Chapter Text
“They've got me fenced in, Section, it's—”
A shower of gunfire interrupted the transmission.
“It's not looking good—”
Muscles screaming beyond what he could ignore, he slid into a crouch behind a stack of boxes, shoving a new magazine into his gun as he snatched a gasp of air.
“Main facility, right? I'm on my way. Just hold out a bit longer.”
“Right, but—”
The frenzied yell was drowned out by the roar of an explosion.
“Launcher— They're— Fuck—”
It cut off.
“Adams!”
Keeping his voice as low as possible, he hissed at his data glove.
“Adams, do you copy??”
The silence was deafening. Cursing silently, he craned his neck out from cover as far as he could risk, trying to spot if any hostiles were approaching. For now, at least, the coast seemed clear. He inhaled and exhaled slowly. Counting his breaths didn’t do much to quiet the wailing alarms of his instincts, but it eased his nerves from trembling so violently under the strain of adrenaline.
Okay. Sitrep. His whole team was unreachable at best, killed at worst. Communications with command had been fried, without any guarantee on when they’d be restored. Also, even when— the part of his mind he was trying to ignore helpfully replaced “when” with “if”— he could get in contact, he’d seen several anti-air guns in the vicinity, so it was unlikely that any extraction point would be nearby.
In short, he was fucked. But since such a conclusion wasn’t contributing to his chances of survival, he tried to clear his mind and take stock of what was in his favour. He wasn’t wounded, and his body was holding up as well as it could under the stress. While he lacked the gear to become a one-man army and fight his way out, he did have enough ammo to fend off any small-scale encounters. There didn't seem to be any activity in the alleys surrounding him. With the total descent into chaos, perhaps the enemy assumed he’d been killed. And… that was about it.
His crouch sank a bit lower. So much for a straightforward recon job. It almost felt like the monkey's paw had curled when he'd practically looked forward to this mission, eager to feel anything other than persistent gloom. Couldn't pine away if he was dead.
“Good luck, Section. Wish I could be there with ya.”
Harper's words rang clearly, as if he'd been right beside him. He was glad he wasn't. He hoped he wouldn't find out about this disaster and come after him on a rushed rescue attempt. He wished… He wished that he'd told him.
The thought hit him as abruptly as the mission plan going south, and he reflexively pushed it away. It was neither the place nor time for things like this. When death was hanging right above him, his full focus needed to be on survival.
But a voice in his head— Harper's? Woods’? His own?— pointed out that his potential last moments were exactly when to contemplate his regrets. His regret. It was his last chance to stop running, whether he wanted to or not.
… His pulse quickened again.
For so long, he'd repeated his mantra: “What if I hadn't told him?” Because he didn't want Harper to keep him at arm’s length. He didn't want him to leave. Yet in the end, he was still trudging towards exactly what he’d feared. But instead of it being fate’s will, it was his own.
If he did die here, and their latest exchange was their final one, would Harper forever wonder why their last weeks together had been tainted with distance? Would he wish that he hadn’t given him space, but instead pressed harder for the answer he owed him? Would he end up shouldering the burden of his regret?
Some things were better lost to time. He'd thought that this love was one of them, that even just admitting it to himself was already more weakness than he could afford. He'd be normal again one day. They'd go back to how they were before he'd changed. But what if he didn’t have the time to wait? What if he shouldn’t have waited at all?
So what if Harper didn’t love him back? He of all people knew that feelings could grow, that nothing was really set in stone. More importantly— Did he really, really want to die with the truth unsaid?
No.
He wanted to tell him.
When this was over, he would tell him.
The resignation he'd let fester finally began to ebb away, chilly yet bracing resolve settling in its place. He still feared what could happen, but he thought of what couldn’t happen if he ran again. He had to get back up. Make it back to him.
~~~
Ducking into a dim cul-de-sac, he took cover behind a dumpster, reloading his gun and checking his data glove. Though since the last checks had all produced nothing but silence, he wasn't expecting much—
“Do— copy—”
His eyes widened.
“Kraken! Section here. Comms are choppy, but I read you.”
The garbled audio became clearer.
“Copy that. Evac chopper’s on the way, ETA twenty minutes.”
A map appeared on the glove’s display, showing his current location and a flashing dot.
“Extraction point highlighted. Get a vehicle and get over.”
“Roger that. Section out.”
Moving to the mouth of the alley, he scanned the area. The rumble of an armoured vehicle pulling to a stop echoed from the main street, accompanied by the thud of boots hitting the ground. He counted the footsteps, estimating how many hostiles there were. It sounded like four. A manageable amount. He crept closer, lining up his sights…
Crack. His gunshots split the air, the first two finding their targets, the third only grazing the enemy’s head, the fourth quickly correcting for it, the fifth— The last man standing dove around a corner, the noise of frantic running soon fading. Good enough for now. Glancing around for any sign of reinforcements, he darted to the vehicle, starting it in a calm cruise down the road. Hopefully, blending in with the enemy's own vehicle would be a sufficient disguise for a while—
“TARGET ENGAGED!”
The dull thumps of grenades hitting the vehicle’s rear rattled in a flurry.
He floored it.
Bullets sprayed in his wake, shouts and exclamations resounding ahead, chaos erupting on every side. His ears rang dizzyingly, but he raced on. Fifteen minutes to evac. Cutting it close, but he could make it.
The growl of vehicles surged behind him, announcing their arrival with another hailstorm of gunfire. He gripped the steering wheel and swerved wildly. Distracting himself from his breakneck pace to fire back was more likely to get him killed than any shot. With a bit of skill and a lot of luck, he’d lose them eventually…
Except that a roadblock loomed in the distance. Far too sturdy to smash through, and guarded by an entire squad. Yet the other route was filled with narrow and winding streets, all but certain to get the vehicle stuck at one point. A literal rock and a hard place. Fate had just flipped him off.
He gritted his teeth. The crossroads of his decision approached rapidly. Five hundred metres. Two hundred. One hundred. Fifty—
Slamming on the brakes, he spun the wheel. The vehicle careened towards the alley, tyres screeching against the cobblestone. The enclosing walls instantly snapped off its side mirrors, but the rest of it succeeded in squeezing through unscathed. One street down. Nine to go. Stray furniture in his path hurled shards of plastic and wood at him, pipes burst and showered the windshield with water, and the noise of paint scraping off the vehicle's sides grated incessantly. He sped on. Ten minutes left on the clock.
Soon the final street neared, and it was clear this was where his drive ended. Pulling into the cramped space as far forward as possible, he scrambled out and broke into a sprint. Engines murmured in the distance. It wouldn't be long before they caught up. He swiped his hand across his forehead, wiping away the sweat threatening to blur his vision. His chest burned, heaving out ragged breath after ragged breath. His abdomen clenched with spasms of nausea. His legs screamed so violently that even all his adrenaline couldn't blank it out. But he ran. Five minutes. And he ran. Four. And he ran. Three. And he—
Skidded behind a pile of debris before the tank could spot him. The growl of its engines was as emphatic as its denial of his escape route. He gulped down a shuddering breath. Tried to gulp down, because his mouth was drier than the ground below him. His eyes flicked to the map on his data glove. Unless he could find some way to climb to the rooftops without being seen and shot to shreds, this was the only path. Could he sneak by? The street was completely exposed, with the only cover being, ironically, the tank itself. Could he run past? No matter how slow the tank crew’s reaction was, the lack of turns or corners in the road ahead meant he could never outmanoeuvre their gun. Could he fight through? He’d have better luck shooting down the sun.
The squeal of the tank’s tracks pierced straight to the core of his mind. He’d be found soon, either by this unit or any of the others he knew were approaching. He was out of time. He was out of options. He could almost hear the sharp pop of the lethal shot, the whistle of the bullet heading for him—
He threw himself flat down right before the missile hit the tank. Though even if his instincts had kicked in earlier, the blast was just too great to brace for. The shockwave shook the very foundations of the ground, rattling the windows of the surrounding buildings, so fiercely his legs would have given way if he hadn’t already been prone. His ears were numb to everything but the reverberations of the boom and his pounding heartbeat. The acrid smoke stung his eyes. His nervous system was shrieking in every pitch possible. Some corner of his mind vaguely conveyed that his arms and head were bleeding, but it might as well have been someone else's body. The world around him spun, and spun, and blacked out at the edges, and spun more…
“Section!!”
A voice cut through the haze. Harper's voice. Clearly impossible. Oh fuck, was he dying? Was this hallucination one last kindness before he could never feel anything again? He hadn't told him. He should have told him. He needed to tell him. He couldn't not tell him.
“Section!!!”
Harper's yell echoed again, stronger this time. Did that mean he was on the brink of death? God, he never should have left. Not without confessing everything to him. Not when staying by his side was the only thing he'd ever let himself truly want, for no one's sake but his own.
“SECTION!!!”
Hands that felt far too real yanked him onto his back.
“Look at me, Section!!”
Harper’s grip dug into his shoulders, his face swimming into view.
“You okay?? Can you move??”
His shoulders throbbed from the pressure. He’d never seen Harper this agitated before, not when endless bullets were barely skimming over his head, not when half his face was a centimetre from being burnt off, not even when confronted with a pipe impaled through his thigh. Surely his mind couldn’t conjure this? This was happening?
“Stay with me, man!! David!! Don’t fucking pass out on me yet!!”
The sheer panic, no, terror in his face kicked a sliver of his mind into gear.
“Har…”
The syllable was so raspy it was virtually inaudible, but Harper’s gaze flooded with instant relief.
“Yeah!! It’s me! I’m gonna get you outta here, okay?”
Pulling his arm around his shoulders, he hoisted him up.
“Just hang on a bit more, alright?”
He coughed roughly, attempting to clear out the dust clogging his throat.
“I— ’m—”
Harper shushed him.
“Save your energy. Just keep walking. The chopper’s right ahead.”
He stumbled forward, regaining his balance after several steps. This was happening. Harper was really here. He'd made it. He could tell him.
Oh shit, he could tell him.
His legs suddenly felt weak again. He had to. He knew he had to. It was literally his dying wish. He'd reasoned everything through in the moments he'd thought would be his last. Leaving the truth unsaid was the worst possibility, wasn't it? Fuck, he couldn't waver now. He would confess it all. Even if it felt far more daunting when the chance was within his reach, far more difficult when he was actually face to face with him…
He was scared. He was so damn scared.
How should he even tell him? With an explanation? “Y’know how I've been acting weird? The thing is…” By starting from the beginning? “So, uh, ever since I met you, I knew you were special…” Testing the waters? “Hey, totally hypothetically, have you ever thought about being more than friends…” Slowly broaching the topic? “You and me, we’re close, right? Real close? Well, recently, I’ve kinda been thinking…”
Something registered. He shoved him to the ground.
“Wh—”
Harper managed half a shout before the gunfire deafened all other noise. He lay as flat as possible beside him, reaching for his pistol, waiting for a lull.
He aimed at the figure in the corner of his vision, and pulled the trigger till the gun clicked dry. Every shot but one went wide. And while the militant did stagger from the hit, it didn’t last, not long enough for him to reload before he glimpsed the rifle being raised again—
The shot thundered. His fingers tightened around his gun's grip. His breath stuttered in his chest. His muscles tensed to dodge, even if it was futile.
Except that he realised the blast was too loud to have rung from across the street. And so he looked beside him to see Harper crouched down, taking a last shot at the slumped body.
“Shit. That was a close one, huh?”
Holstering his pistol, Harper stood and helped him up with a grin.
“Better get going.”
His subconscious murmured.
“Better tell him.”
He stared at Harper.
“Tell him while you still can.”
His vision wavered. Could have been from adrenaline finally caving under fatigue. Could have been from how close he was to him.
“Section?”
Harper stared back at him.
“You good? Can you walk?”
“Tell him.”
Now? His throat constricted. He swallowed.
“Tell him.”
But how? His voice cracked. He forced through it.
“I…”
Explaining, reminiscing, testing, hesitating… In the end, he chose to cut to his core.
“… I love you.”
He had just enough time to watch Harper’s eyes widen before the world went dark.
~~~
With a soft thud, Harper slouched back against the couch, letting the controller fall from his hand.
“Man, I’m sleepy.”
He elbowed him teasingly.
“Weren’t you the one who said it’s too early to sleep?”
“Hey, both things—”
A huge yawn interrupted his words.
“— can be true.
It was impossible not to laugh.
“You know, logic says that if you’re looking forward to the holiday tomorrow, you should sleep earlier, not later.”
Harper scowled with exaggerated disapproval.
“C’mon, man. Where’s the fun in a holiday if you don’t stay up ridiculously late the night before?”
With a sudden burst of energy, he stood up.
“Speaking of ‘fun’, I’m way too sober right now. Want another beer?”
“Nope. That’s the fourth time you've asked me that tonight. I'm definitely done.”
“Seriously? Well, more for me.”
He shook his head.
“At this rate, instead of missing half your headshots, you're gonna miss all of them.”
“Hey! You squarin’ for a fight?”
He raised his hands in mock surrender.
“Tap out. Maybe tomorrow.”
Dropping the act, Harper looked at him with surprised interest.
“Wait, you have time tomorrow? Thought your uncle’s coming over.”
“Only around noon. You should meet him, actually. I think you’d get along.”
His forehead creased.
“Dunno. I’m not exactly the meet-the-parents type.”
He chuckled.
“If you say so. But honestly, you’re pretty similar. Actually, we’re kinda similar to my dad and uncle. Funny how things work out.”
“Similar, like, they always paired up for shit too?”
“Same unit, same missions, even same house when they lived off-base. Though my dad moved out when he got married, of course.”
“Huh. That is funny.”
Grinning, he nudged his side.
“So, is that in our future plans too? Combining our housing allowance for a nice place and staying roommates till you get hitched?”
“Till I get hitched? Could be you first, y’know.”
Though he'd said it with amusement, he felt a faintly wistful twinge. That's right. These nights of unwinding after work with a cold beer, a game or movie, and just each other wouldn't last forever. New commitments, responsibilities, ties would come between them. Someone would eventually take the first step to drift away.
“It’s more likely to be you, in fact.”
“Nah. Can't say if I'll ever settle down. You, on the other hand, fit right into the picket fence dream.”
“Maybe.”
That was the normal expectation.
“But I'm happy like this.”
“Yeah? You wanna stay like this forever?”
He shrugged.
“Why not?”
Laughing, Harper clapped him on the back.
“Right on, man. Let's do it.”
“What?”
His smile flickered alight.
“Really?”
“I mean, we can re-evaluate in twenty years or something.”
His hand lingered, sending a current of warmth rippling down his spine.
“But as you said, why not?”
“Hell yeah.”
He didn't think he'd change his mind.
~~~
As he stirred, the remnants of a headache throbbed dully in his temples. He cracked his eyes open. The ceiling lights were a bit too harsh, making him squint—
“Section!”
A hand reached over his face, shielding him from the glare.
“Feeling okay? Dizzy? Nauseous? You know where you are?”
His heart skipped a beat.
“Harper. Hey.”
He sat up slowly, meeting his eyes as naturally as possible.
“Yeah, I know. Infirmary, back at base. I’m fine. How about you?”
“All good, man. I'm not the one who had to survive that fuckup of an op.”
Harper’s grin seemed wholly normal. Maybe what happened before he’d passed out had been a dream? It would mean he hadn’t resolved anything, but it also meant he could breathe a little easier, at least in this moment. He’d figure it out. Think it carefully through. Find the perfect occasion to say—
“I love you.”
Everything froze for a second. The bed was solid underneath him, but he could have been plummeting in a freefall. His mind had braked to a standstill. Some indistinct thought pointed out that he’d stopped breathing.
“That’s what you said, right?”
Harper continued casually, as if he’d merely commented on the weather.
“I was thinking about it. Had a long trip back here, after all.”
He managed to summon an impressively coherent response.
“Oh.”
“Yep. But, y’know, just wanna check.”
His gaze bored right into the depths of his soul.
“You meant it like that?”
The door was open. He could feign confusion. He could make a shitty excuse. He could run again.
Except he knew that wasn't true. He couldn't bear another quiet lie. He couldn't swallow another dose of carbon monoxide.
It had never felt harder, yet easier to breathe.
“Yes.”
His voice stumbled.
“I did. I do.”
But he carried on.
“I wanted to tell you earlier. I just didn't know how to. But I've loved you. For a long time. It's… You’re…”
His deluge of long-stifled words all spilled free at once.
“You’re my best friend, of course I love you, and that's fine, so I tried to leave it at that, but it's not true, it's never really been true, because I love you, even when I called it something else, when I pretended I didn't, I still loved you, always, and I always will—”
His lips were warm. Warmer than he'd imagined. Did Harper run hot? He'd never had a chance to realise. Did this mean he'd have the chance? More chances? Was it okay to touch him back? Could he pull him in for a hug? Was he allowed to open his mouth a little, feel his breath melt into his own—
“Holy shit!”
They jerked apart as the bedside monitor erupted in a shrill blare.
“Uh, hang on—”
Harper jabbed at some buttons, then dashed to open the door and yell down the corridor.
“False alarm! He's fine!”
… He considered faking a faint. It wouldn't be too hard. His mind was already spinning, his face was overheating, and acknowledging that he'd triggered the fucking heart rate warning from a kiss was a step from sending him over the brink.
“Sorry.”
Before the pressure of his thoughts could make him black out again, Harper sat back down beside the bed and patted his shoulder lightly.
“I was trying to calm you down. Backfired pretty badly, huh?”
His voice came out as a croak.
“Yeah. I mean no. It's not your fault. It's mine. Not in a bad way. It's good. Great. Um.”
He gave up and turned his head away. Couldn't make things any more awkward.
“Hey, hey. Look at me.”
He squeezed his shoulder with less caution.
“Stop worrying. It’s honestly a compliment. Nice to know just kissing can get such a strong reaction outta you.”
That made him snap his gaze back around.
“I— I was surprised—”
Harper burst into a laugh.
“Breathe, Section. You're gonna pass out again.”
Feeling a bit defensive, he cleared his throat.
“And you? Why are you so calm?”
“Cause I had three hours to process this while you were out. But also, you're giving me too much credit.”
He leaned forward. The space between them narrowed enough that he could see the colour dusting his cheeks, the slight quiver in his lower lip.
“I don't think I'm that calm.”
“Oh.”
It was difficult to remember to breathe.
“Okay.”
His pulse thrummed in his ears. All the echoes of past things he'd wanted to say had fallen silent. He stared at him, then realised staring so much was unnerving and quickly glanced away, but it occurred that not making eye contact now of all times appeared too avoidant, so he hastily looked back, while wondering why he wasn't saying anything, yet then again, the ball did seem to be on his court…
“… Is this a one time thing?”
He wanted to take the question back even before Harper's eyebrows raised.
“No. What I mean is. Are we doing this again?”
That was worse.
“Wait. Not like that. I meant. This isn't it, right?”
Maybe shutting up was the best option.
Harper grinned.
“So basically, you wanna kiss again?”
He choked.
“No.”
He frowned.
“Man, I thought you liked it. Fine, I won't ask.”
… On the off chance that he wasn’t joking…
“That’s not what I meant by ‘no’. It just wasn’t what I was thinking.”
“Yeah? What were you thinking?”
Warmth crept further up his neck.
“Seriously, not like that. I need to ask something.”
“Hey, okay.”
His amusement settled down to an earnest look.
“Go on.”
He toyed with the hem of the blanket, the sheets suddenly feeling rough against his calves.
“Harper, all this… You mean it?”
Despite his best efforts, his voice trembled.
“Cause I do. I don’t have everything planned out, but I wanna be, y’know. Together.”
He’d poured out his heart, and now he offered it.
“I love you. I want a life with you. I want it forever.”
The seconds Harper stared at him without a response were the longest seconds he’d ever waited.
“… Whoa, Section. I honestly didn’t expect this.”
His mind blanked. His body tensed. Had he taken things too fast, too far? But he loved him. He wanted all of him, always—
“You wanna get married?”
He blinked. Twice. Very slowly.
“What?”
“Huh?”
Harper somehow managed to look more confused than him.
“Wait, what? That’s not what you were getting at?”
“Um. No. I haven’t thought quite that far.”
He flushed slightly.
“Not that I don’t want to. Just, one thing at a time.”
“Of course.”
His smile reflected the same spark in his, making his breath hitch.
“What did you wanna ask, then?”
Heat surged to his ears.
“If you see this as a long-term relationship. Long enough that you’ll move in with me.”
His gaze lit up.
“You gotta ask? Definitely. Hundred percent.”
His tone softened, speaking like even the syllables themselves were precious.
“You’re the closest person in my life, Section. The very best. I wouldn’t lose you for the world.”
He brushed against his palm, locking their fingers together.
“Friends or more, that’s never gonna change. Because I love you too.”
… Now he knew what holding his hand felt like.