Sgt. Matt Eversmann wondered why those particular words continued to haunt him long into the night. Wondered what it was about Hoot that even his simplest statements carried a weight; a truth to them that Matt felt he could search his entire life for and never find again. Wondered why he was still thinking about Hoot, was always thinking about Hoot, even after Hoot had gone back out into the madness, cocked, locked, and ready to rock once more. Wondered why he was praying for the safe return of a man who'd made it clear he didn't need prayers. Matt didn't really expect God would listen to him anyway. He pretty much figured God wasn't listening to anyone in the Mog right about now. He finished shedding the last of his fatigues and stepped under the tepid spray of the makeshift shower. This part of the barracks was completely deserted at this hour of the night – everyone was at the other end of the hanger, pretending to sleep. Pretending that the night before had been just a nightmare, and maybe, when they woke up, their friends would be alive and whole once more. Matt had no use for sleep, even less for dreams. He wasn't really sure if he'd ever sleep again. Wasn't sure he really wanted to. He tilted his face to the lukewarm water and closed his eyes. He tried to think about his shower at his parent's house, back in Tennessee. Tried to think about how the water pressure had always been a little bit off so that he'd wound up taking either scalding showers or really frigid ones. Tried to think about the smell of his father's aftershave mingling with the softer scent of his mom's perfume. Tried to think of the way the sun would shine bright through the window onto the neighbor's yard and their prized azalea bushes. He was pretty sure they didn't have azaleas here. The soap was astringent, Army-harsh, as he washed the grime and sweat off his body. For once, he didn't mind. The harsher the better, as far as he was concerned. Anything to wash off the blood and grime and gunpowder from last night. Anything to wash off the memory of Jamie's open and trusting face as he bled to death before Matt's eyes. Anything to wash away the memory of Blackburn's still body as things had started to go horribly wrong. Matt didn't care what Hoot said. It was his fault. His mission, his responsibility. He'd made a fucking promise to Captain Steele to bring his men back safely, and he hadn't been able to do it. A good leader always accepted the blame for what went wrong. Matt wouldn't exactly call himself a good leader, but he was pretty good about knowing when he'd fucked up. Every single muscle in his body ached with a thousand sharp needle points as he rinsed the soap and dirt away, watched with an odd sort of detachment as black foam swirled down the drain. His arms hurt so badly he could barely move them – and never mind the pain in his thighs from jogging back from Bakara. He'd fucking kill for a massage. Too bad this wasn't Desert Storm. He'd have paid one of the female soldiers and been glad to do it. "Hey." Matt glanced up, startled, as Hoot jerked the canvas curtain aside. He quickly ran his gaze down Hoot's wiry body – across sculpted arms and a wide chest covered by a sweat-soaked t-shirt, down muscled thighs and tight calves encased in desert fatigues. Just checking for injuries, Officer, just checking for injuries. Honest. "Planning on staying in there all night?" "You're back." Matt was too relieved to see that familiar cocky grin to pretend an embarrassment he didn't feel at getting caught pants down, so to speak. Not that Hoot would've cared. "Well, somebody had to make sure you weren't wasting away on your own guilt." "I'm not –" "Save it. I'll be out here." Hoot slid the curtain closed, leaving Matt alone once more. Hoot was back. Matt couldn't quite contain the smile – or the odd fluttering in his chest – as he finished rinsing and turned off the spray. * * * "Dunno why they make Army towels the size of postage stamps," Hoot said, when Matt stepped out of the shower, towel barely covering his hips. "You'd think they'd know better. I mean, the guys in charge are all men, right?" "There's no privacy in the military, you know that." Nevertheless, Matt tugged the flaps closer together. Wasn't sure why he bothered – hell, Hoot had just seen his naked ass, right? They were guys. Not like there was anything new to see. Which, of course, explained why his heart was fluttering again in an odd sort of nervousness. Silly to be nervous. He'd showered and changed in front of other men all his life. But none of them had been Hoot. "No privacy and no forgiveness, isn't that right, Matt?" Hoot stepped forward – all raw animal grace – and ran a finger along the edge of the towel, just above Matt's hipbone. "That's why you're here showering in the middle of the night, isn't it? To wash away your sins?" "Don't." Though it took every ounce of strength still left within him, Matt stepped back. Away from the mocking heat in Hoot's eyes. Away from the maddening touch of that single finger against his skin. He was a Ranger. He wasn't that hard up for companionship. He would be stronger than this. Hoot's remarkable cocoa eyes darkened, flared with some indefinable emotion before shuttering. "It's not your guilt, Matt. When're you gonna learn that?" This, at least, was an argument he understood. He and Hoot'd had it often enough the last 24 hours. "Is that why you're here? To save me from myself? Delta to the rescue?" "Be easier for you, wouldn't it?" Yeah, Matt admitted to himself. It would. Life had been simpler before the Mog. And life had been a fuck of a lot simpler before yesterday. Before the hiss of bullets and the weight of leadership and – "Doing it again," Hoot said, shrugging out of his faded, tan t-shirt with practiced ease. His skin gleamed mahogany under the fluorescent lights, was punctuated by four long, ragged scars across his abdomen. Matt wondered where he'd gotten them. Wondered if he could feel the sharp edge of the knife slicing flesh if he pressed his fingers just so. Wondered if anyone had been there to comfort Hoot after, to place butterfly kisses along each white scar and reassure him that yes, he was alive. Dangerous thoughts. He wasn't going to do this. Bad enough he was always aware of Hoot when they were in the same room. "What'm I doing, then?" he asked instead, leaning against a metal wall locker with a nonchalance he was far from feeing. Hoot sat on one of the long benches and started unlacing his boot. "Wallowing." "Why do you even care?" "Dunno, really." Full lips pursed in thought, and Matt licked his in response. Piercing eyes caught Matt's with all the accuracy of a falcon hunting its prey. "Remind me of myself when I was your age." Matt let out a dry, papery laugh. "Somehow I don't see you as an idealist – no matter how young you were." "Shows what you know," Hoot grinned, and went to work on his other boot. "Convince me." "Nah, that's too easy. I don't do easy." Hoot stood and let his fatigues fall to the floor in a heap around his ankles. He kicked them aside with a careless shrug. He wasn't wearing anything underneath. Matt's hands curled into fists, the blunt edges of his nails scoring into his palms. He suppressed, as best he could, every urge screaming at him to drop his gaze. Ignored that tiny voice in his head that told him this was why he'd sought out the solitude of the shower. Ignored that fucking flutter that wouldn't go away, no matter how much Matt tried to slow it down. He was stronger than this. He didn't need companionship that badly. Silence stretched, became a living thing full of danger and darkness, taunting them as they stared into each other's eyes. Matt wasn't going to break. He wasn't going to give in, no matter how much his body screamed at him to just look, it was just the male body and he'd seen everything before, right? That it would be payback for earlier, that Hoot had certainly looked his fill. Matt's eyes flickered down – caught a glimpse of toned thighs and springy hairs that curled between lean hips. Fuck. "Seemed a bit scared, Matt." Hoot grinned again, wolfish, dangerous. The next instant – so fast Matt barely had time to react – he was pressed against the locker with a muffled thump. Electric sparks snapped and crackled between them as chests and arms met, rubbed together in slick friction. The towel fell, unnoticed, at their feet. "Look, we –" Matt licked suddenly dry lips, watched in helpless fascination as Hoot's eyes followed the path. The fluttering turned into a mad scramble as his pulse jumped, his breath stuttered. "We shouldn't –" "I'm Delta, Sergeant." Hoot braced one hand against the wall beside Matt's head and leaned in, nostrils flaring slightly as he inhaled. The weight of him was solid, warm, and far too real. "I don't care much for what I shouldn't." "Why?" From this close, Hoot's eyes glimmered with gold. Matt tried to draw in another breath, felt like he was breathing underwater, suffocating in heat. "Why not?" Hoot's lips were soft, fit perfectly along Matt's, as he shifted again, muscle and skin slamming, sliding together. The familiar hint of gunpowder under a darker, more dangerous scent teased Matt's senses. "You gonna feel guilt, may as well be for a good cause." Matt tasted the words rather than heard them. His lungs, limbs, voice refused to work. The sheer and utter wrongness flickered across a heated brain. All his upbringing, all his training, thoughts of a dishonorable discharge, the look of disappointment on his father's face – all of it registered in a heartbeat. All of it easily – perhaps too easily – discarded. He'd been watching, observing, wanting, for far too long. And he had a feeling, even if they were caught (highly unlikely though it was), his commander would forgive him just about anything tonight. Hoot's lips brushed over his in fleeting promise. Chests and stomachs, groins and thighs, all pressed intimate and close. Power, passion – forbidden and smoldering – waited only on his word for tinder to strike. He should be stronger than this. But he wasn't. And somehow, it no longer mattered. "I'm a Ranger," Matt whispered, sandpaper-rough, and cupped a steady hand across the back of Hoot's neck. "I live for danger." Dark eyes flashed again with need and that unnamed something else. The flutter morphed into a steady hum of power and need. "Well, then," Hoot breathed, brushing another kiss to wanting lips before allowing Matt to push him gracelessly to his knees. "Shall we?" Onto Acceptance
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