Page 94 of Walking Wounded

Hal started to crouch down in front of him.

“Oh, no,” Luke breathed, reaching for his friend. “Don’t if it hurts, I can…”

But Hal was already down, sitting with his right leg drawn up and his left extended out in front of him, so it was pressed up against Luke’s hip. “I can fucking sit down,” he muttered angrily.

“Sorry.”

“No, I’m not mad at you, no…it’s…shit.” He wiped his good hand down his face. “I’msorry. I’m a damn mess.”

Luke shook his head; he was pretty surehewas the mess, seconds away from tears at any given moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked again.

Hal’s expression wavered, totally blank a moment, and then collapsed, all the fatigue, and pain, and sadness, and trauma finally bleeding through for the first time since their reunion. Every terrible thing he’d been keeping to himself flashed bright and sharp in his eyes. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

Luke was so devastated by all this that he welcomed the small, warm surge of anger that moved through his belly. “That’s not your decision to make. You’re supposed to tell me shit. Be honest with me.”

Hal shook his head a fraction. “Yeah, well…you’re my best friend in the world. It’s my job to keep you safe.”

“Your job?”

“It’s what I want to do,” Hal amended.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know that.”

Luke took a deep, shaky breath. “How bad are the burns?”

“Not as bad as they look. They’re healing up real nice, the docs said. And they don’t go deep. It’s always gonna look pretty gnarly, and I’ll have to exercise and stretch to keep the skin from getting too stiff.” He shrugged. “Coulda been worse.”

Coulda been burned all over.

Coulda lost a limb.

Coulda died.

Luke swallowed the lump in his throat. “How did it happen, Hal?” he asked, softly, so softly, just a breath.

He didn’t think Hal would tell him, and now he knew it wasn’t because Hal didn’t want to, but because he felt like he shouldn’t. But Hal took a deep breath…

And told him about a dry desert afternoon. About the weight of a pack, the heft of a rifle, the liquid layer of sweat beneath his clothes. Told him about the cluster of children on the side of the road, waving and shouting, smiling at the soldiers.

“Griggs was the one who…stepped on the charge,” he said, voice low and strained. “And he just…he wasjust gone.”

“God,” Luke whispered, stomach rolling.

“The kids…Jesus Christ, those kids…” Hal closed his eyes. “I wasn’t close. The blast threw me against a wall. Burned me.” He gestured to his leg. “Broke my arm on impact. Pretty good concussion.” He bit his lip and didn’t say anything else.

Luke moved through the space that separated them and put his arms around Hal’s neck. Hal hugged him back with his good arm.

They sat like that for a long time.

~*~

It was easier after that. They slipped back into their old skins, as damaged and tarnished as they were, back to living out of each other’s pockets, hiding nothing. Hal was quiet some days, and sad, still grieving for his brothers in arms. But they didn’t tiptoe around one another anymore. Luke knew when to give him space, and when to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with him on the couch. When it was okay to mix a little beer with the pain meds, and when a hot mug of cocoa would be a better alternative. Hal kept shooting him these deeply grateful, emotion-heavy looks. “Thank you,” he’d say, almost a whisper. And Luke would muss his hair, or pat his hand, or say, “You don’t need to thank me.”

Luke went back to work, and in the afternoons he went with Hal to doctor’s appointments. The terrible cast came off, and physical therapy started. The burns faded from the juicy hue of watermelon flesh to something softer and pinker, the color of healing.

He felt like a heel for it, because his friend was in pain, and he’d lost fellow soldiers, but it was the happiest Luke had been in recent memory. No more waking to nightmares of Hal dying overseas; no more staring out his office window, wondering where Hal was, what he was doing. He knew Hal was at home, watching bad daytime TV, eating all the Cinnamon Toast Crunch. He knew he’d turn at the sound of the door opening, later, and he’d smile at Luke from across the room, and Luke’s heart would do somersaults in his chest.

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