#sergeant sullivan

The worst part of living alone was the silence. It was suffocating. 

He'd managed for a while, staying occupied between working at Lemmy's Bar and keeping up with the local fairs and farmers' markets. It felt good to get involved in the community, to step outside and greet a friendly face who'd stop by later to hand over a homemade pie or offer to fix something up for him around the house.

Things had been different back home, back in a place where your only options were becoming a crime statistic or getting the hell out of dodge. He'd grown up believing he'd book it out of his hometown hand-in-hand with the person he believed to be the love of his life to start fresh someplace new, someplace better. 

Instead, he watched his best friend pack what few belongings he had and get on a bus so he could become another cog in the machine. (Y/N) had never considered which was worse: the empty promises or the fact that he continued believing them until reality finally slapped him in the face.

(Y/N) felt like a stranger in his own home, his shoulders rigid and body tense, caught between smiling affectionately at the sight of Liam attempting to entice his cat out of his hiding spot with a toy and asking him what the hell he wanted now after so long.

His back remained pressed to the wall, arms wrapped tight around himself, with his eyes continuing to flicker toward the clock ticking away on the kitchen wall.

It was late. The only taxi company in town would need to be bribed to head out so deep into the countryside down a road with no light posts.

Reluctantly, (Y/N) pushed himself off the wall and jerked his head toward the hallway. "There's a guest room you can use. The bed is small, shitty, but you're probably used to that by now." He told him, reaching down to the foot of the couch where Liam had set down his rather dramatically large backpack. "I'll show you."

"Demoted to guest room, huh?"

Liam gave the feather wand a few more wiggles, but little Pecan remained tucked away in his spot behind the couch, only offering the ginger a few blinks. Despite his failure, Liam only grinned at the feline before raising his head to look at him.

"I was hoping to go to bed at your side."

(Y/N) pursed his lips. "You haven't done that in years, Liam."

"Only a few." Liam frowned, but (Y/N) knew him well enough to see the guilt that sparked in those baby blues. "I... I haven't been gone long, but I'll make it up to you."

"You've been gone more than a few years, and you know it. You've been doing all kinds of shit: classified things, Liam. Things you- you can't tell me about, which I have to assume means you're doing them in other countries or- or-" 

(Y/N) clamped his mouth shut and inhaled shakily through his nose, giving a light shake of his head as he turned toward the hallway. He shouldered open the door to the guest room and set the backpack over the bed, releasing a soft exhale through his nose.

They'd been over this a million times: the dangers of Liam's career, how he shut down any real conversation about it, how he couldn't accept they weren't as close as they'd been before he got on that bus to head to boot camp. Things weren't the same. Liam wasn't the same. He was someone new, someone guarded and burdened.

"Baby."

Liam's voice was soft and gentle, a tone he always used when speaking to him, unless it was through the phone and there were people around. Then, he became the robotic, serious, obedient Liam that was a stranger to him.

How Liam, his incredible Liam, could manage to be two different people was a mystery to him.

"You don't get to call me that." He murmured, his tone a hint childishly defiant, and Liam chuckled softly behind him. His head whirled around to glare at him, and Liam's amusement swiftly died. "I'm serious, man. You don't get to come and go as you damn please. I have a new life here, and you- you disrupt it once every couple of years. What am I supposed to do?"

The needlelike feeling of years stinging his eyes made him huff in irritation, and he pushed Liam's hands away while he fought to collect himself.

"What am I supposed to do, Liam? Huh? Wait- Wait for you to come back in a damn coffin? Every time I get a phone call, I think, "This is it. They're calling to say he's dead." Do you have any idea what that's like? I put my life on hold for you, and you're treating yours like a joke."

Liam's brows tightened with guilt and mild frustration. "(Y/N)-"

"You risk your life for them, and they'd throw you in jail if they knew about us. You have to hide who you are- you, fuck, you use a woman's name whenever you write to me! You can't say what you really feel if you call me from base! What am I supposed to do, Liam?"

(Y/N) ran his fingers over his forehead and sniffled. Liam's shoulders sagged at the sound. "Just.. sleep in the guest room. I don't have the energy to have this argument with you. Again."

Leaving Liam in the guest room and stepping out into the hallway, he dried the wetness under his eyes with his fingertips as he headed toward his bedroom. He wasn't sure how many more bittersweet reunions he could have with Liam, how many more sleepless nights he could endure. His chest was already aching, his head was already throbbing.

The bed creaked beneath the weight of his body when he sat at the edge, his head in his hands, his mind running wild. He wished things had gone differently, wished he'd fought tooth and nail to stop Liam from going to that recruiter, wished he'd reported the recruiter for helping him enlist when he was below the weight requirement. 

He stared down at the wooden floorboards until a pair of black boots entered his vision, dirtied with mud along the edges and worn from years of use. Liam kneeled in front of him, his hands gently wrapping around (Y/N)'s wrists to peel his hands from his face. He leaned in, lips brushing over his cheekbones tenderly. 

"I'm sorry." He whispered, his breath warm and smelling of mint. "I don't say that a lot, but I mean it. I-I-I know I've been taking you for granted, baby, and it kills me when I can't be close. I..." His tongue swiped over his lips, his eyes dropping down to their hands. "I took two weeks off before my next deployment, and I came straight here to spend them with you, if you want me here."

Deployment. (Y/N) knew what that meant. Weeks and months of radio silence while Liam adjusted to his new environment and schedule.

"Where?"

"Guam."

(Y/N)'s brows knitted. "Where the fuck is Guam?"

Liam snorted softly, a little laugh tumbling from his mouth, before he leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. "You don't know where Guam is, baby?"

His eyes crinkled in a way that made him look youthful, freer, and (Y/N) felt his irritation die slowly at the sight of his wide, teasing smile. "You're supposed to be the smart one between us, remember?"

"They didn't exactly teach us geography in our shitstain of a town, Li," (Y/N) muttered, his fingers curling around Liam's and squeezing.

"It's a little island near the Philippines, alright? It's a long way from here, so I'll try to call you when it's daytime here. My letters will probably take a while to arrive, too. I.. I don't know how long it'll be until I return to the mainland, (Y/N). It might be years before I see you face-to-face again." Liam brought his hand to his face, kissing the back of (Y/N)'s knuckles.

"Nothing new." (Y/N) sighed, tugging his hands free to run a fingertip over his brow. "I can't keep doing this, Liam, I can't. Be a Marine, fight for this country, but I can't keep this up. You... You have to let me go, Liam. Let us go."

Liam's lips pressed together tightly, those vibrant eyes of his flickering between (Y/N)'s and threatening to shimmer with unshed tears. "You know I can't do that." He whispered, his head shaking. "I can't, (Y/N). I can't. I'm- I'm doing this for us. I-I send money when I can-"

"I have your money, Liam." (Y/N) interrupted softly, his teeth catching the inside of his bottom lip as he reached for the nightstand drawer and took out the envelope, thick and heavy with money. "Keep it. I never asked for it."

"No, no, it's for you. For us." Liam swallowed harshly. "For our future."

(Y/N)'s lips rolled into his mouth, and he rested the envelope on his thigh so he could cup Liam's face in his hands. "Baby," He started softly, gently, running his fingers along his cheeks, his skin reddened from time in the sun. "We have no future."

"I love you."

"But not enough."

Stepping through the doorway, his eyes automatically found the picture set atop the entry table while he kicked the front door shut and muttered soft greetings in response to Pecan's raspy mews.

Nostalgia invaded his chest at the sight of the scrawny, shaggy-haired boy he'd fallen in love with in his youth, his mouth twisted up in that familiar smirk and vibrant eyes filled with mischief.

It'd been a while since he last heard from Liam. Nothing since a letter from Guam stating he planned to leave the island and would try to visit soon, which meant he'd either pop by unexpectedly within a week, a month, or a year. 

Balancing two brown grocery bags in one arm, he locked the door and reached down to pat the top of his cat's head, a heavy sigh forming in his chest. He made peace with the heartbreak, tried to maintain distance from Liam by letting his calls go to voicemail on occasion and filling a box in his bedroom with unopened letters when he knew they'd be filled with affection that'd pull at his heartstrings.

He'd begun to prefer the perfect, emotionless soldier. It helped the process of detachment.

"Pecan, please," (Y/N) huffed lightheartedly at his mewling child, carefully maneuvering around the tabby to avoid tripping over him on his way to the kitchen. "You ate an hour ago, my love. Stop acting like you've been starved for days."

Pecan answered with a half-meow, half-shriek of protest. And, because it was easier to ignore someone when they were miles away, (Y/N) gave in to his demanding furry friend with a couple of treats scattered on the floor.

He glanced toward the clock and then to the phone, hands plucking the groceries from the bag and setting them on the counter, anticipation bubbling in his stomach. If his guess was correct, Liam had been in the country on Parris Island for a few weeks now, settling into whatever role and position he was given. He usually called sooner.

What if he'd finally given up and accepted their fate? A hint of sour bitterness flooded (Y/N)'s mouth, and as swiftly as he noticed it, he distracted himself by stuffing his fridge. He wanted that, he reminded himself. He wanted them to part ways, to at most simply be friends... who knew everything about each other. 

(Y/N) stood in front of his fridge, teeth nipping at his inner cheek and tears threatening to flood his vision. "God," He sighed, setting the milk carton inside and nudging Pecan aside with his foot when the cat attempted to climb inside the fridge. "I should move to Canada. I'm sure there are bars in Canada that need employees."

Pecan mewed.

"Yeah, you're right. I can do better than a Canadian bar, can't I, bubba?" (Y/N) scooped the fuzzy, demanding creature into his arms and set the last of the canned food into the pantry.

Once the groceries were put away, he made his way to the living room, settling down on the couch and turning on the radio. It filled the silence and occupied his attention with the news and random tidbits from the station playing. 

Until the phone rang, and (Y/N)'s heart skipped a beat.

It was fine to answer the call, he told himself as he approached the dial phone. Liam deserved to talk to a familiar voice, to unburden himself of things his colleagues wouldn't understand. He was doing this for Liam. Just to be nice, and not because he missed hearing his voice cooing into his ear or blabbering about things (Y/N) barely understood.

Taking a deep breath, (Y/N) brought the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

There was silence on the other end, apart from the background noise of what he assumed was a bar, given the static noise of a television and slurred chatter. He'd worked in one long enough to recognize the telltale signs.

Liam drank most when he was stressed, and a drunken, stressed Liam was a ticking time bomb.

He'd been privy to enough of his fights throughout their youth to know, and while Liam had been a walking twig then, he was a wall of muscle now. A wall of muscle who likely knew a million different ways to do much worse than break a nose.

(Y/N) pressed his shoulder to the wall, his heartbeat quickening. "I can hear you breathing, you know."

"Sorry." Liam's laugh was breathless, tired. "I missed your voice."

"Yeah, same here. How's Parris Island?"

"It's, uh, fine. I'm a drill instructor now. This fucking platoon is-" There was a long, drawn-out sigh on the other end. Knowing him, he was probably rubbing a hand over his face like an exhausted father. "You know how it is."

Not really, (Y/N) almost said, and then bit his tongue. Liam had asked him to tag along, to join him back when he entertained the idea of being a Marine. (Y/N) told him he didn't have a death wish. It was still a sore subject. "I assume that means you're putting them through hell? Treating them worse than how you were treated?"

"They need this, (Y/N). They have to learn. They have to reach their full potential. An unprepared Marine is a dead Marine, and I can't have that on my conscience, too."

"I'm not judging you, Li," (Y/N) assured him, curling his finger tightly around the phone line. Too. "You've preached the importance of boot camp torment enough times. Is... Is this your thing now? I thought you were, uh, recon?" 

Reconnaissance.

He remembered when Liam explained what it was, the seriousness in his brow and the way he moved his hands while he spoke. Truthfully, (Y/N) hadn't absorbed much of what he said, too focused on watching how the warm lamplight shone on his flushed face and how his newfound muscles rippled with each movement.

Liam had laughed bashfully when he noticed (Y/N)'s blatant ogling, leaned in with a few teasing remarks before (Y/N) kissed him breathless and dragged their sweaty, warm bodies together.

It'd been one of the few days they hadn't argued or shed tears of frustration over each other's opinions, and remained tangled up in bed with smiles and laughter. 

"I.. I needed a change of scenery, I guess. I thought it'd be worse, but.." Liam trailed off, and (Y/N) heard him swallow. "There's this kid in the platoon. Cope. He joined with his buddy. He... God, (Y/N), he reminds me of us. He's this skinny little thing, barely gains any muscle, should've washed out on his first day. He's got this light in his eyes.. every time I look at him, I see you. I see myself."

"Found your mini-me, huh?" (Y/N) couldn't help but smile. "Sounds like you'll be going twice as hard on him."

"He already despises me." Liam laughed. "It's good, though. Means I'm doing my job. Means I'm doing right by him."

"I'm sure he'll never forget you, Li. You'll probably haunt his dreams for a while." Like how you haunt mine. "Is that all? Just checking in?"

Liam fell quiet again, his breathing filling the phone. "I... I had a friend in Guam. He is, uhm.." (Y/N) heard shuffling, the soft noise of a throat being cleared.

"Gay.. and he gave me a lot of advice. Told me things I didn't want to hear, but I'm thankful. He had a lover here in the States, and his lover got sick unexpectedly. Died a month later and... he didn't find out until after the funeral. Now, people are talking because he's been grieving for so long. He may lose his job, may go to jail."

"Where are you going with this, Liam?"

"My contract is up, (Y/N). I haven't... I haven't signed the reenlistment form yet. I don't know if I will." 

The air left (Y/N)'s lungs in a long exhale, and his knees threatened to buckle. "Oh."

His back pressed to the wall, and he slid down it until he reached the floor, his legs slumping and sprawling out in front of him. Pecan took it as an invitation, his long, fluffy body leaping off the couch cushion to approach him and curl up in his lap. (Y/N) trekked his fingers through his fur, his breathing shallow, tongue unable to form words.

"Captain Fajardo's been encouraging me to reenlist, but... Fuck, I don't know. (Y/N), I want to be with you. I want to wake up by your side, to know you're safe and okay, but I need a purpose. I can't stay stagnant in one place, (Y/N). It'll drive me insane."

"Uhm,"

(Y/N) hadn't noticed he'd been crying until he heard the way his voice trembled.

"Uhm, I-I have a neighbor. She has a big farm and- and her son will be moving away after his wedding next month. She'll be looking for a ranch hand. It's hard work. Sometimes they're out in the sun from dawn to dusk. It might not include screaming in the faces of young men, but you'll probably have to yell at a stubborn animal or two."

Liam hummed quietly.

"And a lot of the guys in town will get together to help each other with random projects. Sometimes they go out hunting in the woods. I think they'd appreciate having an expert."

"On hunting?"

"On guns, jackass." Liam chuckled softly on the other end. "You'll like it here, Li. Come home."

Another beat of silence, of soft breathing and the background noise of the bar. (Y/N) curled his arm around Pecan and brought him tight to his chest, pressing his cheek into the soft fur along his head.

This was it.

This was the start of a new chapter and the potential end to their story. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to even his breathing before Liam could pick up on it.

"When Captain Fajardo asked if I was needed back home, if I even had a place to return to... I told her I had someone who was home to me. It.. It reminded me of something Aaron said when he mentioned he wanted to go back to his lover and stay. He said that there was no point in fighting if he didn't have someone to go home to."

(Y/N) took in a breath. "What will you do, then? Are you coming back?"

"I don't know, baby. I don't know."

It'd been nearly a month since the phone call, since (Y/N) clutched Pecan in his arms and sniffled into his soft body until he gathered the strength to get up from the floor.

He went through the motions he usually did when he wanted to force Liam into the back of his mind: he went jogging during his free time, offered to tutor the kids in town at the library, volunteered wherever they needed someone, stuffed his face with homemade sweets gifted by his neighbors.

He debated adopting another cat, just to further fill the void. Maybe to spite Liam, since he never had any luck with felines.

The road to his house was mostly dirt and sand that grew bumpy and awkward to drive over when certain vehicles traversed it. There were only three other people who used the road to get home, so (Y/N) recognized the marks of their car tires and farm equipment, which meant he immediately noticed the other tire marks on the road as he headed down the road to his house. 

Anticipation bubbled in his gut at the sight of the taxi heading down the road in his direction, and he pressed down on the gas pedal once his house came into view.

He clumsily unbuckled his seatbelt, his breath catching in his throat every so often as he fumbled with the two homemade pies he'd been given as thanks by two mothers for tutoring their kids.

After nearly tripping over the porch steps and narrowly dropping his keys, (Y/N) managed to get the front door open and stepped inside, his eyes flickering from the photo at the entry table to the real deal sitting on his couch.

He shut the door behind him silently, muttering his greeting to Pecan when the cat curled around his legs with his usual demands. 

"Needy little guy." Liam perched his head on his fist, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Gets it from his dad, I guess."

(Y/N) rolled his eyes and walked toward the small, round dining table, carefully setting the pies down and getting Pecan a scoop of his dry food. He flexed his trembling fingers and sighed quietly, gathering up whatever strength he had left before he stood in front of Liam and met his bright eyes. 

"So? What's going on?" 

Liam stood up from the couch, his gaze intent and heavy. "I waited for boot camp to end. I wanted to see them cross that line and become Marines before... before I left for good." There was a hint of caution in his slowly spoken words, his eyes flickering between (Y/N)'s. "I didn't reenlist. I'm here, if you'll still- still have me. If I'm still yours."

The waterworks were unavoidable. "Yeah." (Y/N) breathed out, his nods quickening into rapid movements. "Yeah, yeah, of course. God, you idiot, of course." 

Liam lunged at him, his strong arms wrapping around his midsection and squeezing him tight to his chest, the force nearly knocking them over.

(Y/N) laughed airily, sliding his arms around Liam's shoulders, his fingers crinkling the fabric of his dark green shirt when he clutched onto him tightly. His head tilted back, letting Liam bury his face in the nape of his neck and inhale like a man needing oxygen. 

"I'm not the Liam you fell in love with all those years ago, (Y/N)," Liam whispered into his neck, his voice shaking. "I'm not that boy anymore."

"Look at me."

(Y/N) grasped his shoulders to push him back, as far as Liam was willing to go without creating distance between their bodies. He raised his hands to his reddening cheeks, dragging his thumbs over his cheekbones and collecting the few tears that slipped from the corners of his eyes.

"You're still my Liam, with the good and the ugly. Just... don't hide from me."

Liam sniffled and weakly nodded, squeezing his eyes shut to get the last few years out. "I love you."

He surged forward again, claiming (Y/N)'s mouth this time, his hands pressing him closer and closer, trying to erase any space between them. They slipped beneath his shirt, calloused and rough from hard work, running along the skin of his back to reacquaint himself with his body.

(Y/N) pulled away, feeling his shirt drag along his body when Liam peeled it off him. "How'd you get into my house, exactly?" He asked, a little breathless and faintly disoriented, when Liam took his hand to lead him to the bedroom.

Liam grinned over his shoulder at him. "The spare key is always beneath the mat, baby. You haven't changed your habits."

(Y/N) flushed, the faint pout on his lips being kissed away when Liam brought him close again. "Are you saying I'm predictable?"

"I'm saying you're still the same guy I fell for back when we were two ambitious kids running around the block." Liam cooed, his hands massaging into his exposed hips. "You're still my (Y/N)."

Let me say, I love „complicated“ characters that aren't easy to read/understand or predict their actions. I love it when you watch a movie or read a book and you go like „whyyyy the hell is he/she doing this?? Doing thing X or Y would be so much easier/more logical!“

I had this once in a book trilogy, where I deeply loved (and still love) the main character, but her actions were kind of hard to predict and at one point I was like „hell whyyyy???“

I think this makes the character and whole story more interesting, it sticks more with you, gives you food for thought (if it's well written, of course....if it's badly written, this is just annoying). Also: Including (moral) faliures to a character (and boooy, do we have some great examples in Boots for this!!) makes a characters so much more interesting. The world is not black and white, there are so many aspects which come into account when having to make a decision or taking action...and I appreciate it so much that we saw some quite questionable decisions in the series!

I wanna talk about 3 characters in particular where I saw this: Ray, Cameron and Sullivan.

First: Ray

The fact that he is so angry and disappointed in Cameron for lying and luring him into that toiletpaper war...and then revealing later that he, HIMSELF, lied to Cameron about the true reason for getting kicked out of the Air Force. Double standarts!

When Cameron asks why Ray didn't trust him with his secret, he just says „I don't know“. We just don't get a solution here. And this is somehow nice, because it tells a lot about Ray's personality, and it fits the narration – because he's not good at admitting any fails, even not to his best friend (ha, so this kind of IS the solution...I just realized this during writing these words, this is beautiful XD ). Ray has internalized this „stay strong!stay focused! no weakness!“ from his dad so much that he can't shed this skin...even not for his best friend. Also this problem of Ray isn't solved in the 8 episodes we got...I'm curious if we see more development.

Second: Cameron

I have the feeling that we always get told „stay true to yourself, be who you really are, fight for what you want, etc...“ So many movies (especially for children) revolve around this topic, which is great and is also the way I was raised.

But – what if suddenly „stay true to yourself“ and „fight for what you really want“ become contradictory?

That's the exact problem Cameron has... and god damn, I had no idea how much I needed to see this topic, this dilemma! I don't think I've ever seen this topic being touched in the media. I felt how intensely I was (and still am) torn between the „nooo, Cameron, stay true to yourself, don't let yourself be molded, your Inner Voice is so right – he will be gone soon if you continue this path!!“ and the „well, he HAS grown as a person, he has emancipated from Ray, stood up for himself against Slovacek and even Sullivan, managed the physical difficulties and became a Marine against all odds – this IS who he IS now!“ (like he said to his mum). People grow and change, it's natural, it happens – and sometimes they change in a way we personally don't appreciate. Like, I as a viewer support and love Cam so much, I'm more torn towards the „listen to your inner voice, the other path is too dangerous and NOT WORTH IT!“...but Cameron obviously thinks different.

But WHY??

The thing is: I formed my opinion based on the experiences I made...which were completely different to Cam's. I DO have supporting friends and family, have never been bullied, had the privilege to study etc. So this is why I would love him to stay true to his Inner Self. Cameron has never experienced that – so I DO on the other side totally understand him – he now finally (!) has comrades, Ray supporting him, he managed to grow, became stronger, is no victim anymore – so of course this feels great and he doesn't want to give it all up again. Damn, I can understand him, but I somehow hate his decision – and to evoke exactly THIS feeling in me, this is something very few pieces of media achieved to far. And DAMN I LOVE IT!!! Because this is so much more than just a fun show for me – it's food for thoughts.

And lastly, Sullivan my beloved !

The contradition, the dilemma in person. There just IS no right way for him out of his situation, he loses, no matter which way he choses. I think I read one text post here that pointed out what a horrible person he is for betraying his lover, for lashing out on the recruits because he is furious about the situation he himself has created, beating a man to (almost) death and then running away.

Of course you can see it like this: „fuck Sullivan, he's a bad person, does everything wrong he possibly could and makes morally wrong decisions“ - but I don't think it's that easy. He probably grew up on a farm (as Fajardo once hints) in a conservative family and surrounding and saw the Marines as his only way out, just like Cameron. We know that he was also thin and weak, again just like Cam – the two have quite some things in common. So during the dumpster-scene, Cameron actively decides to become a Marine and Sullivan decides to continue being one.

Where Cameron has the conflict „true gay self OR being a Marine/being strong/belonging somewhere“, Sullivan has the conflict „true(?) love OR being a Marine/belonging somewhere“.

He didn't purposely betray Wilkinson, I'm sure he had no idea that Maitra would report him and didn't want that to happen. Him saying to Maitra that Wilkinson flirted with him was just a justification to get himself out of that situation – and it backfired badly. Which added a nice thick layer of guilt to his already miserable self for leaving his lover behind.

Sure, he could have talked to Wilkinson before instead of leaving head over heels – but he was in panic, which is a very human thing to feel in such a frightening situation. And I have to say: I also didn't have the impression that he and Wilkinson had a great common ground for seriously talking about this and weighting options and creating plans how to get out of this.

They obviously talked about dropping out but didn't find a good solution for both of them. Sullivan loves Wilkinson („get a tattoo that says 'I love you'?“), but I did somehow get weird vibes off Wilkinson, like not as in love as Sullivan, who also seems kind of shy in Wilkinson's presence (but of course we don't have the whole picture, just little flashback scenes, so I might be wrong). I read an interview with Wilkinson's actor Sachin Bhatt here and I was glad to see he also sees Wilkinson a bit critical https://www.out.com/gay-tv-shows/sachin-bhatt-boots-netflix

Anyway – does Sullivan make some terrible decisions? Surely yes.

Can I understand why he decides the way he does? Absolutely yes.

Would there have been a better, less hurtfull way of getting out of this situation? Theoretically yes – both of them dropping out of the Marines, moving to California or else and living happily ever after for example.

Do I appreciate that they wrote the story different for Sullivan? HELL yes. Because: A) The „California“ way may feel like the „best“ way, morally correct, true to himself and without hurting anyone – but I am not sure that this would make Sullivan happy either. The Marines are his family, his purpose (which is sad enough! But that's his story!) and because B) people are not perfect! People DO make stupid and wrong decisions. I think his storyline is realistic, controversial and incredibly well written – in fact so well that I almost feel physical pain thinking about it (and the way Max Parker acted Sullivan is a match made in heaven if you ask me, dear god!)

Also, one last, even more personal thought: I found it so interesting to pick apart all of Sullivan's layers, see the darkness, the fear, the hope, the love, the pain. I think writing a character like Sullivan with so many facettes is incredibly hard and a walk on thin ice. When Jones says to Cope „I don't get why someone like YOU looks at Sullivan and says 'I wanna be like him'“.

This sentence really got me – because it made me pause and think „right – why exactly does Cam want to be like him, even if Sullivan had such a hard hand on him?!“ It felt like the show was put through it's paces with this line of Jones, like – is the narrative still working? And I felt that soooo much as a writer of fanfiction! I once wrote a story I am very proud of, but I wasn't sure if the motivation of the main character was believable – or if I was just wanting it to work, but it didn't actually work. I got the feedback that indeed yes, it was believable, even if it had one or two readers pause for a minute and think....just like I did after Jones' statement to Cameron.

It’s mid-day and everyone is exhausted from doing drills.

“This new Howitt guy has no chill.” you hear people mumble behind you.

You were given a ten minute break, you decide to grab a protein bar and decide to roam around the cafeteria. Nash keeps stealing glances at you while talking to Cody Bowman. You try to ignore him, but he comes up to you seconds later.

You think back to last night when you snooped through your father’s office and found Slovacek’s file. You wonder if Nash would know anything about it since they’re freakishly close. You push yourself up from the wall and walk to the courtyard waiting for your next instructions.

You see Sergeant McKinnion, who mostly everyone is on good terms with. You two make eye contact and not even a second later he calls for everyone to get into groups of two.

People are still coming outside, you wait to see if you can spot Nash and you do. You don’t waste a second, you walk quickly and say his name.

He turns around, eyeing you. “Alvar.”

“Team up?” You held your hand out for a handshake, he agreed.

“Why’re you suddenly interested in hanging out with me?” He smirks.

You roll your eyes, it’s impossible not to whenever Nash speaks. “Well, I did have a question, but who wouldn’t want to hang out with the platoons most loved.” You playfully wink.

He scoffs. “Yeah, yeah, just tell me what you want before McKinnion takes our ability to breathe away.”

You muffle out a laugh, “So, you and Slovacek, pretty close friends right?”

Nash gave me a knowing look. “Get to the point.”

“Fine, fine,” You throw your hands up in defense, “but promise you won’t tell?”

“Yep. I swear”

You furrow your brows a bit. “I don’t swear, I only promise.”

He laughs, “You’re being childish.”

You give him a look and cross your arms.

“Okay, fine, I promise.” He says in a mocking tone.

“Alright, so I was wondering if you knew why Slovacek is here?”

There’s a pause. He doesn’t say anything and neither do you.

“Why are you asking? Did he not want to tell you?” He raises an eyebrow.

You think about it for a second, your two options, tell him the truth and he probably won’t tell you, or lie to him and he might tell you.

You choose option two. “No, I didn’t ask him, but I was just wondering.”

“Well, I dunno either.” He shrugs and fixed his belt.

—

The drills start the same way they always do, too loud and too fast.

Your shoulders ache almost immediately, sweat already sticking to your spine as McKinnion barks orders like he’s trying to shake something loose from all of you. You’re paired off for most of it, moving in sync with Nash as you run, stop, drop, and sprint again. Your lings burn.

At one point, when Mckinnion’s attention is elsewhere, Nash leans closer.

“Hey,” he mutters, just loud enough for you. “You still want to find out why Slovacek joined?”

You hesitate for half a beat.

Then nod. “Yeah. Please.”

Nash lifts his brows slightly. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you say, quieter. “Just don’t use my name.”

He grins. “Relax. I’ll ask him later tonight. I’ll be cool.” He wiggles his eyebrows, causing you to laugh.

Then, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and focus back on the drill before McKinnion notices the lapse.

—

The rest of the afternoon blurs together in sweat and repetition. By the time you’re finally dismissed, your arms feel like rubber and your head’s buzzing. Everyone drifts toward dinner or the rec room, the base settling in.

You’re halfway across the floor when you spot Nash near the rec room entrance.

You start toward him, heart ticking faster. You need to remind him. Not your name. Not you. Just curiosity. Just guy talk.

But before you can get there,

“Alvar.”

Your stomach drops.

You turn.

Your father stands under the hallway arch, posture stiff, expression unreadable. The way he says your name makes every worst-case scenario flash through your mind at once.

He knows. He knows you were in his office. He knows you touched the files.

You follow him anyway.

Inside his office, the door closes with a soft click that sounds far too loud. He doesn’t yell. That somehow makes it worse.

He moves to his desk, opens a drawer, and slides something toward you.

An envelope.

You blink. “What is this?”

“Mail,” he says shortly. “From Germany.”

Your chest tightens as you open it.

Inside are letters, handwritten, familiar loops and slants you recognize instantly. Polaroids slip out with them. Two girls squished together in one frame, laughing, arms thrown around each other.

Isla and Julei.

You swallow hard.

“They miss you,” your father says, quieter now. “Said to tell you that.”

You nod, throat thick.

He clears his throat. “Tomorrow, some of you will be allowed to write letters. A few calls, too. You can give me whatever you want to send. I’ll make sure it goes out.”

You look up at him, surprised. “Thank you,” you say softly.

He nods once, already turning back to paperwork.

You step back into the hall, heart still racing, but this time not from fear.

You head back toward the rec room passing by the dining hall, scanning for Nash.

He’s not there and neither is Slovacek. A sinking feeling settles in your gut.

Shit.

You spot Cody Bowman leaning against a table and veer toward him. “Hey, have you seen Nash?”

Cody smirks immediately. “Yeah. He went that way with Slovacek.”

Your heart jumps. “That way” being the rec room.

Cody wiggles his eyebrows. “Why? You into one of them? Or both? I don’t judge.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, cheeks warm, already walking away.

You slow down as you near the rec room door. The voices inside stop you cold.

Nash’s voice, unmistakable. “Oh, shit. I didn’t know that was why you joined.”

You don’t move.

Slovacek exhales, slow and rough. “Yeah. That’s why.”

A pause.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Slovacek adds, sharper now. “Not a single fucking person.”

“I won’t,” Nash says quickly. “I swear. I just, I didn’t think,”

“I don’t want her thinking I’m some bad guy,” Slovacek cuts in.

Her.

Your stomach twists.

Nash sighs. “Yeah. No. I get it. I won’t say anything.”

You hear chairs shift. Footsteps. They’re coming toward the door. Panic jolts through you. You grab the handle and pull the door open just as they reach it, forcing your face into something like surprise.

“Oh,” you say. “Hey.”

Slovacek freezes for half a second.

Nash recovers faster. “Hey.”

“What are you guys doing?” you ask, casual, like you didn’t just overhear something that made your chest feel too tight.

“Talking,” Nash says, too quickly.

Slovacek watches you closely, eyes searching your face like he’s trying to read something he’s afraid he already knows.

You smile. “Cool. I was looking for you, Nash. Guess I’ll catch you later.”

“Yeah,” Nash says, glancing between you. “Later.”

He slips past you, leaving the two of you standing there. For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then Slovacek clears his throat. “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He studies you for another long second before looking away. “Just asking.”

The air between you feels different now. Heavier. You don’t know what he told Nash. But you know one thing for sure, Whatever it was, it mattered.

And the fact that he doesn’t know how much you heard makes your chest ache in a way you don’t quite understand yet.

—

You leave the rec room with your hands shoved into your sleeves, the door swinging shut behind you with a soft thud. The hallway feels quieter out here, like everything echoes just a little too much. Your boots, your breath, and your thoughts.

You’re halfway to your bunk when you hear it.

“Yoo.”

You don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

“Don’t,” you say immediately, already smiling despite yourself.

Cody Bowman catches up to you anyway, walking backward so he’s in front of you, hands lifted like he’s innocent. “What? I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“You were about to,” you reply. “I can see it on your face.”

He grins. “I was just gonna say crazy day, huh.”

You scoff. “Liar.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, dropping his voice conspiratorially. “I was gonna say, you gotta let me know when I can join the rotation.”

You groan. “Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” he keeps going, completely unbothered. “You got Slovacek, you got McAffey, apparently Nash now, and Santos was in the picture at one point,”

“Santos,” you start.

Cody cuts you off instantly. “I’m just saying, I thought Santos was gonna be your little man for a minute. Kinda shocked he didn’t lock it down. I would’ve.”

You shove his shoulder lightly as you walk. “You’re actually unbearable.”

“But charming,” he adds.

“No.”

“Yes.”

You reach your bunk and drop down onto it with a sigh, tugging your notebook from under your pillow. Bowman follows without asking and sits down too, way too close, like he owns the place.

“Get off my bed,” you say, already opening the notebook.

“Wow,” he says. “So aggressive.”

“Go away,” you repeat, clicking the pen. “I’m writing.”

He leans over to peek at the page. “Ooo, is this where you write about how irresistible I am?”

You kick his shin lightly. “Cody.”

“Ow,” he says dramatically, clutching his leg. “Abuse.”

You try to focus on the page, but he’s still there, still talking.

“So,” he continues, lowering his voice again. “If you ever wanna make it a real threesome,”

You kick him again, harder this time. “Stop.”

He laughs, and then, without warning, reaches out and digs his fingers into your side.

You yelp. “No! Cody, I hate tickles! Get off!”

“That’s how I know it’s working,” he says, grinning.

“Cody!” You shove at him, trying to get away, but he’s not braced for it and suddenly he loses his balance.

Then you’re half on top of him on the bunk, hands pressed to his chest, both of you frozen. The laughter dies instantly. Your heart is pounding, not because of him, but because of the sudden awareness of where you are, how it looks, how bad the timing could be.

Then you hear it.

Stomps.

Moving away. Down the aisle. You both whisper at the same time.

“Fuck.”

“Who was that?”

You scramble off him immediately, backing up like you touched a hot stove. “You need to leave. Right now.”

Bowman sits up just as fast, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably smart.”

“You’re gonna get us both killed,” you mutter.

He stands, backing away toward the aisle. “For the record,” he says quietly, “that was not on purpose.”

“I know,” you reply. “Just,” you pause, “go.”

He gives you a quick, crooked smile. “See ya, trouble.”

“Go,” you repeat.

He disappears down the hall, leaving you alone with the buzzing lights and the echo of your own heartbeat.

You sit back down slowly. Your hands shake a little as you pick up your notebook again. You stare at the blank page for a long moment before writing anything.

Then you start writing,

Well, i haven’t heard from mcaffey at all, sad to say i kinda miss it. I’m still mad at slovacek for how he acted yesterday. What a dick. Anyway, i need to get out of my head and talk to santos more regularly. Just me and him though, no cope.. (love you though.) I need to find a way to break this tension with mcaffey, i don’t not like him, i just don’t,

scratch that.

i like him, but i think i like slovacek more. I should call him nicholas. It’s cute. Anyway, cope has also been weirdly distant, i hope he’s okay. I feel like i haven’t wrote in a while, i’m so losing myself in this shit hole.

You finish the last sentence slowly, like you’re afraid the moment will disappear if you rush it. The pen lingers at the bottom of the page.

That’s enough for tonight.

You shut the notebook, slide it beneath your pillow, and sit there a moment longer than necessary, staring at the opposite wall. Your chest feels tight, not panicked, just heavy, like too many thoughts stacked on top of each other.

You stand, tug your sleeves down, and step into the hallway.

The lights hum overhead. Boots echo faintly against the floor. You’re headed for the rec room, everyone always ends up there, but just before you turn the corner, you stop.

Voices. Low. Serious. You recognize the voices immediately.

“I just don’t want anyone to find out.”

Cope.

Your stomach drops. You stay still, heart thudding as you press yourself closer to the wall.

McAffey answers him, voice calm but firm. “No one’s gonna find out. You’re good.”

“They already think I’m different,” Cope says, quieter now. “I don’t want them figuring out that I’m actually,”

“Hey,” McAffey cuts in. “You’re fine. And even if they did? You’re not alone. You’ve got me.”

A pause.

“We go out together,” McAffey adds. “Same as always. Nothing changes.”

Your throat tightens as the footsteps get closer.

You don’t hesitate and slip into the nearest supply closet, pulling the door shut just as their voices pass by. You stand in the dark, barely breathing, fingers curled around the edge of a metal handle.

After a moment, the hallway goes quiet. You step back out and head straight for the rec room.

Noise crashes over you as soon as you walk in, laughter, arcade sounds, overlapping conversations. Nash is sprawled on one of the couches with Cody, Ochoa leans against the wall talking with John. Hicks is downing a beer. Santos is there too.

Slovacek isn’t though, and you notice, even if you pretend not to.

You feel it before you see it, someone watching you, the look lingering too long. You ignore it and make your way toward Santos instead. He’s at one of the arcade machines, jaw tight with concentration. You pull up a stool beside him.

“Hey,” you say.

He looks over immediately. “Hey. You alright?”

You shrug. “Yeah. Why?”

“You just look, off.”

You hesitate. “I just kind of miss you. Feels like we haven’t really talked, y’know just us.”

He smiles faintly. “What, you sick of Cope already?”

The words land wrong. Your face gives you away.

Santos notices instantly. “Okay. That wasn’t a joke face. What happened?”

You shake your head, lying. “Nothing. I just had an annoying conversation with my dad.”

He exhales. “Yeah. That’ll do it.”

He pauses the game. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No,” you say gently. “I just want to talk. About anything.”

He nods. “Alright.”

He tells you about home. Music he misses. How awful drills have been lately. You laugh more than you expect to. It reminds you of the first few weeks when it was just you two getting to know each other, you desperately needed that back.

Then, without thinking, you rest your boots against the rung of his stool, accidentally brushing his thighs.

He looks at you, with a different look.

You pull your feet back quickly. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t comment, just turns back to the game.

After a moment, you stand. “Good talk. I’ll catch you later.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Later.”

You drift away, scanning the room, and that’s when you see Nash heading toward the cooler near the wall.

Your chest tightens.

Now or never.

You catch up to him and lightly grab his arm. “Hey, can we talk outside for a second?”

He blinks, surprised. “Uh. Yeah.”

Outside, the air is cool and quiet. You walk a few steps away from the building before stopping.

“What did Slovacek tell you?” you ask.

Nash stiffens. “He didn’t really say much.”

You give him a look. “Don’t lie to me.”

He exhales slowly. “He didn’t say anything important.”

“I heard you,” you say quietly.

Silence.

“Okay,” Nash admits. “Fine.”

You wait.

“He’s not here because he wanted to be,” Nash finally says.

Well, I know that much, dumbass, you think in your head.

“He had a choice,” Nash continues. “Military or prison.”

“For what?” you ask softly.

He shakes his head. “He didn’t say. Just that it was serious enough that it wasn’t optional.”

You stare back toward the building, the laughter inside suddenly sounding far away.

“He doesn’t want you thinking he’s a bad guy,” Nash adds.

You swallow. “Too late to not think that.”

“You’re not letting this go, are you?” he says.

You look at him. Really look. “You already told me half of it. Don’t make me fill in the rest myself.”

He exhales through his nose, glances toward the track like he’s checking for witnesses, then back at you. His jaw tightens.

“He put a guy in a coma,” Nash says.

You don’t react right away, and that somehow feels worse than gasping would have. Your body stiffens instead, shoulders pulling back like you’re bracing for a hit you didn’t see coming.

“In a fight?” you ask quietly.

Nash shakes his head. “Not really. More like he didn’t stop when he should’ve.”

Your throat goes dry.

“He didn’t mean to kill him and technically he’s not dead, he’s just in a coma,” Nash adds quickly. “But it got bad. Bad enough that the judge gave him a choice.”

Military or prison.

You nod, slow. Your mind starts rearranging memories. The cocky smirk. The way Slovacek moves like he’s always ready. The heat behind his eyes when he looks at people.

You hug your arms closer to yourself.

“That’s why he doesn’t talk about it,” Nash continues. “That’s why he hates when people ask.”

You swallow. “Does he regret it?”

Nash doesn’t answer right away. “I think he regrets that it happened. I don’t know if he regrets doing it.”

That somehow made it worse.

Silence stretches between you. You stare at the ground, at the scuffed concrete, at a crack running like a fault line between your feet. You don’t know what to do with this information.

Distance yourself? Protect yourself? Or accept that people can be more than the worst thing they’ve done? You don’t say any of it out loud.

Your eyes drift without meaning to and that’s when you see them. McAffey and Cope, sitting together near a tree. Close, but not obviously. McAffey’s shoulders are angled protectively, Cope’s posture smaller than usual. They’re talking quietly, heads tipped toward each other.

Nash follows your gaze.

“Huh,” he says. “What do you think they’re doing together?”

You force your voice to stay even. “Probably nothing.”

Nash hums, unconvinced. Then, casually, too casually, he says, “You’re pretty close with Cope, right?”

Your heart stutters. “I guess,” you reply. “He kind of just started talking to me and Santos.”

Nash nods slowly. “Yeah. I heard something about him.”

Here it comes.

“What?” you ask, careful.

He lowers his voice. “I heard he’s a man’s man. That true?”

It’s like the air drops out of your lungs. You keep your face neutral through sheer willpower. No pause. No reaction. You learned early how to do this; how to lie with your body as well as your mouth.

“What?” You scoff lightly. “Why would you even think that?”

Nash shrugs. “People talk.”

“Well, people are stupid,” you say. Too fast. You soften it immediately. “I mean, this place runs on rumors.”

“So you don’t think he is?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. And I don’t really care.”

That part is true.

Nash accepts it with a nod. “Fair.”

—

The hallway feels quieter than the rec room, cooler, too. Your boots echo softly as you head toward the bunks, the hum of the building settling back into your bones. You pass one of the long windows without thinking, then stop. Outside, on the track, Slovacek is jogging.

Easy pace. Controlled. Shirt darkened with sweat at the collar, sleeves pushed up just enough to show forearms that flex with every swing. He looks like he belongs out there.

Your stomach tightens.

You don’t think. You just turn back into the bunks. You put your sneakers on instead of boots. You grab your water bottle, then hesitate before veering toward the vending machine. Two protein bars drop with dull thuds. You tuck them into your pocket like you’re stalling, like the extra ten seconds might change your mind.

You push back outside, the air sharper now, wind cutting across the track. You spot him a little farther down, pick up your pace, almost jogging to catch up.

“Hey,” you call, then, without giving yourself time to overthink it you add, “Hey, my sugar pumpkin plum pie.”

It comes out teasing and ridiculous on purpose.

Slovacek turns his head, surprise flashing across his face before it breaks into a crooked grin. He laughs under his breath and slows down, falling into a walk so you can catch up.

“Jesus,” he says. “You gonna keep calling me that, I might actually stop talking to you.”

You fall into step beside him, slightly breathless. “Good. That’s the goal.”

He eyes you, amused, then notices what you’re holding. You pull one of the protein bars out and hold it toward him.

“For you.”

He takes it without hesitation. “Thanks.” He tears it open with his teeth, glances at you sideways. “You bribing me, or is this just charity?”

You shrug. “Maybe both.”

You walk together for a few steps in silence, shoes crunching softly against the track. You can feel the moment stretching, the thing you came out here to say pressing against your ribs.

“So,” you start. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He looks at you more seriously now. “What’s up?”

You keep your eyes forward. “I just want you to be honest with me. About why you joined the Marines.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

You can almost hear him deciding.

Finally, he exhales. “You really wanna know?”

“Yes.”

Another beat. Then, quieter, “Yeah. Okay.”

He slows again, almost stopping this time. “It wasn’t some big patriotic thing. And it wasn’t because I needed structure or whatever bullshit they put on the posters.”

You brace yourself, hoping what you overheard and read wasn’t true.

“I hurt someone,” he says. “Bad.”

Your chest tightens, even though you already know.

“A fight got out of hand. He didn’t get back up. Judge gave me a choice.”

Military or prison, you repeat in your head.

You stop walking. He doesn’t look at you, like he’s giving you space to react however you need to.

You force yourself to move again, matching his pace. “Oh.” It comes out small, useless.

You swallow. “Why did you do it?”

He finally looks at you then. His expression doesn’t soften. “He deserved it.”

The certainty in his voice hits harder than the words themselves.

Your breath stops for a second. You should be scared. You know that. Some part of your brain is screaming that this is a red flag, that this is exactly the kind of thing your father warned you about.

But instead, you bite your lip. You hate that the thought flashes through you and you hate even more that he notices.

His eyes drop to your mouth, then lift back to your face. “What?” he asks, half-smirking. “You into that or something?”

You scoff, heat flooding your cheeks. “Shut up.”

He chuckles, low and pleased.

You recover enough to say, “But he’s, he’s gonna be okay, right?”

“Of course he is, sunshine.” He says your nickname that makes you feel special.

Slovacek lifts his hand slowly, like he’s giving you time to pull away and you don’t. His fingers brush your temple, gentle in a way that feels wrong for someone who just admitted what he did. He tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, knuckles barely grazing your cheek.

For a second, you forget where you are. Forget the Marines. Forget your father. Forget the rules that feel like they’re always hovering just inches from your skin and you take a look at him, a really good look.

The scar on his nose and another faint scar near his eyebrow you hadn’t noticed before. The way his mouth is set confident, but not smug.

Your eyes drop to his lips. You realize what you’re doing and look back up too fast, but the damage is done. He saw it. You know he did. Your heart is pounding so hard it feels loud.

You step closer first. Not much, but just enough to change the air between you.

Slovacek notices immediately. His hand is still near your face from where he tucked your hair back, and for a moment he doesn’t pull it away. Instead, it drifts, slow, unintentional, down from your temple, along your cheek. His thumb brushes the corner of your jaw, barely there, like he’s catching himself mid-motion.

You tilt your head without meaning to, just a fraction, and suddenly everything feels too quiet and too close. The moonlight catches his eyes, makes them look lighter. His gaze flicks down to your mouth this time and stays there a second longer than it should.

You lean in ever so slightly, then he freezes. His hand drops away like he’s burned himself. He clears his throat, the sound rough, and takes a step back, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I think we should head back inside,” he says. “They’re probably looking for us. I don’t want anyone, you know. Finding us.”

“Oh,” you say quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense.”

You laugh, short and awkward, even though nothing about this feels funny. Heat rushes up your neck, your face, your ears. You suddenly don’t know where to put your hands, so you curl them into small fists at your sides and your nails press into your palms.

“Come on,” he says gently, already turning toward the building.

You follow a step behind, fists still clenched, heart pounding way too fast for a walk back inside.

—

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