Chapter Text
“So. Let’s see if I got this right.” Major Strayer rubbed his forehead. If it was an attempt to soften the frown line between his eyebrows, Ronald Speirs considered, it wasn’t working very well. “Not only you two morons separated from your unit, not only you got drunk on a recon mission, not only you stripped buck naked on a train track…”
“Partially naked.” Dick spoke up, from the opposite corner of the jury table. “It’s just a technical note, so as not to put inaccurate information in the report.” He added, when his colleague turned to stare at him as if he were a tard “They weren’t naked, they were just…scantly clad. And they still had their weapons on them. Which, one might argue, still shows a certain respect for hunting protocol and in my opinion should count as a mitigating factor in our judgement.”
Major Strayer rose slowly from his chair. He was not a tall man, but he was very well aware of his rank and knew how assert his authority. Speirs respected that quality — he had never been particularly tall himself, in fact.
The major planted a palm on the table and pointed the index finger of his other hand at the center of the room. Skinny and Calamity Jane, slouched in the chairs there, watched the scene with lazy eyes, as if they were spectators at a movie, rather than defendants in a court-martial.
“These two idiots,” Strayer said, “had the brilliant idea of having sex on a train track at three in the morning without even bothering to check for oncoming trains. So I say it’s safe to rule out the possibility that even the slightest memory of hunting protocol still lingered in their clouded, inebriated minds. They probably weren’t naked only because it would have taken too long to undress—as well as to find a more suitable location, apparently.” He caught his breath and wiped with a handkerchief at his forehead, where a vein had started to throb about halfway through his speech. “I suggest you give up on this foolish effort to cover their asses, Dick. Before I drag you too in front of this court for patent favoritism.”
Dick found nothing to say in reply and conceded the point with a strained smile and a polite wave of his hand.
“I’d like to know something.” Nixon interjected. He leaned forward from where he was sitting next to Dick and stared at Skinny and Calamity, his mouth twisted in a smile that was half mischief, half genuine curiosity. “The engine driver said he blew the alarm almost to the point of breaking the crank. Why the hell didn’t you two move?”
Skinny and Calamity looked at each other and…smiled? Alright, that was it. Speirs was gonna kill them. If there was even the slightest, tiny chance he’d let them live after this stunt, they had just blown it up.
“We were beyond tipping point, sir.” Calamity calmly replied.
“In other words?”
Another knowing look. Oh no. Speirs had had them both under his orders long enough to know that nothing good ever came from that expression. He tightened his fingers on his belt loops and braced for disaster.
“Eh, sir.” Skinny said, in his sweet, conversational voice “In other words, I was comin’, she was comin’, the train was comin’, and the only one who had any control over the brakes was the damned engine driver.”
_______
The trial went on for quite a while, much longer than any regular hearing for a minor infraction. Speirs figured it was Strayer’s way of getting back at him. The Major had always been a pragmatic man. It was late afternoon when the jury handed down the verdict for Private Jane Louise Rufus and Private Wayne Aubrey Sisk: private hunting license revoked until further notice, no veto power on the next twenty missions, assistance with cleaning the infirmary for a year. Well, they had gone easy on them.
The moment Speirs had been waiting for all morning, however, didn’t come until after everyone was up and Skinny and Jane had disappeared out of the courtroom — or rather, the anonymous small room in the former industrial complex that housed the headquarters of American hunters. Strayer tidied up the pile of trial papers and stepped down from the jury box. He motioned Speirs over with a curt wave of his hand.
“Captain Speirs!”
“Major.” Speirs clicked his heels and saluted. Strayer ordered him at ease, but his grim face didn’t promise any good.
“Captain, I don't think I need to stress the value you bring to our organization. Your Company has the highest success rate of any of our operatives. You’ve earned yourself quite a number of accolades, and don't even get me started on your incredible reputation.” He made a pause “So you can understand my disappointment that the infractions of your subordinates have once again prevented this committee from considering you for the role of Major.”
Behind Strayer, Nixon theatrically put a hand on his chest and then winked at Speirs. Winters gave him a murderous look, to which he pretended to fall dead on the table. Nature and long practice had given Speirs an almost unbreakable poker face, but the Captain still thought it prudent to return his eyes on Strayer’s face and not move them until Nixon was long gone.
“I understand perfectly, sir. Thank you for your consideration, anyway.”
“I advise you to take action. This is the second time we have found ourselves in this situation. A third repetition could… make us consider the hypothesis of deliberate sabotage. You know what they say, first time is an accident, second’s a coincidence…”
Speirs did his best to look incredulous. This didn’t come naturally to him. In the last month he had spent countless hours with Carwood, trying to improve his facial expressions. He managed quite well anger, disgust and disappointment, but the others still needed work. The trick was using the eyebrows, Carwood said.
“Sabotage, by Private Sisk and Private Rufus? Oh, no, I absolutely rule it out. They’re reckless, but excellent soldiers. There’s no way they were planning to do me harm.”
“Oh, but I never said they were the minds of the operation.” The Major’s voice turned suddenly sharp “In fact…the only reason they’re still on active service is I’m convinced they were acting under direct orders.” He looked straight into Speirs’ eyes, his own cold and hard like those of a hawk.
Speirs didn’t flinch—he never did, predators couldn’t afford to show weakness —but the implications behind those words sank into his stomach, awakening his senses with a rush of adrenaline.
“I’m afraid I don’t get what you’re talking about.” This time, though, he didn’t bother pretending to be confused. Instead he returned Strayer’s gaze as deliberately as he could.
The Major pursed his lips, as if he’d been expecting it. “Of course. But be very careful, Captain. There’s only so much plausible deniability can be carried on, even by someone like you.”
And he was gone, so fast that Speirs barely had time to salute.
The Captain placed his hands on his sides and stared at the wall. Shit, so Major Strayer was onto him. Well, this was quite the problem. It wasn’t entirely unexpected: he was a clever officer, and Speirs had often wondered when he would realize that there were machinations afoot. But he hadn’t thought the Major would come to him that directly. This complicated matters considerably and made it necessary to adopt security measures.
He could feel Nixon and Winters’s piercing eyes on the back of his neck, but he stopped himself from turning. He couldn’t give out the impression that he was in league with them. If Major Strayer was suspicious of him to the point of resorting to threat, then Speirs was standing on thin ice. Too thin to support the weight of two other officers. From now on, speaking with them needed to always be delayed until it could happen in private and with a good degree of secrecy.
And that wasn’t the only thing that would have to wait. Damn.
He marched out of the room, his mood quite fouled by the sudden holdup. Luckily, he didn’t have to stop and chat with anyone. There were very few who didn’t step aside promptly as he passed, even fewer who dared to meet his gaze. Ten years of brilliant and brutal service, a couple of stories blown out of proportion in the right places, and his own unapproachable attitude had granted him that effect, which Speirs was quite pleased with. Not that he’d put all that effort in it out of personal pride. Pride wasn’t worth much: it didn’t help you achieve your goals and made you less prudent. That said, he appreciated the benefits that came with his reputation.
Skinny and Calamity were waiting for him in the parking lot, next to the black SUV. The girl was sitting on the hood of the car, her long legs, stuffed into black jeans, inelegantly crossed. She was fixing one of her ebony braids that had come undone during that endless day. Skinny was leaning at her side, close-eyed and smoking. He had put his cowboy hat back on his head. Show-offish child.
“Get in the car.” Speirs ordered.
“Can I finish the smoke?”
Speirs just glared at him. It worked better than any order: any man who had served with him knew better than challenging him, when he wore that look.
Skinny and Jane were special cases, though. They had joined the hunters very young and had been in D Company almost as long as Carwood. Which meant, Skinny threw away the cigarette, got in the car and immediately started complaining.
“What the fuck, Captain, you angry at us, now?” he spat out, once the door was fully closed behind him. “You ask us to make a mess, we make a mess. What were you expecting, for Strayer to let us go with a pat on the shoulder?”
“You’ve gotten quite carried away, though, don’t you think?”
“Well, sir, it was a tough assignment.” Calamity argued “Figure out how to make enough of a mess to keep HQ from promoting me, but not enough to get D Company in serious trouble…last time we flooded the bathrooms, but now the staff knows our faces.” Her thin lips parted in a sneer “On the other hand, if what you mean is that we had fun…”
“It was pretty fun.” Skinny agreed. Speirs gave him an unimpressed look, but it took him some effort to hold back a proud grin. Jesus. Sex on a train track…those two got guts. Guts and exactly zero brains, sure, but guts nonetheless.
“I’m not mad at you. You completed the job to the expected standard.” He conceded gruffly, starting the SUV. “But the whole thing tipped Strayer off.”
The two stiffened. Skinny, sprawled across the back seat, sat up abruptly. “Seriously? Shit!”
“How much did he figure out?” Jane asked.
“Hopefully, not much. He realized the whole court-martial thing was a set up to stop me being promoted, but I believe he didn’t quite understand why. I don’t even think he’ll take action. He just dropped hints to let me know he’s keeping an eye on me.”
Skinny swore under his breath. Jane nervously took hold of one of her braids. “So now what? Change of plans?”
Speirs shook his head. “I still have to discuss it with Winters and Nixon, it was too risky to do it in front of everyone. In any case, I think the best course of action is to carry on as before. Maybe take a few more precautions.” he pressed his lips together slightly. “We’ll have to delay Malarkey’s departure.”
He didn’t like the idea, and he was not expecting they did, either. Skinny immediately groaned. Calamity squirmed uncomfortably on her seat. “He’s…really struggling lately, Captain.” She muttered.
Yeah, that he was. Even Speirs, who was, admittedly, quite shit in the emotional intelligence department, had noticed Malarkey’s increasing distress. Loneliness and PTSD, the doctor said.
Malarkey had joined Dog Company two years prior. He had been the sole survivor of a pack of wild werewolves – killed by an untreated parvovirus infection rather than by hunters, for once, but still, all of them had died. Malarkey himself had almost lost his life. Lieutenant Compton had found him, alone and agonizing, while on a reconnaissance mission. Three weeks in the infirmary under the care of the German, their best doctor, had put him back on his feet. The grieving process and the psychological recovery, however, had been much slower and harder. The boy had bonded with Compton, and that had helped a lot. But then, just a month ago, Compton had been killed, during the same operation that had left other two members of Dog Company severely wounded. Malarkey had not been himself since. He needed a new pack urgently, in the doctor’s opinion – and the man had wearily repeated that much himself, when Speirs and Lipton had asked him what they could do to help. Well…D Company already had Liebgott, as far as werewolves were concerned. But the guy was not exactly the best-socialized wolf - or human, for that matter. So, Speirs had immediately thought of the Toccoa wolves: his wolves, as Nixon jokingly called them. After short deliberation, their leaders had given their blessing for the boy to settle in town. His departure had been scheduled for that week, to everyone’s relief.
As it was, though, they couldn’t afford to send him there.
“If we let him go now, Major Strayer might think there’s something up. He might have him followed, captured, even. If that happens I’m not sure my influence would be enough to keep him out of trouble. Malarkey joined our organization and is a registered hunter, but he’s still a werewolf, and old-school hunters like Strayer don’t go easy on the likes of him.” He grimaced. “In addition, it might induce him to take his suspicions to Colonel Sink. That could compromise our entire operation.”
The girl at his side put her hands on her face and sighed.
“All right, Captain.” She answered, tiredly “We get it.”
“Sorry.” Skinny added quietly. “The train stunt…we did get a little carried away.”
“It’s not your fault. It was a calculated risk, but still a risk, and I knew it when I gave you the order.” He breathed out “Be mad at me, if you need it. Not at yourselves.”
Skinny and Calamity looked at each other. Despite the situation, Speirs thought he saw the briefest smile on the girl’s lips.
“Thank you for saying so, Cap.”
“I’m not trying to comfort you. It’s the truth.”
“Sure.”
The remaining two hours of the journey passed in silence. It was always nice to go back home, especially after a long day like the one they just had. This time, though, Speirs wasn’t as eager to get there.
________
When he had made Captain, Speirs had purposefully chosen for his Company the farthest base at disposal. He didn’t like being checked upon by HQ, and also wanted a place remote enough that nosy neighbors wouldn't bug him too much. The fact that said base was an old ranch right beside the Yellowstone National Park had been more of a happy accident than anything else.
Now, though…Speirs got out of the car and breathed deep. The familiar smell of cut grass and animals filled his nostrils. He had grown so used to it that he didn’t believe he could live anywhere else. And to think he hadn’t even wanted the horses in the first place— let alone the chickens and the herd of goats and that nasty little donkey that always tried to bite him in the ass. In fact, the animals had been Carwood’s idea. In his words, the right amount of farm animals would keep the men busy and fit and help them manage stress. They would also ward off suspicion from the civilians—who would choose to live so far from civilization and not get animals? Besides, horse riding was always a useful skill to have.
He had been right, as usual. Carwood tended to be right a lot of the time. It was one of the many reasons Speirs loved him.
Across the driveway, the lights in the house were on and he could see shapes moving behind the drawn kitchen curtain. Speirs locked the car and started walking in that direction, hands in his pockets.
He was almost to the front porch when his phone rang out once, with Nixon’s custom ringtone. Skinny and Jane stopped and waited for him as he checked it.
“What is it?”
“Nixon. He will be here at 0100. Got some good news, apparently.” Speirs read aloud, then promptly deleted the text.
“Nixon?” Jane perked up with sudden interest “Well, small mercies.”
Skinny snorted and rolled his eyes “What about Malarkey, Cap? We tell him the news?”
“No, don’t say anything yet. I need to check in with Nixon. Also he needs to eat, I don’t want him to miss dinner.” In the month after Compton’s death Malarkey had lost almost ten pounds. Carwood was going above and beyond to make him eat. “Think you can do it?”
Skinny and Calamity looked at each other. They gave Speirs the exact same grin they had shown Strayer in the court martial.
“Captain, do you see Webster written on my forehead?” Skinny pointed at his head. “We can keep a secret.”
“Yeah, you do train your men well.” Calamity added, with a hint of pride. Then she cocked pensively her head. “Well…those who survive.”
“Good.” Speirs stoically ignored the jab. “Then keep quiet. I’ll tell him soon as I know for sure.”
They entered the house, greeted by the subtle scent of wood and a heavenly smell of food. The sound of voices came from the kitchen. It seemed that Malarkey was telling something to Webster, interrupted at times by his questions and Liebgott's biting comments.
"Hey! What's going on, you didn't wait for us to eat?" Skinny was the first to throw open the door and walk into the room "Ain’t we part of the family no more?"
"Look, the criminals!" Liebgott shouted across the table. He was in a tank top and was twisting a toothpick between his wolfish teeth. Next to him, Malarkey stopped talking and lit up in a smile seeing them at home "We thought you behind bars, by now. How come you're still at large?"
“Eh. The board decided it was hypocritical to suspend us, when you still have a clean record.” Skinny took off his hat and shoved it on his face. Liebgott grabbed it halfway and put it on his head, instead.
“Heeey, Calamity Jane! Wanna go for a ride in the sunset?” he called, wriggling his hips in what, Speirs hoped for the man, was not an attempt at seduction.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Webster muttered, with a comically affronted grimace. Jane just smirked and waved Liebgott off.
“Sorry, short stuff. I don’t suck a dick that close to the ground.”
“Ow! Mama, Janey said a bad word!”
Carwood turned around with the pan in his hand and his usual, damn attractive half-smile. Speirs hated being the one to make that look disappear and he reflexively slowed on the doorway. He covered it up pretending to check the insignia on his shirt, but of course it didn’t work. Carwood’s eyes snapped to him, and narrowed slightly as they met his. Speirs could make out the hidden question in them just as well as if it was spoken.
Something went wrong?
Speirs sighed. He still hadn’t figured out how Carwood did it, but nothing escaped the man. Especially what you were trying to keep from him. He wiped a hand over his mouth and looked down briefly at the floor.
Not now, we’ll talk later.
A brief, almost invisible nod. The whole exchange hadn’t lasted more than a couple of seconds. Carwood made his way to the table and placed the pan down with an exasperated roll of his eyes.
“Shut your mouth, Liebgott. And off with the hat while you’re sitting at the table.”
“Yeah, Lieb, off with the hat.” Skinny took it back with a swift move and ducked away from the following swat, with the grace of a dancer. He planted his elbows on Malarkey’s shoulders and leaned over to take a look at the food “Meatloaf! Mama, you’re the best! Ain’t he the best, Malark?”
“Hell yeah.” The redhead reached up to ruffle Skinny’s hair “Best Lieutenant in the whole Regiment. I’m gonna miss your food, Lip.”
“Well, eat up, then.” Carwood handed him the ladle and had he make portions. Then he gestured for Speirs to sit at the table. “You get trout, Ron. Your diet said fish for dinner.”
“You know I can adjust my diet, no need to go out of your way.” Speirs washed his hands at the sink and loosed the neck of his shirt.
“It’s alright.” He threw a fond glance to where Webster was seated, in the usual composed, if rather decadent, fashion “Professor was fed up with meat too, anyway.”
Webster stiffened on his seat when Speirs’ gaze trailed on him. His large, blue eyes always reminded the Captain of a newborn seal pup.
“I-I just said fish is healthier, sir. As a, hum, a general statement.”
Speirs stared at him for one moment more, just for the pleasure of watching him squirm. Among the current six privates in D Company, David was the only one that still retained in his regards a decidedly ill-concealed fear, other than just respect. He was actually rather new to the Company, and mostly stuck out as a sore thumb.
He came from one of the many, wealthy American families that made off-book donation to the Hunters Corps. Some of them also actively participated in the organization or sent some of their members in the Corps. The Websters, though, were merely financial contributor: at least until ten or so months before, when David Kenyon, the older son and future inheritor of the family’s estate, had decided to put his literary studies on halt and enlisted for active service in the hunters’ ranks. As he had explained to Major Winters, he didn’t want to fund something that didn’t aligned with his view of the world, so he wanted to get a sense of the whole thing firsthand. That was also why, presented with the option to be made an officer or be put in the Intelligence Department, he had instead pushed to be enlisted as a private. They’d let him pick where he wanted to be assigned, and he had chosen D Company – the most notorious, for better and for worse.
If he had regretted that choice – and it might as well have been the case, since it had been clear very soon that hunters’ life was miles away from the VIP treatment Webster had gotten all his life - Speirs hadn’t heard a word of it. Webster was not a brilliant soldier, but a dutiful one nonetheless, and that, the Captain could very well work with.
What he had heard, on the other hand, was his and Liebgott’s fights. Everyone had heard those. Very clearly. All day long. For ten fucking months. It was still to be decided if pulling each other pigtails every time they spent more than ten minutes together was a matter of genuine dislike or just a childish relief valve for sexual tension – Speirs was inclined to the first option, Lipton had money bet on the second. Either way, the Captain had had to resort to intimidation to get those two to keep it down. Which probably explained Webster’s dread.
“Next time you want fish, Webster, you cook the fucking fish.” He stated, sternly. Carwood gave him a pointed look, which Speirs deemed a little excessive. No corporal punishment, no threatens, no endurance training under the rain…if even harmless intimidation was off the table, how was a man to a little fun?
“Yessir. I’m sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.”
“Why don’t you lie down and have him walk all over you, Web?” Liebgott callously suggested from the other side of the table. Speirs quirked his mouth. Oh, there. That was how.
“Was I talking to you, Liebgott?” he snapped, easily slipping into his sharp officer voice. The werewolf face turned serious at the speed of light.
“No sir.”
“Damn right. Get out and give me two laps, to south pastures and back.” When the guy started to open his mouth, Speirs stared at him with his best intimidating gaze. He relished in the way Liebgott’s mouth immediately snapped shut.
Skinny whooped in mockery as the werewolf got up from the table, and the whole bunch of them followed him on the porch, where he shifted to his ink-black wolf form and trotted away, increasing speed as he ran.
“No stern looks this time, Mama?” Speirs jokingly muttered, as he and Carwood went out as well in order not to miss the show.
Carwood shrugged and put an arm around his back. “Nah. It’s Liebgott.” He checked if the guys were looking, and then planted a quick kiss on Speirs temple. “’Sides, gotta leave Dad something to do as well.”
Speirs leaned on his side and crossed his arms, watching with half-lidded eyes Liebgott’s black form, who galloped on the green grass faster than any horse could. He smiled, showing his teeth in satisfaction. Then smiled some more when Webster took a hasty step away from where he stood.
“Indeed.”
________
“We’re almost out of it, thank God. And everything is going in the right direction.” Nixon leaned back in his chair, turning his glass with a flick of his wrist. The whiskey inside swirled against the glass, rich like liquid amber. With his perfectly pressed dress pants, the white shirt with the sleeves rolled up on tanned forearms and the artistically disheveled dark hair, the Intelligence Captain painted the picture of the highborn scion better than Webster could ever hope to do.
Skinny and Liebgott nudged each other, gloating. The entire Company was gathered in the large living room of the house. Speirs would have actually preferred the conversation with Nixon to happen in private, with only Lipton present. But Calamity, knowing of the man’s arrival, had refused to go to bed. Nixon had been her officer crush since she was a lanky sixteen-year-old first entering hunter training. After dinner, she had re-braided her hair, touched up her mascara, and then had challenged Liebgott and Malarkey to a game of poker which had kept the entire Company awake until Nixon had knocked on the door.
“When’s Dike’s trial, Captain?” the girl inquired, playing seductively with the tail of a dark braid. Nixon looked her up and down, his appreciative gaze lingering a fraction longer than necessary. It was kind of a game between them at this point. Nixon openly swung for the other team and Jane was in a kind-of-exclusive relationship with Skinny, but that didn’t stop either of them from flirting like there was no tomorrow whenever they ended up in the same room.
“It starts in a couple of days. I believe we have all the evidence we need to have him expelled from the organization, maybe even from the country, with the right judge. Plus, the confession Speirs got from him about who ordered the murders of Lieutenant Compton and Captain John Basilone will allow us to court-martial that bastard Sobel, too. From there to exposing all his black market trade, it’s a short step.” Nixon swirled the glass again, pleased as a big cat. “You two, Skinny and Calamity. Good work today. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Strayer turn the same color as his hair.”
“We were born to impress.” Jane replied, batting her long lashes. Skinny’s only reaction to that little scene from his girlfriend was a wide grin. The dynamic between those two was truly something kinky.
“I didn’t quite grasp why you won’t let Captain Speirs be promoted to Major, though.” Webster piped up “Wouldn’t it be beneficial to our operation to have another high officer on our side?”
“We already have Dick and Major Lena Basilone. Furthermore, we’ll need Speirs to question Sobel when they’ll lock him up, same as he did with Dike. If they promote him to Major, he won’t be able to attend to trivialities such as interrogations. Which would be a loss for us, not to mention a…awful waste of talent.” An unsettling glint flickered in his eyes as he shifted them to Speirs. The Captain didn’t bother to respond. It was true, he had a knack for extracting information.
“You planning Sobel’s trial yet, Cap’n?” Liebgott whistled. “Whole new level of control freaky, man.”
“It’s called strategy, Liebgott. And you can thank me when Sobel too is behind bars.”
“You know what they say in the Regiment. Don’t take cigarettes from Speirs, don’t play chess with Nixon.” Lipton interjected, smirking.
“I thought it was don’t go drinking with him…”
“Eh, I’m a man of many talents.” Nixon boasted. But then his face darkened as he turned to Speirs. “One of which is observation. I couldn’t help but notice that Strayer didn’t look very happy when he stopped to talk to you after the trial. Something to report?”
Speirs felt on his skin the way the good mood in the room waned at that. It took him some effort not to look back at where Malarkey was curled up on the couch. Shit, he really should have put his foot down about that talk being private.
“What, you don’t know what we talked about in detail already?” he said. “You’re always up to speed on everything.”
Nixon rolled his eyes. “Well, what can I do? All of my sources are afraid of you, Sparky. So?”
“I’m afraid it’s nothing good, actually.” Speirs told him briefly about the exchange. As he spoke, Nixon’s face grew progressively more alarmed.
“Or that’s bad. Bad, bad, bad.” He finally sentenced, massaging his jaw with his thick eyebrows knitted into a continuous line.
“Oh-oh, three ‘bad’.” Skinny noted “Are we killing Strayer, then?”
“We absolutely are not.” Lipton denied, sternly. The long pause that followed had his firm expression waver a little. “We aren’t, right?”
“Eh.” Nixon scratched his cheek. The five o’clock shadow on his jaw made a raspy noise, like sandpaper “I mean, surely not before I have a talk with him.”
“He knows next to nothing.” Speirs tried to intervene — more for the sake of Carwood’s lost look than of Major Strayer’s survival. Personally, he would have had no objection to putting a well-aimed bullet in the middle of the man’s forehead, if need be. “Taking him out is premature.”
“Better premature than late.” Nixon bluntly replied, not caring how Lipton flinched at the words. Nixon’s nice facade and the fact that the Captain was part of the Intelligence Department rather than a field officer often led people to believe he was soft. Speirs knew better than that. Nixon was more of a spy than a hunter, but that didn’t mean he was any less ruthless. In was just a different brand. “As for not knowing anything, give him a week and he’ll have it all figured out. As soon as you go to the stand to report the confession you extracted from Dike, he’ll realize what part you played in the whole thing. He’ll know we’ve framed Sobel.”
“But he won’t be able to do anything about it. I tortured Dike to get his confession about Sobel, alright. But he’s a witch, not a human, so no one will so much as bat an eye on a rough treatment. Besides, nothing I got out of him was false.”
“It won’t matter. There are too many shady details in the way we acted and if someone starts looking for them, they will find them. How we tricked Dike into jail with a charge for dealing spells, for one, and then the fact that you got him to confess to something completely different. Best case scenario, you’ll be accused of overzealousness. Worst, there’ll be an investigation, and Dick and Lena will be pulled in the middle as well. Maybe the whole K Company, since they’re the ones who caught Dike. And if we all end up in trouble, who’s going to make sure Sobel gets stopped?”
“Alright.” Speirs conceded, with a grimace “But killing Strayer is complicated. We need a foolproof plan, or it’ll backfire.”
“Strayer’s a good officer,” Lipton added, his voice low. His face was blank except for the small crease between his brows. But even so, it was clear that he didn’t like the whole thing. “He’s not a cruel person. And he doesn’t like Sobel any more than we do.”
“Yeah, because of that whole episode of the shapeshifter and the cut fence.” Nixon remembered, and a small smile crossed his face. But it was gone almost as soon “Look. I’ll talk to him. Maybe that’ll settle things. But be prepared, because if it doesn’t we’ll have to act fast.”
Speirs glanced at his Company. Skinny, Jane, and Liebgott all looked back at him with steady eyes. Webster was chewing his lower lip, but nodded as well. Malarkey’s face, though, looked infinitely tired and Lipton’s was hard as stone, the scar across his cheek somehow more pronounced on his drawn features.
“Sure.”
“Good.” Nixon’s gaze also shifted to the rest of the room. “It goes without saying that under these conditions…well, Don, it would be rash to let you go to that werewolf town of yours. We’ll have to postpone it for a while.”
Malarkey nodded slowly. “Yeah. I kinda figured that.”
“It doesn’t mean you’re not going.” Lipton said immediately. “It’ll just take a little longer. But you’re going to Toccoa. I’ll take you there myself. I promised.”
Malarkey glanced at Speirs, who nodded once, with the same firm expression he had when he gave an order he expected to be carried out instantly. He smiled slightly. “Don’t worry, Mama Lip. I’ve come this far. I can hold out for a couple more weeks. Just make me some more meatloaf.”
“All you want.” Lipton assured.
“Hey, this way we can throw you that goodbye party we were talking about!” Webster added “With all that went down last week we didn’t manage. We’ll bake you a cake, and we can write you some cards, so you’ll read them during the flight.”
“What are you, a hippie?” Liebgott bellowed. He slammed a hand on the coffee table. “Let’s take him out drinking, for fuck’s sake!”
“Cake and drinking!” Skinny countered. He hooked an arm around Malarkey’s neck and pulled him against himself. “Whatcha say, Malark? Sounds good?”
“Hella.” Malarkey grinned “Just don’t hand me methanol instead of vodka, this time.”
Jane immediately raised her hands “Hey, it was an honest mistake.”
“Wait, you drank methanol?” Nixon’s eyes widened. “Christ. How are you still alive?”
“Huh.” Malarkey spread his hands. “Werewolf liver? I didn’t realize what it was. The label was in German, you know, we were in Berlin for a job. Next morning, I woke up with the worst headache of my life and short breath. Then Webster translated the label on the empty bottle and…”
“See that white hair on his temples?” Liebgott sneered. “That’s when he got ‘em.”
“I don’t have white hair!” Webster squeaked.
“Sure thing, Web. But you do got a degree at Harvard, right? Oh, no, wait…”
“I told you I took a year off to enlist, man, give me a break!”
“Long story short, we all panicked and Skinny jumped on my stomach until I puked.” Malarkey calmly concluded, ignoring them.
“Christ.” Nixon ran a hand over his jaw and leaned over “And, do tell…how was the jag?”
“Don’t answer that.” Lipton leapt to his feet and pointed a commanding finger at Malarkey. Speirs couldn’t help but grin at Nixon’s disappointed scowl. “Last thing Captain Nixon needs is more ways to hurt himself.”
“I don’t know who’s the bigger party pooper, you or Dick.” Nixon complained. Then he tapped his hands on his tighs. “Alright. Now that we’ve got work out of the way, what do you guys do for fun, ‘round here?”
_______
Nixon left at three o’clock, having single-handed won the entire pot. By then, Speirs was positive that Lipton was standing on two feet by sheer willpower. His eyes would close at regular intervals, leaving him to doze against the doorframe, his head falling forward until the man would jolt awake again.
“Captain, take him to bed, I’m begging you.” Malarkey pleaded as he walked past Speirs. “We’ll handle the rest of cleaning up, here.”
Speirs didn’t have to be told twice. Last night there had been the famous recon mission where Skinny and Jane had gone astray, and he would have bet that Carwood had barely slept after taking the rest of the guys back home. Surely he’d sent Liebgott, Webster, and Malarkey off for a nap and had taken care of the farm and dinner himself. It was one of the man’s strengths, making him the good Lieutenant he was: his attention to subordinates and his tendency to do anything to make their work easier. Which, coincidentally, was also one of his greatest weaknesses.
Once in their bedroom, they undressed each other with a swiftness born from years of practice. After nearly a decade together, each other’s movements were as familiar to them as their own. Speirs knew instinctively when to reach down to offer Carwood a handhold out of his pants, and that when he turned around in turn from taking off his uniform shirt, the man would have a coat hanger ready for him. His younger self would have turned up his nose at all that domesticity. But his younger self was a complete idiot - no surprise, considering he hadn't met Carwood yet.
Slipping into his own bed after that long day was heaven. Yet, as he adjusted under the duvet, Speirs found out that he couldn’t fully relax. There was a nagging thought that wouldn’t leave him alone. He tried to ignore it as Carwood came to bed too and brushed a hand against his arm with a muttered “good night.” But it was easier said than done.
After tossing and turning on his mattress for nearly twenty minutes, Speirs clenched his pillowcase in his fist and thought, what the hell.
"Carwood." He called.
Carwood didn’t move. Probably he was sound asleep already, with how tired he had been. Even so, he went on, the whispered words leaving his lips almost against his will "Are you sure this is the life you want?"
“Hmn?” Carwood's peaceful breath faltered into a small moan behind his back as the man stirred. Another moment and Speirs heard him yawn and slowly rub his face. The pang of guilt for waking him up was swiftly quelled by an arm that fell around his waist, pulling him against a large, warm chest.
"I was wondering why you wouldn’t fall asleep." Carwood slurred, an affectionate edge to it "You were brooding, huh?"
Speirs shifted to accommodate them, moving back so that Carwood face rested on the crook of his neck and their legs were interlaced. The feeling of his man’s strong body pressed against his own was both calming and overwhelming, in the best way possible.
"Not brooding. Just…thinking about it."
"Our life." The man grumbled with another yawn "You mean, like, the hunters part, right? Not you and me being…”
“Not that.” Speirs immediately replied. He reflexively took hold of Carwood forearm and pressed it more firmly on his waist. “Just us being enlisted in the organization. I know it’s not easy for you. Especially in recent years, with...the questionable things we had to do."
“We also managed a good deed or two, though. Like Malarkey. Or better yet, Liebgott. Usually, a werewolf transformed by a bite is target practice. Instead we saved him and now he has…well, a decent life, at least, if not a good one.”
"You saved him. I would have shot him." Speirs snorted "I’m still tempted, at times."
Lipton pinched him lightly in the side. “Shut up, you grouch. I can see he’s growing on you."
“I would trade him for a barrel of apples. In fact, as for good deeds, he almost doesn't count. "
“Hm. Then, let's see..." Lipton tapped his fingers against Speirs’ bare shoulder, thoughtful "Remember George Luz?”
Speirs blurred a short laugh. “The shapeshifter? Couldn’t forget him if I tried. He spent here just over a week and he screwed up Sobel’s training session, traumatized the donkey, emptied the pantry, outdrank both Skinny and Jane, cleaned up Liebgott at cards and then almost got eaten, again by Liebgott..."
Lipton laughed, a warm vibration against Speirs’ back. “True, true. Quite the memorable guy. You remember how he ended up here?”
“Hm-m. You pulled him out of a beating at a gas station cafè.” Speirs replied, quietly. His fingers caressed Lipton’s forearm up and down. He had fallen in love with the man all over again when he had come home with a scowl on his face, bloody knuckles, and that scrawny, battered shapeshifter trailing after him like a lost puppy. “Some ranchers targeted him because they saw him shapeshift.”
“Yeah. He became taller to reach a bag of rice on the top shelf.” Lipton took a deep breath. “Those assholes jumped him five to one. They would have killed him. Instead I stepped in and later our organization had my back against the local police.”
“The same organization that actively hunts shifters.” Speirs couldn’t help but point out. “They didn’t cover for you ‘cause they’re nice. They covered for you because you’re one of the best they’ve got and they need you to kill other creatures. Same with Liebgott and Malarkey. You’ve been permitted to enlist them as Privates in the Company, but you think anyone would hesitate to put a bullet in their head if they didn’t follow orders?”
Lipton shook his head against his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. They’re safe. So is Luz. And now, somehow, he’s even reached Toccoa, the place that you protect. And you can protect it because you’re a hunter.” He tightened his hold around Speirs’ waist “You’re asking me if I want to leave the organization? Would you ever leave your wolves at the mercy of people like Sobel?”
“Of course not.” Speirs snapped, more forceful than he meant to. The thought of what Sobel could do to the community of Toccoa if he let him have his way was sickening. “I have no intention of giving up being a hunter. I know that the bad things I do are necessary, that someone has to get their hands dirty for a better future, in which supernaturals aren’t shot on sight. I have the right temperament to be that someone, and I can accept committing a crime if it’s for a good cause. But you…you’re a better man than I am. And I want you to know that you don’t have to stay, not for me or anyone else. Say the word, and I’ll make sure you never have to hear about all of this again.”
He didn’t expect to hear Lipton chuckle. The man hugged him and planted a trail of little kisses on his shoulder and neck.
“Oh, you really are a piece of work, ain’t ya, my love? Always so focused on morals.” he soothed with more kisses Speirs’ surge of defensiveness “I’m not a better man than you, Ron. I don’t like hurting people and you don’t mind it, that’s true. But I had to incapacitate five men to save George Luz – hell, I probably killed at least one of them. I did it, and I'd do it again.” he paused “Only difference between you and me is, I wasn't thinking of a better future. I was thinking about that little shapeshifter on the ground. Was I right? Was I wrong? I don't know. But lately I've given it a thought, and…do you want to hear my opinion?”
Speirs took his right into his own and kissed his knuckles. “I always want to hear your opinion.”
“Alright. Then what I think is, justice is nothing but a dream. In the real world? Try and show me one atom of what we mean by that name. You won't find it. There is only the things we do, and what we try to build day by day. And there is always blood, mixed in the mortar between the bricks.” He shook his head “I won’t find a fairer life somewhere else. Here I’m hurting some people and helping many others. It’s enough. Also, here I’ve got you and the guys. I’m not leaving you that easily.”
He fell silent and hugged him tightly, again. Speirs could make out the hard line of his mouth without needing to see it. He craved to turn and take him in his arms, but doing so would have required him to let go of Carwood’s hand, and the man was gripping to him like a lifeline. So he just kissed his knuckles again, one by one.
“You were asking because Nixon suggested killing Strayer?” Carwood finally murmured, after a long silence. Speirs nodded.
“Yes. I know you’d hate it if we did it.”
“But I would do it. If Strayer becomes a danger to Malarkey, or Liebgott, or to you, if it stops us from framing Sobel and saving dozens more lives…I’ll do it, Ron.” He sighed. “Given that, I’m not sure that not liking it makes me a better man than you. If anything, I think it makes me worse.”
Speirs felt his heart tighten at the resignation in the man’s tone. Lipton, worse than him? The same Lipton who cared for the entire Company as if they were his children? The same Lipton who took a grenade to the face to shelter Speirs? The man that, from that day on, had loved him every day, unconditionally?
“No, I don’t think so.” He whispered. “You know, you might be right about justice, which invalidates a ranking on that scale. But if you ask me to show you an atom of love, I’ll hold you up to a mirror. And I think that’s just as important. Maybe even more so.”
He felt Lipton's smile against the back of his neck, along with the soft sigh that was followed by a few light kisses.
“It's just like you to use big words like 'invalidate' when you're being romantic.”
“I wasn't being romantic. It's a matter of fact.”
“Really? So I ain't even worth a little romancing in your eyes?”
Speirs snorted. “Oh, you are terrible.”
“You wouldn't love me otherwise.”
“I would love you no matter what.”
“Now this is romantic.”
“You’re welcome.”
Lipton let out a small chuckle, then yawned and let his forehead fall on Speirs' back “Let me sleep now? I need to be up in three hours.”
“Sleep in. I’ll take you chores.” Speirs offered. Carwood had always needed more rest than him, and besides he was too wired up by the day to sleep any good.
Lipton moaned in appreciation. “Can we pretend I tried to argue and fell asleep in the middle of it? It would help my conscience a great deal.”
“Sure thing, love.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Carwood.”