#reallyohcrap

The sir shakes Nate back into the moment.

“Don’t call me that,” he says because he can, and he rolls his eyes.

“Sir?”

“Yeah,” Nate says, even though he knows by Brad’s tone that Brad was looking for clarification. “I’m not an officer anymore.”

“Right,” Brad says. He doesn’t ask to come in, but Nate steps aside anyway, leaving the doorway clear. He’s still surprised that Brad’s here, and seems to have lost the words needed to tell Brad that it’s good to see him.

“Want a beer or something?” Nate asks instead.

“Beer would be good,” Brad agrees, stepping inside, and he scans the apartment. Not out of nosiness, Nate knows, but out of habit: clear the immediate threat area, clear the corners, locate all inhabitants.

“It’s just us,” Nate tells him.

It’s only when he goes to open the fridge that Nate takes a minute to process what the fuck is going on. He almost wishes Gunny had given him a heads up, but it wouldn’t have changed anything. Nate’s still Nate, and Brad’s always going to be Brad.

And that’s the problem, Nate thinks.

Two beers in hand, Nate heads back into the living room. Brad’s leaning over Nate’s desk, reading Nate’s paper, but he doesn’t comment on it, and so Nate doesn’t feel the need to, either. Instead, Nate nudges Brad’s arm with one of the bottles, and then hands it over when Brad reaches for it.

“Thanks,” Brad says. He walks over to sit on the couch and adds, “Nice bike.”

Nate breathes out a laugh. Brad’s all about bikes, sure, but the bike in the corner is a road bicycle.

“I won a national championship in cycling while I was at Dartmouth,” Nate says before he can think about it, and he can practically see Brad file that information away, just by the look on his face.

Brad shakes his head and asks, “What aren’t you good at?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I probably would be,” Brad agrees, and he looks at Nate in a way that Nate tries not to read into. And if he doesn’t read into it, Nate doesn’t know what the hell it means.

“Why are you here, Brad?” he asks, and it’s rude of him, he knows that, but he also needs to know.

Brad showing up like this is crazy, and almost everything Nate wants. He’s had dreams about this—or, not dreams, but things he thought of at night as he brought himself off in his own hand: Brad coming over, wanting to see Nate. Brad being gay. Brad wanting Nate.

It was easier to ignore in Iraq.

“Just thought I’d drop by to see a friend,” Brad says evenly.

It would be nice, Nate thinks, to go with that. It would be nicer still if that really were the case, but it’s not, and it’s never going to be.

“We were a lot of things,” Nate tells him honestly, “but we were never friends, Brad.”

Brad doesn’t respond. Instead, he just stares at Nate, and Nate doesn’t know why. Nate’s comment shouldn’t be a surprise to him; he and Nate never shot the shit, or talked about home, or their families. He and Nate talked business, talked Captain America and Encino Man and needing LSA. He and Nate talked survival. Hell, Gunny had to tell Brad where Nate even was.

They’re practically strangers, looking at it like that.

“Nate,” Brad finally says, but then he falls silent, like maybe he just said Nate’s name to get his attention.

Unnecessary, Nate thinks. Brad always has his attention.

The silence between them drags out, and Nate wonders if he’s supposed to fill it. He wonders, idly, why Brad’s really here, but doesn’t care enough to ask a second time.

Everything else aside, it’s just nice getting to look at him again.

“It’s good to see you, Brad,” Nate finally says, and it’s the most honest thing he’s ever said in his life.

“I meant it when I said it,” Brad tells him, a response that doesn’t make sense. “That I trusted you.”

“Oh,” Nate replies. He doesn’t know what Brad means, so he says, “Even if you didn’t, I’m out of the Corps now—”

“But I’m not,” Brad says, and Nate knows that. Brad still just looks at Nate and looks at Nate and looks. He’s always looking at Nate like that, and it drives Nate crazy. Brad says again, “I trust you, Nate.”

And maybe it’s like Ray always said, that Nate left the Corps and got his brains back, or maybe it’s because Brad flew in all the way from California, just to be where Nate was. Regardless, it hits Nate then, suddenly. Nate should have realized it sooner, what Brad was saying and was always saying, but Nate never for a second thought to ask. And, more realistically, Nate never for a second thought Brad would tell.

In a way, Brad still hasn’t.

“Oh,” Nate says again, different this time, and maybe it’s in his voice, or maybe it’s written all over his face, but either way, Brad seems to get what he means.

“It’s good to see you, too, Nate,” Brad tells him, an echo of Nate earlier, and sitting there, sharing the couch in Nate’s shitty Harvard apartment, Brad reaches out to touch Nate’s wrist.