Chapter Text
James and his roommates huddled around the window of their dorm, craning their necks to try and see around the explosions and speeding Garrison vehicles for a sign of what had caused all the commotion. A homemade birthday cake courtesy of Allens, candles still unlit, sat on the table behind them. It was surrounded by small paper cups of champagne, not yet touched by the four boys.
“What the hell is happening out there?” Kinkade whispered, as if the Garrison staff outside would be able to hear him.
“No idea,” Allens replied, staring through a pair of binoculars.
“Wait, I think I see something!” Larson hissed, following Kinkade’s lead in keeping his voice low.
“Why are you two whispering?” Allens questioned.
Kinkade grunted and shrugged in response.
“Wait a second,” Larson snapped. “Give me those!” Without waiting for a response, he snatched the binoculars from Allens.
Allens let out a cry of protest.
“Is that a motorcycle?” Larson said.
Until now, James had joined the others with the same mild disinterest that had plagued his world for the past few months. Since that crisp September day when he tried taking the fall for Keith and Keith called him off. A motorcycle. What have you gotten yourself into now, Keith? By the time he grabbed the binoculars all that was left in his line of sight was a cloud of dust. His heart dropped to his stomach as he lowered the binoculars.
Almost as soon as the dust settled back, a sharp knock on the door startled all four. Larson let out a yelp and dove for the champagne bottle to stow it behind his back. With James’ 18th birthday, all four boys were now of drinking age, but getting caught with alcohol in the dorms was still an offense that would land them on cleaning detail for the entirety of next semester. James stood frozen in place looking at the swirling dust through the window. Kinkade made his way to answer the door and opened it, revealing Commander Iverson.
“Cadet Griffin,” Iverson called.
James snapped to attention, his rigid military posture almost comical in contrast to the plain t-shirt, socks, and plaid pajama pants. “Sir?”
“My office, now.” Iverson turned to leave, and James followed, toeing into his shoes as he left.
It had to be Keith. Who else would have ridden off on a motorcycle after causing such chaos. At the same time, it couldn’t have been. If Keith had come back, he would have come to see James. He wouldn’t just leave James there, alone.
But he already had, hadn’t he? For all of October, his texts went unanswered and calls straight to voicemail. In November, another person picked up, letting James know the number had been taken. He figured out then that Keith had ditched his phone. James dodged questions from Kinkade and Rizavi. He had begun running out of excuses for the lack of contact. Keith, the first person who ever loved him without conditions, had to have a reason. Maybe he was still protecting James, like he was that morning. Like so many of his worst moments, it was burned into James’ memory in excruciating detail.
The day before, they’d helped Katie Holt break into Iverson’s office. Keith picked the lock while James stood as his loyal accomplice on lookout duty. It was a long weekend, and the Garrison was mostly empty of students. At least of those who had loving families to go home to. James had pulled Keith away after the girl had discovered the mission team was suspected abducted instead of dead, but before she could uncover anything else. He had to physically drag Keith out of the room when he refused to leave after James alerted him Iverson was coming. That had cost the two precious seconds in which Iverson must have seen Keith rounding the corner behind James.
That morning, James awoke to a commotion across the hall. Whipping the door open, his worst fears of the previous afternoon were confirmed. He was greeted with Iverson and two Garrison guards taking Keith down the hall in cuffs. James rushed out the door after them.
“Commander, where are you taking him?” he inquired.
“Get back to your dorm, cadet. This doesn’t concern you,” Iverson barked without looking at James.
“Commander, it was-“ James began. Ignoring orders wasn’t like him. Being loved wasn't either.
An almost imperceptible shake of Keith’s head froze James in place. The look of terror on Keith’s face that appeared when he fixed his gaze on James melted his resolve.
“Never mind, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Iverson accepted that as an answer and resumed leading Keith to his office. James slunk back out of the hallway. James sat in his dorm, alone. His leg bounced tirelessly, and his eyes fixed themselves on the ground. Minutes turned to an hour before a meek knock came at James’ door. He bolted up to pull it open once more. Keith stood in the doorway, Garrison overshirt missing. A sure sign he’d been stripped of his cadet status.
“Keith,” James breathed.
Keith grabbed James by the shoulders, a wild look in his eyes. “James, listen to me. I only have a minute before they realize I’m doing more than just packing my things,” he beseeched. “Do not tell Iverson anything. I convinced him it was all me. Promise me you won’t throw your life away on me. Promise me, James!”
Tears were welling in James’ eyes. “Keith, I-“ he choked out.
Keith gave James a shake. “Promise. Me.”
“I… I promise,” he stammered. Tears were running their way freely down his face. He hated crying.
Keith pressed a kiss to James lips, hands tangled in his hair, their tears mixing. “I love you.”
It was only now that James started wondering if he really meant “Goodbye”.
They arrived at Iverson’s office. The commander sat down heavily behind his desk, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose. James remained standing with perfect military posture.
“Sit down, Griffin,” Iverson instructed.
James followed the order, his face made of stone. He may be scared, but he still had his wits about him enough not to show it.
“What do you know about this?” Iverson asked, handing James an electronic pad with video footage ready to play.
James pressed play and there it was. Keith breaking into the Garrison and taking off. The footage was clearly cut to conceal something, but James was more concerned with his boyfriend showing up and taking back off without so much as a word to him. “What is this?” He asked, biting his lip to hold back the rising urge to vomit.
“Security footage from a few minutes ago.” Iverson was equally stone-faced.
James handed the pad back to Iverson and leaned back in the chair. It took everything in him to do so in a controlled manner. It felt as though the room was spinning. Somehow, the footage proved to James Keith wasn’t coming back. He had intimate knowledge of how to break into the Garrison, even without the explosions and theatrics he'd just used. He was choosing not to use it. He chose to disappear on James. Three months of worrying were turning into white hot rage. “I don’t know anything about this, sir. I haven’t spoken to Keith since he got kicked out,” he explained. His voice was tinged with the bitterness rising like bile in his throat.
Iverson leaned forward and narrowed his good eye. “Are you absolutely sure you know nothing about this, cadet?” he said.
Chin up, James. If they were good for any of this, they’d have showed their hand already. He steeled himself before replying, suppressing the tidal wave of emotions beneath a veneer of calm. His ability to compartmentalize scared even himself sometimes. “Yes, sir,” he deadpanned. “Are we done here, sir? Or was there something else you needed, sir?”
Iverson's face scrunched in irritation that James hadn’t caved to his attempts at intimidation. Nevertheless, James was correct, they had nothing more than Iverson’s gut feeling he was connected to any of this. “Dismissed, cadet,” he hissed.
“Thank you, sir,” James replied as he stood to leave.
He made his way back to his dorm in a haze. His roommates questioned him of course, but he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. Kinkade recognized the acute bags under his eyes and the way his steps slowed. He quelled the others’ attempts to get more from James.
James collapsed into his bed, face down with his hands in his hair. His shoes were still on, His face twisted into a fading half smile. If his mother could see him, she’d have chased him back to the door with a broom and scolded him for his shoes touching the linens.
So, Keith really was gone for good. There was no greater reason, no master plan. He was just gone, and he’d stay that way. Keith might as well be a ghost in the wind and was just as dead to James now. Like everyone else in James’s life, Keith’s love evidently had terms and conditions that James had failed to meet. He was left wondering what was so terribly wrong with him that this was the case. That no matter how hard he tried, he’d end up alone.
After several moments, the security lockdown was called off and James decided he needed the hell out of here. He dressed in his casual clothes-jeans, a plain blue button up, and a brown leather jacket to ward off the cold desert night. He chose his Garrison boots to keep the scorpions away from his ankles.
“Where are you headed?” Kinkade asked, an eyebrow cocked and arms crossed.
“Into town.” James tried pushing past him.
Kinkade caught his arm. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said with a smile. He released James’ arm.
Neither Allens nor Larson knew James well enough to say anything to the contrary. In any case, it appeared that the two of them had decided to dispose of the evidence of their indiscretion by consuming it. They were in no position to lecture anyone else on poor decisions.
James gave Kinkade a nod and an attempt at a smile as he left. As he expected, the shuttles into town were back up and running. They’d only be doing so for another hour, but in his need to be anywhere but here James decided that was a bridge he’d cross when he came to it. He chose to stop in the small town that was the first stop. Though it failed to offer as many options as the city, there was a bar there favored by the senior cadets and that was good enough for James.
James showed his ID at the door and was allowed in. Unlike many of his fellow cadets, he’d never set foot in the bar with a fake ID and took a moment to absorb the surroundings. It was mostly small tables and a large bar counter. The place was small and cramped with cadets celebrating the end of the semester. The bar's wooden walls, plastered with metal signs, felt as if they were shrinking in on him the further James pushed towards the counter.
His experience with alcohol had been limited to fancy dinners and a singular drink gone wrong with Keith on the Garrison roof. Even his attempts at escapism were tinged with bitter memories. At the very least, he knew he liked wine and tolerated whiskey; that was a start. The burn of amber liquid seemed a better alternative to the sting of abandonment that had taken residence in his throat.
“What can I get, ya?” the bartender asked with a thick southern accent. His face curled into a kind smile surrounded by stubble.
“Shot of whiskey, whatever you’ve got that’ll get me drunk fastest,” he answered.
The bartender returned with his drink, exchanging it with James’ card to start a tab. “Drinking to forget, huh?”
James took the shot, motioning for another. “Yeah,” he sighed, “you could say that.”
The whiskey blazed over the emotional pain and, with his head beginning to cloud from the alcohol, served a suitable distraction from his feelings. A few shots later, James startled at a figure to his left. There, leaning against the bar, was a lithe man with long, dark hair. He could almost be mistaken for Keith.
“And what would you be drinking, handsome?” He had a husky voice tinted with the smell of gin. It made warmth crawl across James’ face.
James picked up the last shot the bartender had left for him and examined it. “Whiskey,” he finally replied.
The other man gently pulled the small glass from James’ hand and took it himself.
“Hey!” James protested, snatching the now empty shot glass back.
He got a chuckle and a smirk in return. “If you’re that upset about it, next round’s on me,” he offered and leaned closer to whisper in James’ ear. “But wouldn’t you rather get out of here and do something else to distract you from your worries?”
James was definitely blushing now. He knew it was a bad idea. Kinkade’s words echoed in his head. Don’t do anything stupid. This was, without a question, something stupid.
But he’d been ever so lonely the past few months. Before Keith, James had barely even kissed another person. In their few months being together, James realized just what he’d been missing and he’d craved it ever since Keith vanished into the desert. He wanted, no needed, to be touched. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was loneliness, maybe it was even some twisted way for James to get revenge on Keith for leaving him. No matter the reason, base instinct won over rational thought.
James flipped the glass over on the bar to signal he was done. “I like the way you think….” he trailed off waving his hand as if to prompt a name from his suitor.
“Levi,” the man offered. “Mind putting a name to your pretty face?”
“James.” He smirked. James knew not to trust people this charming. They always had something to hide, but he didn’t care. Keith had thrown him to the wolves. It wasn’t James' fault if he let himself be preyed on. The way he saw it, at least this time the terms and conditions were laid out for him.