At Attention (Out of Uniform 2)

“Will do.” Apollo’s throat felt tourniquet tight, words barely squeaking by. It had been like this all week. He’d been putting in crazy hours at the base along with visiting the men in the hospital. Luciana Lopez had given birth two days ago, her husband in a hospital bed next to her, and Apollo had smiled his first smile in days at the baby picture she’d sent. But other than that bright spot, things were still pretty bleak, and Dylan had kept to his word and been there for the girls, even though Apollo had offered to call in Marilyn and Pat’s assistance. Dylan had insisted, however, and even though his body language to Apollo was better suited for an MMA brawl, he’d been nothing other than gentle with the girls.

But the second Apollo walked in the door each night Dylan was either gone or upstairs, door firmly closed, everything but a Keep Out sign signaling that talking was off the table. Not that Apollo was really making overtures to try to smooth things over. He honestly didn’t know where to start. There was so much that needed untangling, and he was so fucking tired and worn out and sad, even if he didn’t want to admit that last one.

Sad that things couldn’t be different. Sad and disappointed in himself at how he’d acted. Sad and missing Dylan so much that he physically ached and not sure what to do with that either, so yet again, he let Dylan walk out without stopping him.

“No Dylan?” A mournful-looking Chloe wandered into the kitchen.

“No Dylan. But I’m home and I get to stay all night.” Apollo tried to keep his voice bright even as he too wanted to pout about missing Dylan. “And there’s spaghetti. Can you help set the table?”

“Okay. I like it better when Dylan’s here.”

Me too, sweetie, me too. Apollo gave her a tight nod. “He deserves to go out with his friends.” He deserves so much more than I can give him.

“But we’re his friends.” Chloe’s eyes were big as she looked up from setting out forks.

Not very good ones. Apollo bit back a sigh. He’d been a damn awful friend to Dylan when it came right down to it.

Sophia came into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. “Is it bedtime yet?”

“You’re tired?” Apollo came out from behind the island to crouch in front of her. The girls never asked to go to bed.

“Sleepy.” She took a breath, then coughed, a nasty hacking sound.

“Uh-oh.” Apollo felt her head which was warm and sweaty. “Do you feel sick?”

“Uh-huh.” She started to cry. “Is... Dylan...here?” she asked gulping between words.

“No, sweetie. He went out. But I’m right here. Do you think you could eat a little dinner?”

As a response, Sophia’s face took on a stricken look right before she barfed all over Apollo’s uniform, which he hadn’t had a chance to change out of yet.

“Oh no.” Chloe swallowed hard. “I no like that smell.”

“Not you...” He didn’t get to finish his sentence before she threw up on the floor and his shoes.

“Baba?” She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “What do we do now?”

Pray. “Bath. Electrolyte drink. Bed.” Apollo thanked God that he wasn’t a sympathetic puker as he put one twin in each arm headed for the stairs.

An hour and a half later, Apollo stepped out of his fastest shower since boot camp to the sound of more crying. Hell. He’d thought he’d finally had the girls settled nicely in their beds, puke bowl for each of them. He yanked on sweatpants and what he hoped was a patient expression and headed down the hall. “What’s wrong? Did you throw up again?”

“No.” Chloe stood in the middle of the room. “I can’t find Bee Baby anywhere. And I can’t go ni-ni without her! What if she’s sick too?”

“Bee Baby is not sick.” Apollo lifted her back into her bed, back muscles screaming a protest about all the lifting of kids he’d done already that night. “I’ll go look downstairs.”

But Bee Baby was nowhere to be found and when he got back upstairs, Sophia was the one crying. “What’s the matter now?”

“Dylan could find her. I...miss... Dylan.” She collapsed into full-out sobbing.

“Honey, I’m sorry. But Baba’s here. What can I do?” He tried rubbing her back, but she only cried louder, which set Chloe off into a series of wails about Bee Baby.

“Can you sing ‘Oh My Fleas’ with us?” Chloe asked at last.

“Uh. I don’t know that one.” He’d grabbed his phone when looking for the baby doll and typed in the song. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and all he needed was some lyrics to quiet the girls, but nothing came up. “Is it a real song?”

“Baba! ‘’’Course it is. Dylan made it up. He sings it to us for bedtime when you’re not here. Which is lots.”