Archive of Our Own

Parris Island, SC - August 1990

The euphoria that comes from actually getting through boot camp wears down quickly. 

They had celebrated with partying and too much alcohol-alcohol most of them shouldn't even had had because of their ages but nobody had cared and so it hadn't mattered. Also, it had been the first time in his entire life that Cameron had actually enjoyed being at a party. Not that he had been invited to many parties before but still, even after that short period of time the guys from his platoon have started to feel like friends, brothers, to him and he had never had more friends than Ray. So he had enjoyed the party and the TV channel running in the background had been concerning them only for a moment. Then the alcohol and the relief of finishing boot camp had washed away their worries quickly enough.

The realization of what their life would be now had come the next morning. Howitt had woken them as harshly as ever–although an hour later than usually–and they had gotten their first real orders. Well, most of them had. Cameron had only gotten a note telling him to pack his and Jones’ things up and to come to Farjado’s office an hour later. So Cameron had done exactly that while the other recruits–proper Marines now–had filled out one after another. 

When it had been Ray’s time to leave, saying goodbye to him–weirdly enough–hadn't even felt that strange. Cameron had known that he would miss him–of course he would, they are best friends–but at the same time he had felt good enough to go on his own. They had hugged, they had promised to write to each other regularly and then Ray had left. Following that, Cameron had had similar conversations with some of the other former recruits too, and then it had been time to get to Farjado's office. 

When he had reached Farjado's office he had been surprised to find Howitt and McKinnon there too, apparently waiting for Farjado, just like him. He had stopped a few feet away from them though. It had felt out of line to close up to them and he hadn't wanted to intrude in their chatter (“See, I've said all along that something's off with him. I think he's been drinking. Wouldn't surprise me if he doesn't even want to be found.” – “He's one of us no matter what, Cary.” – “Didn't say he shouldn't be found.”). Then–to Cameron's dismay–Howitt had looked over to him and had asked for his opinion (“What do you think, Cope? You've been the last one to see him alive.”). Luckily, Farjado had called all three of them in at that moment. 

Farjado had asked all three of them–first together, then individually–what they knew about Sullivan going MIA. Cameron had told her everything he could without disclosing his–their–secret. 

Most of the following hours had gone by in a blur. Search and rescue for Sullivan. Cameron had been part of it. No, he hadn't just been a part of it. He had been an important part of it. He had led them to where Sullivan had left him and Jones and then, shortly before sundown, he had actually found him, not that far away from where he had left off, but well hidden, passed out and without any signs of life. Cameron had performed CPR on him which had brought him back to breathing but not out of unconsciousness. 

Sullivan had been handed over to the docs and brought to the sick bay. Fajardo had thanked Cameron, then had told him to move Jones’ things to the sick bay and his own belongings to the regular barracks before giving him orders that had resulted in him sitting inside a sick bay room and on the most uncomfortable chair Earth has ever seen–next to Sullivan's bed and waiting for him to wake up. The order had surprised him but you do what you're told and so now, two days later, he's still sitting there, waiting and starting to read a book that Hicks–of all people–had given him as a parting gift (“Some light reading for ya. I don't need it anymore, unnecessary baggage. Write me a letter when you're done with it.”). 

For the last two days, Cameron had been debating with himself if he should even start reading this book because he's pretty sure that his and Hicks’ opinions on some light reading deviate very far from each other. However, waiting like this is not exactly interesting and so his mind has started to wander off, thinking about the past thirteen weeks, about Sullivan, about where the rest of his platoon would be shipped off to, about his mom, about what she had done, that she had actually faked his birth certificate but also that she had signed the waiver, then back to Sullivan and what would become of him now. A dishonorable discharge for punching a guy into coma, a fine–or even jail? Would Farjado try to help him? Apparently, again? Would he want help? He hadn't just wandered off into the swamp for fun. 

Cameron's head is buzzing with questions and in a vain attempt to shut them out, he grabs the book and starts reading. 

He's only five pages in, however, when he hears some rustling coming from Sullivan's bed and shoots up from his chair. Sullivan blinks, coughs, then reaches with his left hand for the IV access in the crook of his right arm. It all happens so fast that there are only two things Cameron manages to do in due time: One, calling out for a doc to come by. Two, leaping forward–the book landing on the floor with a dull thud–and grabbing Sullivan's left wrist to prevent him from pulling out the IV access. Sullivan doesn't fight Cameron's grip physically but the glare he's shooting at Cameron tells him more than clearly that he absolutely doesn't approve. 

“Let me!” Sullivan groans hatefully. His voice is much weaker than Cameron has ever heard him and it's hoarse. It's obvious that he's trying to put heat and anger behind his words but it's not coming through. 

“No, sir, I won't. You were trying to pull out your access,” Cameron explains needlessly and keeps his fingers wrapped around Sullivan's wrist. 

“Don't fucking touch me!” Sullivan hisses. Now he actually tries to free himself with a jerk of his arm but either he's not really trying or he's weaker than Cameron had expected because it's not even difficult for him to keep his grip. 

“Only if you won't rip off your access,” Cameron replies heatedly. 

Sullivan huffs. He doesn’t say anything but keeps glaring darkly at Cameron. Nonetheless, Cameron can feel the tension leaving Sullivan's arm and a moment later Sullivan drops his arm on the bed. Cameron lets go of Sullivan's arm and they share another intense look. 

“Ah, wonderful! You're awake. How are you feeling, Sergeant?” The doc Cameron had called for asks while walking up to the bed. 

Cameron turns away, quickly picks up his book and retreats from the room. Before closing the door, he can hear Sullivan replying to the doc’s question with a sarcastic “Great”. Cameron sighs silently and sits down in one of the chairs lined up along the hallway. He thinks about getting back to reading but with Sullivan having just woken up his barely contained thoughts are starting to run wild again. What does it mean that he's awake now? How is he doing? Why did he want to pull out his IV access immediately? And for how long would Farjado want Cameron to stay with him? Would he get another order now? What was waiting for him now? Kuwait?

“Private first class?” Cameron hears a voice next to him ask. It takes him a second to get out of his head and to understand that the voice is the doc and that he's addressing Cameron. 

“Yes, sir?” He replies, now standing at attention. 

“You can go back inside now. Having a friend around will do him good.” 

“I'm just following orders, sir.” 

The doc ignores Cameron's interjection and just goes on: “He'll be back to physical health soon. His mental state, however, appears to be rather concerning.” 

Cameron nods although he's almost sure that the doc shouldn't have been so open towards him about Sullivan’s health record. Then again, he's glad to be provided with these pieces of information. Sullivan surely won't tell him. 

Then the doc leaves and Cameron walks back into Sullivan's room. He keeps his head straight but his eyes quickly flick over to Sullivan’s arm, checking if the IV access is still there and if it's connected to the bag. Which it is. Good. 

“What are you doing here?” Sullivan hisses at him. 

“I was waiting for you to wake up, sir,” Cameron explains as calmly as he can while Sullivan is glaring at him angrily. 

“Do you think that's funny? I don't need a watch dog,” Sullivan spits. He still sounds weak but it's almost impressive just how much hatred already is sipping into his words again. 

“Orders from Captain Fajardo, sir.” 

Sullivan huffs dismissively. “I'm awake now so leave me the fuck alone.” 

“Won't do that, sir,” Cameron replies while sitting back down in his chair, claiming his place. “My order is to keep you company until she tells me otherwise.” 

Sullivan flexes his jaw. “I don't need company.” 

“That’s not your decision to make, sir,” Cameron replies. He leans back in his chair and demonstratively picks up his book. 

There's no way he can actually get back to reading, or rather start reading at all. Sullivan’s presence fills the room now and Cameron feels him staring at him like he has done so often over the past months. Nevertheless, he pretends to be reading although in fact all he can think about is Sullivan's disdainful looks. 

It had certainly been easier to just sit there and wait when Sullivan hadn't been awake. Back then the silence had been almost comfortable, now it's almost suffocating. Still, Cameron tries to ignore it the best he can because if he didn't he would just keep quarrelling with Sullivan and that's not what he's here for. Then again, why did Farjado put him here anyway? Maybe she wants them to talk? But this is hardly talking. It's quarrelling, almost fighting, and in no way anything you should be doing while recovering from–what exactly? Attempted suicide? Was it really that? Cameron doesn't want to think about it, doesn't want to imagine how it would feel if Sullivan was dead, doesn't want to imagine the sudden emptiness his death would leave behind, Ochoa’s death still too fresh in his mind. 

“Do you need anything, sir?” Cameron comments on Sullivan's staring to keep himself from thinking about hypothetics while looking up from the book he hasn't been reading anyway. 

He watches Sullivan avert his gaze, almost as if caught. But that can't be. Sullivan doesn't back down, not like that. 

“No,” Sullivan replies quietly. Their eyes meet again but suddenly all of Sullivan's harshness is gone. They are almost soft although the description doesn't feel right at all. They remind Cameron of the way Sullivan had looked at him when he had told him about ghosts in the duty hut, when he had found out that Cameron had kept Ochoa's hat, when he had last seen him in the swamps. In these moments, Sullivan had looked human and now he looks human too. Something heavy inside Cameron's chest drops seeing him like this.

Cameron tries not to think about it too much, however, and so he just nods, acknowledging Sullivan's reply. Sullivan just turns his head to face the ceiling and closes his eyes. A moment later, he falls asleep. Cameron lets him. He turns back to his book but he suddenly notices how heavy his eyelids feel. He tries to keep them open but when he starts slipping in and out of consciousness, he just decides to give in for a moment. If Sullivan is sleeping, he can do that too–at least for a few minutes. 

Both of them wake up to the sound of a determined knock on the door. A second later Captain Farjado is standing in the middle of the room and Cameron jumps up to stand at attention. 

“I see you're following my orders. Very well. I'm glad your mother signed the waiver,” she says. In the corner of his eye, Cameron sees the faintest allusion of a frown on Sullivan's face. 

“It would’ve been a shame to lose another promising Marine,” she continues towards Cameron but it's clear that her quip is much more meant for Sullivan. 

Fajardo then actually turns around towards Sullivan. With her back towards Cameron, it gives him the opportunity to let his eyes roam a bit more freely and they naturally land on Sullivan whose features are frozen now, his jaw tense, but it seems he's looking Fajardo right in the eye. 

“I hope you'll be back to health soon,” Fajardo says icily. 

Sullivan breathes through his nose. “As if you care! Just sign my fucking discharge and I'm none of your business anymore!” 

“Sergeant,” she scolds him sharply. “We'll talk soon enough. Until then, Private first class Cope will stay with you.” 

Sullivan huffs and turns his head to stare at the ceiling. When it's obvious that he won't give an answer, Fajardo turns towards Cameron again. “Is my order clear?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Cameron replies. 

With that she walks off, Cameron salutes and she closes the door behind her, leaving Cameron puzzled and Sullivan groaning with uncontained annoyance. However, he doesn't say anything and the silence feels awkward. 

Cameron keeps standing, suddenly unsure whether he should sit. It's obvious that Sullivan is upset and Cameron isn't keen on provoking an outbreak of his rage. Cameron knows he could handle it–the last thirteen weeks have taught him–but it wouldn't do Sullivan any good. He's here to rest, get back to health. And Cameron? He still doesn't know exactly why he's here but as long as he is he can at least do his best to make sure that Sullivan gets better and not worse. 

Suddenly, his inner voice pops up next to him. 

“You sure the only reason you want to help Sullivan is because you want to fulfill Farjado's order?” his inner voice says, tilting his head and eying him suspiciously. 

Cameron rolls his eyes at his inner self. “He helped me through boot camp. I owe him.” 

“Helped you? More like tortured you through it,” his inner self points out, hands on his hips. “You don't owe him anything.” 

Cameron shoots him another look. 

“You like him.” 

“Cope, sit!” Sullivan's voice rips through Cameron’s ears. His inner self is gone instantly and Cameron is not complaining. If there's one thing he doesn't want to discuss with his inner voice, it's Sullivan and whether he likes him or not.

Cameron sits down in his chair, only realizing as he does so that he had been pacing up and down the room. “I'm sorry, sir.” 

“Are you also sorry for lying to me?” Sullivan asks, his voice dangerously neutral.

Cameron squints his eyes at him, hoping for a clarification without having to ask for it. 

“How old are you, Cope?” 

Oh. Well, Fajardo did mention the waiver so he should have seen this coming but Sullivan will never believe his story–if he's even bothered enough to ask, that is. 

“Seventeen, sir,” Cameron replies truthfully. 

“Then why the fuck did you tell me you're eighteen?” Sullivan asks. His words are harsh and his tone is, too. If Cameron listens closely, however, there's something else mixed into his voice but he can't quite determine what it is. 

“Because back then I actually thought I was eighteen.” 

Sullivan doesn't say anything but by now Cameron is so used to the look on his face that he knows that he's giving him a chance to explain. 

“When I was a toddler my mother faked my date of birth to get me into kindergarten.” Cameron frowns to himself, realizing how stupid his words sound out loud. “I'm eight months younger than I thought I am. My gracious mother chose to tell me just a few days ago–on graduation day–to get me out of the Marines. I told her I want to stay. She signed the waiver. I don't think she understands and she probably still thinks this is a huge mistake and that I'm too weak but at least–and for once in my life–she actually listened to me,” Cameron ends, both bitterness and anger seeping into his voice thinking about the ignorance she's always treated him with. 

“That's one fucked up story, Cope!” Sullivan exclaims and to Cameron's utter surprise, Sullivan laughs doing so. It instantly washes a good number of Cameron's bitter thoughts away and he realizes he's never heard Sullivan laugh before. Cameron catches himself thinking that it's a beautiful sound that suits Sullivan surprisingly well. 

“I know,” Cameron joins in with a small chuckle. “My mother is… one of a kind I guess. You know what she said when I told her I'm leaving for boot camp? Don't forget the milk!” 

“Is that your new pick up line?” Cameron's inner self pops up out of nowhere, reminding him of his conversation with Nash at the beginning of boot camp.  

“At least you know what to get her when you're going home for your first leave,” Sullivan replies as a joke but his voice is tainted by cynicism. 

“I will do that, sir,” Cameron agrees. 

“Does she know…,” Sullivan starts but trails off quickly. 

Cameron nods slowly. Sullivan doesn't have to finish his question for Cameron to know what he's asking. “We don't talk about it though.” 

Cameron would love to ask the same question back at Sullivan but he knows it'd be out of line. Also, he doesn't want to risk this moment of ceasefire, this tiny little moment in which Sullivan isn't hissing, scolding, shouting at him. 

Cameron doesn't get a chance to ask either because right then a nurse comes in with a food tray. She places the tray on the side table of Sullivan's bed and lifts the lid. The smell of some kind of stew hits Cameron’s nostrils and his stomach replies with a demanding growl.

“You should get some chow, too,” the nurse comments before leaving both of them alone again. 

“Dig in,” Sullivan comments, waving at the tray dismissively.  

Cameron frowns. “This is for you, sir.” 

“Just eat it, Cope!” Sullivan orders. 

Cameron stands up. “No, this is yours. You eat it. I'll get something in the mess hall. See you later!” He declares resolutely before leaving the room without waiting for Sullivan to answer. 

On his way to the mess hall his inner voice starts walking with him. 

“And here I was thinking you actually wanted to stay here. What a fool I was!” he exclaims dramatically. 

Cameron ignores him and keeps on walking. 

“Bit out of line for a simple Marine to tell a sergeant off like this, don't you think?” 

Cameron still doesn't reply. 

“Hey, c’mon, that was a joke! I'm proud of you for standing your ground,” his inner voice says, softer now and nudging Cameron's side with his elbow. “And you're right. He needs to eat something. Sergeant or not.” 

That gets Cameron to actually look at his inner self. “It was pretty much out of line, wasn't it?” he asks cautiously, bad conscience creeping up inside him. 

“Not as bad as how you talked to him in the swamps,” his inner self assesses with a shrug. “You should be fine.” 

“I shouldn't have left him alone,” Cameron says thoughtfully. 

“Oh, come on, he'll get by on his own for half an hour,” his inner self tries to shrug off Cameron's worries. “And anyways, can we now please talk about how gorgeous his laugh is?” 

His inner self honest to God swoons and Cameron groans. 

“You know I'm right,” his inner self prods, wiggling his eyebrows. “Just admit it! There's nothing wrong with having a little crush on your sexy, former DI. He's even warming up to you.” 

“There's nothing to admit!” Cameron retorts angrily. 

“Uh huh, and the way he touched your leg on the Stairway to Heaven did nothing to you and that color on your cheeks isn't a blush?” his inner self chuckles. 

“Just shut up, okay?” Cameron relents as he's entering the mess hall. 

For once his inner self actually listens and just smiles back at him with a knowing look on his face. 

The next half an hour actually passes with Cameron not overthinking everything too much. On the one hand, he's way too hungry to form a proper thought and on the other hand, the mess hall is way too noisy and loud. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to hear his own thoughts and he's thankful for it. 

When Cameron gets back to Sullivan’s room, the tray is still standing untouched on the side table and Sullivan seems fast asleep. At least, he doesn't react in any way but his breathing is deep and even. Right now, he looks… almost peaceful and for a moment, Cameron allows himself to actually look at him, lets his gaze roam over his softened out face. There aren’t any hard lines, no tense just jaw, just a growing stubble on his cheeks, chin and above his upper lip, a few speckles around his nose... Of course, he still doesn't really look healthy, heavy bags under his eyes and just generally exhausted. Nevertheless, Cameron's mind wanders back to earlier when they had shared a laugh, remembers the sound of it and all of a sudden, something warm pools deep down in Cameron's stomach. 

Shit, maybe his inner self wasn't that wrong. 

Cameron averts his gaze with a jerk, sits down in his chair and takes his book back up. He’s sure he won't manage to remember any of the words later but maybe he can shut out his thoughts, even if it's just for a short moment.

The moment turns out to be longer than expected. Sullivan keeps sleeping and Cameron actually feels like he can take in what he's reading. Since he missed the beginning of the story though, he starts anew, this time actually paying attention to the words. At some point the nurse comes back in, tsks at the untouched tray but takes it with her without saying anything. 

Afternoon turns into evening and the nurse comes back in. Cameron watches her placing another tray with food on the side table and checking Sullivan's IV bag. At last, she wordlessly hands Cameron a blanket which he thanks her for. This will make his night at least somewhat more comfortable. 

As soon as she's gone again, Sullivan opens his eyes and offers Cameron his meal again. Before Cameron can even think about disagreeing, Sullivan's eyes are closed again and a moment later, he seems to be back to sleeping. Cameron gets himself something to drink and then actually helps himself to one of the three slices of bread on Sullivan’s tray. 

When he's done, he wraps himself in the blanket and takes up his book again because what else is there to do? 

“Trying to shut me up again, are you?” his inner self asks, sitting crossed-legged on the floor in front of him. Cameron puts the book he only just took up back on the table next to him. 

“I'm just trying to pass the time,” Cameron replies and it's not entirely wrong. 

“It's concerning that he doesn't eat.” 

Now that's a statement Cameron hadn't expected. “I know!” he replies, seriously concerned. 

“So what are we going to do about it?” 

Cameron shrugs. “Not much we can do about it, right? It isn't really our concern and last time I said something it didn't help either.” 

“No, Cameron, that's not the right answer here,” his inner self scolds him. “Address it again! You're here for a reason!” 

“Okay, okay, if he doesn't touch his breakfast tomorrow morning, I'll call him out!”

He doesn't touch his breakfast. 

However, as soon as Cameron manages to pull up the courage to address the topic, first one of the docs checks on Sullivan and then Captain Fajardo pays them another visit. 

“Private first class Cope, I'm content you're still following my orders. However, this conversation is not meant for you. Hit the showers and get some breakfast,” she addresses Cameron. 

“He can stay, ma’am,” Sullivan interjects which leaves Cameron standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. 

Fajardo turns, facing Sullivan who is sitting up in his bed. “This conversation is going to be about… personal matters, Sergeant.” 

“I want him to stay, ma’am,” Sullivan insists and Cameron feels like a divorce child stuck between their parents. “I trust him.” 

“Fine,” Fajardo huffs. Cameron still feels like he's intruding into something but if Sullivan wants him to stay and Fajardo lets him, he'll stay and listen. 

“I am here to discuss how we will proceed. First, the investigation about your personal preferences. I keep my word. Neither is it any of their business, nor is it my business and if it comes back around we'll deal with it. 

“Second, your lashing out against a civilian. The victim is getting better and, miraculously, neither him nor his family want to press charges against you. However, you will still have to account for your actions in another internal investigation. 

“Third, you disappearing into the swamps. I could discharge you for attempting to desert but I won't do that. You will have to undergo therapy, work on your issues, get yourself back into a mentally stable condition. If that's done, we'll see how to proceed,” Fajardo finishes her monologue. Cameron’s head is spinning with all the new pieces of information but overall it doesn’t sound too bad, does it?

“With all due respect but you don’t sound like there is any discussion, ma’am. You're just telling me what you want me to do! Just sign my discharge and stop pretending you care about me!” Sullivan hisses angrily. 

“You’re right, Sergeant,” Fajardo relents, her voice soft but strict. “But to my regret there really is no room for discussion here until you aren’t acutely suicidal anymore. Therapy will help you do that.” 

“Then tell me how the fuck I am supposed to talk to a therapist when I’m not allowed to talk about the fucking problem?!” Sullivan growls, arms defensively crossed in front of his chest and his voice thick with frustration. 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way, Sergeant!” Fajardo replies. She seems equally touched but it’s also clear that she won’t change her opinion. 

Sullivan doesn’t answer but from Cameron’s position he can see that Sullivan flashes his eyes at her angrily and Cameron gets it. What Fajardo is offering really doesn’t seem like a feasible plan now. 

“You’ll be scheduled with a therapist from tomorrow on. Make it do, Sergeant!” Fajardo announces as if all of this wasn’t completely unfair. 

A few seconds later, she is gone. “Don’t stand there like a pussy. You heard the Captain. Hit the showers and have some breakfast, Cope!” Sullivan barks and Cameron doesn’t even think about arguing against it. 

“Yes, sir,” Cameron replies mechanically. As soon as he’s out of the door he takes a deep breath and is actually glad for the short break as it’s giving him time to process and think. Also, he really needs a shower and something to eat. His brain is buzzing on the way to the barracks and he would really like to discuss everything he’s just heard with his inner self. Unfortunately, however, he just doesn’t show up. Cameron knows there’s just no way he can sort all that out on his own and so when he gets back to Sullivan half an hour later he feels just as confused and overwhelmed as he was when he first left. 

Sullivan doesn’t say anything when Cameron enters the room but Cameron feels his eyes on him. He only manages to ignore it for a short moment and doesn’t even sit down. 

“Why did you want me there with Captain Fajardo earlier?” Cameron asks straightaway and is actually surprised that this is the first question that comes to his mind. 

Cameron watches Sullivan take a deep breath and fully expects him to say that it’s none of his fucking business but surprisingly he gets an answer. “Fajardo has no idea what it’s like to be like us. I wanted you to see that.” 

Cameron nods slowly. “Do you really think she doesn’t care about you?” 

Sullivan huffs. “Only thing she cares about is to save her own ass,” he replies, aggravation rising in his voice. Cameron frowns at him and it’s enough to make him go on. “Don’t you get it? One of her subordinates committing suicide wouldn’t look good on her track record! That’s all she…”

“You didn’t really want to kill yourself!” Cameron interrupts him harshly, suddenly very much affected with how casually Sullivan mentions his attempted suicide. 

“You fucking think you can talk to me like that?” Sullivan hisses. “You didn’t learn a single thing in boot…” 

“You could have shot yourself, you could have drowned yourself, you could have hanged yourself. There were literally a thousand ways to kill yourself out there in the swamps! But you didn’t! What were you trying to do? Starving yourself to death? Because you’re so pathetic and your life is so miserable that you don’t even allow yourself a quick death?!” Cameron interrupts him again, going on completely unimpressed by Sullivan’s outbreak. He’s not in boot camp anymore and if there’s one thing he learned there it’s getting used to Sullivan (or anybody else) shouting at him. 

“Shut up, Cope!” Sullivan whisper-shouts now, panting heavily and tears wetting his eyes. 

“Why? Because you fucking know I’m right? And you know what? I get it. Your situation is dire but if you seriously wanted to die, you would have found a much better way. You don’t want to die! You just want to torture yourself! That’s also why you haven’t touched any of your meals since you’re here!” Cameron goes on, shouting back at him. 

“Fuck,” Sullivan cries. He punches his fist into the mattress next to his thigh. “I don’t fucking know what to do!” Sullivan squeezes his eyes shut, panting heavily and the tears in his eyes finally rolling down his cheeks. 

Cameron didn’t expect to be affected so much but he feels like his heart shatters into pieces seeing Sullivan like that, seeing him so… broken and weak. For a moment, Cameron is frozen but then Sullivan starts pulling at the band aid that is keeping his IV access in place and Cameron takes a leap forward. 

“I’m on your side,” Cameron whispers, all heat gone from his voice. Simultaneously, he grabs the back of Sullivan’s hand and carefully draws it away from the IV access. Sullivan lets him do it without any resistance. “C’mon, breathe…” 

To Cameron’s surprise, Sullivan actually listens to him and tries to take a deep breath. It’s stuttery and shaky and tears continue to run down his cheeks but he seems to be calming down already. Cameron feels the sudden urge to wipe away Sullivan’s tears but of course he doesn’t do that. It would be even more out of line than holding his hand. But that is necessary right now, isn’t it? To stop Sullivan from hurting himself, right? 

However, Cameron can’t follow this train of thought any further because he feels Sullivan turn his hand around in his and squeeze it tightly. Their eyes meet for a long moment and neither of them averts his gaze. Sullivan’s eyes look soft, sad and Cameron never ever wants to look away again. Then, however, Sullivan lets go of his hand, wipes his tears away and as quickly as he had lost his composure, he sets it back up. 

“What’s the stupid book you're reading when I'm asleep about?” Sullivan asks and Cameron can’t help but smile as he turns around to look at said book, lying on the table at the other end of the room. Sullivan is obviously trying to distract himself now and if it means Sullivan won’t shout at him or try to harm himself for the foreseeable future Cameron surely doesn’t mind. 

“Oh, uh, Hicks gave it to me as a parting gift of sorts,” Cameron begins in a talkative voice while taking the steps back to his chair and sitting down. He takes the book in his hands, turning it around uselessly. “He called it light reading. I really wasn't sure if we'd agree on what light reading is but I didn't have anything to do so I started reading. It's actually pretty good though.” 

Sullivan seems to be listening carefully, completely focusing on Cameron's words and so Cameron actually starts talking about the contents of the book. Before long, Cameron’s monologue becomes a conversation and soon enough, they start talking about more than just the book. They never breach any difficult topic, never speak about their families. Well, not about their families related by blood but at some point, Sullivan starts talking about former comrades and calls the Marine Corps his family. That's all Cameron needs to know about Sullivan's blood relations and Cameron wonders if that's how he will refer to the people he'll meet along the way as a Marine too. 

At some point, one of the nurses comes in with the lunch tray and changes the IV bag. Both Cameron and Sullivan pretty much ignore her doings but as soon as she's gone, Sullivan takes the fork and picks up a few noodles. Of course, Cameron notices it but is careful not to comment on it and just goes on with his story about how he tried to remove his braces all on his own as a kid. It draws a small, disbelieving smile from Sullivan and really that's more than Cameron could wish for right now. 

Unsurprisingly, Cameron's belly drops with a pleasant warmth at the sight of the smile on Sullivan's face and there's a bunch of butterflies starting to tickle his insides. Cameron wants to convince his body that his feelings are hardly important right now and tries to ignore the butterflies but of course, he fails miserably. Soon enough, they are roaming freely through all of his belly and chest and he wishes the feeling would never go away. Just like he suddenly wishes he could keep talking with Sullivan forever. 

His wishes are very far from becoming true, however, because when the nurse comes back to pick up the tray–noticing its emptiness with a content smile–she also hands Cameron a small folded piece of paper. 

“Fajardo wants to see me first thing tomorrow morning,” Cameron summarizes with a dry throat what he reads on the piece of paper as soon as the nurse has left the room. 

“Then that's what you'll do,” Sullivan replies. “You'll be fine. You didn't do anything wrong.” 

Cameron nods slowly and now it's actually Sullivan who starts telling him a story and the fact that he's obviously telling it to distract Cameron–that he is actually and genuinely nice to him–makes his heart pumping in his chest and further down, the butterflies are most definitely flying in somersaults now.

Afternoon becomes evening and evening becomes night even faster. Cameron doesn't want to sleep–suddenly doesn't want to miss a single moment with Sullivan but they are both worn out from their exhausting day and so morning comes around far too soon. 

When Sullivan wakes up, it's already time for Cameron to leave for Farjado's office. The meeting doesn't take long and when he walks back to Sullivan's room, he knows that it's for the last time. 

“I must leave immediately,” Cameron announces. His mouth feels sticky and dry while his hands are sweaty and cold. The realization that he'll get sent off into war zone at the other end of the world hitting him with the force of a hurricane. 

“Finally got your first real order? You can be proud of yourself,” Sullivan replies and actually sounds proud–or at least, that's what Cameron wants to believe. 

Cameron doesn't say anything, miserably failing at processing what's happening. He's pretty sure his face has lost all its color by now and he forces his body to stop shaking. 

“Nervous?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“That's okay–normal really. Trust me you'll be fine. Just remember what I taught you, sleep whenever you can and burn any letters that aren't meant for the public eye.” 

Cameron nods. “Aye, sir. Thank you, sir.” He doesn't know why he should be getting these kinds of letters but he trusts Sullivan enough to know what he's talking about and files the comment under useful advice. 

“You should be going,” Sullivan reminds him after a moment in which Cameron had stood frozen in the middle of the room. 

Sullivan's words draw him out of his paralysis, he nods, then salutes and turns around to leave. As he's about to open the door, however, he halts. “Sir?” he asks, turning back around. “What about you now?” 

“Don't you worry about me, Cope. I'll get by,” Sullivan replies. His voice sounds lighter than it should be. 

Cameron doesn't believe him. “You won't be trying to…?” he asks, trailing off mid-sentence. 

Nevertheless, Sullivan shakes his head immediately. “I won't.” 

“And you'll talk to a therapist?”  

Sullivan rolls his eyes but nods. “I will.” 

“Promise?” Cameron hears himself asking. It feels pathetic and he shouldn't be asking but he knows he needs the assurance, needs Sullivan to say it although he knows that it might be a lie. 

“Promise and now off you go! You don't want to be late, Marine!” Sullivan replies, his drill instructor voice coming through for the last few words but there's some kind of fondness in there too–or maybe that's just what Cameron’s heart wants him to believe. 

“Aye, sir!” Cameron replies. They share something like a smile one last time. Then Cameron salutes again, before finally turning around and leaving with a heavy heart. 

Dharhan, Saudi Arabia - 2 months later 

Cameron, 

Thank you for saving me, in the swamps and after. I hope you know I wouldn't have cared to make it if you hadn't been there. Thanks for keeping me company and knocking some sense into me. I truly appreciate it. 

Whatever challenge you're facing right now, I know you've got it! 

~ Liam 

P.S. Therapy was fucking useless but I’m cleared to be a DI at Parris Island again.