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Jeremy had always known that at some point she'd ask. It was inevitable as the coyote running off the cliff.
It took longer than he'd thought. Eight months of quick kisses and fumbles and sneaking out of her tent when he was escorting her from one base to the next – since Monroe would probably not have given his blessing. Jeremy was pretty sure his old psychologist – assuming the guy wasn't dead, which he probably was since he'd been a short-sighted asthmatic with a heart condition – would say he was acting out. He made her laugh and she...well, he wasn't that complicated a dude and she was beautiful. They were on their way to Philadelphia when the other shoe dropped.
'Help me get away,' she said, mumbling the words into his shoulder as if not hearing them clearly meant they hadn't been said. Pretty blonde hair tangled sweatily over his chest and his limp cock was still inside her. 'Come with me. Please?'
Countdown to the end of a beautiful friendship – well, convenient and somewhat friendly arrangement – in 3...2....1 and 'I can't, Rache.'
He lifted her off his lap and got up off the cot, buttoning his shirt and making a good faith attempt at straightening his crumpled uniform. It didn't make much difference. He just wasn't built for creases and tight collars – his Grandfather had always said he must have been hung in a previous life.
Rachel didn't look at him as she got dressed, stepping into her trousers and buttoning her shirt over her boobs. Jeremy took a quick look before they disappeared – didn't figure he'd be seeing them again, and he'd gotten kind of fond of them. She wasn't trying to change his mind and somehow that made him feel more like he needed to justify himself.
'I can't betray Monroe,' he said.
The word 'too' flirted on the tip of his tongue, but he decided it was a bit too melodramatic. It wasn't like he was Monroe's second-best BFF or anything, but now that Miles had run off to find a red racehorse and have his mid-life crisis Jeremy had known Monroe longest. Mostly that meant Monroe tolerated him talking rather than any actual overt displays of affection – Jeremy had tried to hug him (manly, one armed) once, it hadn't gone well – but it probably would sting if he fucked off next.
Besides, he did actually believe in the militia. Unlike half the 'rebels' bitching about taxes and their god-given right to a governmental system that they seemed to think consisted solely of 'right to bear arms' and 'free speech', he'd actually seen what happened when people were left to their conscience. It had mostly looked like a boot to the face.
Rachel brushed past him. 'I know.' She got her comb and pulled it through her hair, tugging the tangles out. Once it was shining and straight she gathered it back and tied it into a loose ponytail.
'You're not going to yell at me?' Jeremy asked, half hopefully. 'Throw something.'
'No,' Rachel said, turning to look at him. 'I knew you wouldn't-'
'Couldn't.'
'Wouldn't help,' she repeated, giving him a 'no more of your shit' look. 'I was just...starting to want to believe you would.'
And there was a lower level of feeling like crap – good to know. Jeremy shoved his hand through his hair.
'Rache...'
'Don't.'
'I do, you know, care,' Jeremy said awkwardly. 'About you.'
She gave him a tight smile. 'Just not enough to save me.'
'I'm not exactly a knight in shining armour,' he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders. Big, clumsy and a bit slobby – the kid that never quite learned to use his size until Miles Matheson threatened to shove a tent pole up his ass if he didn't learn to throw a punch. 'I'm no one's hero.'
'You'd have done.'
He saw it, just for a second. She was right, he could help her get away if he wanted to. It would be three days before Monroe expected them to reach Philadelphia – that was enough of a head start. He'd be brave and moral – and not say something stupid - and get the girl, as well as a ready made family of vague child-shapes. It would be just like a Lifetime movie, only with more stabbed people and angry Generals.
It was just a shame that Jeremy didn't believe in happily ever afters.
'So your think your husband would be OK with an open marriage?' he asked, raising his eyebrows. 'I don't mind him watching, but I'm not real keen on the idea of him putting anything up my bum. What do you think?'
Rachel bit her lip guiltily and looked away. Yeah, that's what he'd thought. He didn't blame her. If he was in her position, he'd be offering to waive the bum rule if anyone could get him out (it was really more of a guideline).
'That's what I thought,' he said. 'I'm sorry, but I'd be a horrible step-dad anyhow.'
He turned to go, lifting the tent flap. 'I'm sorry,' Rachel said, making him pause. 'It wasn't a trick. Us.'
'Course not, Rache' he said, shrugging. 'It just wasn't forever. What is any more?'