Dogma #3
"You’re the best dog in the world," James said, as he lay dying.
Roman licked his face and pawed his chest, but the smell of blood was iron-sharp, so sharp it hurt. Too much. Too much blood.
You shouldn't have risked it. Why did you?
James and Roman had been in Afghanistan for two years. They often traveled in jeeps and trucks at the front of long convoys. The jeep would stop and Roman and James would get out. Roman went ahead to sniff at the road, see if the tricky, explosive things were hidden there. The explosive things could have different smells, ones with names like C-4, Tovex, or potassium chlorate, but Roman had been taught to recognize them all.
He and James swept open land, too, big hot fields where the sun beat down like a clenched fist and the grass was exhausted and sparse. Roman would run and smell and James would follow. If Roman found something, James would mark it for men to come and dig it up.
There were other dogs in Afghanistan, always traveling with their handlers the way Roman traveled with James. He and James were never apart. Never. When James went to the bathroom or shower, Roman sat right outside and waited. Roman knew that he was different than the other working dogs they met. More intelligent. He knew, for example, that when he found the explosive things in the ground, he saved lives. He'd seen men with legs blown off. Anyone who walked over ground Roman had checked was safe. He made sure of it! He and James together made sure. They were the smartest and the fastest and the best!
"I swear that dog knows everything we're saying," Wako, one of James's friends, liked to say.
Sometimes in the evenings, James played cards with Wako and some of the other guys. Roman would sit on the floor pressed against James's leg. At least he would when the other soldiers weren't calling him over for pets.
"’Course he knows what we're saying," James would drawl. "Roman's IQ is a damn sight higher than yours."
"Fucker. Ro, come 'ere!" Wako liked to pet Roman a lot. Roman could sense it eased something tense and anxious and bleeding inside him, so he gave himself over to it, even though sometimes he was tired, and he just wanted to lie down next to James and rest.
James.
Why had he done it? That day it had happened—that day had been wrong from the start. Roman sensed it when he woke up, and he tried to warn James. They shouldn't go to work today. But James had dragged him out anyway.
"What's the matter with you?" he'd scolded lightly. "Come on, Ro. Time to rock 'n roll, buddy."
Roman had gone along, because James said so, and he knew best.
The convoy of vehicles they were traveling in that awful day had been attacked. Mortars and gunfire rained down on them from both sides of the road. The glass on their Jeep shattered, flying everywhere. There was the thwump, thwump of bullets hitting metal. James pushed Roman down and laid on top of him. Someone outside screamed, and Roman's head burned like fire. He struggled and whined under James's chest.
James sat up a little and looked at him. "Jesus Christ! Roman's been hit!"
"What?" The officer in the front of the vehicle looked up over the console.
James touched Roman's head by his ear and it hurt. When he drew his hand back, it was covered with blood. "Fuck, I gotta get him to a doctor!"
His voice was shaky, shakier than Roman had ever heard it. He felt weak and scared, and the noise outside, the noise he’d been trained to accept, was suddenly too loud and too threatening. He buried his nose under James's knees, tried to crawl into the space below.
"Fuck, I gotta—"
"You will not get out of this car, Sergeant. We're under fire!"
"There's a medic van at the back of the line. And it looks like our guys have taken out the hostiles on this side. I can make it."
"Goddamn it, just wait for the all clear. "
"He was shot in the fucking head. I gotta go!"
The door opened and James pulled Roman from the jeep. He pushed him up until Roman was draped over his shoulders. "I've got you," James said, "I've got you."
He ducked and ran. He ran close to the line of trucks, using them as a shield. The convoy had been ambushed on a curve in the road, and the medic's van—it had a white and red cross—was at the end of the line. Roman could see it, but it seemed so far away. Gunfire and explosions sounded from the other side of the vehicles as James ran. They were halfway down the line now, and James’s breath was harsh as he ran doubled-over.
Then the world went white. The explosion threw Roman off James. He flew through the air and landed-rolled a dozen feet away. The bottom of his feet stung with cuts and the wound on his head raged. The world was weirdly silent as he looked around. He could see bursts of lights and the tanks firing into a low mound of hills where black smoke rose up. He could see men shouting in the distance, lost in the battle. But none of these sounds reached his ears. It was like he was under water.
James.
He looked around and saw him. James was on the ground, blood and torn canvas where his legs should be. So much blood. Roman crawled his way to James through the silence and the gore.
"You're the best dog in the world, you know that?" James's words were far away, but Roman understood him. Those beloved hands rubbed Roman's neck. Tears made channels in the dirt and blood on James's face. "You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay."
Roman licked the salt away. I love you. I love you. I love you. Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me!
Roman said it over and over in his head, even after James's eyes went blank and he wasn't there anymore. He chanted it in his mind until the medics found him and dragged him away.
On Matt's second Friday in Mad Creek, he got into the sheriff's office early. He and Roman were headed right back out again, but before they could leave, the front door opened. Sheriff Beaufort walked in followed by a young man with shoulder-length brown hair and long, asymmetrical bangs. The stranger wore a light jacket and tight skinny jeans. Matt couldn't help but notice that his legs went on forever. He silently chided himself for gawking and forced his gaze up to the guy's face.
"Tim!" Leesa came running out of the break room in the back. She must have heard the door, though how she knew it was 'Tim', Matt didn't know, since neither the stranger nor Lance had yet said a word. Leesa threw herself at Tim and he hugged her back, one hand squeezing the back of her neck.
"Hey, Leesa."
"Oh my gosh! What are you doing in town so early?"
Tim rolled his eyes. "The farmer's market organizers are meeting this morning. A few prime booths opened up, so there'll be a scramble for the spots. You can't believe how vicious farmer's market sellers can be! Oh, hello." Tim said the last to Matt. Despite the faked surprise of his greeting, the direct look in his eyes told Matt this Tim knew all about him. "We haven't met yet. You must be Matt Barclay, from the DEA."
Tim walked over to where Matt and Roman were still standing by their office, waiting for an escape route to clear. Tim's tone was friendly, but he gave Matt a warning glare. Who the fuck was this guy?
Tim held out his hand. "I'm Tim Weston, Lance's partner."
"Good to meet you." Matt shook Tim's hand, which was heavily callused for a guy who was otherwise on the twinky-adorable side.
Partner? Matt dismissed his first association with that word. Beaufort couldn’t be gay. Did he have a side business then? Did it have to do with a farmer's market? Of course, they wouldn't be selling drugs at a place like that, though given that it was Mad Creek, Matt wasn't ready to rule anything out completely.
His confusion must have showed on his face, because Tim, still shaking his hand up and down, repeated himself firmly. "You know—Lance's partner. It’s like a girlfriend only with bonus accessories."
"Oh. Good." Matt nodded maniacally, trying not to sound shocked. Sheriff Beaufort was gay? Holy shit!
"Hey there, Roman." Tim let go of Matt's hand in order to give the big guy a rub on his head, like noogies only nicer. Roman seemed to like the gesture, if his immediate smile was any indication. What was it with this town and weird greetings?
"You have a problem with that?" Beaufort asked pointedly. He stepped up behind Tim and put a possessive hand on his shoulder.
"Me?" Matt asked. "No. Huh-uh. Absolutely not."
"Good." Lance glared at him one more time, then gave Tim a peck on the lips. "See you tonight. Feel free to throw my weight around in that meeting."
"You know I'd never do that." Tim grabbed Lance's shirt and pulled him back for a real kiss—Matt had a feeling it was for his benefit. As if he'd ever try to steal Lance-hardass-Beaufort. When the kiss broke, Tim and Lance looked into each other's eyes meaningfully. It was downright embarrassing.
"Okay! Well, we were on our way out, so…." Matt said desperately. He'd never wanted to see the inside of Roman's truck so badly.
"Have a good day, you two." Tim smiled. "By the way, Matt, I'd love to have you over to our place for dinner soon. You and your girlfriend, Luci!"
"How did you know about—?"
"Bye!" Tim was out the door.
Beaufort gave Matt a look that meant something like I can't believe he asked you to dinner, or You'd better not mess with him, or maybe even That's how a real man is 'out', maestro.
Okay, probably not the latter, because Beaufort had no idea Matt was closeted. But that's what it felt like. Because yeah, that had been as fuck-you-this-is-who-I-am as Matt had ever seen. And goddamn, but he envied that. Beaufort went into his office and Leesa went back into the kitchen.
"Let's head out," said Roman, walking toward the front door. "Busy day."
"Sure," Matt replied distractedly.
His respect for Sheriff Beaufort just went up by a few dozen degrees. On the other hand, Lance Beaufort gets laid regularly by that and is still so intense? God help us if he ever has to go celibate.
Right?
At the trailhead, Matt got out of Roman's truck and stretched. They'd been out every day this week setting lines on various dirt roads and checking out trails. Matt felt like he was starting to know the area. And he liked it.
The Sierra Nevada mountains were so different than the hot and dry Sacramento Valley where he'd spent the last few years, and from places like Texas and San Diego, where his dad had been stationed while Matt was growing up. It felt good here. It was fresh and open with rolling expanses of green pines and the red-gold-browns of autumn leaves. It was like a secret pocket in the universe where Walmart was only an evil legend, and you could look out over a landscape in which man was not the dominant species.
Matt had always felt most comfortable out of doors, in nature. Maybe that was because no one had expectations of you there. In the woods, there were no military bases or schools where everyone watched you because you were the general's kid, no impossible role models to emulate, no one to disappoint. Biking or hiking or skiing, Matt could excel for his own sake, push to the rhythm of his own body and not beyond. He had no one to please or impress but himself.
Of course, lately, he'd had Roman Charsguard along too. But Roman was easy to be with. He always seemed simply happy to be outdoors, and after that first time when Matt had fallen behind, he let Matt set the pace. Today they were hiking into an area on the far northern bounds of what Roman considered 'Mad Creek territory'. The trailhead had been a fifty-minute drive from the office and Matt had consumed his entire thermos of coffee. Roman, as usual, had sipped broth from his travel mug.
Apparently the sheriff's mother made big batches of the stuff for the station, and everyone loved it. Matt hadn't yet figured out if it was a Paleo thing or what.
Anyway, the coffee needed to come out. Matt stepped into the woods to relieve his bladder while Roman started setting up lines. When Matt returned, he stretched to loosen up his muscles and watched Roman work.
They were parked at the end of yet another dirt road that petered out into unpassable brush. They'd parked back from the end so that Roman could set up the line where a car would likely go if any ventured this way. He used clear fishing line and liked to set them up four feet high to avoid being triggered by most animals. He used trees where they were conveniently placed for stretching the line across the road, and had heavy wooden stakes in the back of the truck for where they weren't.
The mountain scenery around them was stunning, but the built guy with the serious face, golden brown eyes, and dark buzz cut wasn't bad either. Matt indulged himself by looking longer than he should have. Roman was all muscle, and he could be damned intimidating when he wanted to be. But there was a sweetness to his face at times like this, when he was focused on what he was doing. The tip of his tongue stuck out as he concentrated on tying a knot in the slippery line using those big fingers. Jesus. Roman was a dork—but an incredibly hot one.
Today they were hiking in eight miles to an area where there was a bare patch they'd found in satellite images provided by the DEA. It was likely the bare patch was from a forest fire, but they'd have to look at it from the ground to be sure, Roman insisted. By golly.
Matt was in the weird position of doing his job well and having it all go far easier than it really ought, yet still feeling anxious about it. He and Roman had been out hiking every day. Matt loved it. So much in fact, he was considering applying to the Forest Service if his job with the DEA ended up as a desk job. The General would have a fit, of course. He hadn't approved when Matt had left the Marines and joined the DEA, but at least they were 'real' law enforcement.
Matt felt guilty about how much fun he was having, in fact. But the head of Operation Green Ghost, Dixon, was thrilled with the progress he'd made. In the last group video call, he'd had Matt explain what they were doing in Mad Creek—with the lines, the survey map gridding and numbering, and satellite images—and advised other agents to do the same in their territories. Matt was the golden boy of the hour.
Even so, he knew damned well he was being misdirected, that all this fieldwork was keeping him out of town. He wasn't an idiot. The question was: why? And should he be concerned about it or not?
"All set," Roman said. "Want to get moving?"
"Yeah." Matt shook his head. "Sorry, I'm a bit distracted this morning."
"Because of Tim?"
"What?"
"You were surprised when you met Tim." Roman sounded a little defensive.
"No! I mean, yes, I'm surprised Beaufort is gay. But… hey, more power to him."
Roman nodded, as if satisfied. "Tim is good for Lance. Everyone says Lance is much happier and less intense since they moved in together."
"Beaufort used to be more intense?"
Roman smiled. "Oh, yes. If you think he's bad, you should meet his mother."
"Yeah, think I'll take a pass on that one." Matt chuckled. He slung on his backpack and they set off.
Roman was a quiet hiker, focused on the woods. But today, Matt was in the mood to talk.
"I was thinking about how much more active this job was than I anticipated. It’s been great." Matt stretched out his left arm. It had been feeling better lately, good enough that he'd stopped wearing the sling, though he still couldn't lift much without getting twinges.
"I like this better than being in the office," Roman agreed. "It was fun at first, having a desk like a real hu—uh, deputy. But I don't like being inside all day."
They were on a fire road, and it was wide enough that they walked abreast. Roman smiled at Matt, a genuine smile. Matt could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Roman smile. He looked ten years younger when his face lit up like that, almost childlike. Which was a little pervy.
"Sheriff Beaufort doesn't mind you spending so much time on this?" Matt asked.
Roman's smile vanished. "No. This is my job."
The drug hunt was? That must be what Roman meant.
"You didn't like your job before this one?" Roman asked.
Matt shrugged. "SWAT was cool and prestigious, but it was always either boring as hell or full-on dangerous. And I had to leave it because of this." Matt lifted his arm a bit. "After that I was on desk duty in Sacramento. That sucked, and, you know, not in a good way." He waggled his eyebrows. Stop. Do not flirt with Roman.
"I've always liked my job," said Roman earnestly. "The only thing that made me really unhappy was when I didn't have a job at all."
"After the military?"
Roman nodded, his lips pressed thin. It wasn't the first time Matt noticed there was something Roman didn't like to talk about in his past. But today, Matt pressed on. "What did you do in the military?"
Roman hesitated before answering. "All kinds of things, but mostly bomb-sniffing."
"Yeah? You mean like K-9?"
"Yes. K-9."
Matt was impressed. And he could see Roman in that job too. He had a natural earthiness and kindness that probably made him great with animals. "That's fantastic. I knew a couple of guys who really wanted to do K-9, but they didn't get in. That program is really selective."
"About their dogs?" Roman asked, a frown of confusion on his brow.
Matt laughed. "Well, I meant about K-9 officers. But I bet they're pretty picky about their dogs too."
"Oh." Roman blushed. It was a full-bore, bright red flush that crept from the collar of his T-shirt and spread up his face and into his hairline. His ears turned a hearty pink, especially the one with the scars.
Matt figured Roman must have felt stupid about his remark, but it was no big deal. Being a guy, though, he couldn't help but pick on him. "Hey, it's nice to see your cardiovascular system is in good shape. In case you were wondering." He chuckled.
"What do you mean?" Roman stopped on the trail.
Matt waved his hand at Roman's face, smiling. "You're blushing, Roman. Big-time."
"I don't blush."
"Uh, yeah. You do and you are."
Roman dug into his pocket for his phone, fumbling a bit in his haste as if he was worried he'd grown a second nose. He turned it on. It appeared he had a mirror app, which Matt found rather funny. He had the idea Roman was the type more worried about having something green in his teeth than how hot he looked.
Roman peered at himself closely. "I am! I'm blushing!"
"Yes. Yes, you are."
Roman pushed his sunglasses up to the top of his head and turned his chin this way and that, looking at his reflection. He visibly relaxed, like it wasn't as bad as he was expecting or something. Then he grinned. "First time. It must be another gradual thing, like sex."
"Huh?"
Roman looked up and met Matt's gaze. He froze. He looked stricken and his blush, which had been starting to fade, deepened exponentially. His mouth worked slightly, but nothing came out.
Matt couldn't figure it out—sex? Gradual? What did he mean? But at the mere word 'sex' coming out of Roman's mouth, his lizard brain licked its chops and certain areas below the belt started to perk up.
They stared at each other. Matt hadn't noticed any flirting or anything but obliviousness in Roman since that strange incident in the men's room, much to his disappointment. But suddenly, the air between then felt charged and there was something in Roman's eyes—heat… and panic.
"I… just recently started to…. That is…." Roman stumbled.
Oh. Oh. "You mean, you had a bit of a dry spell after the military?" Matt guessed. He'd heard other vets talk about it. PTSD could do a real whack job on the libido. Some guys couldn't even get it up, which was a hell of a sacrifice to make for your country, in Matt's humble opinion.
Roman looked relieved. He nodded.
"Yeah? That sucks. Were you hurt? Shot?"
Roman touched his damaged ear. His voice was strained. "I had a minor gunshot wound. But that's not it. I was… changed. After. It was difficult."
That was the broadest hint yet that something very bad had happened during Roman's time in the military. Matt felt for the guy. The more time he spent with Roman, the more Matt saw his strength like a hard veneer over a core of vulnerability, sadness, and something Matt's brain wanted to label 'innocence', though it couldn't be, surely. Matt wanted to hug the guy, but instead he just put a hand on Roman's shoulder—Roman's very large shoulder.
"Hey, it's okay. I have some friends who got real messed up over there. I feel you."
Instead of shrugging him off, like a normal guy would do, Roman stepped closer. His shoulder bent toward Matt as if encouraging him to move his hand.
Matt wasn't sure what to do for a moment. Then, thinking about Tim rubbing Roman's head this morning—okay, this was maybe a little awkward—Matt rubbed his hand on Roman's shoulder soothingly. Roman turned his face away and sighed. It was a relieved sigh. Matt, wondering what the hell he was doing, rubbed Roman's shoulder some more. He could barely fit his palm over the round cap of it, and its muscles were dense and hard. His hand slipped down to Roman's arm before he could think better of it, rubbing there. The large bicep flexed under his thumb. Roman gave a contented hum.
But Matt… Matt was getting turned on. He'd wanted to touch Roman for two weeks by then, longer if you counted the months he'd thought about Roman after that Coarsegold raid. And with those muscles under his fingers, it was oh so tempting to keep going. This was either going to become sexual in about two heartbeats or end up being the weirdest bro bonding experience ever. He couldn't believe that even then, he had no idea if this was a come on, or if Roman would punch him if Matt tried to kiss him. He liked Roman, but he didn't understand the guy—at all.
Matt swallowed. "So—"
"Look," Roman said quietly.
Matt looked up the trail. A red fox stood there, frozen in midstride, staring at them as if it had been minding its own business and crossing the trail when they'd appeared like ogres and thieves, beamed there by black magic.
"Wow. It's beautiful," Matt whispered.
Suddenly Roman moved. He hollered a big "Whoo!", and he took off running toward the fox. The animal did a double-take, cartoon-like, and flew off into the brush. Roman dove after it, disappearing from sight.
Matt followed, laughing. Roman being playful was quite a sight. Matt heard crashing in the woods, followed by the slow return of a sheepish-looking Roman. "Lost him."
"I see that." Matt snorted. "Slippery devil, was he?"
"Yes." Roman put his hands on his hips and smiled. "I feel better."
"Good." A warm feeling glowed in Matt's chest like a fucking beacon. Friendship, maybe? At least that. He pushed down the longing for more.
Roman drew a deep breath and rubbed his hands together. "We should hurry. We have a long way to go to get to that clearing, and it's slow moving on two feet."
"Whatever you say, Roman." Matt shook his head, but he was smiling.