Deliverance - Hooch and Matt's Story (5 page)

Climbing the stairs reminded Hooch once more of what they’d just done. He relished the soreness, following Matt and looking around the place. Calm, with the tension and anger literally fucked out of him, he gave a shrug.

“I don’t have a fucking clue how it’s going to look like, I have the imagination of a gnat. You do what you think is right, and let me pay for this place.” He hesitated, turned his head to look at Matt, as he tried out a new word for the very first time. “
Our
place.”

The word made Matt smile. “Deal. But you gotta tell me if you hate something.”

Hooch gave a rare, bright grin. “I veto pink.”

Matt laughed. “Done.”

A new life, for both of them, as Hooch had said. And wasn’t that fucking amazing.

Fall 1998, Fayetteville

Once the builders got started, work was underway remarkably quickly. Carpet ripped up, floorboards polished, walls put up, mirrors installed, wet areas tiled and plumbed, a truly amazing amount of wiring and cable, and the all-penetrating smell of fresh paint. Matt thought that the place looked like the aftermath of an earthquake, but it was
his
.

It seemed that every waking moment was spent talking to the builders, meeting with the architect, and setting up the rest of the business: arranging for the equipment to be delivered, interviewing new staff, finding himself flooded with enquiries from freelance trainers who wanted to use the gym as a base, while getting used to the strange feeling of being without Hooch all day, every day, unlike the past months.

Hooch had returned to Fort Bragg a couple of weeks ago, when he’d been signed fit for desk duties, just when the builders started in earnest. He had moved temporarily into a room on camp, where he should have felt at home in the impersonal four off-white walls. Yet he didn’t, because nothing was as it had been before his capture.

Besides, the desk job was driving him insane, cooped up day and night within offices, while his old team was getting ready for another mission.

They caught up mainly on weekends

still feeling their way around their new life.

* * *

Friday lunchtime, and Hooch was ready to leave camp, but the prospect of spending the weekend in a building site didn’t appeal at all. He almost called Matt with an excuse to stay in Fort Bragg, but he wouldn’t lie to Matt and there was no real point in staying with a team that was no longer his. He grabbed his daypack and made his way back to the gym, forced to drive a rented car, because he couldn’t easily climb into his truck yet. With that extra annoyance, his mood had deteriorated further by the time he reached the gym.

The place was almost finished, though the smell of the polish on the hardwood floors and the various solvents and sealants were enough to singe the hair. When Hooch stepped through the entrance door, he recoiled from the stink, then looked around. The equipment had started to arrive, it was stacked in big boxes and shrouded in protective plastic wrap.

Matt was sitting in a paint-splattered office chair in the office he had claimed as ‘his’

the makeshift desk full of the various brochures, files and paperwork he had accumulated.

Facing him across the table was a perky looking blonde of about eighteen, who was earnestly pointing out items in a furniture catalogue.

“Who are you?” Hooch demanded from the girl.

“Hi!” she stood up quickly and held out her hand, seemingly unfazed by the pissed-off man in uniform. “You must be Captain Bozic! I’m Mandy!”

Hooch’s brows shot up, then steepled in a pained expression. At least he found the decency in himself to shake her hand. “Mandy. You work here now?”

She nodded enthusiastically. She was cheerfulness and bounciness and sunshine. Behind her, Matt hid a smile behind his hand.

“Oh! Do you guys want anything for lunch? I’m just going to be headin’ off down for a couple of catalogues for the apartment. This is so cool!”

“Right.” Hooch tried to sort his thoughts, but he had a headache forming behind his eyes, and the last thing he wanted to do was to deal with an over-excited terrier in female form. “I don’t know.” He looked at Matt over her shoulder, with an expression that quickly became one of helplessness. “Do we?” before he realized what he’d said. ‘We’. Shit.

Matt didn’t seem to notice as he handed over some bills. “Just a some sandwiches and a couple of bottles of soda on your way back.”

She put the money into her purse and headed out the door, stopping on the way to admonish a painter roughly three times her size for leaving open cans of paint at the very edge of the dropsheet.

They watched her go, waiting until she was well into the parking lot before Matt asked. “Well? Any particular reason you want to maim my new receptionist?”

Hooch was still staring at Mandy’s retreating back, when Matt’s words filtered through. “Huh?” He turned round, felt barely suppressed frustration well up, when he caught the look on Matt’s face. Open, accepting, with the hint of a fond smile coupled with fatigue. The last he could do, Hooch realized, was to not add to Matt’s stress. This relationship stuff was hard, he’d never before had to take really someone else’s feelings into consideration.

Hooch scrubbed the heels of his hands over his face. “You don’t need my shit mood. Got enough on your plate.” He made an abortive movement across the building site.

“No,” Matt agreed, “so what’s pissed you off so much this time? Other than, of course, the complete and utter buttfuck here. Any other girl would probably have freaked and if you’re going to be in the habit of sending them into hysterics, I’d like to know.”

Hooch let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding, and set the daypack down. “Just the job.” At Matt’s expectant gaze he understood
he was supposed to elaborate. If this was what people in relationships did, damn, it was tricky. “My old team’s getting ready to head out.”

Things made sense to Matt, then. “Ah,” trying, damnit, for the right words, “the missing it or the sinking in?” He kept his distance, not touching Hooch like he wanted. Too many people just outside the door, painters, plumbers and electricians, who could come in at any time.

“I don’t know.” Hooch shook his head, rubbed his eyes again. He was damned tired and wasn’t that ridiculous, since all he’d done was paperwork and his physical therapy. “Not being part of it, I guess.” He shrugged again as if it all meant nothing, while it was anything but. He didn’t feel like dealing with it right now, and so he changed the subject. “How’s the upstairs going?”

Matt snorted, “even further from finished than here, but the painters haven’t got there yet, so it doesn’t reek as much. Come and see.”

Upstairs, the walls of the apartment had been rearranged into the new plan, but were still bare plasterboard. The tiling had been done for the open kitchen area and the bathroom at the same time as the wet area of the gym, so while the bathroom was fully functional, if unpainted, the kitchenette was still nothing but some taps with a bucket underneath, a fridge, and a microwave precariously balanced on a cheap table.

Matt had been living amongst the mess while most of the work was carried out downstairs, the workmen venturing to the apartment only when
they needed to wait before continuing the job downstairs. An air mattress on the floor of one of the bedrooms indicated which one Matt had claimed.

Hooch did a 360 degree. “Holy shit, you live in this? I didn’t expect it to be that bad.” Suddenly a hell of a lot less pissed off than before. “Guess my own shit takes on perspective.” He reached out for Matt to pull him close. The place was a building site of the worst proportions, but at least they were alone. Touching Matt, holding the strong and firm body close, had never lost its appeal, and it still gave him a sense of grounding. “And that,” he jerked his chin towards the air mattress, “is your bedroom?”

Matt’s chuckle was only partly muffled by Hooch’s neck. “Officially, I guess.” He stopped. “How much space do you think you’ll need for your stuff? Though there’ll be space in the other room of course, and your study down the hall.”

“I’ll need about the size of my CFP.” It was good not have to explain to Matt. They both knew which backpack he meant. “I don’t have ‘stuff’. Table top for my laptop, space for my kit, spot for my toothbrush and razor, and a place to sleep, that’s all I need.” He mock-headbutted Matt. “The latter preferably not on my own.”

“Not while I’m here, and not while you’re here. Though probably with a better bed.” Matt wanted to pull Hooch down onto the mattress but that was going to be an all-or-nothing effort. Hooch would get pissed off again if he suggested trying to go down slowly, but at the same time Matt didn’t fancy explaining things to Hooch’s medical team. He settled for tightening the embrace, hoping Hooch didn’t notice his quick calculating look down to the mattress. “We need the spare for guests anyway.”

Hooch had noticed the glance, hardly anything went unnoticed with him. “What guests are you expecting?”

Matt snorted, “Short list, I know…” he trailed off. Not a lot of people who knew; fewer who could carry the burden even if they were trusted.

“What about your, you know…” Hooch hesitated, then forged on, “…your family?” This was unknown territory and he had no idea how to tread, but they’d been skirting around the subject of families for ages. With Hooch’s an absolute no, he was unsure about the subject of Matt’s.

Matt shrugged a shoulder. “They know that I’m gay, yeah, since before I joined the Marines. They’re used to DADT, but with them, it’s all or nothing. One invite and you’re likely to get all of them

Mom, Pop, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, hell, even the cat and dog

in here. So, no, for reasons of space.” A pause, not quite knowing how to bring up the subject. “Mom’s been talking about Thanksgiving. What do you think?”

“They know about me?” The sudden note of panic in Hooch’s voice all too obvious.

“They know there’s someone, and that he’s still in,” Matt replied. “They’re not stupid. They know I didn’t quit, move halfway across the country to a place I’ve never been to which has an enormous Army base, and tell them that I’m still in the closet, just because I woke up one morning and felt like it.”

“Okay.” Hooch’s face and sudden tension was anything but okay. “I’m shit at families. Shit at relationships. Shit at all that normal stuff. Hey, fuck, shit at ninety-eight percent of life.” He ran a hand through his short hair, “and the two percent I’m good at is fighting and fucking!” He tried to reach for Matt to pull him onto the mattress.

Matt’s first instinct was to grab Hooch and do just that, but stopped. The gym was still full of workmen, and Mandy was due back any moment. Though he’d locked the door behind them, someone banging on it seeking his attention would be almost as bad as them coming in. More importantly, sex really wasn’t what Hooch needed, even if it was what he said he wanted.

Matt stepped forward and took hold of Hooch’s forearms, feeling the tension strumming through him. “Much as I’d like to screw you, or better yet let you screw me, through that goddamned uncomfortable mattress, that’s not what this is about. You are quite extraordinary, Hubert Bozic, so don’t give me that bullshit, and of course stuff’s going to be different with us than with regular joe shmoes.”

“Are you telling me you want me to visit your family?” Hooch had faced unspeakable dangers, went alone and on foot into the Mog, but this, this was above and beyond anything he’d ever handled. “Goddammit, they’d hate me!”

Matt recoiled, the blustering defense coupled with the obvious ‘why?’ both dying before they made it out. “Course I do—we’re partners.” He tested the word, so new and he could count the number of times he’d said it out loud on one hand, “and why wouldn’t they trust my taste in men?”

“Because I’m not what they’d want for you. I have the social skills of an amoeba, and know fuck-all about living a normal life. I can’t stand too many people around me, and don’t like talking.” Hooch shook his head, “and because of me you still have to live a lie.”

Matt blinked. “They trusted me to know what I was doing when I enlisted,” he stepped forward again, “do you think they’d do any different now?” He kept his voice low, oddly reminded of a summer camp, many years ago, trying to coax some wild creature towards him. “I know it’s soon. But…just think about it.” No lies, no false promises, it wasn’t as though he could say ‘and we can leave at any time if you’re uncomfortable’ because frankly, the sheer logistics of getting from Flint back to Fayetteville was a nightmare at the best of times, let alone Thanksgiving.

“Okay.” Slowly and hesitantly, unlike the Hooch everyone—except Matt—knew. “I’ll think about it.” Hooch moistened his lips. Damn, when had he become such a pussy? He was determined to cope, no matter what, and he forced himself to let some of the tension out of his body. “Tell me, how much would it mean to you?”

“Honestly?” Matt thought, “I can’t say I wouldn’t really want you to meet them. They’ll like you. My Mom’s a great cook and she’d want to feed you up.” Keeping his voice low, “but seriously? What matters to me is
you
, and if you don’t want to come, then we won’t.” The words hovered between them.

That was it, the crux. Hooch wanted the same, ‘what matters is
you’
, and wasn’t that another first in his life. “Alright.” He nodded once, his decision was made. If he could walk into hostile enemy territory, he could dam well go to a family Thanksgiving, especially if it was the family of the one person that truly mattered: Matt. He’d paid a high price to learn that lesson.