And here we go, Sanderson thought, as he let Eversmann catch up to him at the edge of the compound. He didn't need to be a mind-reader to know what Ev was going to say. It was written all over that openly expressive face, all in the gratitude beaming out of girlishly pretty, dark eyes. "Hey," Eversmann said, small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He kept twisting his boonie nervously between his hands. "I just wanted to..." Sanderson shook his head, forestalling further words. He didn't want to hear it. This wasn't why any of them were here. "Forget it, alright. I don't need to –" "But I need to say it," Eversmann interrupted, stubborn, insistent, and really, Sanderson thought wearily, what was one more burden? "So say it." "Look...I just..." "We're all brothers, man," Sanderson said, when Eversmann stumbled. "We all bleed Army green – not just Delta, not just Rangers, not just the grunts humping the rear. All of us. I'd've done what anyone would have done for Grimes." "Yeah, but not everyone did. You did. You kept him safe, you got him home. He was mine, and you brought him back." Kid just was not getting it. But then, Hoot had said Ev was a stubborn sort, and liable to drown in his own guilt and sense of responsibility if he wasn't careful. Sanderson always thought that was one of the reasons Hoot had taken Eversmann under his wing – the crushing weight of guilt and responsibility was something Hoot had learned to crawl from under a long time ago. "You can buy me a damn beer when we pull out of this shithole, if it'll make you feel better, but really," he softened his voice as best he could, and clapped Eversmann on the shoulder. "Matt... I don't need your gratitude." Eversmann's lips lifted into that small, enigmatic smile again. He placed his hand over Sanderson's, warm and dry. "You've got it, whether you want it or not." Sanderson chuckled, and turned the caress into a cuff across the proud, stubborn set of Eversmann's jaw. "Hoot warned me you were a damn Boy Scout." "I am what I am," Eversmann shrugged. "And a man always owns up to his mistakes." "It wasn't a mistake. You did the right thing." "Maybe, maybe not, but I'm in your debt as much as Grimes is." "You're not going to let this lie, are you?" Sanderson asked, marveling at how innocent Eversmann still was, even with the weight of all the horrors he'd seen settling across his shoulders. "No, I'm not." "Guess I'll think of some way for you to pay me back, then." "Good," and this time, Eversmann treated Sanderson to one of his wide, dimpled smiles. Made him look about ten, and Sanderson felt an ache for the boys they'd all been once. "C'mon," Sanderson said, returning the smile. "Let's go bug Grimesy, see if we can finagle a decent cuppa out of him." "Jeff..." "Matt. It's alright." Sanderson's voice was low, kind. "You did good out there." "Yeah. Yeah, maybe." Eversmann uncrumpled his boonie and placed it on his head, taking care to smooth out the brim. His rank insignia glowed dully in the brilliant sun. "Let's go see Grimes." Good luck with him, Hoot, Sanderson thought to himself as he followed Matt into Grimes' office. You'll need it with this one. Onto Aftermath
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