Military Dependent

Military Dependent

By

A.R. Moler

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2019 by AR Moler

Cover Photography by Paul Henry Serres

Cover models- Nicholas Bayne and Leonardo Bayne

Cover Titles and Graphic Design P.E. Ash

Chapter 1

October 2017

I moved some of the boxes from the garage into the kitchen and unpacked two of them, Sebastian Langham called out as his husband came in through the front door of the house. They had moved in less than a week ago, combining all the contents of Sebastian’s apartment with the possessions from his husband’s Navy base quarters.

I thought you were going to wait. Some of that stuff is heavy. Chief Petty Officer Rafael Silva walked into the kitchen.

I got tired of listening to you bitch about eating take-out off paper plates. I decided the sooner we got all the dishes and pots put away, the happier you’d be. Basi hooked a finger in one of the belt loops of Rafe’s BDU pants and pulled Rafe toward him. He planted a kiss on Rafe’s mouth. He knew that his husband’s Puerto Rican heritage made him value home-cooked meals and the sense of family that went with the task.

And if you set back your recovery because you’re lifting things that your back can’t handle, I’m going to bitch a whole lot more. Rafe walked Basi backward until Basi’s ass hit the counter behind him. Rafe pointed at the Le Creuset enameled cast iron Dutch oven that was over a foot and half in diameter.

The only reason Basi even had a clue what the hell a Dutch oven was, was because Rafe had dragged him off to an outlet place in Williamsburg to buy the thing so that it wouldn’t cost a total fortune. PT has me doing squats and lunges. It wasn’t a problem.

Rafe grunted. It was a dubious sound. His hands braced on the counter on either side of Basi’s hips. Does this mean they have a projected date for returning you to active duty?

Sarah hinted at seven or eight weeks. Basi referred to the physical therapist he was assigned to. It’s been almost four months since the explosion. She seems to think I’m ahead of the curve. Up until a recent injury sustained while doing covert surveillance in Portugal, Basi had been an active duty member of a Delta Force team in G squadron. Enlisting in the Army at eighteen, six years later, he had applied to become part of First Special Operational Detachment –Delta, and made it through the program. That was seven years ago.

And is that going to translate into you getting sent out of the country immediately? Rafe asked sharply.

I kind of doubt it. The rest of the team is on assignment in Turkmenistan right now. They’re supposed to be back in a few weeks, then there’s usually a data analysis phase before we gear up for another op overseas.

And that’s about the time the semester ends over at Old Dominion University. Do you have a final exam in that class? Rafe asked.

Yes. And I already talked to Dante and Colonel Grainger about trying to make sure I’d be able to complete the class even if I return to active duty a week or two before. Basi curled a hand against Rafe’s neck. I’m on top of this.

Are you glad you took the class?

"Yes. I think I’ve finally embraced the idea I need a backup plan. And what about you? We really haven’t discussed the fact that you’ll be out in roughly two years. Unless, of course, you think your body can handle more?" Rafe was on year eighteen in the Navy, twelve of those as a SEAL.

Rafe raised an eyebrow and gave him irritated look.

With all the pain and stiffness I’ve been working through, you think I haven’t noticed there are days when you make that face when you squat down to do something? You’ve jumped out of a few too many perfectly good airplanes.

What face? And like you’ve never Halo jumped.

That one where you grit your teeth and grunt. My back may never be like it was at twenty-one again, but your knees are getting creaky, too.

Fuck you. There was no anger behind Rafe’s tone. In fact, it sounded like a suggestion.

Mmm, maybe after you decide where you want to stash that enormous pot.

Rafe let out a snort of laughter. I ought to bend you over the counter. He grabbed Basi’s wrists and spun him around, pushing him down until his crotch was pressed against Basi’s ass.

Basi only put up token resistance. Promises, promises.

Rafe ground himself against Basi for a few moments, then smacked Basi’s butt with one hand. I’m practicing delayed gratification. Huey Taylor’s coming by in… He glanced at his watch. Probably less than twenty minutes to bring me his cordless electric screwdriver. And as much as you and I are out to my team, I think maybe him walking in on us going at it in the kitchen might be TMI.

Wuss. Basi wiggled his hips before standing upright. So in the meantime, figure out where you want to stow that thing. He pointed at the huge pot.

The task was just barely done when there was a knock on the front door.

I’ll get it. Basi walked through the den and out into the foyer. He opened the door.

On the doorstep stood a dark-haired woman in jeans and an untucked button-down shirt. She held a square cardboard box in her hands.

Yes? Basi said warily.

Hi, I’m Kitrina, Mac’s wife. She aimed her thumb over her shoulder at the wide-shouldered man coming across the lawn with the electric screwdriver in his hand. You must be Sebastian.

Rafe stepped up behind Basi. Oh, hey, I was expecting Huey.

He got side-tracked, said the man on the front steps. He stuck out a hand. Jay MacKenzie. I’m on Charlie team with Rafe.

Basi shook Mac’s hand. I go by Basi.

Come on in. So what happened to Huey? I just saw him at work two hours ago. Rafe waved Mac and his wife inside.

Girlfriend issues.

That’s a very broad topic.

Mac chuckled. He claimed her car was broken down, and he was going over to see if it was a quick fix. On the way, he stopped by my place and gave me the screwdriver. Here. Mac handed Rafe the tool. I presume you have a plan for it?

Furniture from a box. We bought a bookshelf and desk. I’m not in the mood to put ‘em together with a regular screwdriver.

Kitrina handed Basi the box. I figured you could use something more consumable.

Thank you. Basi peeked into the box. It was a cake. Oh, wow, that looks good. He walked in the direction of the kitchen.

Let me give you the nickel tour, Rafe said.

Did you buy? Kitrina asked.

No, it’s just a rental, but we have a year lease. We’re still trying to figure out what city and neighborhood we’re interested in if we decided to commit to a mortgage, Rafe answered.

Basi let Rafe show his colleague and wife through the house, aware that it was kind of a maze of boxes disaster. Oh, well.

It wasn’t a particularly huge house, so the tour only took a few minutes. Basi waited in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. Even though it was now known that Rafe had a husband, Basi still had met only a few of Rafe’s DEVGRU teammates. Integrating their lives now that both the SEALs and Delta Force knew about their marriage was on ongoing exercise in awkward conversations and explanations.

Rafe, Mac, and Kitrina circled back to the kitchen.

Not a bad place, Kitrina commented. At least you don’t have worry about school districting.

You should have a football party and invite the team. Mac punched Rafe lightly in the arm.

I’m not sure we’re ready for that level of… social, Rafe said.

Because Miller is an asshole? Kitrina asked.

No comment, Rafe said tersely.

Basi had heard Rafe vent a few times about Miller’s rampant homophobia. It didn’t matter if your life was literally dependent on cooperation from your team, there was always a level of politics and in-fighting from at least one. Basi had a couple of run-ins with colleagues outside his own team.

Mac said, Well, I’ll comment then. He’s a shithead.

So how ‘bout the two of you come over to our place this weekend? If you can stand the rugrats, Kitrina said.

As long as you don’t make me change any diapers. Rafe pantomimed a vomit motion.

How many kids do you have? Basi asked.

Three, Mac said. Ages five, two and half, and seven months. All girls.

Are they at daycare?

At my parents’ house, said Mac. Or probably more likely at Target since Grandma and Granddad planned to take the kids shopping for Halloween costumes.

Um… does that mean we need to buy Halloween candy? Basi asked. I’ve lived in an apartment for the past few years, and there never seemed to be kids trick or treating much around there.

If you leave your porch light turned off, that’s supposed to be signal for the kids to skip your house, Kitrina said.

Rafe leaned back against the counter. There’s no guarantee I’ll be home that night, so if I’m not, the choice is yours.

I’ll think about it, Basi replied.

We ought to head out, Mac said. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.

~

It took half an hour to put the book case together. Rafe set it along the wall. Are we mixing your books and mine? Or putting yours on the cases you already had and mine on this one? He’d spent too much time living in base quarters to have more than a few dozen books. Basi, on the other hand, had books in a number of different languages as well as probably a couple hundred science fiction and fantasy paperbacks.

Define mixing.

Grab books out of boxes and shove them on the shelves.

Heathen. No. I’ll shelve my own stuff.

Rafe raised an eyebrow. You planning on alphabetizing it? Or sorting by color?