Off Base (Out of Uniform 1)

“We’ll be there,” Pike promised.

“Thank God you didn’t throw that punch.” Pike waited to speak until Apollo had headed off to a very sedate-looking SUV. A family vehicle. Zack shook his head, still trying to piece together who in the heck that guy was.

“I wanted to,” Zack admitted. “I really did.”

“I know.” Pike pulled him closer. “But you’ve got to let the disciplinary process play out.”

“It’s hard when he’s being a dipshit right in my face,” Zack grumbled.

“I’m proud of you,” Pike said, beaming up at Zack. “You did a lot tonight.”

“It was worth it.” Zack closed the last few inches between them. “You’re worth it.”

“No, you’re worth it,” Pike corrected him

“We both are.” And then, there in the parking lot of Big Ted’s, where anyone from the teams could see, Zack kissed his boyfriend, long and hard, heart full of hope.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Six Months Later

“I’m home.” Zack’s voice rang out, and Pike launched himself off the sofa, sending papers flying everywhere. God, he’d missed that voice.

“Finally.” Not even letting Zack get his boots off, Pike wrapped himself around Zack’s dusty fatigues, pulling him down for a kiss. It might have only been two weeks, but he kissed Zack like it had been years.

“Hello to you too.” Zack laughed as he untangled himself. He’d been gone for a training exercise somewhere he wasn’t allowed to tell Pike about, ramping up to that summer’s deployment, something Pike tried not to think too hard about. “Is there food? Please tell me there’s food.”

“Didn’t they feed you?” Pike waited for Zack to unlace boots and hang up his jacket before heading to the tiny kitchen. “Don’t freak, okay—”

“Where are the cabinet doors?” Zack’s forehead creased. “And why is Gizmo sleeping next to the pots?”

“I couldn’t sleep the other night. I had this great idea.”

“Is your great idea red?”

“Fuchsia’s a shade of red, right?” Pike grinned at him as he dished up a giant portion of noodles and meat sauce for Zack. He’d eaten a few hours earlier, but he was happy to sit at the table with his guy, watch him eat.

Zack groaned. “You know when I said you could do what you wanted to the kitchen, I wasn’t picturing needing sunglasses to enter it.”

“Hey, this is our place, right? We can always paint over it if you really hate it,” Pike reminded him.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Zack offered a wide smile before digging into the food. The house was still a pretty new thing. The senior chief had helped them to find a tiny former rental needing a lot of work at a great price, and thanks to Pike’s shiny new contract as a full-time professor, he was the proud owner of his first mortgage and a line of credit at the big-box home store.

Me. Responsible homeowner. It still kind of boggled his mind, but both he and Zack had wanted a place of their own. Doing the work for the senior chief had been great, but now they got to make their little two-bedroom house a real home. And Pike kind of liked surprising Zack with projects when he came back from being gone. He had big plans for the bedroom while Zack was gone next time. And someday, in the not too distant future, Pike was going to bring up the idea of putting Zack on the mortgage, making this thing even more permanent.

“Is your mom still coming down next weekend to help with the tiling?” Zack asked around a mouthful of pasta.

“Yeah. Knowing her, she’s bringing her favorite trowel.” Pike laughed. She’d visited once already, right after they signed the mortgage, helping them with some exterior work. She loved Zack, and although he didn’t say much, Pike thought the feeling was mutual. Zack’s own parents were still being dicks—his mother had sent a tearstained Easter card, but that was about all the contact he’d had the past few months. It was just as well in Pike’s opinion as several tense phone conversations early on hadn’t exactly made progress on that front. But they’d spent the holidays with his mom in Berkeley and their friends in LA, and while nothing was ever going to replace Zack’s family, Pike was doing his damnedest to minimize the collateral damage.

“Think you can talk your mom into making that spinach lasagna thing again?” Zack asked hopefully. “And I want to get a better light for the guest room.”

“Already on it. I needed one for grading in there.” They had a friendly disagreement over whether to call the spare room an office or a guest room. Pike guessed it was both, housing the bed he hadn’t slept in in over six months and all their books, combined now, Zack’s atlases rubbing up against his differential equation texts. In the bedroom, Pike’s video game posters shared wall space with a old map of the world Zack had found at Pike’s favorite thrift store.