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The sun was commencing its descent when Alex finally plucked up the courage to see Michael. They needed to talk, and the last time they'd seen each other was over a week ago at the drive-in, and that didn't exactly end well.
Sanders working day usually ended by three in the afternoon, so the property is quiet, peaceful even. Alex parks his car behind the shed and secures the gate behind him.
With a deep, calming breath, he knocks on the airstream’s door. He's half expecting to see Michael’s face peer out from behind the newspaper covered window, only to ignore him, but there's no answer. He could be napping, or in the shower he supposes, pressing his ear against the cool exterior to listen. "Guerin, you in?"
"Alex?" Michael asks. The voice isn’t coming from the trailer. Alex spins around, eyes searching piles of scrap in search of him.
“Come round back," Michael elaborates. There’s not much behind the airstream, and when Alex hears splashing, he’s baffled. It crosses his mind that maybe he’s cleaning the exterior, it's definitely due a good scrub down, he thinks, walking around the airstream.
The scene before him is so bizarre, and not what he’s expecting; he stops dead in his tracks. Michael is relaxed and grinning, in a blow-up kiddie pool that's shaped and decorated as a doughnut.
"Jesus, are you wearing a speedo?" Alex wheezes when he eventually finds some words.
Michael shrugs. "I figured I could get away with it, you know, with this chiselled torso." He smirks and adds, "I wasn't anticipating an audience."
Alex is still gawking, and he wants to stop; he does, but this isn't his Guerin. Maybe he didn't drink enough water today, and this is a mirage.
"But a Speedo?" Alex challenges. Because even if it's an odd choice to have some alone time in your kiddy pool, the Speedo's are overdoing it.
“Manes, you know what I’m packing, don’t be such a prude.”
Alex doesn't have a rebuttal for that. He's too busy taking in how carefree and if he's honest, fantastic, Michael looks. His skin is glowing.
"Fine," he admits pointedly averting his eyes as he takes a seat in one of the rusted old chairs that Michael's slung his towel over.
“So, what's up?”
Alex leans forward, crossing his arms over his knees. "I came to talk to you. We haven't had much of a chance since I've been back."
Michael shakes his head, and quips, “Let me guess, you’re here to talk about our messed-up pattern of fighting and fucking?”
Alex lets his head fall into his hands. "Could you be serious for a second?"
"No, Alex," he snaps, clearly annoyed. "I'm in a kiddie pool; I'm trying the fuck not to be serious."
When Alex doesn't lift his head, Michael lets out an immense sigh, loaded with the weight of all the things he doesn't want to say but knows Alex deserves to hear. He needs to trust Alex with this.
"The last thing you said to me at the drive-in," Michael begins. Alex’s looks up at him immediately.
"Guerin," Alex interrupts, and Michael can see the sincere apology in his eyes, but he doesn’t need one.
"No. Don't apologise," he disagrees, "I know who you are. You've never said anything to me that wasn't the truth. And the truth is, I'm a mess, and I don't want to be that person anymore."
Alex's maintains eye contact with him, and Michael notes that for the first time since he's been back, he's not evasive when shit gets real.
"I want to be the version of myself that you like, one that deserves your respect."
Alex's breathing halts for a beat. He tries hard to wipe the emotions he's feeling off his face. Michael has always been good enough for him, and it pisses him off that he let Sergeant Manes poison his mind that night.
"So," Michael continues after a slow breath, "I scheduled an appointment with my therapist, for the first time in nine years."
Alex's thoughts scatter. He'd never imagined that Michael might have a therapist, and fuck his dad and this invisible hold he had over him, that shit needed to change. But then there's the bombshell that Michael must have sought therapy in the year after Alex left.
“Wow,” Alex croaked, and he knows that's the wrong thing to say, but this is a lot to take in.
Michael raises his eyebrows and gives him an understanding smile, knowing what Alex's brain must be filtering through right now.
"Anyway, therapists tend to get paid to illuminate your faults and tell you how you might fix them, so here we are!"
At that, Michael raises his drink, and Alex notices it’s a can of soda and his preconceived notion of a bourbon mixer, makes him feel nauseous. Guerin isn't just talking the talk; he's made progress.
"How long?" Alex asks, his voice sounds far away to his ears.
"Nearly a week," Michael replies with a sigh, "It's been tough, hence the new self-care routine." Michael stretches out, relaxing back in the kiddie pool.
“A week,” Alex echoes. Contemplating that Guerin is usually in the drunk tank every week, or so he’s heard. “That’s good.”
The water moves as Michael drags his knees up to his chest. Even the small amount of praise Alex is giving makes him feel warm and happy, which makes the rest of this discussion, even harder.
“Look, Alex, I know we’re always going to mean something to each other, but while I sort my shit out-“
“We.” Alex interrupts, a confession of his own, “we sort our shit out.”
“Okay,” Michael concedes, “Maybe we should just be..”
"Be friends." Alex completes for him.
“Yeah,” Michael says slowly, hoping to God that Alex gets it, that this is what they need right now. “It sounds cliched,” Michael frets, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Alex nods. “No, I get it.” He hasn't experienced this version of Michael for ten years; this Michael knows who he is and what he wants, and Alex respects him all the more for even attempting to ditch the booze.
Michael disrupts his poetic thoughts by flicking water in his direction. “You close the gate on your way in?”
Alex's gorgeous frown lines appear. “Yeah, why?”
Michael grins and propels more water toward him.
“Get in.”
"The kiddie pool?” Alex asks incredulously, “that barely has enough room for you? I don’t think so.”
Michael scowls at him; then his face becomes mischievous. “Come on, buddy.” He annunciates the 'buddy' with every ounce of sarcasm he can muster.
Alex rolls his eyes. “You’re going to throw our newly renewed friendship in my face, and use it to bribe me to get in a kiddie pool with you?"
Michael shrugs, not ashamed to get what he wants. "Yep, it's for your own good. Now, get in here and enjoy a soda with me."
Alex can't believe he's going to do this. If only his father could see him now. He strips off his Airforce tee, then undoes his jeans, not missing the way Michael swallows and drags his eyes away from his chest. With care, he removes the prosthetic and sets it down behind the chair and shuffles the rest of the way out of his jeans.
Michael's beside him when he pushes up out of the chair. He helps Alex into the pool tenderly, while Alex tries not to think about Michael being dripping wet and man-handling him. Michael retrieves a cherry soda from the cooler, as Alex leans back against the rim and closes his eyes. "Not bad," Alex decides.
Michael nudges Alex's injured leg gently to get his attention. Alex smiles with his eyes still closed. He loves that Michael doesn't treat him any differently since his injury, unlike most people who seem to tip-toe around him like he's some delicate flower.
“See, it’s not therapy, but it feels good, right?”
Alex smiles again, squinting against the sun setting behind Michael.
“Here,” Michael offers, ditching the cowboy hat and grabbing a pair of sunnies that look like they've featured in one of Lady GaGa’s film clips.
Alex takes them regardless of their hideousness; he's already in a kiddie pool in his underwear.
Michael chuckles. He’s seen Alex do punk, but drag is new.
"God, you're a sexy bitch, Manes!" This time he chucks a whole handful of water over Alex's chest.
Alex doesn't move except to raise his middle fingers. He has a stupid grin plastered all over his face that he can't contain, as he waits for Guerin's eyes to slip shut; then he goes for the hair.
Now Guerin is akin to a drowned poodle; they're even. It feels right. With no pressure to be anything more than friends, it feels like a weight has lifted, and they can just be themselves. Case in point when Captain sarcasm opens his mouth again.
“So, why’d you join the Airforce anyway? Did Fall Out Boy not need a fifth member?” Michael’s stupid ass grin is glorious when he’s teasing.
“You’re so immature,” Alex replies, no sting to his words.
“I’m a work in progress, okay?”
The sun disappears behind the mountains.
Alex slides the sunglasses down his nose and raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, I don’t think any amount of therapy is gonna fix that.”
Michael looks faux affronted, then kicks water all over Alex until he's saturated.
Alex laughs, thinking to himself, maybe Michael's onto something. Maybe as friends, they can slowly heal together, then someday, down the track, they can have it all.