Wheels Up (Out of Uniform 4)

The senior chief stayed back there, talking to Wes, who didn’t look any better by the time the senior chief made his way back to where the LT sat. The two of them were in deep conversation for an interminable length of time. Dustin wanted to go over, but they hadn’t motioned for him, and he was afraid of giving away too much.

Fuck, this sucks. How long am I going to have to do this? How long could he put up with this world where he could see Wes but never really know him again? Where he could see him hurt but never comfort?

Finally, what felt like centuries later, the senior chief took the empty seat next to Dustin. “Lowe’s sister’s heart transplant is happening today,” he said without preamble. “She went downhill fast while we were deployed, got moved up the list. I’m working on getting him emergency leave to fly out there as soon as we touch down. Got the wife on getting him a flight, and I convinced the LT to sign off on the leave.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Dustin fought to keep his voice level. “The leave is the right call. He’ll want to be there, I’m sure.” Somehow he managed to sound detached, not like he knew precisely how much Wes valued his family.

“Yep. I’ll be working on getting something together from the team once we know her prognosis—flowers maybe.”

“Sounds good. Put me down for a contribution.” Fuck. This was his life now, a twenty being the only way he could connect with Wes, secondhand knowledge from the senior chief that he had to pretend wasn’t slicing him to the bone, pain for Wes tingeing each exhale and inhale as he forced himself to stay put, not go to him.

“Will do.” The senior chief didn’t give him another glance before returning to the rear of the plane, which was probably just as well, because fuck knew what was written all over his face. I can’t keep doing this to myself. And the worst thing, the absolute worst, was not knowing whether Wes would even want his sympathy. What if he needed Wes far more than Wes would ever need him, even in the face of an emergency? And fuck if he knew what he was supposed to do with that need.

* * *

Bacon drove like some sort of kid’s movie over-caffeinated chipmunk hell-bent on being a race car driver. The senior chief’s wife had gotten Wes a flight into Raleigh, but it was going to be a mad dash to the airport and then a tight connection in Dallas. All in all, seven more interminable hours before he’d reach Sam. His mom had texted shortly after they’d landed that she was being wheeled into surgery and that she’d update when she could. The surgery would take four to five hours, so if all went well, she’d be out before Wes got there. And if not...

Well, he just couldn’t let himself think about that.

Fuck. How had she gotten worse so fast? She’d been her usual sunny self when he’d talked to her right before they’d deployed. And that had been a hard conversation, her trying to crack jokes, him needing to act like his own heart wasn’t battered and bloody over Dustin. Had he even said he loved her? Had he been attentive enough? Fuck. He didn’t know.

“We’ll get you there.” Bacon zipped around a semi, making Wes need to push his shoulder into his seat to avoid crashing into Curly, who, as luck would have it, was in the back of the cab with him. Bacon had insisted on being the one to drive him, and somehow, both Shiny and Curly were riding along, all of them piled into Bacon’s truck, barreling down the interstate. They were all still in dusty uniforms, Wes not even stopping to pack a bag, just to grab his ID and wallet—he had enough clothes in his old room back home. All that mattered was getting there.

“Hanging in there?” Curly asked in a low voice.

“I’m fine,” Wes said, voice sharp, and he couldn’t be bothered to give a shit about that. In the front of the truck, Shiny and Bacon were chattering about the mission, Shiny still amped up over how they’d kicked ass. He’d take a while to come down—Wes had been there, all that rookie adrenaline pulsing through him with nowhere to go after a big mission.

“Listen.” Curly leaned in. “I think I screwed up. Few weeks back. Said something maybe I shouldn’t have to the LT—”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Wes kept his eyes straight ahead.

“Anyway,” Curly pushed on, regardless of Wes’s rebuff, “I’m sorry if I made trouble for you. Thought... Doesn’t matter now. I was wrong, and I don’t want you pissed at me.”

“I’m not.” Wes wasn’t lying. It wasn’t Curly who’d gotten him involved with Dustin, wasn’t Curly’s fault that Wes had been careless.