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When all is said and done, when the tides finally turned, and when the leaves have settled, what happens to those with adventure still crawling in their hearts? What happens to those whose battles have just begun? If a warrior was tasked to no longer fight, how can they? How can one settle, live a life so blissful, so content when war rages their hearts? When death litters their mind, when gunshots ring loud in their ears, when dreams of bloodshed and death feel like reality?
It was particularly quiet that night, as it usually is. The suburbs of America usually were, especially this neighbourhood. Nothing roamed past 10pm, the streets were clean and the garden well-kempt. In the bedroom of the single bed house, laid Jack Morrison, and his partner. In a soft slumber they slept, hands interlinked, and the covers pulled high, Jack’s aged face bores into his partners similarly aged one. Soft breathing hangs in the room, the memory of soft kisses linger on each other’s faces, and yet in this serene feeling lies a dormant fear, a particularly harrowing and familiar one.
Jack’s face twitched, his mouth curled into a soft snarl, yet his body lay still. A moment passed before his face twitched again, his head recoiling in a quick moment, and his body twitched, and his face snapped into the pillow, a soft groan slipping from his lips, and a soft word lingered on his tongue, gradually repeating it until it became a loud shout, disturbing the peace of the room. Jack’s body shot up in horror, one arm lurching in protection of his now stirring partner, and the other jumping to cover his face, loud ringing and gunshots rung through his ears, and through a particularly loud shout of pain, he rolled over on top of his barely woken partner, wrapping himself in them and rolling them off the bed, rotating them so he fell first onto the hardwood floor yelling to get down.
His vision over the years has faded, his visor was propped up on his nightstand, on the other side of the bed, which he curses himself for now, knowing that he cannot fight back against the enemies nearby. He made sure to rotate himself on top of his partner, but through this chaos, and through this turmoil and through this war, a soft hand worked its way up his arm, past his shoulder and rested comfortably on Jack’s chin. A thumb caressed his cheeks softly, yet his gaze never faltered from the now-faint war sounds around him, the ringing starting to subside and the blurred figures he knew he saw no longer marched the room. A second hand gently curled itself around his neck, lightly massaging his hair.
There were no words spoken between them, Jack’s laboured, now evening out, breathes were all that was heard as his lovers fingers gently manoeuvred through his not-so-brittle hair, fingernails gently scratching his scalp, as his thumb softly traces the features of his war-worn face, the scars, his lips, the bags under his eyes, the contours of his cheeks, his jawline… every part of him, all of it worth loving. Jack’s eyes softened, his gaze now laying on the blurred figure of his partner, trying to calm his breathing. The figures were not real, a war was not being fought, and the gunshots were not ringing the house. He was safe, which he tries to remind himself regularly, but sometimes he slips up. Yet always, in this harrowing free fall, was a gentle landing waiting for him. Someone there who understood, who looked not at him with pity, but adoration, patience, and pride.
Jack Morrison had been a man who fought on his own for a long while, he pushed battles solo and came out alive, stitching himself up and carrying on like nothing had occurred. Yet now, after all of that, after everything, he had to learn to let someone in. Just one person, at least for now, his partner had said at the time, and maybe later on, more. It had been harder in the beginning, but over the years, as age come on and vision left slowly, he knew he would have to do it despite how he felt.
As they laid on the floor, Jack came to his senses after a while. He cleared his throat, a quick apology slipping past his lips, and then he lifted his partner up all in a swift motion to gently place them back on the bed before slipping under the covers himself. He snaked a hand around his lovers back, holding them close to him, softly kissing their head. Though tonight was another restless night, it didn’t matter much. Nothing much mattered to Jack, not when it was with you.
As the tides settle for tonight, and as the leaves settle in the winds, and all has been said and done, the warrior may rest for tonight. It is silent again, but it won’t be always, and that’s quite alright. His battles are not fault alone. Not anymore.