Chapter Twenty

Tank sat on the edge of the bed, stripped to his shorts in readiness for sleep, but in no mood to listen to its call as his head spun from all that had happened earlier. There was only one way he’d be able to rest, he deduced as his hand dove underneath his pillow.

“I got an idea,” Johnny remarked, “Go lay down on your front, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Ripp watched with a frown as the alien youth disappeared, giving a little shrug as the only thing left was to comply with his wishes.

“Come on, there’s gotta be some around somewhere.”

Green eyes scanned the bathroom, before hands of the same hue rummaged in a cupboard.

“Ah,” he grinned as he clutched the object of his desire, “Gotcha.”

Ripp’s head jerked suddenly in the direction of the bedside table as a bottle was placed on its surface. He watched as Johnny climbed onto the bed and took a seat on his rear, before a green arm reached for the bottle of baby oil that had been procured earlier. Ripp gave a little shiver as the cool liquid trickled across the sensitive skin on his back, before Johnny’s hands pressed firmly upon him, travelling the length of his spine.

“Just relax,” Johnny murmured softly, continuing to lovingly massage his back as he spoke, “Good for relieving the tension, somethin’ you could really do with right now.”

It took a while for Ripp to grow used to the pressure applied to his taut muscles, but soon his eyes closed as Johnny gradually drove all the pent up feelings from his body. His breathing became shallow as the emotive toxins trickled from his pores, and an unexpected side-effect took hold as, instead of drifting into a relaxed slumber, Ripp suddenly burst into tears.

Johnny allowed a satisfied smile to play upon his lips as he continued to work.

“Dunno why I didn’t think of this before,” he remarked to no one in particular, “Ain’t just physical tension these things are good for.”

“I gotta stop doin’ this,” Tank grumbled as he sleepily rose from the bedclothes. A combination of late night scrawling in a bid to ease his troubled mind, and being a naturally early riser was a bad one.

Peter whistled to himself as he prepared breakfast, more in a bid to lighten his own mood after the darkness that shrouded the oldest members of his household. The youngest however, including the brother of the afflicted in question, sat in blissful ignorance at the table as they awaited their fuel for the day ahead.

“Thanks,” Buck smiled as he picked up his fork, but the smile upon his lips was a weak one. Peter noticed the shadow of the cloud above his head, but knew better than to pick him up on it. After all, watching your father batter one of your brothers can’t do your mood any favours.

His head turned at the sound of movement, and greeted the young man as he approached.

“Morning,” Peter waved, but frowned as he came into view. “Didn’t you sleep well last night?”

“It’s that obvious, huh?” Tank moaned in reply.

“Come on, get some food inside you,” he invited as they sat to their meal, soon wondering why he’d been surprised to see the youth who usually was always so hungry, now slumped over his plate and picked at the food with his fork.

“No sign of the others yet?” Peter asked, hoping to distract him from his thoughts at least a little.

Tank merely shrugged his shoulders as he forced a forkful of pancake into his mouth, slowly chewing on the food as the jaws of his mind worked at an equally deliberate pace.

Peter gave a little nod of acknowledgement as he loaded his fork.

“Give them a little while,” he remarked to no one in particular, “It’s not like they’re in any rush.”

“Johnny too?” Tank checked.

“He wanted to look after him,” came the reply, “And you need to take it easy, young man.”

Tank smiled dryly as he muttered in reply.

“Take it easy?” he quizzed ironically, “What’s that mean?!”

“Come on Tank,” Peter chided, “You’ll go to pieces if you don’t.”

“Bit late for that,” Tank blurted as he rose sharply from the table, but Peter was quick to intervene.

“Sit down,” he commanded, “Finish your meal; you need to keep your strength up.”

Tank sunk reluctantly back down into his chair, glancing at the owner of the blue eyes as they studied him.

“What’s wrong?” Buck asked.

All Tank could do in reply was slump into his free hand, while the other continued to prod at the food on his plate.

“Mornin’ sweetie,” Johnny greeted as he pecked Ripp’s lips, before tracing the puffy red skin under his glassy blue eyes.

“Hey,” came the sullen reply.

“You okay?”

Ripp gave a wry smile as the back of his left hand glided across the pillowcase.

“Guess so,” he mumbled, “Got a bit hard sleeping on a wet pillow, but never mind.”

Johnny smiled sadly as he reached to caress his shoulder. Ripp crawled across the bed to lay a hand upon his chest, his fingers finding the last traces of salty moisture among the young growth of blond hair. He brushed the droplets away with his hand before deciding the green skin was dry enough to rest his head, his eyes closing momentarily both at the touch of Johnny’s hand as it smoothed down his hair, and the sound of the heartbeat playing softly into his ear.

“It’ll be okay,” Johnny reassured him as they laid together, before something occurred to him. “Oh, I got a lesson later on, but he don’t mind you comin’ with.”

Ripp’s eyebrows twitched into a frown as he looked up at him.

“He?” Ripp asked, “Who’s ‘he’?”

“Ever wondered how I could kick your brother’s ass back then?” Johnny reminded him, “Today’s the day you get to find out.”

“Oh, cool!” Ripp exclaimed. The curiosity piqued by the mention of this new person was enough to blow away the clouds of depression, at least for the time being. Despite his current state of mind, Ripp could never resist the chance to meet with new people, especially if they were friends with someone as apart from the crowd as he felt himself to be.

Unaware of the severity of the situation with his student, the alien mentor hummed softly to himself as he approached the kitchen. His mind wandered as he recalled the conversation they’d had the evening before, trying to sweep aside the instinctive niggle in his mind about the prospect of meeting someone different.

“I can read you like a book.”

He looked in the direction of the voice as he made for a cupboard, but was far from surprised on spotting the source.

“Meaning?” the man challenged the battered form before him.

“You said only last night this person knows him, didn’t you? Yet you still don’t trust him.”

The unblemished figure placed the ingredients on his counter a little too sharply as he gave a conceding sigh.

“Do you blame me?” came the reply.

“Johnny’s green and the boy still mixes with him, doesn’t that mean anything?”

“I am trying,” the robed man uttered, his black eyes misting over as a hand idly travelled to his belly. “It’s too late for you to fear, you’re already dead.”

The alien ghost eyed the man with an arched eyebrow and crossed arms as he watched him prepare his breakfast.

“True,” came the reply, “On the other side of the coin, I have a clearer view of all that happens.”

The living being cocked his head briefly in acknowledgement of his remark, before their conversation was abruptly cut short. An agonised cry escaped his throat as his hand clutched his lower abdomen, green fingers gripping the edge of the counter as he hunched over with a vice-like pain taking hold of his stomach.

“Oh dear,” the ghost observed, rummaging through a cupboard while grateful that moving objects wasn’t necessarily a physical task. Tablets and a glass half filled with water were placed on the counter by the food, as the spirit gazed upon the stricken man.

“Get those inside you,” he told him before moving off, “Hope you’re not running low.”

The person remaining in the kitchen guzzled greedily at the water as he washed down the tablets, before making painstaking movements across to the bathroom. He smiled to himself as he noticed everything needed was already resting by the basin.

“Ah, bless your soul,” he mused sadly as he closed the door, “No longer alive, but that doesn’t stop you looking after your brother, eh?”

Tank had heaved an inward sigh of relief when the children left for school, and with Peter occupied elsewhere, it left him free to do the only thing he could think of to distract himself. His tears once more frozen inside, he began to scrub at surfaces that may not have even needed attention, but in his current state of mind he was in no position to care.

The aged alien noticed him work as he came back inside, having delivered his message about the absent teenagers to the driver of the bus that would normally be taking them to school. When the sixteen year old started dusting at the banister, Peter decided it was time to step in.

“Tank,” he began, “I appreciate the help, but it’s really not necessary.”

Tank gave a meek shrug, continuing to polish the wood. Peter approached and laid a halting hand on the young arm.

“If you really want to occupy yourself,” Peter suggested, “Why don’t you do what you were doing at the Specter house yesterday, and find out about getting some help for yourselves?”

The pair of blue eyes gazed at him as the owner caved in, passing the duster to Peter’s outstretched hand before slinking up the stairs to retrieve his notes.

“They’re getting worse, I swear. It’s reaching the point where I don’t want to fall asleep, because I just know I’ll get one of those damn nightmares again. Not that I even have to sleep to get some kind of reminder that something happened, but for the life of me I can’t remember what it was. All I’m getting are pieces of the puzzle; that scar on my chest – back when I was moving up the ranks, other men would say it looked like an old knife wound. Then that talk with the chief about recurring flashbacks, finding out my father had killed someone. I would say one thing had nothing to do with another, but I was supposed to have tried to report what happened, and I can’t remember anything about that either. In fact, now I consider it, about Tank’s eyes when he tried to get me off Ripp that evening… they didn’t look angry, just familiar…”

Buzz trailed off as his mind drifted back in time, to a hospital room and a baby in a bassinet.

“I can’t believe you called him Tank,” Lyla giggled, “Poor kid’s gonna have such a hard time at school…!”

“What’s wrong with being named after a sturdy fighting vehicle?”

“He might be a softy like his mom!” she replied.

Buzz gave a little chuckle as he gazed down at the tanned infant in his temporary cot.

“He’s even got my eyes, I think…” she remarked, but trailed off as she started to question the integrity of her statement.

“I don’t think so,” Buzz corrected, finding himself wondering just where the little boy had inherited the features from. The shape of his eyes bore no resemblance to either parent. Someone else peered up at him, and Buzz studied the baby’s face with mixed feelings as he began to recognise the original owner of those particular qualities.

“How’d you get your granddad’s eyes, huh?” he asked gently, forcing a smile as he stroked his son’s foot.

“Dad??” he exclaimed, the diary and pen roughly tossed aside as he sprung to his feet. His hand gripped the area of his scar as a phrase resounded through his mind, adding strength to his suspicions.

“Sorry son, but it’s for your own good.”

Buzz began to pace the room anxiously as he voiced the thoughts now racing through his head.

“My god…” he uttered, “My father tried to kill me? Why??”

“Whose blood was on that knife… was it mine, or the last poor guy he’d supposedly killed… Maybe both? Is that why, because I’d seen him do it? Come to think of it, what was he doing with the knife in the first place? I mean, I know he’d have his moments, and there were plenty thanks to that damn vice of his, but even when drunk he wouldn’t go that far, would he?”

Stephan coolly eyed his fellow soldiers as they cleaned up for the day ahead, and bit the bullet as he stepped onto the concrete floor. A relieved smile played upon his lips as he recognised one of the faces to be friendly, hoping that it would be enough to get him through one of his least favourite times of the day as he found a spare shower.

He gave an involuntary shudder as the icy water cascaded down his body, delivering a sobering slap to the face that would refresh him more readily than the strongest blend of coffee. A voice next to him gave a reminder of the real reason he detested showers, and it was nothing to do with the action itself.

“Hey Mitch, can I ask you somethin’?”

Stephan gave a little snort as he lathered up his hands and applied them to his body.

“You’re going to anyways,” came the response.

“What do you see in him?”

“Ah, that one again,” he acknowledged, not once looking across at the man querying him.

“It’s a fair enough question,” another one asked, “Of all the guys you could dream of, you pick a high ranking officer who could double as a walkin’ time-bomb.”

“He’s a good man,” Stephan defended as he continued to scrub.

“He’s a jerk!”

The friendly face spotted earlier, belonging to Matthew Picaso, gave a snigger as he chipped in.

“Of course he is, he’s a general!” he teased, “Generals are paid to be assholes.”

Stephan giggled quietly at his remark.

“Didn’t he get suspended?” one of them challenged.

“Yeah, wonder what that was for,” another agreed, “Startin’ one fight too many, maybe?”

Stephan shook his head at the gossip filtering through the air.

“Give the guy a break,” he justified, “He’s got problems; he needs someone to lean on, not point a finger.”

“Pssh,” one retorted, “That mushy streak of yours’ll get you in trouble one of these days.”

“Yeah, what’s gonna happen when he finds out you suck cock?” another tested.

Stephan rolled his eyes at the derogatory comment, wondering whether or not to bother acknowledging it.

“Will you leave the guy alone?” Matthew decided for him, “So what if he prefers guys? It’s not even like he’s tried it on any of us, is it?”

“No, he’s got his eyes on that general instead.”

Stephan sighed in exasperation as he shut off the shower, and finally turned to the men delivering such pre-empted verdicts.

“Did I ever say that? Huh?!”

“Come on,” came the reply, “You’re always talkin’ about him!”

“So fuckin’ what?!” Stephan retaliated, “I’m gay, I show concern for another man, therefore I’m holding a torch for him. You guys are pathetic!”

“It’s kinda obvious,” came the observation, “All these nicer guys on camp, and you never talk of any of them the way you do with this one.”

“None of the others look so unhappy…”

“Would you be as worried about anyone else if they did?”

“Oh, he would,” Matthew answered as he left his own shower, “Guy’s got a sympathetic streak a mile wide.”

Stephan smiled sadly as a twinge of melancholy tugged at his heart.

“Wish it was,” he corrected.

“Oh yeah,” Matthew acknowledged, “Beg your pardon, empathetic streak.”

“Better,” Stephan nodded as he left the showers, making for the bench housing the pile of clothes waiting for him.

“You okay?” Matthew asked as he sat down.

“Yeah, just pissed off,” Stephan admitted, “It’s got so I can’t stand showers, we go through this every morning lately.”

“It’s none of their business,” Matthew told him, “You know what rumours are like.”

“Pff, yeah,” Stephan agreed sourly, “All it took was my showing concern, and now they keep implying I wanna get with him. If I was straight it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Matthew glanced around the room to eliminate any chance of being overheard, before leaning in closer and speaking with a hushed voice.

“So what’s the real story?” he asked the blond soldier, “Is it only friends you wanna be with this guy, or are you hopin’ for something more?”

Stephan gave a shrug as he began to dress.

“Too early to say,” came the evasive reply, “Although I do seem to be drawn to the emotionally unstable.”