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"Hey, Woods, it's Weaver. Sorry for calling so late but you're the first person I thought of."
"Weaver? What the hell do you want?"
There was a pause on the other end of the line, then, "Some of us went to the bar, Mason came with us. Jackson just called me and Mason's still there, not in great shape."
"Call his handler," Frank sneered. Alex wasn't his responsibility. Frank wasn't even in the CIA anymore. He was still recovering from Da Nang.
"You're the only person who knows how to reel him in. You know Hudson does maybe half as good as you."
"You two didn't learn much from torturing him, huh?"
"Get him or don't, I don't care. I thought you might rather get him now than tomorrow when he calls for a ride from the police station."
Click.
Nobody wants to get woken up at 1 a.m. to pick up their drunk, asshole friend. But he was worried about him. Alex drank regularly, but never that much. He had only gotten this drunk once, as far as Frank knew. After the gulag in '63.
He pulled into the parking lot of the old bar. The night was pretty at least, lots of stars, but then again what did he care about stupid stars? He threw open the door of the bar, and was met with cigarette smoke, shitty orange lighting, and drunken laughter.
It wasn't hard to find him, even in the semi-crowded bar. Not for Frank. He was sitting at a table in the back, surrounded by empty bottles and glasses. Everyone else had left. Frank wondered how many of those drinks were Alex's.
"Hey, Mason."
"Oh, hey, Frank. Sit down, have a drink," he said. He was a bleary eyed mess.
"As much as I'd like to, I'm here to pick you up."
"Remember when I picked you up from here that time? Good for nothing drunk bastard," Alex laughed.
"Yeah, that's not how I remember it. Alright, c'mere, Al." Frank bent down and pulled Alex's arm around his shoulders, put his own arm around Alex's waist, and helped him up.
"Thanks for the ride, Frank."
Frank had been expecting more of a fight, to be honest. But, like Weaver said, Frank worked wonders on Alex somehow, he always had. They stumbled out of the bar and got in Frank's truck.
He tore out of the bar parking lot, still pissed. Alex wasn't being a problem, at least, but he'd still had to pick him up and drag him out. And goddamn Weaver had called him to do it. Frank hated his guts ever since that fucking "interrogation." Like you could even call it that.
And he was still worried about Alex. What was up with him?
Alex was having an animated conversation with the backseat.
Frank mostly hoped Alex wouldn't puke in his truck.
Frank pulled into the driveway at Alex's house. And of course, Alex tried to be independent and get out of the car on his own. It didn't work out very well. Frank tried to let Alex lean on him again but he was almost completely dead weight this time and it would be hard to drag him up the steps like that.
He made Alex lean on the truck and he bent down, wrapped his arms around his thighs, and hoisted him over his shoulder.
"Fuck--" Frank hissed when he picked him up. He knew his back was gonna be sore for a day or two. "You heavy fucking bastard."
"I'm a killing machine, baby."
"Whatever."
Frank somehow managed to carry Alex to the bed without dropping him. And, being the generous man he was, he even took off Alex's boots.
"I owe you one," the idiot yawned.
"No, you don't," Frank sighed, feeling… He wasn't really sure. Defeated? "I'm just looking out for you."
"Your back hurts. I'll give you a back rub."
Frank wasn't sure he could deal with that. Alex's hands on his bare skin? God…
He couldn't say no, though. It was too good to resist. Frank hadn't been touched by anyone in months. Actually years. Not counting torture and doctors. He pulled off his t-shirt, sat on the edge of the bed and turned away from Alex.
When Alex touched him, he felt, for lack of a better description, butterflies in his stomach. His hands were rough, calloused, but warm. And damn, he was good. But it was so hard to ignore his feelings with Alex's hands all over him.
A guy can only save your ass so many times before you fall in love with him.
"Hope that helped," Alex's flopped back onto his pillows. Frank made sure to tuck the memory away in a safe place for a rainy day.
"Yeah, it did."
"You should stay here tonight."
"I guess I am a little worried you'll choke on your own vomit," Frank smiled. But God, he wanted to stay so bad. "I'll go sleep on the couch," he said as he stood up.
"The bed is big enough for two."
Frank bit back a gay joke. He took off his boots, too, and laid down on the empty side of the bed. Farther away than he would have liked to be. After a few minutes of silence, he asked the question that had been on his mind all night.
"Are you okay, Alex?"
"What?"
"You never get shitfaced like that. Only once and it was… It was after Vorkuta."
Alex was quiet for a moment. He looked out the window on his side of the bed.
"It's Viktor's birthday," he whispered."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
You know, I do this every year, pretty much. Drink to forget Viktor, drink to forget Joseph... Drink to forget you..."
Frank nodded.
When Alex looked back at him, Frank could see the dim moonlight glinting off the tears in his eyes.
The tears slipped down his face. "I thought I lost you, too, Frank. Nearly everyday I thought about you. And I thought about all the stuff you might not know, everything I never told you. That we got the bad guys. And I missed you and I'm sorry I didn't get Kravchenko before you did. That you fought well, you were smart, you were brave."
Frank was tearing up, and he hated it. He wondered if Alex could tell. He looked away.
"You're the best soldier I've had the honor of knowing." He could hear the tears in his own voice. Embarrassing.
"I lov-"
"You're drunk, Mason," Frank smiled. "Don't say anything you'll regret."
"I won't regret it. Let me say it just once. You don't have to act all hard in front of me. Look at me."
Frank looked him in the eyes. Maybe it was okay for a drunk guy to see him cry.
"I don't think I'm too tough to be in love, Al," he lied. "I think it's pointless to say shit like that when we both risk our lives constantly." That was the truth. "Save it for someone with a longer life expectancy."
"Yeah? I thought you were dead for four years and my biggest regret was not telling you."
"... Just once," he sighed. He did want to hear it, if he was being honest with himself. He reached over to hold his hand.
"I love you," Alex whispered.
"I love you, too."
Then, Alex leaned over and slowly pressed his lips to Frank's. His lips were soft and warm and Frank dedicated them to memory in the second that the kiss lasted.
Alex wrapped an arm around Frank and fell asleep quickly. It took a while longer for Frank, who didn't have the aid of alcohol. He listened to Alex snore and replayed the kiss in his head and worried too much. In the morning they would wake up, tangled together, and everything would be okay for a little while. Frank snuggled closer to Alex and closed his eyes.