then it was another round of showering and sleeping to reset his poor clock, and this time he didn't have to be up too goddamn early to check out, since he had the room for the whole week. Crazy the difference that having a bit of money made, that he didn't have to worry about things like that.
There was a long list of shit he'd need to do to get settled and start figuring out what life in England was like, but for the present all he wanted was some damned food. He wasn't about to go eating blood pudding or jellied eels or what the fuck ever, but there must be other food past the five ridiculous ones everyone fussed over the most.
He started with coffee, which was required for any sort of functionality, though people seemed a bit weirded out he'd just stop them on the street to ask directions to good coffee. Thankfully, they answered anyway, if only to get rid of the weird American.
The people at the coffeeshop were happy to point him to places with good food, so that was done and dusted. None of it was a good burger and fries, but he'd survive.
By the time he was done with all of that, and running errands for some basics he'd need for the week that hadn't been worth hauling with him, it was getting on to evening. Not the best time to make a surprise visit to someone who might be happy to see him—or very well might not. He'd learned before that for lots of people, he made a better memory than a friend.
He made the walk anyway, if only so he could start familiarizing himself with it all, get the getting lost and confused part out of the way. He didn't like walking unfamiliar streets in the growing dark without a gun, but as ever, he made do with what he had. In this case, knives. A knife fight was his last resort, of course, but needs must when the devil drives.
When he finally reached the…neighborhood or borough or whatever it was called where Salim lived now, it was damn near full dark. Wasn't hard from there to figure out which of the row houses was Salim's.
He was about to turn and head back to the hotel when the door opened, and his heart started thudding in his chest as the man of the hour himself appeared—and then every fragile hope he'd so carefully carried in his heart cracked in two as Salim was followed out by a woman he escorted down a few houses before hugging her goodnight or whatever and returning home.
Well, when you acted like a damned fool, you got what your deserved. Just because a handful of hours had made all the difference in his dreary, colorless world didn't mean the same was true for anyone else. Let alone a man some years older with a son and an actual fucking life. Best case scenario, Salim remembered him positively. Which was likely, after they'd escaped literal hell together, the way they'd parted. Goodbye, my friend. You didn't forget shit like that, even when you wanted to.
But past that? Salim probably never thought about him at all, and that was simply the most realistic take. He'd known he was on a fool's mission from the start. If he was lucky, Salim would want to be his friend.
Smart thing woulda been to never go on this fool's quest at all, but there wasn't nothing more foolish than a heart hanging by a wish and a prayer, so he'd come back tomorrow and see the quest through.
After that, he'd sort himself out. He'd survived the House of Ashes, he could survive ordinary life. Maybe someday he wouldn't even have to do it alone. Hope sprung eternal and all that shit.
Heart a bit heavier than when he'd started, he headed back to his room, stopping only for beer and food.
He ate alone in his room, which was roughly the size of a shoebox, watching some random soccer match on TV, 'cause even if football season wasn't just about wrapped, he doubted he'd be able to find a game.
As he had no desire for the noise and general chaos of a bar, and didn't want anything past the single beer he'd had with dinner anyway, he stretched out on his bed and played some music on the radio for background while he studied.
When his eyes started to droop, he put everything away and went to bed.
It was, of course, raining when he woke up. Wasn't England known for their shit weather? Or was he making that up or mixing it up with somewhere else? Well, didn't matter, the day still had to get done.
Even if after last night, his hopes had dropped from that stupid, useless what if to maybe he'll be a little bit happy to see me.
Set the bar low, or don't set it at all, and you won't have to feel disappointed. Expect socks and underwear and you won't be sad you didn't get the AC/DC album you'd tentatively mentioned to your family as many times as you'd dared.
Shoving all his stupid, maudlin whining aside, sick of his own head, Jason headed out. He stopped at the coffee shop to fuel up for the day and then headed out, back across wherever the hell he was exactly—he would have to actually learn London and its suburbs or whatever at some point, he didn't like not knowing the lay of the land—to where Salim lived.
It was nine in the morning by that point, which he didn't think was too early to bother someone with a surprise visit, but he didn't exactly know the etiquette on that, did he? Fuck if h
e knew the etiquette on anything that didn't involve violence and bloodshed.
He raked a hand through his hair, still not really used to it being grown out and properly trimmed, not an overgrown nightmare or a high and tight. Didn't even have his cap anymore, lost to all the quarantine bullshit. Hadn't yet found a new one he liked.
Okay, enough dithering, Christ. Drawing a deep breath and setting his shoulders, he climbed the steps and knocked on the door.
It was opened a moment later, not by Salim, but rather a younger version of him. Jason stared a moment, then smiled. "You look like just your daddy, though I bet those eyes came from your mama."
"I wouldn't know," Zain said, peering at him suspiciously. "Who are you and how do you know me?"
"Don't know you, just know of you," Jason said. "Sorry, took me by surprise. Is your daddy here? I was hoping to…"
"Zain, who is at the door? You're going to be late—" Salim froze as he came around the door, eyes widening. Well, seemed he was remembered, that was a tick in the positive column. "Jason?" His face broke into a disbelieving smile. Even more heartening.
"That's me," Jason said. "How's it going?"
"Come in, come in, please," Salim said.
Zain gave them a funny look and wandered off as Salim ushered Jason inside and into a kitchen the size of a damn pillbox. Was everything in this country tiny? He was already way too fucking close to claustrophobia from those damn caves, and this pintsize-ass country wasn't helping.
"Give me just one moment," Salim said with a brief smile, then left him there in the kitchen, calling out to Zain to get moving.
Jason ran a hand through his hair again. Normally he was good at holding still, never had much of a choice too many times in his life, but right now he wanted to fidget like his pants were full of fire ants.
But Salim remembered him, and didn't seem displeased, so that was something.
Several minutes later, the front door opened and closed again and Salim, dressed in jeans and a soft burgundy sweater he had no business looking that good in, returned. He was even better looking in the real world, far away from hell. Polished and classy, leaving Jason painfully aware he was always gonna be rough around the edges—jagged, sharp, and unpleasant. Salim had come here to see his son's future through, to be a good father.
Jason had come here on a selfish hope. They were as far apart as the North and South Rims of the Grand Canyon. Christ, what the fuck had he been thinking?
No choice but to keep going at this point, though. What was he going to do? Admit this was a stupid mistake and leave in a huff? Salim didn't deserve to be treated that way.
So he smiled like all his dreams were coming true instead of being shattered to pieces yet again. "Hey, stranger. Long time no see."
"It's so good to see you," Salim said, and then shocked the hell out of him by surging in to hug him tightly, like they'd known each for years instead of a few hours. "I did not think I would get to see you again." He pulled back, hands resting on Jason's shoulders, squeezing gently. "What are you doing here? But sit, sit, I will make us tea, then you can tell me your story."
Jason wasn't remotely surprised the tea offered a few minutes later was chai. The real stuff, that every single person in Iraq knew how to make by ten the same way he'd known how to brew his mama's coffee since he could reach the counter. "Haven't had this in months. Thanks."
Salim smiled warmly as he sat across from Jason at the table. "So what brings you all the way to London? I thought you would be back in America, or shipped off somewhere else."
"Naw, I took the discharge after all that shit. Fuck it. States ain't got nothing for me neither. Feds gave me a fat check to keep my mouth shut, so I figured I'd do some traveling."
"Where else have you gone?"
Jason looked down at his tea as he admitted, "This is my first stop. They cut me loose right before Christmas, stayed with Nick and Rachel for a bit then hopped on a plane."
"You did not go home to your family?"
"Naw," Jason said. No way in hell was he talking about his white trash family. He didn't need the help looking bad, thanks. "What about you? How has London been?"
Salim's face said he knew all of Jason's tricks, which was unfortunately true, but he let it pass. "Different. I miss home a great deal, but I did not want Zain entirely alone in a new place, not quite yet. He would call me stifling or overbearing, I think."
"Alone in a whole new country without a single bit of support system ain't a fate I'd wish on anyone. When I left for Iraq, I was green as new spring and barely knew the other guys with me, and my family didn't even say goodbye. You're a good dad."
"I try, thank you. You weren't the only one your government paid to be quiet after they tracked me down."
Jason winced inwardly. "Hope they didn't trouble you too much. I'd hoped you'd gotten clean away."
"It was annoying and stressful, but apparently the word of a certain Colonel went far, and they had the reports of two good Marines to back him up, so I was let off with warnings and signing papers."
"Good." If he'd been standing, the relief might've made Jason fold. He knew better than most how fucking rotten Uncle Sam could be. Nobody woulda looked twice if Salim had been randomly shot one day while walking home. Thank fuck Eric made certain that didn't happen. "So you got here in what, August? What've you been up to since? Got a good home, it seems."
Salim nodded. "I thought we would have to settle for a cramped apartment…flat? Yes, flat they call them here, I believe. But I was able to secure this home. It is not, I am told, the best neighborhood, but also not the worst. At any rate, I've heard no shooting, and nobody will be coming to make me put on a uniform and kill people. I am content."
"Yeah, no more killing is nice." Not something he would have admitted to anyone, not so long ago, cold-blooded Marine and all that. But he'd been done a long time ago, if he'd ever really wanted blood on his hands to begin with, and what sensible person did? "So what do you do now?"
"Nothing exciting I'm afraid," Salim said with a little laugh. "There is a halal butcher where I work a few days a week. Quite a walk from here, easier obviously when I feel like enduring the metro. You came at a good time. Today is one of my days off. If you do not have other plans…"
Jason shook his head and finished his tea. "I'm all yours, Salim."
Salim stared at him a moment in a heavy, pensive way, but before Jason could even begin to sort out what he was thinking, Salim stood and gathered their cups, washing everything and putting it aside to dry. "Let me get my coat and we'll go for a walk. There is a pretty park nearby where I like to go.
Several minutes later they were on some big road that had a whole lot of Middle Eastern looking shops. Some of the words he could pick out, but most of it remained a mystery. They were stopped several times by people wanting to speak—and flirt—with Salim, though he introduced Jason to all of them.
None of them were the woman he'd seen last night, which was fine by him.
At the end of the road was the promised park. "Nice to be moving about. Been stuck in planes and cars a lot lately. Though the drive from Kentucky to DC weren't bad."
"Is that where you're from? Kentucky? I do not know much about it." Salim laughed. "I don't know anything. I know the same five states any foreigner knows."
"You know a whole five?" Jason winked.
Salim smirked. "What does Iraq have then, you're so smart."
"Governorates. There's a five-dollar word for you. Provinces also works, and there's eighteen of'em, and I can rattle all of them off, but don't ask me to map them. I never visited more than a few."
"Guess we're even then."
"I do remember one of'em was Wasit." He winked again.
"I would be impressed if you did not remember the general location where we almost died."
Jason snorted. "General location? Friend, I have the exact GPS coordinates carved into my brain so I never go within fifty miles of them ever again."
Salim laughed, bright and earnest, and Jason couldn't help but feel like he'd won something, earning a laugh like that. "Friend. I like when you call me that."
"That's what you said to me, before you left." What if I called you sweetheart, what would you think of that? But Jason knew the difference between achievable dream, wishful thinking, and grand delusion.
"It is."
Jason was happiest when he didn't have to think about his worthless family at all, but growing up, his daddy had loved to tell the story of how he'd known his mother was the One the moment he'd seen her. Knew it in that instant, second I saw her, she was the one. Love of my life, make her my wife, whole deal. And I did. One day you'll find your girl too, just like that. It's what we Kolcheks do.
It wasn't a girl, of course, and it hadn't been immediate, but it had been immediate enough. Not madly in love, he wasn't that much of a dumbass. But he'd like to be, and so easily could be, if he thought he stood half a chance. But Salim had been married, and that woman from the previous night…
He'd known how this would play, but he'd done it anyway, always hurting his own damned feelings for no reason. Still, Salim did consider him a friend it seemed, and that was more than he could ask for, really.
They sat on a bench, idly watching other passersby. Despite all the sleep he'd been getting, Jason still felt like he could sleep another ten hours right then. He pushed it away, though, because there was no telling how much or how little time he'd have with Salim, and he intended to savor every second he could get.
"How is Zain settling into college? University, I mean."
"Oh, fine. He's having the time of his life. So many new things, freedoms and options he did not have before. I scarcely see him." Salim laughed. "Though the boy still does not wake up on time worth a damn."
"Sorry if I upset him showing up out of nowhere, then mentioning his mom. Wasn't very smart in retrospect. Can imagine it's a sore point."
Salim frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I said he looked just like you, but his eyes must've come from his mama."
"They did," Salim said, looking away, not quite hiding the sadness and bitterness that flickered across his face. "Her eyes, her smile, her intelligence. I do not consider myself stupid, but they both surpass me by significant amounts."
Jason scoffed. "Please, you speak two of the hardest languages on earth. I barely speak one."
"You barely speak your native language?"
"The drawl will tell you that much."
Salim cast him a look that was mostly amused, but also concerned. Well, confused more likely. "What do you mean?"
"Surely every language has accents that everyone else thinks equates to stupid."
"I suppose so, but believing such things is ignorant. Nobody who was truly stupid would have survived that hell we endured. Even if you really shouldn't have touched that petrified one."
"Pretty sure we were the petrified ones," Jason muttered.
Salim laughed again, then clapped his shoulder and stood. "Come on, we'll grab some takeaway for lunch and return home. Unless you have somewhere else to be."
"Nowhere at all," Jason said. "Got nothing but time for once. Ain't in a hurry to find more people to give me orders, though I know I will soon."
"Marvelous." They headed back toward home, stopping at a little shop wedged between a butcher and a laundromat, where Salim ordered mountains of food, speaking in Arabic to the man behind the counter, seeming to be good friends already.
The food smelled amazing, as good as it had been in Iraq, even if Jason had been shit at remembering what all of it was called.
Back at the house, though, Salim immediately frowned on entering, staring hard at the red bookbag thrown haphazardly on top of a pair of Nikes. "Zain?" he called out.
Zain replied from upstairs, nothing Jason understood, but it provoked a reply full of suspicion from Salim.
"What's wrong?" he asked when the conversation seemed to end.
"Zain insists his second class for the day was canceled, so he came home."
Jason hid a grin and helped him get the food out. "Maybe he knew there would be food."
Salim muttered something Arabic, probably about nosy children not being remotely subtle, if Jason had to guess based on the couple of words he could pick out.
"So what is all this called?" Jason asked as they sat. "I've eaten all of it before, or variations of it, lots of times because anything is better than one more goddamn MRE, but I could never catch the names of it all. Places we ordered from had taken pity on us dumb Americans and made it easy for us to point and choose."
Smiling, Salim taught him the names of everything as they ate, including stories, history, other trivia. They hadn't been eating long when Zain appeared, looking at Salim as he asked a question in Arabic.
"English," Salim said sharply. "Don't be rude to our guest."
"Speak what you like, I ain't that easily offended," Jason said. "It's your house; I'm the outlier. Never picked up more than fifty words, generously, though it wasn't for lack of trying." He was still trying, with books and flashcards and CDs and everything. He just lacked a certain necessary baseline of general intelligence. If he hadn't been beyond desperate for the degree he needed to qualify for officer training, he'd never have managed it.
"What's an American doing here anyway?" Zain asked waspishly. "You sound like a cowboy."
"Zain!" Salim hissed.
Jason laughed. "I got more in common with coal miners than cowboys, but you ain't wrong."
"That still doesn't explain—"
"Zain!" Salim said, not quite slamming his hands on the table as he pushed to his feet. "You are being rude to my friend. This is Jason Kolchek, the man who saved my life. Now remember your manners or go back to school."
Zain's mouth opened and closed, and something new and intense glittered in his eyes as he stared at Jason like he'd never seen him before. "Oh, you're Jason."
Salim narrowed his eyes. "What in the world do you mean by that?" He slipped into Arabic then, sharp and rapid fire. Zain returned the energy in kind.
Great, he'd caused a family argument. By existing. Again. Probably for the best they spoke too fast for his meager non-abilities.
Stifling a sigh, Jason quietly rose and slipped away. He desperately wanted to spend time with Salim, but not at the cost of making his son angry. Weren't no way he was doing that, not when Salim had fought heaven and earth to get back to Zain. His own dad wouldn't have given him a second thought. Or even a first thought. He'd have probably made jokes about how the whole thing was a break from his wife and kids, and everybody would have laughed awkwardly to hide they were uncomfortable and a little bit scared.
He'd made it all the way to the door when Salim said, "Jason!" and then a hand was around his left bicep, tugging him back. "Where are you going?"
"Ain't gonna be a source of discord," Jason said, annoyed with himself for not quite managing to slip away.
"Discord? You are not. Zain is being a, what is the word, smarmy little brat. Please, come eat. I've sent him back upstairs until he can remember his manners."
Jason hesitated.
"Please?" Salim asked softly, and how could Jason ever say no to that, the pleading look in those soft brown eyes?
"All right."
Salim smiled in triumph and all but dragged him back to the kitchen. "I apologize again for Zain. He is…protective of me."
"Doesn't like sharing your attention? Especially not with some asshole American who once tried to shoot you?"
"You never actually tried it, just threatened it."
"Yeah, well, ain't actually any pleasure to be had in killing people."
"I will always remember that you spared that shepherd."
Jason scoffed and stabbed at his food. He could have just as easily shot the dumbass, and they both knew it. "Eat your damn food."
Salim grinned in that sly way that Jason had liked too-damned-much right from the start. Leave it to him to fall enamored of someone he absolutely could not have.
When they were done eating, Jason cleaned up while ignoring all protests, but surrendered the kitchen when it was time for Salim to make them tea. They'd only just sat down in the living room when the doorbell rang.
Salim set his cup aside and went to answer it—and Jason's heart dropped into his stomach as he came back with the woman he'd seen last night.
She was pretty as a picture, red hair with hints of gray, sharp-angled face, bright green eyes. About Salim's age, if he had to guess, and wearing a flowy little top with a pattern of pink flowers and jeans that seemed molded to her.
Just what he'd fucking needed.
Still, he wasn't going to be an ass to someone important to Salim, so he rose and offered a hand. "Ma'am."
"Oh, an American."
Jason didn't roll his eyes, but it was a close thing. "Born and raised, I'm afraid. Jason Kolchek. Jason is fine."
"Amelia Evans."
"Jason is a dear friend of mine. We met in Iraq last year, and he saved my life."
"He saved mine too. Rough time."
Ms. Evans' face said nothing at all, and her reply was nothing but polite, but Jason knew when someone was setting fire to him in their head. "In Iraq you mean? Were you a soldier?"
"Force Recon," Jason said easily. "Kinda sorta akin to your SAS, though we do different things."
She looked between them. "He was in the Iraqi army, so how on earth did you become friends?"
"Extenuating circumstances," Jason said with as much drawl as he could possibly manage, because he could tell she thought his accent meant stupid.
Salim grinned. "Thought you didn't like fancy words."
"I can use a couple of them every now and again. So how did you two meet?"
"Her husband and I were friends first," Salim said. "His name is Henry. He is a commercial pilot, so gone frequently. I promised him to check in on her while he's away. We have tea, play cards."
Husband. She was married. Her and Salim weren't a thing. Relief swept through him like hot coffee on a cold day. Logically, it made no nevermind. Salim still had an ex-wife. Which obviously didn't mean he was straight, but statistically the odds certainly leaned that way.
"Salim has been such a darling, keeping me company," Evans cooed.
"I always enjoy company," Salim said, handing her a cup of tea before reclaiming his own seat. "Perhaps you can suggest places Jason and I can visit while he is here. I have not done much, was far too busy getting a home, helping Zain settle into school, learning my immediate surroundings. London is so big, there is much to learn. Sometimes I think a house somewhere quieter would be nice, but for now…"
"Yeah, gotta be close to your kid," Jason said.
"So long as you don't coddle the boy," Amelia said. "No good comes of that."
Jason grinned. "Oh, Salim has been very clear that he'll hold hands, but no coddling."
Salim smirked. "I do not think that was the word I used."
Jason started to reply, leaning forward slightly, something hot unfurling—
And the sharp snap of a cup being set down broke the moment as they turned to Amelia. "So what do you do for a living, Mr. Kolchek?"
He settled back in his seat, saved from whatever stupid thing had been about to come out of his mouth. "Nothing right now. I recently left the Marines, and decided to do a bit of traveling. Figured I should do it while I could before I put down roots."
"I see."
What the hell did this snotty bitch have against him? Wasn't like he was a threat to her. Like obviously she wanted Salim to keep her company, and he couldn't blame her, even though the fact she was clearly willing to cheat on her husband made her top tier shitty, but she was acting like he was a threat to that. A rival. He wished.
It also really pissed him the fuck off that she thought Salim was the kind of man so eager to get his dick wet that he'd happily sleep with a married woman—and a woman whose husband clearly, explicitly trusted him. Nevermind that Salim was kind, earnest, honorable, tough as hell, and worth at least five good men. Even outside of the fact Islam had some strong opinions on that kind of behavior, Salim would never do something so repugnant. She had a lot of fucking nerve thinking he would.
"You see what?" he asked, no longer in the mood to play nice.
Before she could reply, Zain came rushing down the stairs, spilling into the hallway and through the archway into the living room. He stared at Evans, a mostly polite look on his face, but it didn't take 20/20 vision to see there was hostility there. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Evans. How are you?"
"Good, good. How are classes?"
"Classes," Zain replied as he dropped down into a chair by the smaller window on the side of the house. "How is your husband?"
Jason's mouth twitched, and he couldn't help but look at Zain, who caught his gaze and briefly seemed surprised before his face filled with momentary relief that someone else saw the same problem he did.
Salim, bless his heart, probably hadn't realized, because he wasn't that kind of person. The idea would never occur to him in a million years, and he would be horrified to learn what Amelia was really up to.
"He's due home in the next day or so, depending on delays. Home for the rest of the week and then he's gone again on Monday. So we can still go see that play, Salim. I can buy the tickets tonight."
"You do not want to see it with Henry while he's home?" Salim asked, brow furrowed.
Evans tittered, probably trying to sound playful or something. "Oh, he just hates sitting through plays. I always go with a friend or two."
"He can't go," Zain cut in. "He and Jason are going up to Scotland to sightsee, probably see that dumb sword from that dumb movie."
Jason laughed. "You mean Braveheart?" He couldn't think of a single other movie that made sense. "I didn't know the Braveheart sword even actually existed. Whole movie seemed bunk."
"Bunk?" Salim asked.
"False, ridiculous. Which it was, I was out sick one week, looked it up in the library. Movie ain't nothing at all like the real story."
"Yeah, but you're obsessed with 'sword and shield' stuff, so of course you'd want to go stare at famous swords," Zain retorted.
Salim narrowed his eyes, and then he and Zain were once again having an intense discussion in Arabic.
"They always like this?" Jason asked, trying to go back to polite.
Evans regarded him coolly, taking that whole stiff upper lip thing all the way into frigid. "They do bicker often. Salim permits it because he has a soft spot for his son."
"I should fucking hope so. Last I checked, parents were supposed to be soft for their own damn kids. Good parents, anyway," Jason said. "My parents certainly had nothing but hard feelings for me."
Salim immediately broke away from the conversation with Zain. "I am sorry, everything you say and hint at speaks to a hard upbringing."
Zain eyed him curiously. "Your parents didn't like you? Why not?"
"'Cause I was a fistful of sour skittles in a bowl full of M&Ms," Jason said. At two bewildered looks, and Zain's far too knowing one, he stood. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen, and certainly not this way, and it was abruptly all more than he could take. He needed space. "I think it's time for me to go. I'll come around again tomorrow, Salim. Ya'll take care."
He didn't miss the smug satisfaction that overtook Evans' confusion.
"Jason!"
He looked up from putting his shoes on, hating the hurt that lingered on Salim's face. "What's up?"
"Why are you leaving? I was hoping we could get dinner."
"I just… need to go. But I'll be back, I promise. Here," he grabbed up the pad of paper and pencil on the table by the door. "This is my hotel info. I'll see you tomorrow, come by after lunch this time, instead of showing up so early."
"Come whenever you want," Salim said quietly. "I…" He pinched his mouth shut, then finally said, "Be well, Jason. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow." His eyes flicked to Evans, who sat with her back to them. "Watch that one."
"You sound like Zain," Salim said with a huff. "She's harmless, just wants company instead of sitting alone in her house."
"Oh, she wants company all right. Your company. Of the biblical kind. See you later." Jason left, closing the door on Salim's sputtering questions, and resisted the urge to shove his hands in his pockets, because it was an old, comforting habit, but the kind of thing that could get you hurt or killed real fast if someone wanted to jump you.
But of course nobody was going to jump a white guy who carried himself a certain way, not unless they were a special breed of dumbass, and nobody in this country was strapped, which eliminated 95% of his worries.
The walk back to his hotel was lonely and miserable. Had they figured out his stupid skittle thing? Well, Zain obviously had, which didn't surprise him. Would he tell Salim? Would that philandering bitch figure it out?
How would he be treated tomorrow? Salim would never do anything rotten, he was too classy for that. But he'd thought the best of people before and found out the hard way it was always better to assume the worst.
Until a night in hell and an enemy combatant had reminded him assumptions were usually really stupid things to make.
Ignoring the heavy ache in his chest, he headed up the stairs to his room and went straight for a shower. Feeling a bit more sorted afterward, he checked out the room service menu. "What the fuck is a jacket potato?" he asked no one in particular. But it was the side to a steak, and he really wanted the steak, so whatever.
Turned out it was just a damned baked potato, and the steak wasn't nearly as good as he could make himself with a half-decent grill, but food was food. He'd still rather be eating dinner with Salim, but that was his own damned fault, so no point whining about it.
By the time he was done with dinner, it was still only about six in the evening. Too damned early to go to bed, but he didn't much feel like going out. Drinking and smoking his way through his problems had stopped appealing a long fucking time ago. TV mostly bored him.
Studying it was, even if it seemed like a lost cause now more than ever. But hey, he could ask how to get to the grocery store now, that was something, right?
Try as he might though, the focus just wouldn't come. His mind insisted on being anywhere but in that room.
What was Salim up to? Had he walked Evans home? Hugged her as was probably usual? What would they have had for dinner if he'd stayed? How late could he have managed to linger? How long could he hang around before he wore out his welcome? If he settled here, got a job and everything, would they really settle into being friends? Would he be able to let go of his futile hopes and be wholly happy with that?
Did he really have anywhere else to go?
He really wished he'd been able to stay, that it hadn't felt like the walls were closing in on him. There were dozens of ways he wished the night could have gone, but the most pathetic part was that most of them weren't even sexual. Just…soft. Romantic. He wasn't exactly the kind of person people looked at that way, and certainly nobody thought him capable of it. They saw a hick from Harlan county, a cocky Marine who barely had two braincells to rub together, or an entitled white boy they should be wary of.
Nobody looked at him and thought I would like to take him on a romantic candlelit dinner and a walk in the moonlight. I wonder what his favorite flower is. Does he like to dance. What is his favorite food? Hell, he couldn't even remember the last time someone other than Nick had given him a birthday present, and the effort Rachel and Nick had gone to for his Christmas present would live in his heart the rest of his life.
He lifted his left hand to stare at it, scarred up from years of abuse, always a bit stiff on cold days, and utterly naked. Even if someone was stupid enough to date him, there'd be no grand proposal someday. He'd probably be eighty before that kind of thing was legal where he grew up, wherever he eventually settled down. If he ever did.
Rolling over, he buried his face in his pillow and resisted the urge to scream into it.
Eventually, thankfully, he fell asleep.
Unfortunately, he dreamed this time. For years as a kid he'd thought he just didn't dream. The one time he'd ask his parents about it, his mother had said some people simply didn't, and his father had said he was probably too stupid to manage it. That had hurt, but by then it was a hurt he was used to. He'd gone with the theory he didn't until a library book on dreams said that it was more likely he simply didn't remember them.
Which, given the material his brain had to work with now, was probably a blessing.
Judging by the dream he did remember as he jerked awake at four in the morning, it was definitely a blessing. Blood dripping on stone. That awful clicking sound. The horrible shriek. Salim crying out in pain. Jason too late, too slow, too fucking stupid to get it right. Salim dying alone before Jason could reach him.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He took another shower just to feel clean again, the memories of that dark, blood-soaked place crawling all over his skin, the poison dust lingering in the cracks and crevices. Logically, he knew he was fine. He had the overzealous medical exams to prove it. They'd told him he'd gotten lucky, because inhaling the dust from that petrified one he'd broken trying to show off for a man he'd just met could have killed him, and it would have been slow and agonizing.
He hadn't inhaled it though, because Salim had yanked him out of the way in time.
And instead of being grateful and content with what he had, Jason flew across the fucking ocean hoping for more. Thank god that hope had already been stamped out before he'd made a fucking fool of himself. Well, more of a fool.
So, yeah. Logically he was fine. He got another shower anyway. Dressed for the day, he filled a backpack with work and other odds and ends before heading to his coffee shop, which thankfully opened super early. He lingered there until about six and then headed across town, using the early hour and relative quiet to focus more on his surroundings, start memorizing street names and landmarks.
He stopped for food at a promising looking breakfast place, wolfing it down with still more coffee.
By the time he was done and back outside, a coffee to go in hand, he almost felt human again. Almost.
It was still way too early to be bothering Salim, especially since he'd promised not to bother him before lunch, but Jason continued his journey in that direction anyway. By the time he reached Salim's house, it was nearly eight. So maybe about four hours or so to wait. Well, he could kill time studying, then maybe find more food or shop for a gift or something to apologize for the way he'd bugged out yesterday.
All in all, reality was not matching the plan in his head for how this would go, but literally everyone who'd ever met him could tell you that his head was mostly full of nonsense. He'd been good at his job back in that sandbox, but so were thousands of other people.
Settling on the bench, he took out his flashcards, these ones on certain words and phrases. Arabic was a bitch to learn, no mistake.
He'd worked for maybe an hour and was feeling tentatively confident on a smattering of pithy phrases, when someone noisily cleared their throat. He'd seen her door open out of the corner of his eye, but he'd really hoped she was getting the mail or something and would ignore him. Shoulda known better.
Stifling a sigh, he gathered the brightly colored flashcards in his lap and mustered a smile, barely there though it was. "Ma'am. Good morning."
"What are you doing sitting there?"
"Sitting," Jason said, gripping the cards tightly before forcing himself to relax and let go, keep his hands loose and free. "Didn't want to wake Salim up or anything, so I'm just waiting until he's awake."
"You shouldn't be here."
Jason dropped the smile. "I ain't bothering no one."
"You are lurking."
"Ma'am, if I wanted to lurk, nobody would see me. You're the one looming over me like I've somehow disturbed you by sitting here bothering nobody."
She sniffed, accent somehow getting even snottier as she pushed onward. "He doesn't need someone like you around."
"Someone like me? You're gonna have to be more specific, ma'am."
She moved slightly close, not quite looming over him. "A fa—"
Jason surged to his feet, forcing her back, the bright cards scattering everywhere, forgotten in his anger.
Stupid bitch finally had the sense to look afraid.
"Finish that sentence, and I'll lay you out flat," Jason said with all the menace of a soldier who'd endured too damned much for too damned long. "I ain't done shit to you lady. I'm here to visit a friend, that's it."
"Your kind has no business—"
"Oh, shut up," Jason said with a groan. "Lady, even if I wasn't here, he still wouldn't want you. Salim ain't the type to go around fucking married women, especially not a dried up heifer like you."
That pissed her right the fuck off, face going cherry red before she hauled off and slapped him. He could have stopped it, she telegraphed the move so clearly they coulda seen it from space, but better to let her vent that rage that have it build to something worse.
"You aren't good enough for him," she said with vindictive relish, which was fair, because she definitely had found his pressure point. Women like her had a knack for it. But joke was on her because she wasn't telling him anything he hadn't already told himself a thousand times, and the words of strangers had stopped mattering a long time ago.
Damn it, why did his days always seem to go tits up? He hadn't even done anything except absolutely butcher his pronunciations of the words teacher, sleep, and performance. "He's my friend."
"I saw how you looked at him."
"Jesus, I'm not in the mood for this today," Jason said. He wasn't a crier, never had been, even as a baby. His mother had once loved to brag about that to everyone before she became so ashamed of him. He'd only come close a few times in thirty-one years, one of them confessing his sins to Salim when they were on the edge of Hell nearly a mile below the earth.
But he wanted to right now, just for a second, from exhaustion and frustration and always being surrounded by people who seemed to enjoy his pain.
She seemed smugly triumphant, but before she could open her damned mouth again, Jason said, "How I feel and what I think ain't none of your goddamn business. We shared space for barely twenty minutes. He is my friend. Whatever else I might want don't concern you."
"He's my friend, and if he's too kind to throw out the garbage, I'll do it for him. You aren't good enough for him, and we both know it, so do the right thing for once in your life and leave."
"Lady, I don't need some loud-mouthed, jealous stranger telling me the obvious. You ain't the first nor the last to point out I ain't worth the dirt scraped off my shoes. But none of this has anything to do with you. Salim and me got a history you don't know nothing about, and it makes us friends, even if I ain't good enough for him."
"I hate to interrupt, but I feel like this is a conversation I should perhaps be part of?"
Jason went cold, breath lodging in his chest for a second before his system restarted and he forced himself to face Salim as he came to stand with them. "Sorry."
"I'm not," Evans said, drawing herself up like a pleased dog who didn't realize that taking a shit wasn't really much to be proud of. "I did research on him. One of those thugs who went over and probably shot up innocent people just for fun—"
Salim's voice snapped out, sharp as a new knife, a word in Arabic that Jason didn't know but was clearly along the lines of shut the fuck up.
At any rate, Evans did indeed shut the fuck up, standing there with her mouth open like a bad impression of a fish.
"That is enough," Salim said, the coldest Jason had ever heard him. "When your husband returns, I will speak with him about our friendship, but my friendship with you is at an end. How did you just say it? Taking out the trash? Yes, that is what I am doing. You are trash, and I am throwing you out. Do anything further to upset my friend and you will become my enemy."
Face hot, honestly not sure what to do about someone coming to his defense like that as it had never happened before, Jason knelt to pick up the cards scattered all over the ground. Movement caught his eyes, and he reared back just as the stupid bitch grabbed his coffee and threw it on him before she stormed off back to her house, slamming the door shut behind her.
"I thought the British were famous for like, always doing shit behind closed doors or something," Jason said with a sigh, shoving the cards haphazardly into his bag before wiping dripping coffee off his face with a dry part of his drenched hoodie. Damn it all, he'd just bought this, and he didn't have a backup one yet. "I expect this kind of white trash, Jerry Springer shit back home. Not here."
"Here, let me help you," Salim said quietly, taking the bag from him.
Flustered beyond all measure, a feeling he hated because he'd worked so hard to always be, or at least appear, so confident, he shoved the last of the cards into his hoodie in the feeble hope Salim hadn't really looked at them. "Sorry, I didn't think she'd cause that kind of trouble. I was just sitting here reading and drinking my coffee."
"Why didn't you knock?" Salim asked, looking hurt.
He really needed to buy a new hat, walking around without one was a son of a bitch. "I said I wouldn't bother you before lunch, dumbass. Done worse than keep my own company for a couple of hours. Normally I'd have just gone back to sleep, but—" He scrubbed his face. "Bad night."
"Yes, I know a bit about those," Salim said softly. "Come, we'll get you cleaned up and I'll fix some tea." Still holding fast to the bookbag, he led the way into his house. "The bathroom is down the hall. I'll get you something dry to wear and we can wash that."
"You ain't gotta worry about—"
"Jason."
Lifting his hands in surrender, Jason headed into the bathroom. Turning on the light, he then pulled off his hoodie, dragging his t-shirt with it. At this point, it was probably soaked too, anyway. Dropping them on the floor, he bent over the sink and turned on the cold faucet to wash his face and get coffee out of his hair.
Fuck, could this day get any worse? And now he had to have the awkward conversation he'd been desperately hoping to avoid, followed by the even more awkward, painfully humiliating rejection he hadn't wanted to hear, and—damn it, fuck this whole ass day.
"I brought you—" Salim stopped, and in the mirror Jason could see him staring like he'd completely forgotten everything around him.
His tattoo. He'd forgotten about his damned tattoo.
Jason started to turn around, but he was only turned back before a warm, heavy hand splayed across the center of the tattoo, which was of a medieval style shield with a shamshir across it. The woman who'd done it had worked her ass off on the initial sketches and three times harder than that at the actual inking. She'd listened to everything he'd said and hadn't said, and put her all into it. He'd paid her twice what it was worth.
He'd never really meant for Salim to see it, hadn't even really believed there'd be opportunity, whatever his wishful thinking said otherwise.
"It's beautiful," Salim said, finally withdrawing, allowing Jason to breathe again.
"Thanks." He turned, held out a hand for the shirt Salim was holding, and slowly pulled it on. Salim was bigger than him, so the shirt was a bit loose, but it was soft and warm and smelled like a detergent called fresh linen or some shit.
Salim continued to stare at him, gaze pensive and heavy. Jason stooped to retrieve his coffee-drenched hoodie. "Sorry to be so much trouble."
"You're not," Salim said, but distractedly as he bent to pick something up off the floor.
Jason closed his eyes as he realized what, then strode off to find his bag, because it was long past time he left, before he made a fool of himself over anything else. If he was gonna be stripped bare in every pathetic way, he would have liked to have some control over it.
"Jason!"
He held one of the straps of the bag in a white-knuckled grip, staring at the floor as he bit out, "What?"
"Would you look at me?" Salim asked. "Stop acting like I'm going to—I don't know, yell and scream?"
"I wouldn't blame you if you did."
Salim muttered something Arabic, probably insulting, but then his hands were cupping the sides of Jason's face, warm and gentle, startling enough in the softness of it all that he did look up. "You could give a mule lessons on being stubborn."
"I don't want to hear that from a man who struts around stabbing vampires with truck parts and demanding everyone cooperate with him."
"Stop your blustering," Salim replied—and then kissed him.
Jason flailed, dropping the bag and slamming his hands against the wall behind him, even as he pushed into the kiss with everything he had. He was shocked, not stupid. Not about this anyway.
Recovering himself slightly, throwing caution to the wind to sort out when this hallucination ended, he sank a hand into Salim's curls and worked to memorize every last damn thing he could. The taste of chai in Salim's mouth, how hot he ran, every dip and crevice of his mouth, the warmth of his skin and the softness of his hair. The way his touch was firm but gentle, not bruising or controlling.
Whatever fever dream he'd fallen into, he hoped it lasted a good long while.
Salim shifted, moved forward, pinning Jason to the wall, bracing one forearm on the wall right above his head as he dove into another kiss, though frankly it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
All his times between the sheets, or behind seedy bars, or whatever, no one had ever kissed him like it was a need.
They jerked apart when a sharp ringing cut through the air, nearly making Jason jump clear up into the ceiling. "Fuck."
Salim gave him an amused look, then grabbed the phone receiver off the wall. His face immediately turned into a thundercloud. "I told you we were done. Do not ever talk to me again." He slammed the phone down, looked at Jason, and with a soft sigh said, "I suppose we should actually talk."
Jason sighed, knowing when arguing was futile. "Can I have that tea first?"
"Of course."
While Salim was in the kitchen, taking the drenched clothes with him, Jason cleaned up the cards that had scattered once more, retrieving his bag and taking it to the living room so he could put the cards back in a neat pile and then into their case. Poor things had taken a beating today.
"You're learning Arabic," Salim said, setting a mug down in front of him.
"Trying, anyway," Jason said. "Ain't really succeeding. Took Spanish in High School, weren't any good at that either. Dad used to say my brain ran on bike pedals instead of a V8."
That cold, hard anger from before returned. "Your father seems an especially cruel man."
"He was. Is, I guess, I dunno. Ain't seen him since I was eighteen and joined up just to escape that place. Barely eked out the bachelor's I needed to become an officer."
"Your mother? Other family?"
"Mother pretends I don't exist and my sister just pities me. Ain't talked to none of them. Just be drinking from a poisoned well. I went back for a few things I kept there while I was gone, then left again. What about your family?"
"Parents died a long time ago, hit by some fool in a car who didn't actually know what they were doing. I do not have siblings." Then his wife had left him, and Dar had gotten torn apart by vampires.
"Life ain't shit sometimes."
"Succinctly put," Salim said, eyes warm over the brim of his cup before he downed his tea like it wasn't still piping hot. "But it has brought you back to me, so I cannot complain."
Jason's face flushed. "Oh, shut up."
Salim grinned and moved to sit on the coffee table, putting him right in Jason's space. "You cannot think you were the only one who walked away that day wondering about what might have been. What we could be in a different time and place."
"I think any other day I would have shot you in the heat of battle and not thought twice about it," Jason retorted, because it was true, even if it hurt to admit, and left him terrified that he could have so easily destroyed the best thing that ever happened to him without ever even knowing.
"That's not what happened, though. You found me here, when I always despaired I would never be able to find you."
"I had cheat codes." Jason set his tea aside and sat up, leaned forward. "Didn't think everything would actually go my way, though. Usually doesn't. Wasn't even sure you'd want to see me today." He stopped, frowned. "Wait, don't you need to be at work?"
"I called my boss and spoke with him about the minor emergency I needed to deal with. He was understanding. We're not usually very busy this time of the week anyway, and I'll work the weekend instead. I am sorry about Amelia. My son has never liked her, but I marked it up to his protectiveness."
"Instead of realizing she wanted to play while her husband was away?" Jason snorted a laugh. "You're ridiculous. Any idiot could see she wanted you. Even though if she really knew you at all, she'd know that was never going to happen."
"No, it wouldn't, but even if she'd been single, once you showed up the matter was closed."
"Quit saying stuff like that," Jason hissed.
Salim smirked, leaning forward into his space, and all that quiet confidence was so much more lethal when it was focused entirely on him. "Like what? That I like sour skittles, especially the kind that are so cool and collected in battle but so easily flustered by compliments?"
Jason narrowed his eyes. "You're a fucking brat."
"That is probably true," Salim said, and finally kissed him again.
Jason immediately latched on and dragged him forward—then oofed as he was grabbed and turned, the move way too smooth for his peace of mind, leaving him straddling Salim's thighs. But oh what a delightful angle that put him at now, diving into another tea flavored kiss, surrounded by Salim's warmth, hands heavy on his thighs, just barely teasing at his ass.
He didn't know quite what to do with a dream come true, except enjoy every inch of it for as long as he could.
Salim drew away slowly, teeth dragging off his bottom lip before going to work on Jason's throat, hands moving to rest entirely on his ass. "I like you in my home. In my clothes. With our sword and shield on your back."
"Bit possessive, huh?" Jason said, fisting a hand in those soft curls to keep Salim's mouth against his skin, breaths turning ragged, pants starting to grow uncomfortably tight.
"You have no idea," Salim murmured before kissing him again, attacking his mouth like a starving man, one hand pushing up beneath Jason's shirt to trail questing fingers along his skin, the touch making him shiver 'cause he was just that easy when it was Salim.
Eventually, when he was mussed and flushed and aching, he pulled back enough to say, "We should probably move this to more private quarters, unless you really want to surprise Zain when he gets home."
Salim looked positively pained at the thought. "That would be quite horrifying for both of us. Up."
Jason climbed off him, but it still took them several minutes, moving a pace or three at a time between kisses, before the bedroom door closed behind them. His shirt was gone in the next moment, followed by Salim's, and then he was being lowered to the bed like something fragile before Salim was kissing him again like a man possessed.
Far be it for Jason to complain about being wanted so bad, when he was usually just the most convenient thing in the bar. Most people looking for a soldier to fuck wanted the more built guys, like Nick or Salim, not the trim, whipcord build he had. Clearly Salim was happy with what he saw, and Jason wasn't going to ruin anything by opening his mouth.
Sitting back on his heels, Salim stared down at Jason with dark, heated eyes. "I did not think I would ever have you here, right where I most wanted you."
Christ, his face was always gonna be the color of a tomato around this man. "Thought you were a women-only kind of guy after—"
Salim stopped where he'd been skimming his hands along Jason's bared skin. "After what?"
Jason thumped his head against the pillow, annoyed with himself all over again. "Night before last, I made the walk to see where exactly your house was, so I wouldn't have to worry about finding it the next day. Saw you and Evans hugging, seemed close."
"Ah," Salim said. "No, that was all her doing, and I didn't know how to tell her to stop without being rude. Should have just been rude. Lesson learned. You should have knocked. I would have been happy to see you at any hour."
"Yeah, well…" Jason dragged him back into kissing, because he really liked that, more than he'd ever admit aloud, and it wasn't something most of the people he hooked up with were interested in doing.
Eventually, he got his hand more involved in the mess, exploring whatever bit of Salim he could easily reach. The broad shoulders, the muscled arms, the hairy chest and soft stomach. Getting his fly open, Jason ventured deeper, and they both groaned as he got a hand around Salim's cock. "Can't— can't wait to feel that."
"You're most certainly going to," Salim murmured before rearing back on his heels again to work on Jason's pants. When they were both naked, Jason pushed him down on the bed and finally got his mouth on all the places he wanted, enjoying every sharp gasp and breathy moan he extracted. He sucked at Salim's neck, kissed his way down that broad, furry chest, nibbled at one hip before pressing biting, sucking kisses to his inner thighs, inhaling the heavy scent of him before finally going for his prize as Salim trembled beneath him.
It had been more than a year since the last time he sucked cock, and that experience hadn't been remarkable, barely memorable, and then only because he hadn't fucked many uncut guys. Salim would only be the third on that front.
He certainly hadn't forgotten how to do it though. He ran his thumb over the tip, then lapped away the fluids there, stroking Salim idly before taking him into his mouth. A hand immediately ran over his hair, swear words in Arabic and English filling the room as Salim could find no satisfactory hold, Jason's hair far too short. Jason pulled off to lick and tease along the length before swallowing him down again, tongue working the underside as he slowly slid down the length of it.
Salim had switched to Arabic entirely, pretty sounding words that were probably absolutely filthy as he cupped the back of Jason's head and fucked his mouth with only the barest restraint.
After a few minutes, though, Salim pulled him off, panting and flushed. "You are wickedly good at that, and I cannot wait to use your mouth fully, but right now I have other plans."
Jason wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "What plans are those?" He wasn't surprised in the least when Salim switched their positions again, laying him out flat, fingers teasing all around but never quite touching his cock. "Bastard."
"I am most certainly not," Salim said with mock affront. He withdrew then, but returned with a bottle that, while unfamiliar in brand, could only be one thing. "I should have asked already if there are things you do not like or particularly want."
"Don't like to be tied up or hit," Jason replied. "We can have the adult conversation later. Fuck me or I'll take matters into my own hands."
By the heated expression on Salim's face, that was an empty threat. "I should like to see that sometime. I am most certainly going to fuck you right now, though. Have thought about it many times, how'd you look split open on my cock."
Jason squirmed against the sheets, even as he spread his legs like a whore on a busy night. "Where the hell did you learn all that? Pretty sure they don't teach that kind of English in class."
Salim only smirked, curving his hands around Jason's thighs, thumbs pushing into the soft, paler-than-pale skin of his inner thighs. "I was hurt when my wife left, but I wasn't going to sit around doing nothing for years and years. Plenty of people were happy to give me special language lessons."
"Just bet they were," Jason muttered.
"Don't be jealous. I don't even remember their names. Anyway, who could compete with the man who risked everything to come back for me?" He kissed any reply Jason might have made right out of his mouth, a pleasant counterpoint to the slick, warm finger that pushed gently inside of him. "You feel marvelous already."
"Shut up," Jason said without heat. "I ain't made of glass, I don't need—"
"I think you do," Salim cut in with abrupt solemnity. "Anyway, I want to, and we both know I'm more stubborn that you, Jarhead though you might be. Now, you shut up and let me do as I please."
Jason gasped out a stuttering, "Sir, yes sir," as one finger became two, pushing and stretching, teasing ever so slightly. "You're pretty fucking good at that."
Salim smirked and kissed him, stretching him wider and wider without ever making it hurt, speeding up to get to the only part that seemed to matter. Like Jason was worth taking his team, even as he could feel that hard cock rubbing against his skin and leaving damp trails.
By the time he was up to three fingers, Jason was trembling, nails digging into Salim's skin as he held on for dear life. "Now, damn it. I'm ready."
Salim stroked him inside one last time, licking into his mouth and swallowing his moans as he finally removed his fingers, spreading his thighs near to the point of pain before lining up his cock and slowly pushing inside.
"I ain't—"
"I told you to stop complaining."
"You weren't nearly that specific."
Salim laughed and slid all the way home, shifting to brace himself on his hands. "Good?"
"Better if you move."
With a grin that could only be described as devilish, Salim complied, starting slowly but quickly increasing his pace, pulling out and thrusting back in, over and over, in a steady rhythm that was perfect and madness inducing all at once. Jason clung for dear life, holding fast to those broad shoulders, feet planted on the bed. His hair was soaked and sweat dripped into his eyes, and Salim's skin glistened with exertion in the soft, warm light of the lamp in the corner.
Jason alternated between heavy panting, moaning and begging, and simply gasping Salim's name as he fucked Jason like it was his only mission and failure wasn't an option. He didn't even need to get a hand around his cock to get him all the way; the only thing he needed was Salim, the soft words in a mix of English and Arabic, the hot mouth leaving a trail of random kisses over his throat and shoulders, the soft command in his ear.
He came with a cry barely muffled by Salim's mouth, and was still seeing stars when Salim came just moments later. Salim gently pulled out and then sprawled alongside him, half on top of him, petting and soothing. Also not something Jason was used to.
When he mostly trusted his voice again, he said, "Thought you said you drew the line at cuddling."
Salim huffed a soft laugh, nuzzling his cheek before giving his well-used mouth a soft kiss. "I would have cuddled you, but it wouldn't have been very fun back then."
"No, it would have sucked. I couldn't get the smell off me for days. Sometimes, when I'm stressed, I can still smell it and have to go shower, even if it's the third that day."
"I tend to sleep with at least one light on these days. Absolute dark brings it all back." He nodded to the closet. "I still have my souvenir, though I had to have a friend back home mail it to me after I arrived. It would have never gotten through customs."
Jason winced, imagining all the ways that could have gone. "Glad you figured out how to keep it." He finally looked up, meeting Salim's gaze, still not really certain he wasn't fast asleep and having a good dream for once, something he wouldn't even get to remember when he woke up.
He'd stared at his own eyes any number of times and never saw a damn thing interesting about them. But Salim's eye were pretty, made brown eyes enviable, even if they were the default color.
Salim brushed a thumb along his cheekbone in a soft caress that made Jason still for a moment before he managed to keep himself from turning away.
"You are not used to softness, are you?" Salim settled back and drew Jason to rest against him instead. "You get so easily flustered, and look like a spooked horse whenever I compliment or touch you softly."
"My daddy beat the shit out of me for being gay, and my family treated me like a ghost from there on in. The guy I risked it all for didn't make it out alive. The Marines ain't known for being soft and kind."
Salim scowled, but his slow caress along Jason's back never faltered. "No lover to treat you properly?"
"Do I look like the kind of guy people keep around? You met me at my worst. It's pretty obvious I'm the pick up at the bar, one and done kind of guy, not meet the parents material."
Salim's mouth twisted. "It's true my parents were too religious and rigid in their thinking for me to ever consider taking a man home. They didn't even approve of my wife, entirely, for different but equally stupid reasons."
"Why did she leave? If I can ask. Never made any sense to me."
"I was too boring, too settled, even in my early twenties. She also did not enjoy being a mother."
Jason tried to picture someone describing Salim as boring, but the idea was just too fucking stupid. Calm, steady, even-tempered, sure. Salim was definitely the port in the storm type. But that didn't equate to boring. "Sounds like a spoiled brat."
"It was decades ago, and I quite like where I'm at now. I was sad, that day, walking home. I wanted to see my son again more than anything in the world, but it ached that I knew I would never see you again, not unless you for some reason wanted to see me. Between the two of us, you were the only one with the resources to manage it. And I could not fathom why you would, when you had all of America to return to and a likely promotion in your future that would only lead to bigger and better things. Nevermind the age difference."
Jason's heart was beating so fast he half thought it might finally pop. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I wasn't even sure how much you'd remember me, or if you'd want to see me at all. Most folks, once is enough."
"You break my heart," Salim murmured, and tugged at his hair enough that Jason lifted his head to meet the kiss pressed to his mouth, soft and lingering. "I spent more than ten years in that damn army, and nobody ever once came back to help me out of a bad situation. I have had to fight my way through every disaster alone. Only one person in my life risked everything to come back for me and get me out of hell. How on earth could I ever forget you? Of course I wanted to see you again. The odds were simply against me."
Jason kissed him that time, fighting the stinging in his eyes, a combination of too much of his deepest desires coming true and a white-hot anger that nobody had ever been there for Salim like they fucking should have been. "What a pair we are."
"Are we, then? A pair?" Salim asked. "When do you have to leave?"
"Uh, actually…" Face hot, Jason tugged gently free of Salim's arms and sat up, folding his legs in front of him. "I have a work visa and everything. Rachel got me everything I could possibly need to stay here as long as I wanted. If things didn't work out, if you didn't want me hanging around or whatever, then I was going to keep traveling. Otherwise… I was going to go all in. Though I need to find somewhere other than a damned hotel to live."
Salim dragged him back down and climbed on top of him again. "We'll work everything out. Today, though, you are staying the whole night. I have to work the next three days, but I'll be free again on Monday. Or you could do something crazy and just move in—but we'll discuss it later. Right now, I have more immediate plans."
"I think you're a little old for stamina like that, Iraqi."
That got him that half-wild grin he remembered from down there in the dark. A grin like a sharp-edged sword that didn't know how to quit.
A sword that needed a shield to keep him safe from all that would use and abuse his genuinely good heart.
"Sounds like a challenge, American."
"You know it."