"Sweetie!" Michael braced himself as a small, red-haired whirlwind launched itself at him-the second one that day. This one was more aggressive, however, and nearly knocked him down. Despite the fact that she was nearly half his size his mother was a presence unto herself. Chaos, thy name is Sarah Shiller. Or rather, her name had been Shiller on the last letter he received from her. No telling which of her previous last names she'd resumed during her most recent divorce.

"Hi, Mom," he managed to squeak once she'd released her hold enough so he could breathe. He fully believed she could teach his sergeant a thing or two about hand to hand combat. It would be called "Death by Affection." The woman just didn't know her own strength, which, when added to her natural exuberance, equaled lethally, if accidentally, wielded knees, elbows and feet. She was one of the clumsiest people Michael had ever met; but, hey, that was his mom, she had her faults and made the most of them. And she never apologized for her eccentricities, understanding that she had the God-given right to be who she was. It was a lesson she tried to teach her kids despite objections from various narrow-minded husbands. How the most open-minded person on the planet could wind up with such bigoted losers was one of the great mysteries of the universe. Angie had a theory that their mom had a fetish for big, dumb, chest-thumping Neanderthal types. Michael thought it was more of a 'taking in strays' kind of thing.

Apparently satisfied that the she'd properly greeted her youngest child she turned to the people who stood gawking close by on and gave them a harsh glare and a curt, "What are you looking at? My kid just came home!" before grabbing him by the arm and hauling him into the darkened bookstore. She quickly bolted the door with one hand while turning the 'Sorry, we're closed' sign over with the other. She then proceeded to drag him through the dimly lit room, forgetting that he wasn't familiar with the surroundings-confirmed by his bumping into every object in the store.

She was a woman on a mission as she plowed through the darkened space with her second born in tow, all the while keeping up a running monologue about Cousin Kathy's worthless new husband, Grandma's latest adventures with her arthritis, and how everyone was so happy that he was home and couldn't wait to see him.

After crossing the length of the building with only minor injuries, Michael exclaimed, "Ow!" at the precise moment his mother warned, "Watch your head," and began dragging him up the rear stairs. He was still rubbing what was sure to be large knot when he was blinded by the lights she turned on in the apartment over the store.

"Let me get a good look at you," she gushed, grinning like a kid at Christmas and spinning him around to view all sides. Her smile fell. "You're nothing but skin and bones!" she exclaimed, the tried and true greeting of all southern mothers when seeing their kids after a long absence, even if it wasn't true. But then, they were in the south where eating Sunday dinner was considered an art form.

"I'm hardly bones, Mom," Michael protested. "I've actually filled out a lot since I left. And I'm more toned now than I've ever been. I just don't have you force-feeding me every time I manage to drop a pound!" How could his mother not remember the scrawny, gangly thing he'd been just a few short years ago? He ceased arguing as his fatigue caught up to him; he needed to sleep, and soon, or he'd be taking his frustrations out on anyone close enough to be his unwitting target. Not that he wasn't thrilled to see her - he was just exhausted and her whirlwind energy was fast depleting any reserves of strength he had left.

Ignoring his harsh tone she continued, "Well, now that you're here we'll get you fed up right. Everything's gonna be just fine now that you're home." 'Fine' was pronounced, 'fiiiiiiine,' in the true southern style.

When sympathetic eyes met his he groaned. How long was everyone going to treat him like an invalid? Yes, he'd seen some heavy shit over there, but so had lots of other guys; he was just one of many. So what if he was only twenty-two but would now have to emulate his seventy-two-year-old grandfather and turn his good ear to you if you weren't talking loudly enough. It wasn't the end of the world. At least he came back! And all the visible parts still worked; his only infirmities were deeply hidden.

He took a deep, calming breath to ease the building tension. Fussing over him was her way of showing love, so he held tongue, knowing her reaction was nothing compared to how Grandma would be; he'd need at least twelve hours of sleep before meeting up with her.

"...you're asleep on your feet. Why don't you go take a shower while I put your things away?" she suggested, taking his duffle through the door to a small but comfortable looking bedroom. He followed and watched as she dumped everything out on the bed for sorting. Realizing he'd been dismissed just as surely as if she'd spoken the order, he snagged a pair of boxers from the pile and backed out of the room, disappearing into the tiny bathroom.

He felt guilty for not staying and talking, but they'd spent so much time on the phone the last few days that he'd actually run out of topics, except for the ones he wasn't ready to discuss. So he retreated and allowed his mother to put away his few belongings while he took a much-needed shower. As he looked for soap and towels he was amazed at how much effort had gone into preparation for his homecoming. Even the cabinets were stocked with his favorite brands of toothpaste, shampoo, soap, and...an industrial sized box of condoms?

After replacing the box on the shelf he unwrapped a bar of scented deodorant soap and stepped under the soothing shower spray, the warm water working out his kinked muscles. Nearly asleep on his feet, he somehow managed get his teeth brushed and his boxers on. He found his old, ratty-but-comfortable bathrobe hanging from a peg on the back of the door and put it on, tying the sash firmly-it fit more snuggly than it had four years ago. Finally ready to face the world, or at least his mother, he left the room in a cloud of steam.

A quick glance in the bedroom showed the bed had been turned down and was ready for him; he very much looked forward to putting it to use-soon. No matter how much he'd traveled or where he'd been there was nothing like sleeping in his own bed, even if it had been awhile since the last time he'd had the privilege. He stared longingly at the soft, quilt covered haven, then sighed and went to join his mother in the living area of the small apartment.

He leaned against the doorframe watching as she bent to retrieve two beers from the refrigerator. For the first time he noticed the strands of gray hair that he'd sworn she didn't have, and the lines around her eyes, not all caused by laughter. She looked tired. She also didn't have much room to accuse him of losing weight, obviously having lost a good deal herself, and she was thin to start with. Time and disappointment had taken their toll. Maybe he had inadvertently told his buddies the truth: he needed to come home and take care of his aging, graying mother. The idea hit him hard that leaving to find his own place in the world might prove harder than he had expected.

A woman with a heart of pure gold, that was his mother, and all the qualities he liked about himself came from her. But she'd always sold herself short. He wished that she had shaken off the loser who'd gotten her pregnant at sixteen and gone on to college later like Angie had after the miscarriage of her son. His mom was such an intelligent woman that he couldn't understand how she could let guys that could barely read convince her that she was stupid and worthless.

It always baffled him why his free-spirited mother kept returning to Cookesville. In any of the larger towns they lived in she was accepted for her eclectic tastes, even being praised as a modern, free-thinking woman. Here, she was just the kook who ran the bookstore. Even then she had to censor what she normally would have stocked on her shelves. The good people of the town would run her out on a rail if they saw some of her personal collection of books, with topics ranging from comparative religion to alternative romance. Yes, there were several selections that fell under the alternative romance section that had answered quite a few questions for him during his formative years, while raising even more.

Far from passing judgment Michael felt sorry for her, understanding that she just wanted someone to love and appreciate her; though she never quite succeeded in finding that in her love life. In a way she didn't belong in Cookesville, but he was glad she had returned here where she at least had Grandma, Grandpa, and Angie-and now him.

Smiling as she looked up and found him watching, she quickly straightened, closing the refrigerator and handing him a beer. "Let's go sit on the couch a while," she said softly. "You look so tired."

Mumbling his thanks, he sprawled inelegantly upon the plaid couch that had once occupied his grandparents' living room. It was old and battered, but that particular piece of furniture held fond memories and he took comfort in having it in, what was essentially, his very first place.

Though he tried hard to appear attentive, his yawning soon became uncontrollable. "Honey, why don't you get some sleep? We can talk tomorrow morning-I'll bring breakfast," she said.

With a sleepy smile he replied, "Thanks, Mom."

She rose and kissed him on the forehead, something she could never do had he been standing. "Love you, sweetheart," she murmured.

"You too, Ma."

After she let herself out Michael wearily studied his surroundings. It had just been empty space when his mother had bought the store and sent him pictures. Now as he looked around he was once more reminded of how much she missed and wanted him there. All his things had been carefully placed where they used to be in his bedroom. His old posters graced the walls and the guitar he'd never quite learned to play was sitting upright in an old beanbag, like an honored guest instead of a musical instrument. Even his neon beer sign was in its rightful place above the head of his bed where it had always been.

In a restless haze he dimmed the lights and attempted to relax, first on the couch, then on his bed, but the fatigue, the excitement of being home, and his whirling thoughts just wouldn't let him sleep. Finally, he turned the lights back on and familiarized himself with his new apartment.

He made his way over to his old stereo, grateful when a quick inventory showed his entire music collection was present and accounted for. An ancient TV and a cheap DVD player sat in a corner with his favorite movies stacked beneath. A cursory inspection of the cabinets and refrigerator showed the results of a major shopping spree; it was well supplied with all his favorites. Even his well-used Steelers coffee mug was there. After helping himself to another beer he sat on the worn and faded couch, surfing through channels on the TV, happy to see that Mom had gotten the cable connected in anticipation of his arrival.

Once relaxed to the point that he might actually get some sleep, he tucked himself into bed, wrapping the blue patchwork, Grandma-made quilt over himself, and closed his eyes, hoping against hope to sleep through the night and not wake up screaming.

* * *

The next few days were a blur of activity as Michael settled into his new home and routine, working in the book store, visiting with and being fussed over by his grandparents. Most importantly, he came to terms with his environment and began to relearn how to live as a civilian. After all the discipline and stress of his previous life, having every minute of every day planned and structured, the loss of stability left him unnerved.

It also left him with entirely too much time to think. Many nights were spent in sleepless frustration, lying in his bed unable to turn off the never-ending stream of self-doubts and what-ifs. He now had the opportunity to do whatever he wanted; he could go to college and pursue any of the courses of study he'd been debating or go to the local technical college and study mechanics or welding. Decent money and jobs could be had in any of the fields he was considering and he'd always excelled at working on things around his grandfather's farm.

As he weighed his options he revisited the old dream of staying here, getting married, and raising a family, finally realizing that dream hadn't been his at all. It was what his grandparents and his girlfriend had wanted. At one time he had accepted it; now though, he was relieved that he hadn't gotten trapped, knowing it wouldn't have been fair to himself or to Ruth Ann.

They had been very close at one time, or as close as he'd ever been with anyone, but it wasn't his high school sweetheart that starred in his thoughts about the future. No, as unbidden as the thoughts were, they all seemed to focus on a man. And not just any man-Jay. When he had first seen the tall, dark Texan in the living room of his sister's place he'd felt something that he now realized he'd felt before over the years, just not as strongly. Then he hadn't wanted to admit what the subtle signals meant and had become quite skilled in denying the attraction he felt for other men.

Like it or not, he could no longer lie to himself about why he hadn't been that interested in girls when all his high school buddies had been hormone driven lunatics. What he was going to do with that information was what he still couldn't decide. He could hide who he was and try to live an ordinary, straight life, deep in the closet, but a young man that had attended his church years ago kept coming to mind. Everyone knew something was different about Jim and whispered behind his back. Even when he married the rumors didn't stop. Michael guessed he was hiding who he was, but he didn't do a very good job at it, for everyone still knew. All the poor man had gotten for his subterfuge was misery and a broken marriage. Michael wondered whatever happened to him; sympathetically hoping he'd come to terms with his life and was now happy. Though some might call him a sap, Michael truly believed everyone deserved a happy ending. Well, most people, anyway.

The Jay dilemma was something else entirely. Before, any leanings he had were simply theoretical. Now that there was someone that made him feel, well, like doing something about it, he didn't know what to do. What he did know was that he couldn't look or even think about Jay without getting hard. He wanted the man-badly.

Jay had definitely been flirting that day in the car even before disclosing his sexuality. The fact he'd never called afterward left Michael feeling disappointed.

It was right that being seen out together would be taken negatively as far as most of the narrow-minded community was concerned. And what of his family? Michael thought of his mother. She'd had so many gay friends over the years and was so accepting and non-judgmental that it shouldn't be a problem. If he came out to her she'd probably join a support group and slap a rainbow bumper sticker on her car. She loved him and would just want him to be happy-but you never could tell how a person would react until you actually told them.

Angie? Since she obviously accepted Jay and Terry she might be open-minded about him. But, then again, it might be a different matter when it came to her brother. Besides, Jay was her friend. Getting together with him might cause some weirdness with her, but he hoped not. But if she didn't approve of something she'd just come out and say it. It wasn't like her to mince words or hide her opinions.

His grandparents? Another matter entirely. They were good folks-good, church-going folks-and the Bible was very clear about homosexuality. Though he didn't like lying to them it wouldn't be the first time he'd kept things from them. However, they knew Jay and, from what Angie had said in her letters, they thought highly of him.

He fantasized for a moment what it would be like to be in a relationship with another man. Not the sexual part; no, he wondered how it would be to kiss, hold hands, sit together at the end of the day, prepare dinner together, be a couple.

Through it all Jay smiled and laughed, playing the role of the perfect mate. This was a dangerous game and he knew it; fantasizing and turning someone into someone they might not be. Also, the absence of the promised phone call suggested disinterest. Even if Jay was interested, could years of conditioning be cast aside, allowing them to attempt a relationship? Or, like that man long ago at church, would he present one face to the world while sneaking around in a delusion that no one knew what he was really doing?

Besides, he hadn't seen Jay since being dropped off that first day. He tried to pretend it didn't matter one way or the other when he casually asked Angie about her roomie, but she hadn't told him much, other than that Jay, like herself, was hard at work studying and finishing final projects.

With gloomy thoughts running rampant in his head all day and the nightmares that plagued him when he finally was able to let go of the waking world, was it any wonder he had nightmares?

* * *

"Sure, Mom, I'll call Grandma," Michael said, patting his pockets for his cell phone and discovering it wasn't there. She was using the store's phone to place an order, so he mouthed, "I'll be right back" and took the stairs two at a time up to his apartment.

He searched his nightstand, the couch cushions, and even his dirty laundry hamper before the buzzing that indicated waiting messages led him to the kitchen counter. Three messages blinked on his screen. The first was a text was from Angie asking if wanted to go into Atlanta shopping the next day. His first reaction was "Oh, Hell yeah!" but when he thought about leaving the sanctuary of the store and his apartment a chill ran up his spine. He hated lying to his sister, but he sent a bullshit text response about how he'd promised Mom he'd work and asked if they could reschedule. He'd love to go just for a chance to spend some time with Angie, but didn't think he could do it, not yet at least.

The next message was a voicemail from Ryan, one of his best friends from the service with whom he'd formed a special bond-a bond that involved the death of someone very close to them both.

He quickly dialed the number to retrieve the message, grateful for the privacy of his apartment. This was one conversation he didn't want to have around his curious mother or customers. After keying in the proper codes and selecting from the long list of options, the clear, soft voice that he knew so well washed over his senses.

"Hey, Big Guy. Ummm... Sorry it took me so long to call, I've been, you know, busy." The normally straightforward Ryan sounded nervous and uncertain, something that never happened before their convoy was attacked. After a moment of awkward silence the message continued, "Look, I hope you're not mad at me or anything; I'd hate to lose you, too." The last words were spoken so softly they could barely be heard. There was a soft sigh and then, "Anyway, I'm doing okay and hope everything's going good for you. Umm....give me a call sometime; that is, if you're not mad." Another long pause followed. "Look, I know what I did was wrong, but...well, you know what I was thinking. I just wanted to feel...well... I just wanted to feel anything again. I'm sorry for using you like that. Look, I gotta go, just call me sometimes, will ya? Can we still be friends?" Then silence.

Michael mentally kicked himself. Why had he allowed so much time to pass without checking on Ryan? His friend was suffering and, regardless of what had happened, friends didn't desert friends in need. Then the painful truth occurred to him: Ryan was a reminder of all he was trying to forget. Tears burned his eyes when he replayed the message, and he felt ashamed of his own selfishness. With all else Ryan was shouldering alone, he honestly believed his one true friend left in the world had deserted him in anger-the one person who knew the truth about Jimmy. No, Michael wasn't mad, far from it; he was just an asshole that should have been there.

Hitting the redial led to disappointment. The voice happily greeting him turned out to be a recorded message. How long ago had that message been programmed? Certainly Ryan hadn't sounded that happy in a long, long time. After listening to a mechanical voice explaining his options, Michael waited patiently for the beep and left a message of his own.

"Ryan, I am so, so sorry I haven't called and I don't even have an excuse. I could never be mad at you and you've never in your life used anyone, least of all me. I've never met a more honest, caring person than you. When you get this message please call me right back. I need to know that you're all right."

Dejected, he hung up the phone. Running his hand through his hair-as he so often did when frustrated-he realized how disastrous his neglect could be and how severe the consequences. Regardless of the issues he was dealing with, at least he never seriously considered taking his own life. Ryan had. And though he said he was over it, the young man from Arkansas was still on the edge and could easily tumble into the abyss. Michael sincerely hoped his insensitive actions hadn't resulted in...well, he didn't even dare to think on it.

"Michael, did you call Grandma?" his mom bellowed from below.

Still shaken by his friend's call, he forgot all about the third message on his phone.

* * *

Jay waited until nine before giving up and getting undressed. He should have called sooner, suggesting pizza or something, but he'd wanted to give Michael a chance to settle in and catch up with his family. When he'd unexpectedly received two tickets to the Hawks game in Atlanta he'd jumped at the chance of having a legitimate reason invite Michael out without giving off 'I wanna date you' vibes. The guy was straight, he knew that, and would probably have married his childhood sweetheart if he hadn't enlisted. Michael's grandparents had innocently given him all the 'twist-the-knife-in-my-heart' details.

Changing into loose, worn sweats, he wondered for the millionth time how he'd let this happen. How had he allowed himself to become enamored of a total stranger? What was it about Michael that caught his attention? An image formed in his mind that answered his question. Yeah, that's why: blond-haired, blue-eyed, and built to perfection. And though the man hadn't been at his best when they met, Jay had plenty of reason to believe him highly intelligent, having read some of his letters to Angie and his grandparents, with whom Jay had shared many a Sunday dinner.

But the thing that clinched it, the defining moment that sent him past the point of no return, was in the car when he had looked over and seen, not a grown man or a war veteran but a lost little boy, dealing alone with his own private pain.

Jay shook his head at his own imagination. Apparently, after further consideration, Michael had changed his mind about accepting Jay's being gay. Then again, maybe he was busy reuniting with that old girlfriend. That thought left Jay lonely and depressed before he remembered that the girlfriend, by all accounts, had married and was pregnant.

His attraction to Michael stemmed from the stories told by an idolizing sister and doting family and not from actual knowledge of the man himself. It started when he'd found a picture that Angie had dropped shortly after he'd moved there to start college. Her brother had been dressed in his military uniform, having his first picture taken as an American soldier. Knowing it wasn't the only picture Angie of him in uniform, Jay had kept it, not knowing why at the time.

There he was in a strange town, trying to adjust to college life and attempting to make friends in a place where 'his type' just weren't accepted. He wouldn't have chosen to come here at all but a scholarship was a scholarship, and his parents couldn't afford to send him to college on their own. He also didn't stand a chance of snagging an athletic scholarship in Texas, either. Football was practically a religion there and, as a result, there were too many better candidates to choose from. So he had wound up in some Podunk town in Alabama, far from his family and friends, when a disciplinary suspension left an unexpected opening for a running back.

Sadly, he later learned that the honor had been bestowed on him more for his Hispanic heritage and bilingual abilities than any skill he had at the game, and only his parent's pleading that he not be a fool kept him from throwing the scholarship back in their racist faces.

So, with a full academic ride, a little help from the folks back home, and the money he'd made from odds jobs, he managed to be fairly independent. Much to his surprise, the local small town university offered an outstanding engineering program. Despite his earlier outrage at the reasoning behind his scholarship, he found that the majority of the faculty and students were great people, most readily accepting-or at least tolerating-not only his heritage but his orientation.

Finding a reasonable place to stay had been a happy accident, a tip from a friend of a friend, and his new roommates turned out to be an interesting lot. Still, it was the loneliest time in his life. When it became too much to bear he retreated to the privacy of his room to confide in the steely-eyed, somber young soldier in the picture. Sometimes he just looked at the photo, wondering where the young recruit was, what he was doing, what he was thinking. At other times he told the blue-eyed blond his deepest, darkest secrets, sharing tales of his successes as well as his failures. The more he looked at that picture the harder he fell, until he was forced to secure it in the safety of a glass frame before it disintegrated and fell apart.

Developing an obsession with a total stranger wasn't the healthiest thing he'd ever done, but imagining the man in the photo was his friend and confidante gave him comfort and helped him through a very difficult period of adjustment. Eventually he adapted to his new environment, settling into a fierce but brief relationship with Terry. The picture was tucked away for safekeeping but was never too far from Jay's mind. He knew that his fantasy image of Michael wasn't the cause of his and Terry's problems, even as he admitted that, subconsciously, his dream image was held up to Terry and any others he had considered-they were all found lacking.

He knew there would come a time when he'd come face to face with the subject of that worn and faded photo, he'd just never anticipated the impact. As soon as he'd heard that Michael was coming home he'd fretted endlessly. How could he face the man knowing that he was in love with a fantasy and that the person who meant so much to him only existed in his fertile imagination? What if the guy turned out to be a complete asshole?

Then, the moment of truth arrived. It was all he could do to maintain a straight face and, hopefully, a neutral expression when he really wanted to pounce on the young blond and show him all he'd been missing, begging him to be all that he'd had fantasized-begging him to be gay.

After he'd shaken off the shock of finally meeting the object of his clandestine desires, he couldn't help but recall that picture, carefully tucked into a sock drawer, amazed at the differences four years had made. In the photograph Michael looked so young and innocent, a far cry from the haunted soul that he was now. All boyishness had firmed and matured, taking on a hard, masculine edge. Whereas Michael was cute before, now he was just plain, heart-stoppingly beautiful.

The passing years had added bulk and maturity to the familiar features, though something in the eyes had changed, too. Experience had aged them beyond their years.

Jay sighed. Being around Michael might just break his heart. He owed it to the man to leave his fantasies behind and get to know the real Michael Ritter. At least they could be friends. He'd deal with his feelings and try his best not to impose them on someone who wouldn't welcome that kind of attention. Yes, he'd be a martyr.

Part of him wondered how horrified Michael would be if he knew that a gay man had been infatuated with him for the past four years. If he knew, would he run or would he feel like beating the shit out of the faggot? Could they even be friends or was it just wishful thinking? For that matter, could he be so honorable as to squash his own desires so as not to intimidate Michael? He just didn't know the answer to that.

Dammit, why were all the good ones straight?

* * *

"Ryan?'

"Michael? Oh, man, I'd 'bout given up on hearing from you. Look, I'm so sorry..."

"Shhhh....It's ok. I'm the one who's sorry for not calling you. It's been so hectic."

A ghost of a laugh reached Michael's ears, a mere echo of the heartfelt guffaws he knew Ryan capable of. "Tell me about it! My family's about to drive me nuts! My uncle and sister follow me around like I'm on suicide watch or something."

"Ryan!" Michael scolded, unwilling to hear him say such things, even in jest.

A sigh wafted from the phone. "No, dude; I told you. The moment came and went and it's gone. I hurt like hell and probably will for a long, long, time...but I can't. As much as I wanted to, I just can't. He would never make that choice; he had so many plans..." There was never a question of who 'he' was. After a moment of awkward silence that sorrow-laced voice continued softly, "His mom gave me the flag that draped his casket. I think she knows."

"Is that gonna be trouble for you?" Michael asked, concerned. He knew how hard it had to be for Ryan to face all the folks back home, hiding his true feelings to protect the memory of a dead man.

"No, she's cool. His sister says she cries a lot, but one day she came by to see me and said the strangest thing. She said that as long as I was alive that a part of her son would be, too. Then she hugged me and gave me the flag."

"That's good that she knows, then. Is she someone you can talk to?" As awkward as it might be to talk to Jimmy's mom, Michael hoped that she could offer a comforting shoulder. Damn, but it sucked that someone so young, with so much to live for, would never have the chance.

A breathy sigh preceded Ryan's answer. "Maybe not now, but hopefully in time. I need someone to talk to, ya know; someone who knows the truth. This is just so damned hard! Everyone keeps telling me that they know how difficult it is for me to lose my best friend but they have no freaking clue! He was so much more to me than that and I can't tell anyone. Then some of them act like I have no right to be so broken up because he was just a friend. Damn it, Michael...he was everything to me!"

Michael heard the sniffles and knew Ryan was crying, though it sounded like he was trying to hide it. He simply listened, silently offering his support, waiting for Ryan to compose himself or for the gentle tears to become full blown howls.

The subject was changed abruptly. "So, you're not mad at me?"

It was Michael's turn to sigh. After all the man had been through his worries were still for someone else. "How could you ever think that? I'm just glad I was there when you needed me."

"Uh, so you're not upset about..."

"No, Ryan, I'm not upset; surprised maybe, but not upset."

He was rewarded with a soft chuckle. "You have the gift for understatement, Big Guy."

Michael smiled at the familiar nickname that Ryan and Jimmy, both rather short, had called him from the first day they'd met him at boot camp. The memory of the two laughing, smiling Arkansas boys made his heart ache. They'd all been so young and innocent back then with no idea what life had in store. "So, how are you doing, really? You gonna be all right?" Michael felt inadequate, not knowing what else to say.

"I don't have much choice, do I?"

"Do you want me to come there?" The words were out of Michael's mouth before he had a chance to stop them, but after a moment's shock at the spontaneous offer he realized that this is what he should have done days ago. Regardless of his own fears and phobias, if Ryan needed him he would be there just as fast as he could.

"You'd do that?"

Ryan's eager response assured him that he'd said the right thing. "In a flat minute," was his sincere reply. In the silence that followed Michael steeled his resolve. He would leave the safety of home to provide support for his friend without question, even though a small, frightened part of him hoped it wouldn't be necessary.

Ryan let him off the hook. "That's nice of you, Big Guy, but I really need to stand on my own two feet right now."

Michael hurried to offer reassurances, more comfortable with his decision by the minute. "No, you don't, Ryan, that's what you've got friends for."

This prompted another silence. Finally, Ryan said, "Listen Michael, I just want to thank you for, you know....everything."

He was grateful Ryan couldn't see him blush. "Look, I cared about Jimmy, too. I don't think I'd have made it without the two of you. We're brothers, right?"

"That's right, we're brothers."

"Well, don't think for a minute that I won't come out there, 'cause I will-just say the word."

Ryan's voice sounded less strained when he answered, "Well, that's good to know but I'm just relieved that you're not mad. I couldn't have handled that."

"No, Ryan, never mad. Look, I know you're busy and all, but maybe in a few weeks you could come visit me."

"I'll think about it," Ryan answered, though he didn't sound very convincing.

Michael decided to let it pass and remember to offer again when things calmed down. "Well, the offer stands whenever you're feeling up to it."

"Thanks, Big Guy. I gotta go now, but don't be a stranger, all right?"

The words were so earnest that Michael smiled in spite of himself. "Only if you make the same promise."

"You got it." After a moment's pause Ryan added, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Brothers."

"Brothers," Ryan agreed.

With that parting thought Michael broke the connection, grateful that his friend was doing as well as he was, under the circumstances. He shook his head sadly as his thoughts drifted back in time-as if often did when he thought of Ryan and Jimmy-hoping that his failed memory could explain to him why, on that fateful day, he had been sitting in a transport with Ryan while Jimmy had been assigned a spot in a Humvee at the head of the convoy; his normal spot. Ryan, sadly, didn't know either.

Guilt was another reason he'd failed to call. By all rights it should have been him lying in that flag-draped casket, and it was only a matter of time before Ryan realized it, too.

Thanks to Nina, Meg, Lynda, Jared, and Tinnean.