Jordan

[Crushing]

Nice chapter. I'm just disappointed that the Rhiannon bitch was British

Yeah, why are baddies almost always British?!

Had to laugh at this one. Sorry to my British friends. Don't worry, there's some better British characters a bit further down the road.

[Crushing]

Bzz bzz…

The hum of her phone tilted Megan Rodriguez-Poisson out of an exhausted sleep. She looked over at the clock.

1:44 AM.

Lime green numbers radiate in the quiet dark of an extended stay hotel room in Jacksonville, North Carolina. Shaking her head in attempt to shed a sleepy fog, she reached over to the clean nightstand and picked up her phone.

New Message

She opened it.

Two words.

Come over.

Her heart skipped a beat as she smiled to herself. She looked over to see Jared turned on his side facing away, still deep in sleep.

She propped herself quietly on her elbow to look past him, seeing their two sons peacefully asleep in the second queen bed.

It was the kind of quiet a bus mom in her thirties dreamed of, but the kind of quiet she was usually asleep for.

She slid to the edge of the bed and stood up quietly, carefully replacing the sheet and blanket before tiptoeing to the bathroom. She shut the door behind her and turned on the light. She used the toilet, washed her hands, and splashed some water on her face. Gargling some single-use mouthwash, she turned off the light and opened the bathroom door to walk out. Checking to make sure her three boys were sleeping peacefully, she grabbed the keycard from the TV stand and quietly left the room.

Mark's room was on the other end of the hall, but on the same floor. She moved quickly, not wanting to be caught by a stranger having bed hair and wearing plaid pajama bottoms and an old sweatshirt. The risk of moving through a hotel hallway in the middle of the night.

Arriving at Mark's room, she found the door propped slightly open. Having been summoned already, Megan didn't knock. She gently pushed the door open and peeked inside.

Mark was sitting in an easy chair in the corner, wearing a long terrycloth bathrobe and reading a book. Seeing the door open, he looked up and waved Megan in. She quietly entered and clicked the door shut behind her.

"Everything okay?" She asked.

It was a fair question for a stressful time of transition. Mark and Jared were ordered to report to their new battalion at 0800 the next morning. Checking in to a new unit was always nerve wracking, and she knew both Mark and Jared had to prove themselves to a new group of marines. A few old friends, including the battalion commander, would be helpful. However, Mark and Jared were checking in as company commander and company gunnery sergeant. All eyes would be on them. That didn't bother her husband too much; Jared simply shrugged the pressure off, but he also had Mark to rely on as the ultimate leader. Mark always seemed to carry the burden of leadership a little more heavily. Although he, too, preferred to keep quiet. But he was clearly on edge.

Mark looked down and nodded. "Yeah, everything"s fine." He marked his place in his book and set it on the nightstand, then stood up.

"Take your top off."

Megan nodded and pulled her sweatshirt off over her head, tossing it on the TV stand, the words GEORGETOWN LAW draped halfway over the corner of the furniture. She then pulled her plain white undershirt up, her full, C-cup breasts dropping down as the hem passed by them. She wiggled slightly as the shirt passed over her shoulders, her head dropping through the neck, and her hair tumbling wildly down as she pulled it off all the way.

Mark's eyes were fixed on her, inspecting her body as she presented it to him. She stood casually in plaid pajama bottoms with her breasts exposed, waiting for his next directive.

"Get on your knees."

Megan knelt down, sitting back on her heels, the flat of her palms resting on her thighs in a practiced pose of obedience. She looked expectantly up at Mark.

"Eyes down."

Megan looked down to the floor, her chin dropping slightly. Mark walked behind her and opened a drawer on the dresser where the TV stood. Megan couldn't see what he was getting, but she knew what was coming next.

She felt a gentle mist being sprayed around her hair, a vague scent of lemon following.

He had the hair detangler ready. Interesting.

The next sensation Megan felt was a sturdy brush running through her hair. At first it pulled painfully, but Mark had become very proficient at smoothing out her hair when it was tangled.

A few moments of silence passed with just the smooth sound of a hairbrush running from the top of her head to the tip of her hair, hanging just between her shoulder blades.

She kneeled in silence as Mark set the brush on the dresser and began to braid her hair into a tight, high ponytail, extending straight out of the back of her head to hang smartly down between her shoulder blades, terminating in a single point. She held her head still as he passed the braids over each other, tightening the braid as a whole as he progressed down her hair.

"Too tight?"

Megan shook her head gently. Mark finished the braid at the bottom, then reached in the drawer for a hair tie, which he fastened securely at the bottom of the braid. Then, replacing the detangling bottle, the brush, and the package of hair ties in the drawer, he slid it shut, walked across the hotel room to the easy chair, and sat down without a word.

Megan kneeled quietly, her head down, naked from the waist up. Mark watched her silently from his chair, observing the steady stiffening of her nipples as she awaited instructions. After a few moments, they had hardened visibly, and he broke the silence.

"Come here."

Megan quietly crawled over to Mark, stopping between his knees. She resumed her former posture, eyes down, palms down on her thighs.

"Suck my cock."

Megan quietly pulled open the folds of Mark's robe, uncovering his stiffening cock. She suppressed a smile, not wanting to break the mood of quiet submission, and grasped his member near the base.

She leaned in and took him into her mouth.

Mark sat silently watching the tight ponytail swaying gently while Megan's head bobbed up and down.

The feeling of her mouth was exquisite. Warm, soft, inviting.

And he loved how she always made these gentle little sounds while she sucked on him.

Mmm. mmm. Hmmm.

"Good girl."

Mark enjoyed the silence punctuated by gentle murmurs and wet smacking sounds as his best friend's wife carefully fellated him. He felt tension draining from his body as she focused on his pleasure. After a few minutes, he felt relaxed enough to talk.

"You guys get the keys to the new place yet?"

Slurp.

"No, not until next Monday. We'll be here until then. Did you find a place yet?"

Slurp. Hmm… slurp.

"No, not yet. Kinda left in a hurry, you know how it is."

Slurp. "Mmmmhmmm…"

Mark's head lolled back, soaking in the sensation of Megan's attentive mouth.

"Marky and JJ like the new place?"

Slurp, slurp. "I think so. We took them by yesterday." Slurp. "JJ likes the yard. Marky's happy to get his own room." Slurp. "Jared said they could get a dog, so everyone's excited. Plus Jared gets a den in the basement." Slurp

"Look up at me."

Megan shifted postures and knelt lower so she could look up in Mark's eyes while she sucked.

Mark loved eye contact. And Megan loved it when he held her gaze…it made her feel hot. He had steely eyes that could either freeze or melt whoever he was looking at. But also, she had noticed over the years with him, locking eyes with Mark was a way to gauge what he was thinking. She stopped sucking for a moment, laying his hard cock against her face as she rested her cheek on his thigh.

"You really liked her, didn't you?"

Mark hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, I kinda did."

"What was her name again?"

"Jordan."

"Hmmm…" Megan began sucking again. Mark's eyes grew distant for a moment.

Slurp. "You want to stay with us for a while? You can take your time finding a new place." slurp, slurp…

"I don't want to impose, I know moving in is crazy…"

Slurp "Don't be silly. You can help Jared set stuff up, make little fixes around the new place, play with the boys." Slurp. "Stay as long as you want." slurp slurp.

"Does that invitation extend to your bedroom?"

Slurp "mmmhmmmm…" slurp.

"Sounds good, then."

"Hmmmm…" slurp…slurpslurp…slurp.

"Okay, stop."

Still grasping his member, Megan lifted her mouth off of Mark's cock, looking up at him for instruction.

"Take off your bottoms and get on all fours on the bed. I'm going to fuck you."

"Okay…" Megan stood up and pulled her pajama bottoms down. As she bent over to reach down and pull them off her feet, Mark leaned in and grasped her between the legs.

"Hmmmm. Wet. That's good. Prickly. That's less good…"

Megan laughed and slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "I don't have time to shave when we're in the middle of a move! I don't even know where my razors are…"

"I'm just sayin…if I'm gonna stay with you guys, I expect this to be silky smooth for me." He patted the outer lips of her vagina gently.

"It will be, big guy…" Megan laughed, crawling on to the bed, her taut butt sticking up in the air.

"Down on your elbows…" Mark instructed, shucking the bathrobe and kneeling on the bed behind her. Megan dropped her torso down, keeping her back arched, her braided ponytail lolling down the side of her face and touching Mark's mattress.

Mark lined himself up and began gently pushing inside his best friend's wife. "You got wet fast, Briseis…"

"Only for you, Achilles," she shot a look over her shoulder, her ponytail whipping to the other side. Her eyes closed and a contented sigh escaped her mouth as she felt the thick tip of Mark's member nudge into her.

"You okay? I'm not going too fast?"

Megan shook her head.

"You stressed from the move?" he asked, beginning to thrust slowly.

Megan nodded silently.

"You need this, Meg? You need what I'm giving you right now?"

Megan nodded again, this time with more energy.

"What do you need right know, slave girl? Say it to me."

"I need you to fuck me…" Megan said breathily, moaning as he picked up the pace.

Mark silently took her for several minutes, enjoying the tight warmth of her eager welcome. As she began to whimper and tense, he reached down and grasped the end of her braid, pulling it tightly back. Her head snapped back in tension, and he began to pound harder.

"You like it when I fuck you, Megan? You like this?"

"Mmmhmmm…" Megan whined again, squeezing her eyes shut. Mark could feel the tension building in her body, seeing it in her trembling posture.

"Here comes the first one, slave girl." Mark began to thrust harder, audible slapping noises coming from the rhythmic contact of their bodies.

"Come on my cock…" he growled. "Do it now."

Megan's body shuddered as her orgasm rippled through her. Mark let her braid go and watched her head drop, her legs twitching noticeably. Mark stopped thrustung and held himself still inside her, landing a firm slap on her right butt cheek before he withdrew, letting her collapse face first onto the mattress.

Megan panted on her stomach for a moment until Mark rolled her on her back. She opened her legs, shyly covering the stubble of her pubic hair with both hands. Mark smiled and swatted her hands away, grasping the prickly space between her legs with a firm thumb on her clitoris. "Just relax, Briseis. I'm not done. You want me to finish, right?"

"Yes…" Megan nodded.

"Good girl." Mark pushed inside her again, drawing a laugh/gasp from her. He leaned over her, propping his torso up with his hands and elbows, and began thrusting again. "Where do you want me to finish?"

"Wherever you want, Mark…just take me however you want."

He smiled as he pushed deep inside slowly. She gasped. Even after a decade and having two kids, Megan never fully got used to the feeling of all of him inside her body. He withdrew nearly all the way, then slowly pushed all the way back into her body. She wrapped her arms around his neck, locking eyes with him.

"I know you're nervous about tomorrow. You're going to be terrific Mark. You're ready for this. I believe in you. We both do."

Mark's eyes softened, but he didn't stop moving. Megan continued, never breaking eye contact.

"Jared's got your back. So do I. He loves you. So do I. We love you…we believe in you…"

Mark's thrusting picked up speed, and Megan's eyes began to get misty as her body tensed. She wrapped her legs behind Mark's waist, locking her ankles together.

"Do you know we love you, Mark? You know it, don't you?"

Mark nodded.

Megan whined slightly. He felt so good…but moments like this–when she could get him to be vulnerable while he took her…she became so much more open to the subtle influences of his body. After a decade of on-again off-again sex with her husband's best friend, she still craved his body, and knew it well. But when he really opened up and showed vulnerability, when she could feel the deep desires of his heart while he was inside her, when she could intuit his deepest needs and meet them while their bodies coupled…

It was on a whole other level. Even sex with her husband–who she loved deeply and was attracted to deeply–it didn't come close to this.

The magic moment always came when she discovered what he needed in the moment. Sometimes it was easy, almost generic. Sometimes he just needed to be held. To be told he belonged, or that he was loved. She thought that was it this time. Just some emotional reassurance. But it looked like just telling him he was loved wasn't what he needed. He needed more. Something to make him feel secure…

She closed her eyes and dropped her head back as Mark pushed as deep as he could into her body. Megan's whimpers dropped in pitch as the pleasure intensified and deep warmth began to emanate from the space of Mark's careful probing. He held his cock deep, giving small quick thrusts, almost as if he was trying to access the deepest part of her…

She lifted her head to find his eyes again. God…he felt so good.

He needed something from her…but it was becoming clear that even he didn't know.

She recalled a conversation they had had before he met that last girl…Jordan? 'He seemed to laugh it off at the time. To forget about it. But maybe…

Megan tilted her head, holding Mark's gaze, and lifted her knees up, holding her legs wide open, superfluously signaling the invitation to his cock to take the deepest part of her body.

Then she asked him in a voice just above a whisper:

"Do you want me to give you a baby, Mark? I'll give you a baby…if you want. I'll carry it for you…"

Mark's eyes widened. He began thrusting harder. Megan's whining began to choke desperately as Mark's deep probing.

"Let me give you a baby, Mark…Please…" she whispered. His pupils dilated, and she felt almost like she was falling into them as another powerful orgasm rose within her, towered over her, then leaned to collapse into her.

Mark's excitement peaked and he grunted, applying the full weight of his frame in steady pressure to ensure that the entirety of his large, thick cock had completely disappeared into Megan's body.

Then he ejaculated.

Megan's own peak followed powerfully as she responded to his primal impulse with her own, pulling her arms tightly around his neck and her legs around his waist. Her body seized in ecstasy as she felt Mark release several thick pulses of semen into her. She held him close and tightly as he panted, shivering as she felt the small twitches of his body signal the remaining tension flowing out of him.

For several moments, Megan simply clung to her lover, arms and legs locked around him.

Mark held himself deep inside her until he felt his heart rate begin to slow.

Eventually, he leaned back and pulled out of her body, kneeling upright and looking down at her.

She was smiling broadly, her naked body lewdly open with legs spread wide and knees tucked up, a small stream of semen beginning to flow out between her legs and drip down between her buttocks.

"Feel better?" Megan said with shining eyes.

"Much, thanks…" Mark said, flopping down on the bed next to her.

She rolled on to her side, leaning over him, kissing his chest and shoulder and stroking his cheek.

"You want me to stay a little while? Or just stay over tonight?"

Mark took a deep breath, thinking. "No, Jared needs you too. And you should be in the room when the boys get up. I feel much better. Thank you."

"OK. You're the boss…" Megan smiled and kissed him. Then, standing up, she hopped awkwardly back into her pajama bottoms, a small trickle of semen beginning to run down the inside of her right thigh. Then she wrestled her undershirt and sweatshirt back over her head and wiggled her arms into the sleeves before covering her naked breasts. Finally, she undid the hair tie and pulled the braid out, shaking her long hair until it was back to the expected bed-hair shape, albeit a little damp from the detangler.

Mark stood up and put his bathrobe back on before walking over and kissing her again.

"Thanks, Meg. I'm really glad to have you guys in my life. I'm…really grateful for both of you."

She smiled and kissed him again. "Likewise. And you have no idea, big guy…" Grabbing her key card, she began to turn toward the door.

"You're on the pill, right?" Mark said, almost an afterthought.

Megan laughed. "Yes, Achilles. I'm on the pill."

She walked to the door and turned the handle.

"Meg."

She turned around, smiling to herself.

"Yeah?"

"Did you mean it? What you said?"

Her smile faded. Gravely, slowly, she nodded.

"Yep. I did."

He nodded back, swallowing. "Okay."

She gave a half smile again and opened the door to walk out.

* * *

"You can wait here, Mr. Stark. The meeting hasn't started yet. They'll have me bring you in when they're ready."

"Thank you very much." David smiled warmly as he nodded to the receptionist. He took a seat in an old but serviceable chair in a small reception area.

The facilities weren't particularly impressive. The building served its purpose as an office for local government, but it wasn't much more than functional office space.

It was a rural county, after all, and while the handful of elected commissioners that ran it weren't exactly rubes, they weren't exactly big time politicians either. David wasn't quite sure what he was in for with this meeting, but he hoped it went as well as the school board meeting had gone more than a month ago.

That early lucky strike had catapulted his little business into a thriving, functional startup humming with potential. They were still a little short staffed, but they had five new mechanics starting next week.

David looked up at the door marked "conference room." Anyone else watching the meeting that was about to take place on the other side of that door would have been bored to the point of insanity. But to David it meant yet another huge leap forward. He had thus far secured a total of six contracts, most of them with small fleets of ten to twenty vehicles, and of course the school district was the anchor to their business.

This contract, if he could land it, would more than double the combined sum of all the others in both work and revenue. Every single county vehicle would generate more revenue. And there were alot of them. County vehicles, the Sheriff's department, road maintenance vehicles, fire trucks, parks and recreation vehicles, and even a little fleet of commuter buses for senior citizens and the disabled.

If this worked, the five mechanics starting next week wouldn't be enough. He'd need at least three more.

If he didn't land this contract, it wouldn't be a disaster. He'd made a leap of faith with the most recent batch of hires, but he could keep them busy with what they had. But if he did land this contract, they would encounter an influx of more work–and more money–than they had ever anticipated. In the first year.

He couldn't wait to tell Jordan, who was beginning to slide into the stressful dissertation year. He could help take all the financial stress away from her. He could take care of her every need, give her anything she wanted. They could get a real TV instead of watching shows on his laptop. Maybe they could get a car for her so she didn't have to share the Camry. They could take a break at the end of the summer, maybe go on a nice vacation. She had always wanted to go to Greece. Maybe he could make that happen. Really spoil her.

He really wanted to make her feel special. She had been extra sweet for the last couple of weeks. Recent circumstances helped. Since classes were now out, she was focused on her research and writing, which she could stay home to do sometimes. When she did, she would bake things for him. Cupcakes, brownies, sometimes savory little pastries that were read when he came home from work. She seemed to take real joy when he bit into something she made for him and liked it. She would snuggle tightly up to him when they watched TV after dinner. She would routinely reach over and grab his hand to hold when they were driving or walking together. Now that she was singing solos at church, she would look straight at him in the pews. While her clear soprano voice enchanted the whole sanctuary, he always felt like she was singing just for him.

It was intoxicating.

She was intoxicating.

And he felt all the more lucky since…it had been a few weeks since she had caught him watching internet porn. That night, she had asked him to come back into her bed. He had eagerly worshiped her body, enjoying the softness and the steadily increasing heat of her skin as he kissed, caressed, and nibbled around her. She had voiced her own pleasure at his attention, and after inviting him inside her, he had enjoyed a mind-shattering climax. She had snuggled up to him again, and he had fallen asleep, exhausted.

He had woken up to hear her muffled voice coming from down the hall in the bathroom. He had knocked on the door, and she had told him it was nothing, she was just frustrated that she couldn't find some toiletries. When she did find them, she had emerged smiling sweetly from the bathroom, and sleepily walked hand in hand with David back to bed.

Since then, she hadn't brought up his transgression. It seemed that all was forgiven, and his renewed attentiveness to her seemed to delight her. She expressed happiness that her body was–in her words–the only pinup girl in his world now. Each night, excepting those preempted by her monthly cycle, she had giggled as he made an affectionate move to devour her. She loved when he took her clothes off, and she always held his head gently when he kissed around her body. She would gently guide him as he feasted between her legs, purring in approval as he would hit the right spots. Each night he felt the heat of her skin rise as he attended to her. The flush in her cheeks was irresistible to him. And with Mark and his strange sense of ownership over Jordan in their rearview mirror, the condom rule was forgotten, and he enjoyed a powerful release into Jordan's body on most nights.

After his release, each night, in what appeared to be a new ritual, Jordan would snuggle and caress her husband after they finished for a few moments, then rise to the bathroom to freshen up. She would be in there for a few minutes, then return with cool water having been applied to her flushed face. A welcome sight always accompanied that little ritual: Jordan would always smile deeply at him as she slipped her naked body under the covers to snuggle him again. She would kiss him one more time, then settle onto his chest with a long, deep sigh of contentment. He would fall asleep happy at the full contact of her naked skin with his.

For some reason, he found one particular aspect of the snuggle gesture fulfilling emotionally. The downy skritch of her pubic hair on his thigh was particularly comforting in the moment she draped her leg over his.

Every night was perfect. They almost didn't need pajamas at all anymore.

With David's more flexible work schedule, and Jordan's new focus on writing, they had time and energy for each other. Their love was strong. David rightly counted himself the luckiest man in the world. Jordan loved him. Accepted him. Welcomed him into her body, and willingly returned his attention and favors. It seemed that married life couldn't possibly get better.

"Mr Stark?"

David nodded his head slightly, shaking off the daydream. "Yes?"

"The meeting has started, but they've asked for a few more minutes. I hope it's not inconvenient."

"Not inconvenient at all. Thank you for the update. I'm ready whenever they are."

"I'll let you know."

David nodded politely, then checked his watch.

The reverie returned with the memory of one sour note in the otherwise beautiful harmony of their relationship.

David's mind turned back to the drive home from Star Trek IV.

The double date with Mark and that awful woman. He and Jordan had left a bit abruptly, with Mark's date merely waving goodbye from the bar as Jordan had urgently pulled David's elbow toward the exit. Mark had seemed embarrassed but had said nothing, merely shook David's hand awkwardly as David wished him luck on his career move.

Jordan had been oddly quiet on the drive home. David had asked her if that Rhiannon woman had been as rude in private as she was obnoxious in public. Jordan had just smiled sadly and nodded. David had said that he hoped that woman didn't hurt Jordan's feelings, that it seemed like she just wasn't enjoying herself, that she just seemed to be unhappy with the date and with Star Trek in general. David had further expressed that anyone who was unhappy with Star Trek wasn't a person that should be taken seriously. Jordan had smiled dutifully at the joke.

David sensed she didn't want to talk further and let it drop. Out of the corner of his eye, it was clear that Jordan was crying. It was also clear she did not want to be seen doing it. David had respected her space, and he had let her enter the apartment first where she had run to shut herself in the bathroom for about twenty minutes. She had emerged with puffy eyes, but had thrown her arms around his neck and told him that she loved him more than anything.

He couldn't shake the feeling that her crying had nothing to do with the rudeness of Mark's date, but rather with the exit of Mark from their lives. Obviously Jordan had engaged physically with him on multiple occasions, but those encounters were, in her words, meaningless. Just an exploration of a shared kink.

Jordan was, she had assured him, only spending intimate time with Mark to fulfill David's fantasy rather than pursuing any inherent desires of her own. Merely playing the part of an eager hotwife. While she had admitted to enjoying the sex she had with Mark, and while she used her research skills and psychological acumen to poke his cuckold buttons in the leadup to and aftermath of their encounters, she was merely turning up the dials to razz her horny husband.

Mark was a nice guy, but just a prop to achieve that end. A friendly and admittedly very attractive and sexually capable prop, but a mere prop nonetheless.

Jordan felt that it had run its course. She had expressed a desire to just be a couple from now on. That they had enjoyed an experiment, and that it was time to move on.

If the crying in the car was about Mark moving on, David realized, he had played with fire and very nearly got burned. Mark's transfer orders were a godsend that would save his marriage from the dumbest mistake of his life. If she had developed feelings for this man, how could David possibly compete? The kinky wife sharing play would lead powerful erections quickly leading to losing everything he cared about. The excited erections he got when Jordan played the naughty girl…they just weren't worth it.

So when Jordan, at least partly motivated by David's being physically attacked, indicated a desire to leave the naughty game behind them, he had eagerly agreed, grateful for an opportunity to shut the door on the existential threat to his happiness.

If Jordan harbored residual feelings for Mark, she didn't seem to show it beyond that car ride home from Star Trek IV. The increased attention and affection she lavished on David seemed genuine.

Organic.

The loving lock of her gun barrel blue eyes as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him when he arrived home every day–it was all he needed and more. It made him want to be everything for her. To give her everything. To be her man and more. And that feeling–the one where she came back from the bathroom…slipped under the covers…where he felt her hand and arm rest on his chest, her cheek on her shoulder, her forehead on his cheek, and the downy tussle of soft brown pubic hair whisping against his thigh as her leg extended over his…

He felt invulnerable.

He felt like a man of strength, ability and mission.

More, actually.

He felt like a man. Like Jordan's man. Her one and only.

David smiled to himself.

"Mr. Stark? They're ready to see you now."

* * *

"Good afternoon, gentlemen…"

Mark returned the sharp salute from the marine manning the guard post outside of battalion headquarters. As was customary when reporting to a new unit, Mark was dressed in the snappy service alpha uniform, dark green slacks, matching suit coat held shut with a high belt and brass buckle. A large mosaic of colored ribbons adorned the left side of his chest, and two silver laurel wreaths hung below those. Two silver bars sat on the button strap on top of his shoulders, indicating his rank.

Jared was at his side, nearly identical in uniform, except his rank was sewn in a large patch on the sides of his shoulders.

Three chevrons up, two rockers down.

Everyone knew what that meant.

Stepping past the guard, Mark and Jared stepped in through the main door of the headquarters building. They proceeded to report to the officer of the day, announced their assigned unit, and then handed their orders to the administration chief. Waiting patiently while their papers were examined, neither spoke. Both were nervous. Neither wanted to show it.

"Excuse me…captain? And..uh, gunnery sergeant? I'm sorry, I don't know your names yet…"

Both looked up to see a young, pimple-faced junior marine standing in the doorway of the administration office.

"Spit it out, kid…" Jared growled, standing up. Mark remained seated.

"Uh, sorry gunny…a..and sir. Just, um…the battalion commander told me to have you both report as soon as you arrive. He said to take care of administrative stuff later. I didn't know you'd arrived until just now, the officer of the day didn't say…"

"Shut up." Jared walked briskly past the bewildered private, knocking his shoulder to the side on the way. Mark stood up and extended his hand. The private took it gingerly.

"Don't worry about him. At least not yet. I'm Captain Rein. I'm the new Charlie company commander."

"Charlie company…oh…uh, okay. Well, um, good luck sir."

Mark's eyebrow raised. "What's that mean?"

"Nothing sir, I…nothing. Just…welcome to the battalion."

"Thank you, private. Can you show me to Lieutenant Colonel Wolfe's office?"

"Yes sir..right this way."

He was led down a series of twisted hallways until he found a modest office suite. Jared was already seated there, smirking at Mark.

The pimple-faced private sat down at the reception desk and hit the talk button on his intercom.

"Sir, the Captain and Gunny are here."

"Send them in."

Mark and Jared walked through the door and stood rigidly at attention.

Wolfe had aged, but not terribly. His close cropped hair had salt mixed in with the pepper. A few leathery wrinkles showed with his broad smile.

He seemed glad to see them. But all Mark could remember was the look of pained disappointment on that very face the last time he had seen him. But he couldn't dwell on that now.

"Wow…look at you two…" the commander grinned. "All grown up. Gunnery Sergeant Poisson. You weren't even selected for sergeant the last time I saw you."

Jared grinned. "Time flies, sir."

"Yes it does. You've got kids now, don't you?"

"Yes sir. Two boys."

"Good man. Also, I noticed in your file that you're a martial arts instructor. We need more of those–only have one in the whole battalion. Green belt. What's your ranking?"

"Black belt, sir. Third degree. Instructor trainer."

"That's excellent. We'll put you right to work with that, Poisson."

"Very good sir."

He turned toward Mark.

"Captain Rein."

Mark stiffened to attention. "I just wanted to apologize sir, for how I left things when…"

"Save it, Captain. Water under the bridge."

"It's good to see you came back, and as an officer," Wolfe said gravely. "I couldn't be happier to have you here. Just don't let me down."

Mark swallowed. "I won't, sir."

"Good."

Mark and Jared stood stiff at attention, waiting for orders.

"At ease, gents. Have a seat." Lieutenant Colonel Wolfe stepped behind his desk and sat down. Mark and Jared followed.

"I'm glad you're both here. I just want to get you acquainted with the lay of the land. There are five buildings in this complex, plus the mechanics' shop and three full barracks buildings. I've moved the headquarters and support company into this building. So with three line companies, and four buildings, I've assigned one company per building. That assignment is based on a friendly competition between company commanders."

Mark sat up, intrigued.

"Here's the deal: Every six months, we do a battalion wide evaluation. Physical fitness, skills test, community involvement, combat readiness, paperwork audits, all of it. The best company gets the old CO's house. It's a pretty nice building, the air conditioning works well, and it's next door to the gym. The second best company gets the second best building, a newer building. Not as fancy, not as well placed, but everything works in it. The losing company gets the old mech shop. No offices, just an open space partitioned, and the windows have to stay open because the AC doesn't work. Also, there's a shitty modular trailer on the outskirts, across the way from that smelly old water treatment plant. It's where I put people who piss me off. But really, it's useless. I'd prefer to just demolish it. But I figure if we have shitbags in the battalion, we need a shit place to put them."

Mark nodded, confused. Jared spoke up flatly.

"Charlie company is in the shit trailer right now, isn't it, sir?"

"Very perceptive, Gunny. You've hit it. Right on the money."

"So who's in that, uh, the third place? The old mech shop?" Mark asked.

"I've been using it to grow potted plants. Just a new hobby of mine." Wolfe set his fingertips together, waiting for Mark and Jared to respond.

Mark was still a little stunned. Jared could tell, and spoke up for him again.

"So, pardon if this is a little crude sir, but you're giving us the fucked company with orders to un-fuck it?"

"Bingo." Colonel Wolfe pointed at Jared.

"Understood, sir."

"Good, gunny. You're dismissed. Report to the battalion sergeant major. He'll have a whole file cabinet of details on the situation. Take all the advice he gives you. But tell him that I want you and Captain Rein in that trailer by noon. You start today."

"Aye sir." Jared stood up and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Mark shifted his weight uncomfortably in his chair. "Sir, permission to speak freely?"

"Of course, Captain. I welcome it."

"Is this…because of how I left things before…"

"No, Rein. Stop right there. I told you that's in the past."

"I'm just a little confused. This…this is my first command. I just had cadets before this. Don't you want someone with a little more experience?"

"No, Rein. That's not what I want. However things went after we got back from Afghanistan, you need to realize that your platoon was the absolute model of combat efficacy. What you and Poisson did with that platoon, you need to do with this company. I could never pull that off at the company level when I was your company commander. I believe that you can pull that off. With Poisson's help."

Mark nodded. "I think I understand sir."

"Good. Now get to it. Dismissed."

Mark stood up and walked to the door. Then, pausing, he turned back.

"Sir, if I may…any advice you could give me starting out would be greatly appreciated."

Not looking up from his papers, Wolfe simply replied:

"First, get their attention. Then do your Rein-Poisson thing. Whatever it is you two do. Something will work out."

* * *

"Hey Jordan!"

Jordan smiled and returned the wave as she twisted her earbuds into her ears, but didn't turn the music on. Walking onto the track from the locker room, she was surprised to see the friendly greeting coming from Patrick Lin, her office friend, running the track with his girlfriend Kristy. Patrick usually worked out in the pool, being a former water polo player, but he had begun running track at the behest of his girlfriend.

Still, Jordan was surprised to see him. She thought he usually ran much earlier in the morning.
Jordan herself had arrived at the track a little earlier than usual, but still hours later than Patrick's usual exercise time. She had more flexibility to run without getting lost in crowds, as the school year was officially over with and all students had gone home for the summer. Since the campus had basically emptied out, with only overworked doctoral candidates and other year-round staff stuck behind, it was easier to access amenities like the track without having to fight a crowd.

She hit play on her running mix and began to stretch against the half fence next to the trick while Patrick and Christy circled the track again. Jordan caught herself glancing over at Patrick from the corner of her eye. He was wearing a tight running shirt and shorts that stopped at mid thigh. Knowing Patrick, she would have guessed he would prefer the longer, looser basketball shorts. The ones that hung below the knees. On the other hand, he probably got comfortable showing a lot of skin from his water polo days. The uniform for that sport, of course, was…

Jordan shook the thought out of her head and smirked to herself. Bad Jordan.

Patrick and Christy jogged by again. Jordan had one leg up over the half-fence, and was leaning over it, touching the toes of one foot, then the other before switching legs. This wasn't to show off: she didn't imagine she was attracting much attention with her wardrobe. Her workout attire was just an old gray T-shirt from church camp in high school and a pair of thigh cropped running shorts. Her legs were exposed below the shorts, of course, but not in any way that Patrick would…

Jordan shook the thought from her head again as she pulled her arm over her head to stretch. Patrick and Christy, finished with their run, walked over to chat with her.

"Jordan, I've never actually introduced you." Patrick heaved, still winded from the run. He took a moment to pant out his elevated heart rate before pointing to his running mate. ""This is my girlfriend, Christy. Christy, Jordan. We're in the same year, both doing dissertation year together. So life sucks kind of equally for both of us right now."

Jordan grinned. "Yeah, you could say that. It's really nice to meet you finally, Christy. I've heard many good things about you."

"I've heard nice things about you too," Christy said, smiling with a slight shade of threat in her expression. "I didn't know you did runs in the morning."

"Well, I usually go later, but in the summer, things aren't as crowded. So it's kind of whenever I need it to clear my head. Old habit. You used to run in college too, didn't you Christy?"

"I did, yeah. Sprinter. Relays, actually. So, you know, team running. You?"

"Solo. Distance," Jordan nodded as she explained. "My main event was the 5k. So you could go grab a sandwich or something between the start and end of my races. My dad actually did that, sometimes. He'd cheer me on from the line at the snack bar."

Patrick laughed. Christy smiled wryly.

Jordan cleared her throat. "So Christy, you work in finance, Patrick says?"

"Yeah, banking. It pays the bills."

Jordan laughed. "My husband's in business. Not quite finance, but he's definitely more of a numbers guy than I am. Just finished his MBA, actually."

Christy nodded politely.

"Hey…" Jordan pitched her voice as if she'd just had a grand idea strike her out of nowhere. "We should double date sometime! If you guys want…maybe find a show we all like, or go bowling or something?"

"That sounds fun, we should set it up…" Patrick agreed.

"That's great…I'll have to check my schedule, I'm super busy this time of year…" Christy returned ambiguously.

"Okay…" Jordan replied uncertainly. Not wanting to push, she decided to end the introduction. "Well, I'll get going then."

Christy smiled. "It really was nice to meet you, Joanna."

Jordan smiled, unsure whether or not to correct her. She decided to let it go, nodding in farewell before taking off down the track and hitting "play" on her running mix.

* * *

After meeting with the battalion leadership, Mark and Jared had changed from their dressy service uniforms into the uniform of the day–green camouflage. After hanging up their dress clothes in suit bags, they hung them up in their assigned lockers and left the battalion headquarters building.

Mark returned the salute of the guard again, then followed the proffered directions to their company headquarters.

It was definitely a shitty modular trailer. Wolfe had not exaggerated. It seemed like the kind of building that should be condemned by the city, but nobody got around to it.

Ascending up the grated metal steps, Jared opened the door and shouted through it as Mark walked into the building.

"Attention on deck!"

Mark walked in and saw an open office space with a few office doors running down the far side. In the open area sat a half dozen desks covered with food and messy stacks of paper. Only 3 of the desks had people seated at them. All three marines looked unimpressed, simply looking up at Mark as he walked in.

Jared walked in behind his best friend, seeing the slovenly response. He deftly jumped over one of the empty desks and approached the seated marine behind the desk. Leaning down, he screamed directly into his ear. The marine winced and fell out of his chair, surprised.

"Well, that answers that question…" Jared said, walking back to Mark. "I thought they were deaf." He whirled around. "I said, " ATTENTION ON DECK."

The three marines stood up slowly. One of them, a corporal, leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

Mark and Jared looked at each other.

Mark spoke up for the first time. "Who's in command here? Who's the acting commander of this company?"

"That would be Lieutenant Reynolds." The corporal leaning against the wall said. The others nodded in agreement. He seemed to be the senior marine in the room.

Jared scowled. "Care to try that again?"

"Uh, that's Lieutenant Reynolds, uh, sir."

Mark ignored the tone. Jared walked to the nearest empty desk, found a notebook in a drawer, and pulled it out as Mark continued. Once he had the notebook, Jared sat down, opening the notebook to write.

"Where is Lieutenant Reynolds?"

"Don't know. Probably playing racketball. That's usually where he is in the morning."

"Huh. Okay…" Mark said patiently.

Mark watched Jared walk to a desk and sit down, opening the notebook to write.

"Is there any officer here at all? Any platoon sergeant? Anyone above corporal?"

"Nah. I mean, uh, no sir?"

Mark's jaw clenched. "And what do you do around here?"

"I keep the unit diary, sir. Just track who comes and goes, major events, then submit it to battalion."

"That's perfect." Jared butted in, still writing in the notebook. "I've got another unit diary you'll be keeping." He finished writing, closed the notebook, pulled a black permanent marker out of the drawer, and wrote "THINGS C COMPANY REALLY REALLY REGRETS" in all capital letters on the front cover. He handed it to the corporal. "Hang on to that. That particular unit diary is about to get a lot of entries."

"Uh, okay Gunny."

Jared rolled his eyes, biding his time before looking back to Mark.

"Gunnery Sergeant Poisson," Mark's tone dropped to a growl.

"Yes sir?"

"Assemble the company on the parade ground."

"Aye sir."

Twenty minutes later, the company was in the slow process of sloppily assembling on the parade ground in front of the trailer. Having no other working channel of communication, Jared had sprinted up and down the barracks halls, pounding on doors and in some cases physically dragging out marines from their rooms. Most were playing video games, others were sleeping. A couple were already drinking beer in their underwear. Nobody seemed to either know or care that there was a change of command. But all were shaken by the new gunnery sergeant who seemed oddly psychotic, as he would speak softly,allow them two seconds to comply, and then resort to physical force, pulling their chairs over, kicking doors open and tossing barracks furniture on its side. It didn't take long for word to spread, and the flow of surly marines began to move toward the parade ground.

"Move it!" Jared barked while everyone sauntered past him.

No one noticed Mark, and no one saluted the new commander.

Jared caught eyes with another corporal muttering as he walked by.

"Shit, man, we're coming. Jesus..."

Jared grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back. "Pardon?"

"I said we're coming, gunny. Geez."

Still holding him by the collar, Jared looked back at Mark.

"This is worse than we thought," Mark leaned in to whisper to Jared. "Fuck the formation. We don't need a meeting. They need an intervention. Get their attention. Now."

"Aye sir."

"I'm going to find the officers. Get it done." Mark said over his shoulder as he turned to walk away.

Turning back to the sullen corporal, Jared snarled:

"Where's the pit, motherfucker?"

The pit, of course, is a well known feature lying somewhere within or near any active Marine Corps unit. That feature consists of an open air depression dug out of the ground and filled up with soft rubber shavings. Officially, it's a training facility. In the pit, officially, marines practice ground fighting. But in the pit, unofficially, scores of disrespect are settled, and command dominance is established in extreme cases. When order and discipline breaks down, and when the conventional customs and courtesies fall by the wayside, the pit is an option. One that Jared was more than ready for.

The corporal rolled his eyes and pointed to a patch of trees on the far side of the parade ground.

"Good. Thank you." Jared let him go, then called out to the assembling company:

"Everyone to the pit. NOW!"

Within minutes, everyone was assembled in a large semicircle around the pit. Jared walked into the center, alone. He removed the blouse of his utility uniform, folded it carefully, and set it off to the side. The insignia of his rank was now hidden, folded in the lapels of the blouse he had just set aside. The only indication of status left on his uniform was on the top of his pants: a black belt with a red stripe on one end, three notches next to the red stripe. He pointed at the nearest marine, summoning him into the pit. It was the corporal that had loudly complained a few minutes earlier.`

"Everyone take a look at corporal shit-talk over here. You wanna talk shit? You meet me here, and we'll have it out. No rank. Just marine to marine. One mind, any weapon. Let's go, kid."

The corporal rolled his eyes, unbuttoning his own uniform blouse.

"Yeah, roll your eyes, motherfucker. That's going in the book…" Jared muttered. As soon as the corporal's blouse was off Jared flew at him, taking him to the ground and knocking the wind out of him. Then, twisting around and manipulating his limbs, Jared got him in a leglock and pulled down hard on his foot. The corporal tapped urgently on Jared's leg to let him go. Jared didn't let go. Instead, he pulled slightly harder.

The corporal tapped more urgently. Jared increased the pressure further and the young man began to squeal in sharp, desperate pain.

"Say you're a bitch," Jared growled.

"I'm a bitch…" the younger man choked out.

"Louder. So everyone can hear…"

"I'm a bitch!"

"You're my bitch."

"I'm your bitch! I'm your bitch, Gunny! I'm sorry! Please!!!"

Jared let go of his leg, then got to his feet as the corporal grabbed his blouse and scrambled away, avoiding eye contact with the other marines. They snickered as he skulked past.

Jared looked around the pit.

"Laugh it up, motherfuckers. There's one hundred twenty six of you here. There are two ways of leaving this pit. The first option should be the easiest. If anyone here can do to me what I just did to Corporal Shit Talk over there, everyone can leave for the day. No consequences."

Jared paused and looked around.

"What's the second option?" Someone called out from the crowd.

"I make every one of you my bitch. Just like I did with him."

The crowd shifted uneasily. Jared looked back and forth.

"Who's next?"

Mark smiled to himself as he watched the show from a respectable distance. About a hundred allowed enough space for Jared to establish his own credibility while still signaling to anyone walking by and watching that this exercise in discipline had his tacit approval.

Jared wasn't bluffing. He really intended to forcefully submit every marine in the company in one brutal session. The spectacle went on for more than an hour with an increasingly bruised and winded Gunny Poisson twisting, jerking, and hammerfisting his way through dozens of marines. Some of them went quickly, others put up a respectable fight. Some got in a few good hits.

Nobody bested him.

Everyone who stepped into the pit with the new company Gunny left after loudly denigrating themselves. It seemed like option two was going to be the way out of the pit. Unless Jared got so tired he couldn't carry on.

"I think he hoped something like this would happen…" A familiar voice surprised Mark, coming from behind him. He turned around to see Megan carrying a bag of burritos and a couple bottles of water.

"Hey, Meg. Didn't know you were dropping by…"

"Yeah, I was out in town with the boys. Thought I'd get some lunch for you two, drop it by. See how your first day is going. This isn't a bad time, is it?"

"Not for me. Maybe for your husband…" Mark chuckled. "Or maybe for everyone but our husband." A faint cry of submission wailed out from the pit as Jared secured another armlock.

Megan smiled. "How's it going? Wolfe gave you two the bad company, didn't he?"

Mark nodded. "Looks like."

"Good." Megan said confidently. "You both were always going to do better with a challenge."

Mark smiled. "I do feel a little bad though. Making him do that. There's more than a hundred guys down there. He's got to get tired sometime."

"Oh please…" Megan snorted. "He's loving this, trust me. He's had this exact fantasy. He's told me. He beats up like a hundred guys, comes home all bruised and tired, and then I get all horned up and let him do anal."

Mark laughed. "That's his fantasy?"

Megan laughed back. "Yeah, one of them."

Mark nodded, eyebrows raised. "Impressive, I guess."

"Yeah, well, you know Jared."

"Yep. I do."

Mark paused as they watched another screaming submission.

"So, are you going to let him do it?"

Megan lifted an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Anal. After he beats up all the guys."

Megan smirked. "Maybe if he asks nicely."

Mark laughed again. "But he beat up a hundred guys, Meg! More, actually…"

"Hey, that part is his fantasy. Not mine."

"Fair enough."

They paused, watching Jared attack another junior, taking him to the ground almost immediately.

"So…" Mark continued. "What if I ask nicely?"

Megan smirked again. "Oh, you don't have to ask. You know that."

Mark laughed. "Good to know."

They watched another submission as Jared wrenched another body in the pit, signaled when a faint "I'm your bitch" rising from the distance.

"Your husband's impressive as hell, you know that?"

Megan nodded. "Yeah. I know that."

"It does create a little bit of a problem for me. Anything he does I have to do something bigger. Not sure how I'm gonna beat this."

Megan smiled, not looking over. "You'll figure out a way. You're good at topping."

They watched in silence as Jared flipped a marine over his back, landing flat on top of him. Even from a hundred yards away, they heard the air whump out of Jared's victim. Megan winced as Mark grinned.

"Oho, he's gonna remember that shit…" he chuckled.

"Well, I'll get going," Megan set the food and water bottles down next to Mark's feet. "I told the boys we'd go see the beach before dad gets off work."

"Sounds good. Thanks for coming by…might be a while before we can actually take a lunch break though. Looks like your man's gonna be busy for a while. But I'll make sure he gets the food. Looks like he's gonna need the energy. Just make sure you pick up some lube before you go back to the hotel."

"No problem," Megan responded, turning away before she fully processed what Mark said.

Then, a delayed reaction. Her face warmed at the sudden turn of Mark's last sentence.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Mark didn't turn to acknowledge her, keeping his eyes on the distant savagery of his number two man down in the pit. His words were casual, nonchalant even, still directed at that man's wife.

"You heard me. I haven't taken your ass in a little while, and your little quip put me in the mood. Sounds like it would hit the spot. For me. And for you too, I guess by definition. And, I'm assuming if you guys have some lube, it's still packed away somewhere. So you'll need to pick up some more."

"Okay…" Megan said, her voice trembling slightly.

Mark pointed back to the pit. "Look at him. He's really earning it out there. Whatever his fantasy, he deserves it. So make sure you've got some lube handy. Be ready when we get back. And sexy underwear. You can bring regular pajamas to change into when we're done. And you and Jared can use my room when I'm done with you. I'll watch the boys. We'll go out for pizza or something."

Megan blushed. "Okay. I'll get some."

Mark turned to look at her. She was blushing. He loved it when she blushed.

"You gonna be a good girl for me, Megan?"

Megan's eyes dropped to the ground, her blush deepening.

"Yes."

"Good. See you tonight."

Megan smiled tightly to herself, her face red as she walked back to her car.

* * *

"Are you serious? That's incredible baby! When did it happen?"

"They called with the handshake deal about an hour ago," David's voice drifted out of Jordan's speaker phone. "We'll actually finalize everything next week, but it's basically a done deal."

Jordan pulled on a blue t-shirt over a plain white bra. She pulled her damp hair out of the neck and shook it out. Changing after her afternoon run. Her second of the day.

"Well that's so cool, honey. I'm so proud of you! Uh! My man! Big business!"

David laughed from the other side of the call. Jordan shut her locker door and put her running clothes and shoes into a washing pouch, then zipped it into her gym bag. "So where are you now?"

"Terry's. The guys wanted to celebrate when I told them. We got a few tables and we're ordering drinks. Hamad says Aisha's coming too."

"Awesome. I'm on my way. I'll be like…fifteen minutes."

"Okay Jo. Love you. See you soon."

"Love you baby. Mwah!"

Jordan air kissed to end the call and threw her duffel bag over her shoulder, followed by her shoulder bag containing her laptop and books. She could drop the bags off at the house on the way. Terry's Bar and Grill was only two blocks away from their apartment.

The weather was pleasant. Not too hot for a late June afternoon. She had had a productive day, she had outlines and drafts for the opening chapters of her dissertation–ahead of schedule–and it sounded like David's business was heating up.

Life was good.

She reached the campus crosswalk, waiting for the signal to turn.

She was thrilled for David. He had always worked so hard, and until now he had always worked for other people, and most of them simply didn't appreciate the value of his contributions. This business was a way for David to realize his own worth, and it looked like his exploding customer base was a strong indicator that she was right about him.

He was an amazing man. Something that was too often overlooked.

She fumbled with her keys and opened their apartment door, dropping the bags off on the table before locking the door again and heading back out toward the main road.

Beyond the success of the business itself, Jordan was deeply touched at how committed David was to improving his friend's life. Hamad and David had been friends at their previous job, and a primary motivator for David's business was as a booster for Hamad's own desire to own his own mechanic shop. David's ambition, drive, and skill was almost magic; he had managed to turn a devastating attack and terrible injury into a livelihood for almost a dozen people in a matter of months. Even better, the benefits rippled out to lift up the families of everyone involved: Hamad's wife, Aisha, would regularly send her emails, detailing how much this opportunity changed things for her family. Each message brought a tear of happiness to Jordan's eye.

This good feeling was reinforced ten minutes later as she walked in the front door of Terry's Bar and Grill, only to be met with Aisha scurrying excitedly to hug her. They jumped up and down, squealing as Aisha shared her excitement with Jordan. Neither could stop grinning and chattering until David intervened. He took the time to take Jordan aside so she could meet all the new mechanics, getting to know each one for a few minutes before moving on to the next one.

Her husband's employees. It was a social situation with an awkward dynamic she wasn't entirely prepared for. She didn't know how to act, other than to just be friendly. The exchanges were a little awkward, but everyone seemed in good spirits. Good news like that in a startup company has a powerful shockwave effect. Everyone gets on board. Everyone's happy. Good feelings find a high water mark.

David had already bought the first round of beer, and several people had ordered dinner. Jordan and David sat down at the table with Hamad and Aisha, with little Fatima bouncing in her high chair. Aisha seemed to take particular pleasure when David began discussing the specific needs that they would have to meet in the new contract. Background checks for the mechanics working on law enforcement vehicles was part of the deal, for example. They would need to have access to a wrecker truck, perhaps talk about investing in one in the next couple of years.

Management talk. Aisha beamed with pride as her husband talked with David about management. Big decisions. So exciting!

An hour passed. Most of the salary mechanics had enjoyed a couple of drinks and gone home. A couple stayed, setting up at the bar and talking amongst themselves. But the little party of majority owners, wives, and the baby continued to chat amiably, until Jordan noticed David's eyes widen.

She heard the door open behind them and turned around to see Steve, David and Hamad's former general manager, walk in the door. He was dressed casually in jeans and a polo shirt with a baseball cap. The little party dropped into silence as he walked up to the table, smiling. Jordan was stunned. This was the guy in charge when David got attacked. She stood up in protest.

Steve raised his hands in friendly surrender. "I don't want to break up your party. I understand congratulations are in order. One of the county commissioners is a nephew of mine, he told me about your little venture. Pretty impressive, David. Hamad, you too. You guys are making a real run at it. I'm impressed. I mean that."

David smiled broadly, and Jordan relaxed a little, seeing he wasn't threatened. David gestured to an empty chair. "Join us for a beer, Steve. Old times."

"Not that old," Steve said, smiling back and sitting down. Jordan sat down, after, still a little tense, as Steve continued. "Tell me about what you're doing here? Whatever it is, people are talkin' about it."

David eagerly described the business model to his mentor, who listened attentively. Occasionally Steve would turn to Hamad to ask questions about services offered, how long different work orders took, and other hands-on questions about day-to-day operations. After he was satisfied, he took the last swallow of his beer and leaned back in his chair.

"Hell boys, you really got something here. You keep service running smoothly, there's no telling how big you can grow something like this. And focusing on municipal government and small business is a good starting point. Who knows where you can go from there?"

David grinned again, drinking in the approval. Jordan, both eyes protectively on her husband, smiled, happy that he was happy.

"Almost makes me hesitate to bring this next part up…" Steve said, a slight grimace forming on his face.

"What? What's the matter?" Jordan asked, sensing a shift in tone.

"Nothing's the matter, Mrs. Stark. Just some good news with what might be awkward timing," Steve explained. He sat with the silence for a moment, waiting to be asked more.

"What's up, Steve?" David asked at length.

"Well, here's the deal, David. You too, Mrs. Stark."

"Jordan…" Jordan said.

"Of course, Jordan. Sorry about that. Well here's the deal. As you know, David's departure and my retirement came pretty close together, and David's departure was…problematic. It didn't go how I'd hoped. I tried to line up a job for him that I thought he'd be great for, and it didn't work out."

"I'll say…" Jordan said. David put a hand on hers, grasping her fingers. She held her peace while Steve continued.

"So I felt bad about that, and I thought I'd do what I could to make it right. I don't work for Consolidated anymore, and I don't represent them or their interests. But I do have a lot of friends in the shipping industry. One in particular. A VP of logistics for Maersk."

David squinted. "The European shipping conglomerate?"

"Danish, yeah," Steve nodded. "One of the biggest international shipping concerns in the world. So I'm chatting with this guy about some of the proposals you gave in your interview, David, about cutting down inefficiencies in loading and transport. Long story short, my friend was interested. Real interested."

"Really…" David's eyes widened.

"Yeah. I sent him your spreadsheets, David, I hope you don't mind, and I told him some of your proposals. I'll tell you, if he saw what you're doing here with routine maintenance efficiency, he'd blow his stack."

"So what does this mean for David?" Hamad spoke up, concerned.

"Nothing, if David doesn't want, of course. But he wanted me to float a tentative job offer. Logistics consultant. International. They'd have you inspect ships, loading manifests, warehouses, intermodal transfer, everything. Just basically do efficiency audits and propose improvements that they can try at small scale before implementing worldwide. You wouldn't be alone, either, there's a little team they're putting together with subject matter experts."

Jordan blinked in surprise. "This sounds like he'd be gone a lot."

Steve nodded gravely. "That's certainly true. Probably 2-3 weeks a month for the first year while he does the initial audits. After that, it would slow down, basically become an as-needed thing. But the pay should help compensate."

"What's the pay?" David asked.

"No specifics, you'll have to negotiate with them, but mid six figures at a minimum. I doubt they'll do an initial offer below $250,000. Maybe more. Don't tell them I told you this, but they're open to negotiating a kickback percentage for saved cost based on any improvements made. If you do what I think you can do, David, you can make a lot of money doing this. And they cover travel, of course. Jordan, you could go with him. Travel all sorts of places. They'd pay for it."

David's eyes bugged out. Just the salary was more money than he thought he'd earn in ten years. Guaranteed in only one year.

"But what about us? What about the company?" Aisha answered, her voice wavering.

"That's the bad timing of it. There's no guarantee, David, but if you keep growing the business like you are now, you could probably bank as much as you would at Maersk in a few years. And you're the boss here. There's a lot of good things in the "stay" column here. But there's real value in the "go" column too. And I promised my friend I'd float the offer. I'll email you his contact information, if you'd like, and he said he'd give you a week to think it over. It's a big decision, no doubt about it."

Jordan was stunned. She didn't know what to say. She just squeezed David's hand again.

David looked down at the table for a moment, then shook his head slowly.

"I'm really grateful to you, Steve. It's a great offer. Very tempting. But I've got people counting on me here." He turned to look at Jordan. "And people I just don't want to leave behind. I think the answer is a polite, grateful, no."

Aisha exhaled audibly, clearly relieved. Hamad nodded in agreement. Jordan squeezed his hand harder, smiling into his eyes.

"I absolutely understand. Still, take a week. Sleep on it. Then let me know, or contact Arne. That's his name. You can reach out personally and talk it through with him, if you'd like. He's a decent man, very straightforward. Whatever you decide, I respect the hell out of you, son."

"Wow. Thanks so much Steve. I just don't know what to say…" David stammered out.

"No need to say anything. Hey, any chance I can get one of your maintenance subscriptions? Sounds like a hell of a deal, and I got a truck that needs an oil change coming up here…"

David laughed out loud. Hamad shook his head vigorously.

"No. No paying for Mr. Steve! We will take care of your truck, no charge. You are a good man."

Steve stood up, and David and Hamad with him. Hands were shaken, nods exchanged, and Steve walked out of the restaurant.

David sat back down, taking a long sip of water. When he set the glass down, Jordan grabbed his hand again, squeezing it. David looked at Jordan.

Her blue eyes sparkled.

* * *

Midafternoon in the pit. The final bout ended with more of a whimper than a bang, as Gunnery Sergeant Jared Poisson simply caught the hand of a lazy punch in a tight maneuver of wrist control, dropping the stunned young marine squealing to his knees.

One last submission.

Dark pools of sweat soaked Jared's undershirt, mixed with a little blood dripping from one side of his face. His close-cropped hair was a mess. Several bruises had formed on his cheeks, and on his forearms and biceps, with many more tender spots hidden under clothing. He wasn't entirely sure, but he suspected that he might have chipped a tooth. Couldn't let on, though. He looked back and forth at the assembled company, most of whom had sat down against the small incline on the far side of the pit. Fear was in many eyes, admiration in others. A hint of cynical irritation or even boredom remained in a few. But there were far fewer dead eyes than there were a few hours ago. Progress.

"Attention on deck!"

Someone from the crowd shouted as Mark walked up behind Jared. Everyone–one hundred twenty seven marines all told–snapped to their feet and stood rigidly at attention.

"As you were." Mark said flatly as he stepped into the pit. "Have a seat, everyone. You too, Gunny. You've earned it."

The assembled marines murmured quietly to each other as they sat nervously down. Captain Rein remained standing.

"Oh, before I forget…" Mark reached into the cargo pocket of his utility pants and pulled out a paper bag and a water bottle. He tossed them both to Jared, who caught them with a raised eyebrow.

Mark turned to the company. "That's a burrito and some water. Gunny Poisson skipped lunch because he was busy kicking all of your asses. Anyone gonna give him shit if he grabs a bite and some water while we chat for a minute?"

A surprised chuckle rippled through the crowd. Jared grinned and unwrapped the cold burrito and raised the water bottle in a mock toast to his commander.

"Marines. My name is Mark Rein." His tone dropped to indicate the pleasantries were over. "As of noon today, I assumed command of this company. I have yet to locate your platoon leaders. No one seems to know where they go during the day. But I understand all of the enlisted men are accounted for. As a quick side note, so everyone knows where I stand on this, be aware of the following: When I do find your platoon leaders, they're going to wish they were in hell with their backs broke."

Dead silence.

"Moving on to business. I can see that Gunny Poisson got your attention. Full disclosure, Gunny P and I are old friends. Boot camp buddies, actually. That's right, I started out as an enlisted marine like all of you. He and I trained together, deployed together, and went through all kinds of shit together. This man is easily the toughest, most loyal, and most capable enlisted leader I've ever worked with. And while I went off to college to be an officer, spending the day reading world literature and fucking coeds, Gunny P spent every waking minute hardening his skills as a warrior. Your company gunny is one of the most highly qualified martial artists in the marine corps. You likely weren't aware of this before you arrived, but I'm guessing you know now."

Another chuckle rippled through the crowd.

Mark paused, looking into several faces before continuing.

"When I arrived, it became very apparent that some things need to change around here. And I think you all know that for us, change means pain. But I want you to know that none of that pain is coming from an angry or spiteful place on my part. Or on Gunny P's part. I walked around the barracks, and that shitty trailer we call the company office, around the sad-ass, messy parade ground, and I knew there was a big, thick, widespread problem. I could feel it in the air. I could smell it. Dead potential. Dead potential just laying around out in the open. Everywhere you look. Unburied. Rotten. Decaying. Infectious.

"Dead potential kills everything worth having in a well-lived life. It kills dignity. It kills self respect. It kills ambition, hope, happiness, even true friendships. It kills combat readiness–and when it does that it kills marines on the battlefield. We cannot have it here. Or anywhere. No more dead potential."

Mark paused and took a purposeful step toward the other side of the pit where the company sat listening to him, and pointed firmly to the ground.

"This ends today. This ends now. The pain that's coming has a purpose. And it comes from a strong sense of purpose. It comes from a place of deep respect on my part. I'm not going to beat you into submission because you piss me off. I'm going to reach down this company's throat and yank every bit of greatness out of it."

Mark paused again, then took a step back, looking back and forth into the crowd.

"There is only one way to revive dead potential, gents, and that is painful change. That change began just now. Right here, in this pit, with Gunny P's foot up your collective ass."

This time a full laugh rippled through the crowd. Mark allowed himself a brief smile before continuing.

"But that's only the beginning. We will run ourselves into the ground until we revive that potential. Until we seize it. Until we maximize it. Until we make that potential our bitch. This company will go from the shithouse to the history books. That process starts today. That journey starts now."

Mark turned and pointed to Jared, who was listening intently as he chewed the last bite of his burrito.

"See this man? You've no doubt seen his belt. Third degree black belt. Instructor trainer. Combat decorated. That one man just took on one hundred twenty six of you, and won. Also, his wife is like…crazy hot too. So there's that."

Another laugh. Jared snorted. Mark continued.

"That's greatness, gents. Sitting right there. Which of you wants that for yourself? Who here aspires to morph up into that level of badass?"

A murmur of approval rippled through the company. Several nodded silently to themselves.

"Imagine it for a minute, gents…" Mark's tone softened. "Imagine an entire company as tough as Gunny P. You'd want to be a part of that, don't you?"

"Yeah…" The murmur began to take enough shape that unified words were coming out of the crowd.

"Today we began. Here, in the pit. Tomorrow, the true pain that brings meaningful change will take hold of all of us. Each of us individually, and all of us together, as a company. That pain will drive out our weakness, drive us toward greatness, build our character and make us unstoppable."

Mark stomped the ground in the pit to emphasize. "Tomorrow we move toward greatness. Gunny and I will be with you every step of the way."

He stomped again, harder. The thud of his boot heel reverberated to the edges of the pit.

"TOMORROW! Who's with me?"

"Ooorah!" The crowd shouted in one, booming voice.

Mark looked down at Jared. "Good?"

Jared nodded, chuckling to himself. "Yeah. Good."

Mark nodded, twirling his finger in a "wrap it up" gesture.

Jared snapped to his feet.

"Ten, hut!"

One hundred twenty six marines snapped to attention, their right hands snapping up simultaneously in salute. Mark followed to return the salute, holding his hand still at the brim of his cap as he gave final instructions.

"Tonight, rest. Recharge your batteries and prepare for tomorrow. Form up before dawn. When the sun breaks the horizon, we move."

He paused one more time for effect.

"Think about this: Gunny P got your attention today. Tomorrow…you're mine."

He cut the salute. The crowd followed, and one hundred twenty six right arms snapped back down to attention.

"Dismissed."

[soupcan_99]

Another great chapter, you are crushing it….

[nnjcpl2002]

I was a Naval officer. I can honestly say that I've always admired our Marines!

[Bovary2012]

Thanks Crushing. More fantasticness than I could list. Appreciate your work composing this tale and your generosity in sharing it here.

[Crushing]

"Reset!"

Corporal Poisson jumped briskly to his feet, his squad mates following.

Drills.

In the fading daylight of their dusty little patrol base, Sergeant Rein paced back and forth between second and fourth squads, pretending not to hear the not-so-subtle murmurs of discontent from the tired marines.

Jared directed each fire team back to their starting place for the drill, barking at them to hustle. The grumbling stopped as everyone jogged back to their starting positions.

It had been a full week of drills. When they were not standing guard, or patrolling, third platoon was busy with drills. House clearing drills. Street clearing drills. Nobody could understand it. They were already out in a combat zone, there hadn't been any accidents or casualties since the ambush…why were they doing hours of training every day?

"Execute!" Mark called the order, and watched the twenty young marines scatter in tight order, moving to their pretend objectives, covering each other as they ran, ducked, covered, and ran in shifts. They would jump up, crouch down, dive on to their faces, or drag each other around as the scenario called for.

And they were clearly getting sick of it.

To complicate matters, Mark saw the telltale sign of the supply convoy rolling up to the little base's entrance. No way he could hold their attention now. The mail was here. New food was here.

Shit.

"Assemble!"

Everyone clambered to their feet and formed a half circle around the platoon sergeant, a full head taller than the next tallest man.

"Good job, everyone. Take the night, unless you're on post. We drill again tomorrow. After morning patrol."

The collective groan brought a grimace to Mark's face. He didn't want to alienate his guys, but he also still saw some chinks in their armor, tactically speaking. They would still make little mistakes: clearing corners, checking for traps. Little things that could cause big problems.

Mark looked over both squads, then dismissed them.

"Get out of here. Frenchie, Arnie, you stay behind. And two fire teams go and unload the trucks before you take your gear off. Second squad, fire team one and three. Go. Now."

The two squads scattered to their evening tasks and amusements. Corporal Arnold and Corporal Poisson walked up to join Mark, forming a small circle on the inside corner of the small patrol base.

Mark looked back and forth at them. "You think they're ready?"

The battalion operation was three days away. Mark had been under strict orders not to tell his platoon about the operation or its details. He had convinced Captain Wolfe to let his squad leaders in, since his platoon had such a dangerous and central role to play, but they hadn't told their squads that a major combat operation was coming. And they definitely didn't tell them that they were selected to be the "bait" in a battalion level clearing operation.

Arnold's lips were pursed in thought. He spoke first.

"Ain't gonna be perfect. But I think at this point resting up is more valuable than practice. Better to be fresh on the day."

Mark nodded, acknowledging the point. Then he turned to look at Jared. "What about you?"

"I think we're tight," Jared responded thoughtfully. "I think we got good rhythm and good communication. I think pretty much everyone's got their head on straight. That said, I don't think anybody's ever really ready for shit like this. I think we're as good as we're gonna get for now. I agree with Arnie. Better to be rested."

Mark nodded again. "Good points. I agree. Don't tell anyone we're canceling drills until right before, though. Keep their heads in practice mode a little longer."

Both squad leaders nodded.

"All right. Take the night. See you in the morning, guys."

Arnold walked straight off to his squad's tent, while Jared followed Mark back to the communications tent. They were almost walking inside when:

"Sergeant Rein. You got a package. You too, Corporal Poisson."

One of Arnold's guys had the mail bag over his shoulder, a huge grin on his face. He cut an interesting figure. Not unlike a dusty desert camouflage Santa Claus. He dropped the mail bag down and dug into it, drawing out a box for each and handing it to them.

"Thanks…" Mark said, taking the box and squinting at the sending address.''

"No problem, sergeant. Good night."

"Night."

Mark couldn't quite read the address line, and he didn't want to betray the hum of excitement in his chest, so he nonchalantly brushed some dust off the top of the package before lifting it closer to his face.

From:...

Molly Cohen.

A wide smile flashed onto Mark's face before he suppressed it.

Jared grinned. "Nice try, dude. It's from that Molly girl, isn't it?"

"Yeah…" Mark laughed, a wide grin lingering as he shook the box gently.

"Well, shit man, get out of here then…" Jared laughed. "Go open it. I'm gonna see what Meg got me."

"Allright. Meet back at the radio tent in fifteen. I wanna go over maps. Get your opinion on the movement plan."

"Okay, man. Have fun."

Mark briskly walked back to the command hut, shouldered the door open, made his way to the back room and sat down on his cot, setting the package on his lap.

"Hey man, looks like you got a package…" Lieutenant Macintosh observed from his cot across the room. "From your mom?"

"No sir, my mom's dead. You know that."

"Oh right, yeah. Sorry. Who's it from then?"

Mark ignored the question, pretending not to hear as he pulled his knife out of the sheath and gently cut open the taped edges.

He greedily pulled out the contents, holding up each one and smelling them. He thought he could get a whiff of a body scent she had used when she came to his tent one night. He loved that smell. Maybe it was a shampoo? He couldn't be sure, but maybe…

There were a few more pairs of socks, several candy bars and some jerky. A little paperback book…looked like…yep. Harry Potter. Must be an offering from Lucy. Also letters from Molly and Lucy…and…looked like some more drawings from Max. Cowboys this time. He couldn't stop smiling. He opened each one and read hungrily, a huge grin pasted on his face as he caught up on the recent news of Molly's work and hobbies, Lucy's school, Max's cowboys. Some of which rode dinosaurs.

Mark shook his head to himself, then did a finger sweep of the box and found a small thumb drive taped to the bottom of the box. He lifted the box up and looked in, finding another envelope, this one taped tightly to the underside of the package lid. He carefully peeled both the thumb drive and the envelope from the cardboard, and opened the envelope.

Two pieces of paper were folded in: one, a full letter-sized sheet of paper and a post-it note. The post-it contained a password, written in unfamiliar handwriting, and some instructions on a filename to find. Presumably in the thumb drive.

Mark squinted, still a little uncertain as to the meaning. He unfolded the other sheet of paper to find another letter.

Mark,

I'm writing this note separately because I don't want Lucy to see it. Chris left instructions on how to access the pictures on the thumb drive. Please keep them to yourself. They're just for you. I mentioned before that I was going to do a boudoir session for you, and I did. I was so nervous, I've never done anything like that before, I was shaking so bad…but then the photographer told me to just pretend my husband was there, like we were the only people in the room. Obviously he didn't know that I wasn't there for my husband. So I was blushing the whole time.

But I wanted to tell you I pretended you were there in the room with me, and for part of the time it almost felt like you were. I really liked that feeling. I like doing things that I think will make you happy, and make you feel good. It feels stupid to say this, but I actually felt close to you when I was doing the session. That helped me relax. I hope you like the result. But the whole experience made me realize something. I like feeling close to you.

I hope I don't regret saying this, Mark, but I think I might love you. I know we only hooked up for a week, and maybe I'm just high on my own drama, but I love being your girl. Even when you're on the other side of the world and I can't touch you, you're on my mind. You inspire me, and make me want to be a better person, and I feel like I'm a more complete person when I think of myself as your girlfriend.

If I sound like a lovestruck thirteen year old and it creeps you out, I understand. But I feel like when I did this photo shoot, I kind of wanted to give you the real me. It's scary to do that, but that's what I want. And I want to send the real feelings I'm experiencing along with the pictures. Those pictures, and this letter, is the truth. It's all of me, just for you. And the truth is, I think I love you.

Please come back safe to me, Mark. We'll make time together. I want to find out if you might love me too.

-Molly.

Mark was stunned. It was a baffling feeling, to read the words that you want more than anything, but fear more than anything at the same time. He held up the thumb drive against the bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, as if some light transparency would reveal more of Molly's feelings to him.

Obviously it wouldn't work that way, he smirked to himself.

He pulled his laptop out of his backpack and slid the thumb drive into the port. Looking at Chris' instructions and password, he found the file (he wasn't sure what else was on there, he just knew he wanted to find that file first) and typed in the password to open it.

A photo album. Actually, looked like four of them.

Mark clicked twice to open it, his eyes bugged.

Jesus. H. Christ.

There she was.

Red hair, pale skin, emerald green eyes, lithe, smooth body.

Yeah, just like he remembered. But where before he had only seen her nude body in the moonlight or early dawn during their time together, here she stood in the full, thick, professional lighting of a photography studio.

The first album seemed to be a series. The first photo saw Molly standing in a silk robe, alone in a well-lit studio space. Her smile was awkward, as if she were laughing her way through her embarrassment. The next several photos had her changing poses, one leg forward, then back, arms playfully behind her back, that kind of thing, and progressed until one where she looked down at the silk tie holding the robe closed.

Then one here she pulled on the tie, looking up toward the camera.

Then one where the robe fell open.

A strange thing happens to the male gaze after months of a combat deployment. For combatants in a war zone, it's a well known phenomenon. Several months pass without any real female contact. Following that, just about any woman starts to look good. Real good. Then, in that state of mind, you encounter a conventionally attractive woman, and…

Well, the effect is a powerful one.

So it was with Mark now. His jaw fell open along with Molly's robe. She wasn't lewdly advancing the sensual reveal by holding the robe wide open. At least not yet. Not in this particular picture. No, this was all gravity. The inner lateral hems of the robe hung straight down, revealing a thin longitudinal gap of pale skin extending from her neck to her thighs, leaving the space between those thighs open to the air. And the eye. The upper half of her body was erotically suggestive, but still subtle: between the open folds of her robe, the inner curve of her perky breasts were visible while her nipples remained concealed. Lower down, however, saw Molly uncovered. The pale upper cleft of her vagina gently punctuated the space between. Above the meeting of her legs, but below the small sea of silk-smooth, clean shaven milky skin forming a featureless V under the subtle protrusion of her Iliac crest.

The clear sign of Molly's warm welcome, addressed specifically to Mark's gaze.

Mark stared at the powerful image, drawn magnetically into a kind of hunger for that delicate pinch of smooth cleft skin, the barest hint of new swelling marking the entrance into her body.

Mark inhaled sharply, then lifted his eyes up to see her own forest green eyes staring back at him.

He was stunned. Frozen by the look she gave him.

It wasn't a fearful look. Part of it seemed to register as fear, and might seem fearful at a quick glance. But Mark looked hard at her face. That look was more specific than that.

No, not just fear…more like…a blend. Fear, and desire. Her eyes weren't hiding. They weren't begging for mercy or hoping for protection.The seemed to be…timidly seeking approval. Knowing that her most intimate space was exposed to his view, she felt no shame. It was freely offered. She only feared that he would reject it.

The desire was equally potent. She wanted him to see her sex, for that sight to spur his desire.

The fear pulsed viscerally from that desire.

Her eyes both asked a question and begged for an answer

If I offer this to you, will you take it?

Mark gulped, his face beginning to warm. Aware that Lieutenant Macintosh was still in the room, he decided that any further perusal of the photo album would not be practical at this juncture. He passed one more slow look up and down Molly's body, closed the album and the laptop, hen removed the thumb drive.

Standing up to meet Jared again, he closed his laptop and replaced it in his backpack below his bunk, zipping the thumb drive in a smaller pocket on the side.

"You never answered me…" The Lieutenant's interruption startled Mark as he zipped up the main pouch in his backpack.

"Sorry sir, what was the question?"

"I asked who your package is from."

"Oh." Mark stood up and picked up his rifle, slinging it over his shoulder.

"It's from my girlfriend."

* * *

She was an angel.

David's integration into church life was awkward at times, but it was part of the package when marrying Jordan. She loved life in the church, and he always loved to support her.

He had gone to mass a few times as a child, usually with one of his grandparents, but it wasn't consistent, and it always felt weird. The otherwise chaotic nature of his young life didn't leave a whole lot of space for any cultivation of deep faith, but he knew where the church was, and claimed Christianity as his creed growing up. At least as far as he claimed anything.

But sitting in the pew, watching his wife stand alone in front of the choir, her strong soprano voice saturating the space in rich tones that almost dripped from the ceiling when she paused for breath…

Yes. He believed in angels now. There was one. Right in front of his eyes. Wearing a sky blue one-piece dress with cream-white trim around the collar, short sleeves, and a wide, cream colored belt around her waist. A light pink peony corsage was wrapped gracefully around her right wrist; David had bought it for her big performance. A little memento so she could know he was with him up on that riser.

Yep. Angel.

David knew he was biased. But he clearly wasn't alone in his thoughts. He looked around the crowd and found all eyes fixed on her. He took particular delight in those that had their phones out. Usually distracted with their heads and eyes down, phones weren't the center of focus anymore. No, the phones hung loose in the grip of their hands, their eyes up and witnessing the miracle.

She had been terribly nervous this morning. She had trembled while curling her hair and ironing her dress. Intently aware that all eyes would be on her, she had refused any breakfast and physically clung to her husband multiple times before they left the apartment, and then again when they walked from the car into the church. When she let go of David's hand to walk up to the choir seats, the trembling had continued.

She had sung solo parts with the choir before. Not many, but following the few months of instruction from Mrs. Dolly, she was brought forward more and more. But until this morning she was never completely alone. Now she was solo. The only singer for the closing number, accompanied by an organ and violin.

She didn't seem to be shaking now. Not in body, not in voice. She had found her center.

David beamed as she her voice faded out in the closing bars of the piece. The violin and organ faded out a few notes after, and a profound silence fell over the sanctuary before thunderous applause. Normally they didn't clap after songs in this church, but it seemed everybody just felt…something.

Applause came naturally. Jordan blushed. David looked around, nodding proudly as other men nodded toward him.

Yep. That's my wife.

Yep, she's with me.

Yep. Believe it friend, she's going home with me after the service.

The benediction was mercifully short, and the congregation stood up to leave as recessional music floated from the organ pipes and drifted through the air toward the exits. A small crowd pressed toward the front of the church, gathering around Jordan to congratulate and thank her. David stood back, drinking in the shy relief on Jordan's face as the praise and gratitude came from all directions.

She was so beautiful when she blushed. A slight pink hue, matching the flower on her wrist, tinting her smile. Like a perfect sunset.

An angel.

When the crowd thinned, David finally approached her and she threw her arms around his neck. "How was it? I was so scared…"

"It was perfect, Jo. You nailed it. Everyone was melting while you sang. Couldn't have gone better."

"Really? You're not just saying that?"

"Nope. Nailed it."

She squeezed him tighter, nuzzling her cheek into his shoulder. "Thank you, honey. You're so sweet to me…"

The smell of her shampoo blended with the remnants of the peony on her wrist. It was nice.

She released the embrace and took his hand as they walked down the side of the pews toward the exit.

"You hungry, baby?" David asked.

"Oh gosh, yes. I skipped breakfast. What do we have at home?"

"Nope. Not gonna do that. Not after your big solo. I'm taking you out to lunch. What do you want? Name it."

Jordan blushed. "Really? Can we afford that?"

David grinned. "I'm a big-time businessman now, Mrs. Stark. I can afford to spoil you."

Jordan grinned back. "Okay, Mr. Big-business. I won't argue with that. Can we go to Frank's Deli? I'd really like a fresh cut turkey sandwich…"

"Try and stop me, Mrs. Stark."

Jordan giggled. "Lead on, Mr. Stark."

* * *

Mark and Jared stood alone in the radio tent, having cleared the central table of all the communication equipment.

"So we're giving the warning order in the morning?" Jared asked, rolling out the village map on the table..

"Yep. 0700. 24 hours before. Make sure everyone who's not on post is assembled and ready. Captain Wolfe left the details up to us, we just have to tell battalion how we're moving into the village so they can coordinate behind us."

Jared nodded, smoothing out the map. "OK. So walk me through it."

A single naked lightbulb swung over the plywood table, revealing an overhead view of the village.

"Okay," Mark said, indicating on the map as he spoke. "We'll approach in four groups, broken down by squad, from the south here. About a half click below the village, your squad is going east into this poppy field, and you'll circle around the east side of the village, then cut across the northern edge. You're going to hold tight to cut the baddies off if they try to run. While you move, we're going to slow down and let you get into position. Once you're set, we're moving in. Your job, other than cutting them off if they try to run, is to try and get a couple guys on rooftops, and keep eyes on the streets they aren't using. There's gonna be IEDs fucking everywhere, and it'll be a miracle if we don't pop any. So if we can tell where they aren't running, that'll help tell us where to avoid. Then, call out which buildings fire comes from.

Jared nodded again, gravely. "What's your part of the plan?"

"I'm going to be with Arnie and his guys down the main road here, first squad on this other road, and third on this alley lookin' thingy. Intel is telling us that's where they're seeing people still moving freely, so we think that's the safest approach, at least for the fewest IEDs. Of course it could be a funnel for a fucking ambush too, but we'll just have to see."

Jared nodded again. "Makes sense. When does battalion roll in?"

"They're going to stage about a mile behind us when we start moving. They'll make their move as soon as we call first enemy contact. So once that happens, we gotta go apeshit, maximum pressure to make sure the baddies are only looking at us. Once the cordon is set, Colonel Chen is gonna give the disengage order, and we'll back off. Move to the closest armored vehicles to your position. You'll go north, we'll probably go south unless we make it closer to one of the other edges. The baddies will either run after us and get caught by the cordon, or they'll stay put and battalion will move in to pinch them out. That's the plan anyway."

"How long do we have to distract them?"

"Probably fifteen minutes. Maybe half an hour."

Jared nodded, then sucked in a deep breath. "Okay."

They stared at the map in silence.

"What about air? Is battalion gonna get any air support?" Jared asked.

"Yeah, and that's the kicker. They're giving us access to air control for our push. They're taking it back once the cordon is set, but they want us to be able to call it in ourselves if shit gets hairy too fast."

Jared's eyebrows shot up. "Holy shit. Platoon level air control? Who's gonna have the air radio?"

"You."

Jared's head jerked back in shock. "Me?"

"Yep."

"Why me?"

"You're gonna be on rooftops, you're gonna be elevated, you can see more than I can. And you only have 12 guys blocking the whole north side. If all the enemy in the village run to the north when they spot us, you'll get overrun and they'll get away. Can't have that. So I want you to have air support in your back pocket."

"Shit man…I've never. Okay…"

"You'll be fine, Frenchie. You've got this."

"Okay…I'm definitely gonna memorize these building numbers now…shit…"

Mark smiled. "It probably won't come to that. We'll probably just catch them with their pants down, they'll shoot at us out some windows for a while, then we'll back out and then Colonel Chen'll come in and fuck 'em up."

"Allright." Jared thought for a moment. "How many guys do they think we're gonna be dealing with?"

"Intel says at least forty," Mark replied. "But as many as a hundred."

"Fuck."

"Yep."

The two stared at the map for another moment, then Mark knocked the table twice with his knuckles and reached in to roll the map up. "Allright Frenchie, take your own advice and get some sleep."

"Allright, man." They walked out of the tent.

Jared punched Mark lightly in the shoulder. "Hey, anything good in that package from your girl?"

"Hell yeah, man. What about you? What did Meg send you?"

"Usual stuff, but also a flash drive with some pretty awesome stuff on it. Got some videos this time," Jared grinned.

"No shit…" Mark laughed. "Mine did too. She did this whole boudoir photography shoot. Like…professional photographer and everything. It's like…artistic. I almost jizzed myself walking over here."

Jared's eyes widened. "No way…can I see?"

Mark smiled, shaking his head. "No way. Not how this works, muchacho. My girl's my girl."

"Come on, man, I showed you mine."

"Yeah, but your girl's my girl too."

Jared laughed. "Yeah, good point."

"Hey, that was your idea…" Mark laughed.

"No, I know…well, anyway, that's awesome man. Enjoy. She hot?"

"Would I have almost jizzed myself on the way over here if she wasn't hot? Fuck yeah, man. She's crazy hot. Fucking smoldering."

"Hot how? Like, who's her celebrity lookalike?" Jared punched his shoulder again. "Come on, every hot girl's got one somewhere."

"Yeah…she's got her own look, but like…maybe a crossover. Like…Emma Stone meets Jessica Chastain. Redhead, killer body, these really piercing green eyes…just…fuckin' exquisite, man."

"Fuck, man. That's awesome. She's not hotter than Megan, though…"

They had come to a stop in front of the command hut, where Mark's bunk was.

"I don't know how to rank hotness, Frenchie. That's a rabbit hole I'm not gonna fall down with you tonight. Women are hot in different ways, and Megan's hot as balls. But Molly…she really gets me going man. No shit…I don't think you can really rank hotness. At least I can't. But don't get all butt hurt…I agree your wife is a fuckin' smokeshow. Now fuck off…I'm gonna get back in there, see what else is on that thumb drive."

Jared laughed. "All right man. Happy for ya. Night."

"Night, man."

Mark pushed in the door open and walked through the first room, moving excitedly through the open archway to the room he shared with Lieutenant Macintosh. The lieutenant was seated on Mark's bunk, typing furiously on Mark's laptop, the new thumb drive sticking conspicuously out of the side inserted in the proper port, the light activated indicating connection.

"What the fuck?" Mark strode in and yanked the laptop away from the panicked platoon leader. He flipped it around so he could see the screen, finding only the password box open.

He hadn't managed to open the photo album.

Mark yanked out the thumb drive and put it in his breast pocket. Then he calmly shut the laptop, set it to the side, and jammed his fist into the shocked lieutenant's throat.

Macintosh bent over and gagged, clutching his throat in a panic. Mark pulled him off of his cot by the shirt and heaved him away, sending him running awkwardly across the room until he tripped onto his own cot, which flipped on its side awkwardly. Candy bars and socks, which were previously tucked away and hidden under Macintosh's sleeping bag dripped, scattered onto the dirt floor.

"You're stealing my shit, too? Watching clown porn while I'm trying to sleep isn't enough? Holy mother of fuck, sir!"

"hhhhuh didn't see..hhhasswordhhh…" he choked out.

Mark stood straight up, crossing his arms across his chest, waiting for the lieutenant's voice to return.

At his full height, arms crossed, eyes glaring and his jaw set, in the frame of mind to protect his woman, Sergeant Mark Rein was a terrifying sight. Macintosh put out a hand of surrender, the other still clutching his throat. After a moment, his voice returned.

"Spit it out, shithead," Mark growled.

"I didn't see anything. It's password protected, and I couldn't figure out the password. And sorry about your socks. They looked comfy. And the candy."

"What the…who the fuck are you? How did you get to be a marine officer?" Mark asked in exasperation.

Macintosh shrugged sullenly.

"Crikes, man. I can't even…" Mark emoted. "And don't give me the 'I didn't see anything because I couldn't find the password' bullshit. That's like saying you didn't peep on my girlfriend because the blinds were closed. You were still standing outside the window trying to see, and I'm still gonna beat your ass."

"Don't…don't." Macintosh raised his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry, Rein. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it."

Mark glared at him. "Toss me the fucking socks."

Macintosh complied. He'd taken three pairs.

"What's with these? They're pink..?" Macintosh asked, his voice slowly returning with intermittent coughing.

"Yeah, my girlfriend sent me pink socks. It's a joke. It's funny. Fuck you. None of your business. You want me to wear them when I jam my foot up your ass?"

"No…" Macintosh pouted.

"Jesus, man…" Mark rolled his eyes, unsure of what to do. "I don't even…just stay away from my shit, okay? I already do your job for you. Don't touch my shit."

"Okay…"

Mark carefully returned the items back to the package Molly sent and returned the package to its place under his cot.

"Rein."

Mark sighed. "What is it, sir?"

"Does Captain Wolfe think you do my job for me?"

Mark shook his head and sighed. "I don't know, sir. I don't really care. Honestly, I wouldn't worry about it. I think your career will be fine. Just relax, and stay out of my shit. We'll be fine."

Macintosh didn't answer. He quietly returned his cot to its upright position, resetting his sleeping bag and pillow on it.

"And sir…" Mark added as the lieutenant laid down on his cot.

"Yeah, Rein?"

"I'm dead serious. Try to ogle my girlfriend again and they'll never find your body."

* * *

David puffed out an exhausted sigh, his rigid penis slipping out from between the warmth of his wife's legs before rolling onto his back. The protrusion of his softening erection in the sheets lifted a stubby little tent that hung an awkward square of fabric extending delicately, if precariously, away from a single, thin pole.

Jordan pulled the sheet up to her chest, covering her small, soft breasts, but leaving a hint of pink flush below her clavicle exposed to the air. That flush was a shade deeper on her face. It matched the flush of her earlier shy acceptance of praise and gratitude following her solo in church. Now it seemed drawn from the praise and gratitude of her depleted husband, still panting on his back.

Both flushes matched the pale pink peony on the corsage, now resting delicately on the nightstand, the freshness of its plump morning presentation now showing the first signs of droop. Not unlike the subtle drop in angle of her husband's small penis, which was gradually dropping the low-profile tent down to a regular, flat sheet that covered the young married couple.

"You're amazing. In every way. You know that? Thank you…" David began to catch his breath.

Jordan smiled to herself. "I'm glad you liked it…"

"Are you kidding? How could I not love every second? I'm a lucky man…"

"I'm glad you think so…" Jordan rolled to her side, resting her clenched hand on his chest, her cheek settling onto his skinny clavicle, and throwing her leg over his waist. David felt the soft thatch covering the space between her legs nuzzle against his thigh. He loved that feeling in particular. He couldn't identify why, exactly. There were so many features to love about Jordan's body, especially when it was completely uncovered for him. And he loved them all. But for some reason, when that part of her body snuggled against his…

He felt like she was his. And there was no feeling that competed with it. He felt like a man. A man that could land a woman like that, and share a bed, a home, and a life with her.

A lucky man.

Jordan sighed to herself, nuzzling her cheek against him again.

"Honey? Can we talk about something?"

"Of course." David lifted up his head to look at her, but she didn't look up at him, preferring the touch of his skin to the look in his eyes.

"Have you given a final answer about that job yet?"

"No…" David replied cautiously. "Steve said to take a week. But I don't see why I'd reconsider. I don't want to leave you here to get lonely, and Hamad and the guys need me here."

"I know. And I love every part of that answer. I just want to talk it through as a couple. I feel like you jumped to an answer before we talked it through together."

"Oh. Okay. Do you think I should take it?"

"No, it's not that. I just want to feel like I'm part of the decision, that's all."

"Oh…I'm sorry, honey. I didn't know you felt that way…it was rude of me to answer so quickly. I just felt like Hamad and Aisha were panicking…"

"No, I think you did the right thing. But still, can we talk about it?"

"Of course we can. What's on your mind?"

"Well..." Jordan scooted up to rest her head on the pillow instead of her husband's chest so they could look at each other. Taking the cue, David turned on his side to meet her eyes.

God, her eyes were beautiful. But there was a look of real concern in them. Conflict, even.

"I think I can make my feelings make sense if we talk about my career for a bit first, then talk Steve's offer through.. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, of course. What's on your mind?"

"Well…" Jordan's eyes dropped in uncertain embarrassment. "I just…I'm not sure you thought about my career when you started this business."

"What do you mean?" David's eyes widened slightly, startled.

"The original plan was to help Hamad get a mechanic shop going, right?"

"Yeah, that was the plan."

"How were you going to do it?"

"Well I was going to try and find investors so he could set up his own shop."

"What happened to that plan?" Jordan's eyes stayed down, avoiding her husband's look.

"We got that settlement, and I had this other idea. I figured I'd try it first, and it worked." David shrugged. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No, honey. It's not a bad thing. It's a good thing. You've done a really good thing."

"So what's the problem?" He took her hand in his.

"The problem is, you've built something that depends on you. When it was just the shop, you could have helped Hamad get established and then leave."

She lifted her eyes to meet his. "Baby, I'm in my last year. And I'm on an academic track, not a clinical one. After I write and defend my dissertation, My career is at any college or university that will hire me. I have no idea where that will be. But I know I can't work here. You never get a job at the same place you get your Ph.D. And frankly, I don't want to work for Dr. Lukacz forever. I want to build my own research, and find my own place in my own department. If we stay here to grow your business, I don't know how I'll get to do any of that."

David was shocked. "Honey, I never even considered that. I'm so sorry. I don't know why I didn't think of it."

"I think I didn't want you to think of it at first," Jordan hastened to interrupt. "I don't want to get in the way of your career, either. And I don't think I thought your business idea wouldn't work, I just didn't realize it would take off so fast. I guess I sort of pictured you handing off the business to Hamad and then finding a job wherever I get a position. I feel selfish even saying that, but I didn't think anything like this would happen. Until it did."

David nodded solemnly. Jordan looked down again. "That's all. I just wanted to say that. I'm so impressed by what you've been able to put together. I just don't know where it leaves me."

"Honestly?" David responded. "In my mind it puts you in a nice house with a nice car and everything you need. That's what I was thinking. But I didn't factor in the logistics of your career, and I should have done that. I just wanted to create a situation where…anything you wanted, you could get."

Jordan smiled. "That's sweet, baby. But it really flattens me into a paper doll. I know you don't mean to do that, and you've never stood in the way of my goals, but you do sometimes have this tendency to assume that I just want to be taken care of."

David nodded soberly. "I could see that. I do want to take care of you. But I should have thought about what you want, not what I want for you. I feel terrible. I don't know what to say…"

She looked up at him again. "You don't have to feel terrible, honey." She leaned in and kissed him. "We just need to work it out."

"Okay," David answered. "What do you propose?"

"I don't know, really. I thought we could work it through together."

"Okay," David said. "Well, I'll put on my logistics hat for a minute." He mimed putting a baseball cap on, and Jordan giggled. "I don't necessarily have to stay in the company. I could exit without it collapsing. I just need to find a good manager. I could even work on expanding the model into a new area. Wherever you get your job after graduating."

"Really?" Jordan said, her eyes brightening.

"Yeah, why not? I can definitely sell Hamad on it once he gets used to the idea of me moving. Grow the business even more. He's got a 40 percent stake, he'll love the idea of expanding to new areas once we're established here."

Jordan beamed, kissing David again. "So we can still move when I graduate?"

"Of course we can move. I just have to figure out how all the pieces fit together. But that's what I'm good at."

"And you're so good at it, baby…" Jordan swelled with happiness. She felt heard, respected, considered. She felt empowered. An equal partner. It was exactly what she had hoped to feel as a married woman.

"So…since we're talking about everything," David continued, "Should we talk through this job offer?"

"Yeah, of course!" Jordan smiled brightly. "What's on your mind? What do you want to talk about?"

David hesitated. "There's a part of me that wants to take the offer."

Jordan was surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah," David said quickly, covering his tracks. "I still probably won't, but it's attractive for a few big reasons."

"The salary is huge…" Jordan agreed.

"That's part of it. Definitely," David nodded. "Some of the performance incentives could be pretty good too. But really, what's knocking around in my head is just the size of the challenge. Being a high level logistics consultant for Maersk? It's like…This is like my Olympics. This is what I'm good at, it's exactly what I like doing in my professional life. Plus I like the idea of traveling, and Steve said you could come with me. We don't have kids yet, I just thought it might not be a bad time to do something like this. We could travel together, Jo. Wouldn't that be fun?"

Jordan nodded back. "Of course it would be fun. I'd love that. But I could only go with you some times, not all the time. I can't really just pick up and leave. I have my own stuff going on here, then when I get my first position, I'll have to be around for the school year…"

"Right," David said. "Yeah, there's just not enough to make it work."

"Well hold on," Jordan objected gently. "If this is what you want to do…I mean you're finding a way to make my career happen. Isn't there some way to make yours work? Apply that organizational brain of yours? Solve for x with all the other variables?"

David smiled. "There's always a way, but I don't love the idea of being away from you for three weeks out of every month."

"Yeah, that would be hard. But he said that was only for the first year, right? Then it would be a week out of every month. Could we handle that first year?"

David paused. "Maybe. I'd have to think about it. And yeah, he did say it would go down to one week a month after the first year, you're right. I'd forgotten that. I don't know, I hadn't really considered it seriously before. Now I'm really thinking about what it."

Jordan hesitated before continuing. "Honestly, honey, I'm going to be a zombie this whole year. I'm teaching my own classes now, and I've got my dissertation to write. I think we'll be functionally separated one way or the other for much of the time. I'll probably spend 20 hours a day in the office on a lot of days. There's no way around it. I don't love the idea of being apart so much, but if there's a year in our life where this would work, I think this next year is the one."

David nodded again. "I hadn't thought about that either."

Jordan kissed him again. "See, it's better when we talk things through. We see new things together."

David smiled. "God damn…I love you Jordan."

"Don't swear, honey…" she said, giggling. "But I love you too."

"Okay. Sorry."

She rolled onto his chest again. David's eyes closed in a smile as he felt her pubic hair rest on his high.

Lucky man.

"So…" Jordan continued. "Where are we landing on this conversation? What's next?"

David took a deep breath. "I'm going to work toward a stable exit from the company. At least from the day to day running of it. I'm going to quietly look for someone to replace me. After that, I'm not sure."

Jordan rubbed his chest affectionately. "Maybe reach out to the guy at Maersk? The Danish guy? Just talk to him? The more we know, the more we can make a good decision. One we both feel good about."

"Okay. Yeah. That's good." David nodded. "I'm still not really sure how it will work. But I'll email him tomorrow. See what he says."

"Okay."

Jordan was silent for a moment, stroking his chest. Then, her hips began gently bucking into David's thigh.

David felt the matted hair crumple between their bodies. He sighed in deep contentment.

"David, I love it when we communicate like this. I want to talk like this all the time, baby. I feel so close to you." She nuzzled her cheek into his chest.

"Yeah, baby. All the time. I promise."

"Good." Now Jordan sighed as she rubbed his chest. Back and forth, up and down, her hand going slightly lower at each pass. Eventually, she slid down past his waistline and gently pinched his penis between her thumb and two fingers.

"David?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Can we…I mean can I…um…have some more?"

* * *

"All units check in."

crrk

"First squad up."

"Second squad up."

"Third squad up."

"Fourth squad up."

Mark stood tall in the clear morning light against a harsh desert backdrop. The target village was now visible ahead of them. Maybe 500 meters. He turned his head one way, then the other, silently counting the platoon and checking positions.

"All right. All units, listen up. Keep it frosty. Reminder. Chain of command goes 3-1, 3-2, 3-actual. If you can't get me, hit up Poisson. If you can't get Poisson, get Lieutenant Macintosh. If you need battalion, go through me. If you need air, go through Poisson. How copy?"

"Squad 1 copy all."

"Squad 2 copy."

"Squad 3 copies."

"Squad 4, copies, let's do this fucking shit! Rah!!!"

Mark smiled to himself. He looked over to his right side and signaled for Jared's squad to move into the poppy fields. The remainder of the platoon consolidated into one line, a mine detector in front. He held up a fist to halt as soon as the last fourth squad marine passed into the poppy field. Knowing that he was being watched, he paced back and forth conspicuously, occasionally stopping to pretend-inspect something: gear, weapon, helmet adjustment, giving small words of encouragement to his nervous juniors. He wanted to pull focus toward himself before the shooting started, giving Jared a chance to move without being noticed. But he was still shocked when in less than a minute a conspicuous whizz caused him to startle sideways, seeing a puff of dust rise a few feet behind him.

More whizzing and hissing sounds, followed by loud pops from the village.

Fuck.

"3-2, this is 3-1. The jig's up, Frenchie. They don't want to wait. Book it. Get to the north end and set up now!"

"Copy! Moving!"

Mark looked around at the rest of the platoon, most of whom dove to the ground when they heard the gunfire. But while they were low, they were exposed in the wide open space: the approach to the village.

He was in the obvious kill box. Why did he think they would wait until they got into the alleyways to start fighting? What was he thinking?

"Move forward and set! Double time! Triple! Find cover now!"

The remaining three squads leaped to their feet and diverged into their assigned lanes, charging wildly toward the outer walls concealing the first row of dirt houses in the village. Mark stayed in the center, reaching for his other handset.

The intermittent popping and whizzing intensified, gaining a new source. This one steady. Fast. Rhythmic.

Machine gun.

A deafening thomp came from Mark's right side, followed by another. Mark jerked his head to see two car sized dust clouds rising about 50 feet away, on the far right flank of first squad.

IED.

Mark charged over toward it, quickly getting lost in the dust until kicking something that groaned.

Fuck.

He looked down quickly and saw one of his marines, face down. He couldn't tell who it was. He reached down and grabbed the handle on the wounded man's flak vest and began dragging him toward the first wall, where the rest of the squad was already huddled for cover.

"Doc! Get a corpsman over here, now!"

Mark huddled down with his back to the wall, grabbing his radio handset.

"3-2. Status!"

Jared's voice crackled in his ear. "We're here, just getting two up on a rooftop."

"Fucking be careful. Tell air to be on standby. This could be quicker than we thought."

"Roger."

Mark switched channels.

"Battalion, this is 3-1. We've got contact from the front. We got a lot of fuckin' contact. North cap is set. Move when ready. Better make it fast. They're not fuckin' around."

"Copy. Moving now."

Mark looked toward the south. He couldn't see the convoy, it was more than two miles away. It would be a few minutes. He had to keep the focus on him. He had to move everyone into the village so the enemy wouldn't see the convoy before the battalion armor arrived and closed the circle.

He switched channels back. "Squad 1,2,3. Move in now. Try and find cover."

He ran back toward the center group as all three squads slipped in past the first row of housing compounds. He heard another thomp off to his left, closing his eyes and grimacing at the sound.

Another IED.

The machine gun sound came back.

"3-1, this is squad 3. We got one wounded, and that gun's right on us. Please advise."

"Move the wounded and find cover. Hold in place, we're coming."

Mark turned to the squad with him. "Arnie, Jett, take two fire teams and find that fucking gun. We've got to disable it. See if you can lob a grenade up in there."

They nodded, and half of second squad moved out of his line of vision down the alley toward the sound.

"3-2, come in. Frenchie, can you see where that machine gun is?"

"Yeah I think so. Looks like building 42. Two up and one to the left from your position."

"Arnie, you copy?

"Second squad copies."

"Frenchie, give me status on enemy movement. Anyone coming toward you guys? And tell air to be on standby, target building 42. Don't engage yet, but tell them to be ready."

"No movement heading this way, looks like you got their attention. Copy on air targeting…"


Mark rolled frequencies quickly. "Battalion, we've got some heavy contact, and we're having trouble moving. Might be a PK. Not sure, but it's definitely belt-fed."

"Copy. Advise on any movement to the North?"

"Negative. No movement. First squad is set. What's your ETA?"

Mark saw more little dust puffs run alongside his foot, and one of the first squad marines to his right collapsed. He only heard a male voice from the radio, he didn't understand the response.

"Say again, battalion, what's your ETA…"

"Give us 5. We can see you, but we're still moving to set."

"Copy."

He switched frequency again, only to hear Corporal Arnold shouting incoherently. He couldn't make it out, and he couldn't break in, so he ran down the alley toward them until he was pinned to the wall by gunfire, alone.

"Break break break!" He shouted into the radio. The line went silent. "Arnie, report."

"There's no way we can get into that house. They've wired the door to blow, and we can't get close enough to blow the wall."

"Copy. Clear out, head south now. I'm calling in air."

"Copy but we…"

"3-2, you hear that? Make the call."

"Roger." Jared's voice sounded panicked.

Mark looked down the alley to see Corporal Arnold and a handful of his men running toward him.

"Arnie, keep moving, clear south!" He shouted over the gunfire. "At least 100 yards."

"Jett's back there!"

"What?"

"Jett went down. We were trying to get to him, but you made the call. I think he's still alive."

Mark reached for his handset. "3-2, this is 3-1, call off the air. Do it now!"

The line went silent. Then Jared's voice.

"They're not responding..."

Mark looked directly at Arnold and pointed south. "Move it!" He shouted as he began loping north toward the building and Lance Corporal Jett. The popping of gunfire became deafening in the empty echo of the alley, and his vision began to break down into an adrenaline fog–only seeing isolated, jerky picture frames of activity as he ran.

One of those frames included the sound of a low jet engine, one that Mark easily recognized after months of living in a combat zone.

An A-10 Warthog. With a firing rate of 3,900 rounds per minute, one burst from an A-10 cannon would melt an entire housing complex. And anyone unfortunate enough to be caught inside it.

Or near it.

No time to plan how to get to Jett.

Just fucking run.

Mark exploded around the corner toward building 42, hearing gunfire all around him. He saw Jett laying face down about 10 feet away and sprinted to him, dragging him by the handle of his flak vest around the corner away from the machine gun. Now protected from the brunt of the gunfire by a corner wall, Mark repositioned Jett's limp frame, lifting him halfway to his feet until he slung him over his shoulders in a fireman's carry and sprinted south down the alleyway. Within seconds, the unmistakable low-buzz thunder of the A-10's cannon roared through the air. Seconds later, the machine gun fire, much of the other gunfire, and the entirety of building 42 melted into silence.

Mark reached for his radio again, rolling to the battalion frequency.

"Battalion, this is 3-1. Status?"

Mark could clearly make out Colonel Chen's voice. "3-1, this is Battalion. We're set. Disengage and move south with your casualties. Have first squad roll north and rendezvous with Alpha Company's armor. We've got medical teams standing by."

* * *

7AM.

David sat alone at the donut shop, waiting for his partner Hamad to arrive. They had set a meeting that morning with the Sheriff to work out a maintenance schedule. 8AM. Meeting the cop at the donut shop.

Very original.

No matter. The contract with the county was finalized, and now the wheels were turning, so to speak. The schedule was filling up, and David's job was to keep everyone happy now–customers and mechanics alike. Not an easy balancing act.

They were still short two mechanics. David had four interviews lined up, but it was getting hard to get people. They had gotten too big, too fast. Good problem to have, but hard to staff up that quickly. In the interim, Hamad had been working long hours to cover the spread.

He sipped the cheap coffee and began reviewing the spreadsheets. Nothing too problematic. There were a few low priority appointments he could kick down the road a little bit, make a little more breathing room for everyone.

He wondered what the range of problems a shipping giant like Maersk actually dealt with on a day to day basis was. Ports, customs, sea conditions, weather, intermodal transfer, staffing, fuel costs.

The complexity seemed to multiply into infinity.

This spreadsheet…this little scheduling problem…was fairly straightforward. A dozen mechanics spread between a half-dozen clients of varying size. Three priority levels. Reasonable estimates of work orders.

It was almost too easy. It was fun to get started. But after ten years of this? David knew he would get bored. He knew it.

He had initially turned down Steve's offer just out of sheer gut reflex, knowing that Hamad counted on him. But what was he doing now?

Other people could do what he was doing. He could make Hamad see that. In time. He could maybe keep a toehold in the company for a while to reassure Aisha. Probably do the books. He was all but a CPA now. HIs licensure exam was next week. He could stay on as CFO, or even sell his shares and just offer to consult.

There were options.

Jordan had opened his mind to that possibility yesterday after church. She had a way of helping him understand things he couldn't see. Blind spots. It was like she could see around corners, and he was just too obtuse to catch some things. Especially about their relationship.

She was right. His idea of being sole provider while she just luxuriated in the bounty he brought home…it was an antiquated attitude at best. Insulting at worst. Jordan was a brilliant academic nearing the end of her training. She would have to leave the area to find her job at a university. And maybe more than one move. She had explained before that young academics often bounce around from fellowships and postdoctorates, sometimes getting temporary or adjunct work before they land a stable position. She would have to be flexible. He would have to be flexible too.

Luckily, a licensed CPA is pretty employable in a lot of places. And if he took the job with Maersk, they would let him work remotely. Apart from the travel to audit and inspect assets, of course.

David smiled thinly. It wasn't ridiculous. But it wasn't an obvious solution, either. He was glad they had talked it through.

His heart warmed remembering how Jordan had stroked his chest while she encouraged him to think about this new opportunity. She wanted to maximize his happiness, the same way he wanted to maximize hers. And when she draped her naked body over his and told him that she believed in him…

He felt like he could fly out the window. But…who would want to fly out the window with a warm, naked Jordan holding you close?

David's face warmed as he recalled her fingers pinching his stiffening cock. When she had asked for more…

David's lips pursed as he tried to focus on the schedule.

Nope, that won't work. Hamad can't be at the bus yard Wednesday at 2, he's got to replace a radiator in a concrete truck at 1. No way he'll make it back in time. We can get Rick to cover the bus yard until 3…

In his mind's eye, David saw the thin bedsheet lift and his wife's thin, warm body straddle his, angling his rigid excitement up toward her open body. He had slipped easily inside…the emotional closeness of their conversation seemed to have excited her even more than before…She had leaned far down, kissing him gently as her hips made tiny bucking motions, holding the angle between them rigid…absolutely still.

Something about her slow, gentle kisses. It was too much. David couldn't hold back, apologizing as his own hips jerked in involuntary shame. Jordan's reddened face had smiled widely, insisting that she treasured the compliment. That she loved his enthusiasm. She laid down one more time, her closed first tense, albeit gently resting on the center of his chest.

David had hugged her tight, kissing her hair and offering to continue their lovemaking by massaging her thatch with his tongue. She had gently refused, reminding him that she didn't think it was a good idea for him to do that after he had released into her body. That it was too much like what they used to do, after she came home from…

It was best to just leave that chapter permanently closed, she had reiterated. Gently but firmly. That was in the past.

David deferred, knowing that she understood what was best for their relationship, and apologized again. She had purred as she nuzzled her cheek against his thin chest again.

David had drifted into sleep, waking some time later, well after dark, to a pitch black room and Jordan's body gone from the bed. Feeling her side of the mattress, he found the sheets still warm.

She had just gotten up.

He had gotten up and opened the bedroom door, noting the razor thin line of light at the bottom of the bathroom door. Not knowing why, he had walked over and pressed his face quietly against the door.

"Yes."

It was Jordan's voice.

It was low, but somehow urgent. Was she on the phone with someone? It wasn't like Jordan to take a call in the bathroom…

"Shut up. I'm here, aren't I?" Her voice was husky. But also strangely…defiant? Who was she talking to?

David's brow had furrowed, and he had leaned in to listen. It didn't help him hear much better, but he had begun to hear a hint of something else…a squishing sound. Almost like someone wringing out a sponge, but a very small sponge, and repeatedly.

"Mmmhmmm. Please. Please?"

David had squinted again. She must be on the phone…but who?

The squishing sound seemed to grow in speed as David had suddenly realized what was going on in the bathroom.

He had stepped back immediately. He felt guilty invading her privacy. But hearing her…

Against his better judgment, David had leaned back in, feeling his penis stiffen.

She wasn't saying anything now. But the squishing sounds had continued. He leaned in a little further, his cheek and ear flat against the hollow door.

"Mmhmm. I'll swallow it for you. Mmmhmm. Just give…just give it to me…please?"

David had jammed his hand down the front of his pajama bottoms and grasped his stiff penis. The squishing sounds had intensified in speed and volume, morphing into a rapid little repetition.

splishsplishsplish

"Yes…" the pitch of Jordan's voice had risen, the volume diminished, until he heard her squeak quietly, then hold her breath conspicuously.

splishsplishsplishsplishsplishsplishsplishsplish

A stifled but gutteral exhalation had brought a decrease, then a halt to the wet noises. He had heard her breathe deeply and slowly. Then he heard the faucet turn on.

As lightly as possible, David had darted quickly back into the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. He had slipped under the covers and resumed his previous posture. Moments later, Jordan had quietly opened the door, slipped in, closed it, and slipped quietly under the covers on her side. Waiting a few moments, David had turned to his side and pulled his wife's body close to his own. She had purred in contentment, clutching his hand as it hung over her waist. He had noted the clear absence of tension in her body. She felt relaxed.

She might have noticed his stiff erection.

David shook his head, clearing the intrusive thought and returned to his schedule in the booth of the donut joint. He looked at his watch.

Hamad wouldn't arrive for another half hour.

He couldn't focus. He needed a real distraction. David's lips pursed in thought. Then, opening a web browser, he searched

"What time is it in Copenhagen"

Answer. 1:30 PM.

David took a deep breath, then pulled the business card out from his wallet. Dialing the series of numbers, a woman's voice answered.

"Goddag, Arne Clausens kontor."

"I'm sorry, do you speak English? I'm very sorry, I wasn't prepared…" David was flustered.

"Yes I do, sir. Can I help you?"

"Yes, I'm calling to speak with Arne Clausen, if he's available. I was told to call him with questions regarding a logistics auditor or consultant position. I'm not sure which. My name is David Stark."

"One moment please."

* * *

Sergeant Rein's hand grasped the handset of the morale phone, the veins in his forearms distending frenetically. He felt a full-body weariness he had never felt before, and he still had a metallic taste in his mouth.

The battalion operation was a massive success. The battalion had moved in with heavy armor and pinched out the insurgents efficiently. Most of the insurgents had tried to run to the east through the poppy fields, and were snapped up by Bravo company. Overall, the battalion had captured more than fifty enemy fighters and found large stores of explosives, ammunition, and poppy nesh in the buildings after they were cleared by the infantry.

The intel was right–for once. The village was clearly a major supply center for the enemy fighters.

Mark had been personally congratulated by Captain Wolfe and Lieutenant Colonel Chen, and had been the recipient of much back slapping from other enlisted leaders throughout the company, some of whom were jealous that he had been chosen to lead the "tip of the spear" for the operation.

He was not strutting in his victory, however.

He had lost men. Two dead, three wounded–one of the wounded in critical condition with a sucking chest wound.

That was Lance Corporal Jett. Mark still remembered talking to Jett's father on the phone, promising to watch out for him. To keep him safe. He couldn't stop thinking about that as he had helped carry the stretcher to the medevac helicopter.

He couldn't stop thinking about it now.

Mark sighed and looked around at the somber morale tent. It was filled with his platoon, everyone reaching out to their loved ones. Jared was hunched over a phone three chairs down from Mark, clearly talking to Megan.

Mark looked at the little holes in the mouth and ear ends of the phone, unsure of what to do. He looked at his watch and did some math. It would be…ten in the morning there.

Well, fuck it. At least he could hear her voicemail.

He took out his notebook, found the number and dialed. It rang three times, then cut in the middle of the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey Molly. It's Mark."

"Mark, oh my God! Are you okay? Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine, just…" Tears formed on the inside corners of Mark's eyes. "I just wanted to hear your voice. I hope I'm not interrupting you at work or anything."

"No, no, it's fine. I worked an overnight shift, I actually just got off, driving home now. Are you sure everything's okay? You sound a little shaken."

Mark sat in silence for a moment.

"Mark, if you want me to be your girlfriend, let me be your girlfriend. Something's obviously wrong. Talk to me, okay?"

Mark sat for another moment, then his voice shook out an answer.

"I had a kind of rough day today, Molly. We had a big fight. We won, but I lost a couple of guys, and a few more got hurt."

"Oh, Mark, I'm so sorry." She paused for silent sympathy. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, I just wanted to hear your voice."

"Okay, okay, that's fine. We can talk. Let me pull over and we can talk." Molly's voice was stable, soothing. He felt it calm him to the bones. The tremor in his voice began to even out, and he felt his muscles relax.

He gulped. "Thanks Molly, I really appreciate it."

"Don't worry about it, Hulk-man."

Mark smiled. "Can you just…tell me how things are over there? How's Lucy and Max?"

"They're good! Lucy entered herself in a reading contest, where they give the student who reads the most chapter books in a month free pizza."

Mark's smile deepened. "Oh yeah? How'd that go?"

"Well the previous record was 19 books. Wanna guess how many Lucy got?"

"20?"

"31."

Mark laughed out loud, feeling some of the tension drop from his chest. "No shit…of course she did."

Molly laughed back. "She doesn't even like pizza."

Mark laughed again, more easily. It felt good. "How about Max?"

"We came up with a little reward system. Every day he doesn't get in trouble he gets to go to the lake with his dad. Just the two of them."

"Yeah, is it working?"

"Some of the time. Not always. But it's helping. We're figuring it out. He's definitely trying, though. He doesn't like to disappoint."

"Yeah, I could see that." Mark's smile faded a little and he breathed in deeply, soaking in the conversation.

"Hey Molly?"

"What's up?"

"You ever have a really bad day that's supposed to be a really good day?"

Molly paused. "Yeah….I'm a hospital nurse, Mark. I work in the ER pretty regularly. It happens a lot, actually. I don't know exactly what you're going through, and I'm sure there's all sorts of stuff I don't understand, but…I think I know a little bit what you're feeling right now."

Mark cleared his throat. "How do you…um…keep going?"

Molly sighed. "Sometimes I don't want to. But then I realize people are counting on me. My patients, my kids, my friends. Then when I get off the clock I try to focus on the good things I have. Doesn't work all the time, but that's what I do."

Mark listened intently, then sat silent for another moment. "Thanks Molly."

"No problem, Hulk-man."

Mark smiled again at the nickname. "I got your care package a couple days ago. Sorry I couldn't write to tell you I'd gotten it."

"Oh yeah? What did you think?" Mark could sense an anxious edge to her voice.

"It was fucking amazing, Molly. I didn't even get through the first set before…well, you know…"

"Really?" He could hear her smile through the phone.

"Yeah, really. You looked great before at the beach, but it looks like you've been working out more."

"Yeah, I have been, um…yeah." She laughed, clearly flattered. "Yeah, I'm, um, so happy you noticed."

"Yeah, I noticed. Thank you for doing that whole photoshoot for me, Molly. I'm really flattered. I love it."

"No problem. I was sooooo nervous though…" she giggled.

He loved her laugh.

The silence was less corrosive now. He could sense her smile, wishing he could see it. But even imagining it helped take the edge off. Mark felt himself relaxing more.

"Can we talk a little more, Molly? Just tell me about your day, how you're doing. I just want to hear your voice for a little bit."

"Yeah, okay. Of course…um, my day…well, I did a shift in the cardiac unit. It went mostly fine, but there's this one doctor there, he's just…ugh. I can't even."

"Shitty boss?"

"Shitty boss, yeah! But I have to basically double check to make sure he's checking everything. He misses stuff all the time. And he's a flippin' heart doctor! So I have to keep pointing stuff out to him on charts. I know I'm annoying him, I can tell, but I can't just let it go. He's going to get somebody killed."

"Yeah, I know the feeling a little bit. I've got a shitty boss, too. Mine's a lieutenant, total shitbird."

Molly laughed. "Well, I guess it's universal. Shitty bosses."

"Yeah, pretty much," Mark laughed.

Molly paused for a moment, then her tone shifted. "Forgive my ignorance, here, Mark. I don't really know how the military works, but if he's that bad, why don't you just take over? It sounds like your other bosses like you. Just talk to them, see if you can move up."

"Doesn't work that way in the Corps. He's an officer. I'm enlisted. I'd have to go to college and get a degree. For that I'd have to get out for four years, then get back in. It just wouldn't work."

"So that's the only reason? You just need a degree?"

"Well, there's some other stuff, but that's the main one. I joined up right out of high school. And I can still have a career doing what I do now, I can move up in rank and stuff. I just can't be an officer."

"Oh. I didn't know that. Well, it sounds like you'd be a good one if you did it."

Mark smiled. "Thanks Molly."

"I mean it Mark. I'm not blowing smoke. But you're welcome."

Mark smiled into the phone, feeling his body shakes slowly leaving him as Molly spoke again.

"You feeling a little better now? You sound a little less on edge."

"Yeah, actually. I really am. Thanks for picking up."

"Thanks for calling, Mark. Call more. I like to hear your voice too."

"Okay, that's good to know. I'll try to make that happen."

"I'd like that."

He loved how she sounded. Her voice was playful, caring, nurturing. Hearing her voice was almost as good as holding her. Almost.

"Hey Molly…"

"Yeah?"

"Same question to you. You work for doctors, some of them are shitty. Why don't you be a doctor?"

Molly laughed. "Me? A floor nurse with two kids? Are you kidding?"

Mark's voice turned sober. "No, I'm not actually. I think if you did it, you'd be a good one. I know you're smart enough, and I know you can put in the work. Why don't you do it?"

Molly paused. "Apart from the obvious?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know. I wanted to be a doctor when I was growing up. But then Lucy came along, then Max, and it was hard enough getting through nursing school. I just…I thought the door was closed."

"Maybe it isn't."

"Maybe you're right. Think I should look into it?"

"I think if you still want it, you should."

Molly's tone turned thoughtful. "You really think I can?"

"Yeah, I do. Something about you inspires me, Molly. I think you can do great things. I can feel it when we're together."

Molly was silent for a long moment. "You really think so?"

"I really do. I just said that!" Mark laughed out his response. Molly laughed back.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw Jared hang up the phone and stand up, gesturing toward the clock. Mark nodded to him.

"Listen, I've got to go. Thanks for picking up, you really made me feel better."

"Good. I like doing that. You made me feel better too."

"Good. I'll call more."

"Please do."

"Bye, Molly."

"Bye, Mark."

[soupcan_99]

So good, thanks Crushing…

[nnjcpl2002]

Support from home when you're deployed means everything! My loving wife wrote me every day. Of course, her letters arrived in bunches and she always made me happy at mail call.
But it may be a bit more complicated with Molly. It doesn't seem like her husband is a total shit. However, I believe that a very loving woman can have the capacity to love two men, as long as the guys can handle it. Clearly, her relationship with Mark has helped to shape him up.

[nnjcpl2002]

We all hope you're working on the next chapter, Crusher! It' a great account of what seems to be some actual life experience.

[Tire_Kicker]

I keep forgetting this is titled Jordan. Megan offering to give Mark a baby sent this into another dimension.

She sounds like a 12, great stuff Devil Dog!

[Crushing]

Brrm, brrrm, vrrrrrrrm!

A matchbox car raced across a short, straight line of skin before taking a hairpin turn and tracing a broad curve, straddling a sharp line of deep blue ink. The car, guided by a small, pale hand, then leaped a chasm of unmarked space, landing on a straight line before jumping again and tracing two broad arcs.

Gunnery Sergeant Jared Poisson lay exhausted on the hotel bed, noticeably bruised. After his brutal first day, he had stripped down to basketball shorts and collapsed onto the hotel bed, exposing a cut, lean torso with an elaborate mosaic of tattoos extending across his chest and down his upper arms. Halfway up his left pectoral was a comparatively blank space: a fist-sized circle, unbounded, with "3-2" inscribed at the center.

Jared's younger son, JJ, a fair skinned five year old boy with blue eyes, close cropped blonde hair and grubby fingernails, was tracing the numbers of that tattoo with his toy car while his dad passively watched a baseball game.

Jared's older son, Marky, a light brown skinned eight year old boy with dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a somber expression on his face lay on the bed opposite his dad, immersed in a chapter book.

After a hot shower and stretching out on the bed for a little while, Jared had begun to feel almost human again. The physical toll of dozens of fights–however short in duration most of them were–was taxing in the extreme. When his new CO–Mark–had finally walked out to the pit, he was fighting with every remaining bit of strength not to pass out in a puddle of his own sweat.

He and Mark had stopped at a burrito joint on the way back to the hotel to pick up and eat another one, chasing the first he devoured in the pit.

Mark had grinned at Jared as he had stuffed it down his mouth. Thereafter, returning to the hotel, Mark had parted off toward his room and Jared to his. Megan was there, waiting impatiently with the boys, and announced to her husband that Mark had expressed an intention to use her, with instructions to meet in his room as soon as possible.

Jared had felt annoyed at hearing that his wife was leaving him with the kids.

He was exhausted.

But when he heard the phrase "Mark wants to use me…"

He couldn't help himself. He had, in spite of himself, perked up with excitement. Megan immediately picked up on that excitement, and, while the boys were distracted with a show on TV, she had surreptitiously slid the front of her pants down to reveal lacy black lingerie, then with a little awkward wiggling, bared a portion of the smooth, freshly shaved skin underneath. Shooting a look to check on her boys, whose eyes remained glued to the screen, Megan had grinned impishly at her husband before returning her underthings and waistband to cover her again.

Jared had nodded in brisk understanding and agreement, ushering her out the door. After showering and changing, he had confiscated the remote from the boys without protest and changed the channel. The boys, apparently having spent a few hours at the beach, were too tired to complain, and simply flopped down on either side of him to watch the game.

Until Jared heard a beep and a click from the door. His heart skipped.

Megan was coming back..?

"Pizza time!" A decidedly un-Megan voice bellowed from the doorway before walking into the room

"Uncle Mark!" JJ gripped his matchbox car and hopped off the bed.

"Hey, buddy! Whatcha got there?"

"It's a racecar!"

"It looks like a minivan to me, but hey, whatever! Where's your brother?"

"Right here…" Marky dropped his book, peering up at Mark as he walked over and tousled his hair.

"Whew..you're the quiet one, aren't you buddy? Come one, get your shoes on and use the bathroom. We're going to get pizza!"

JJ sprinted back to the queen bed he was sharing with his brother and dove under the bed skirting, digging out his shoes.

"Can I finish my chapter?" Marky asked.

Jared sat up, still perplexed as to what was going on. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and reached for a shirt in the drawer.

"How many pages left in the chapter?" Mark responded.

"One. ummm…no…one and a half."

"You've got five minutes."

Marky nodded and lifted the book up over his face again. Jared walked barefoot toward Mark with an eyebrow raised.

"What's going on?"

"I'm taking the boys tonight," Mark said.

"Why? What's up?"

Mark stepped in closer and spoke in a low tone, setting his keycard inconspicuously on the TV stand. "You're going to take my keycard, and get over there."

JJ darted between them and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Jared looked down at Mark's key on the TV stand. "Why…what happened? She okay?"

"More than okay, dude. She's good to go. Hungry. Ravenous, actually. She wants you."

"Bullshit. You said you were gonna use her…she was all hot for that. I'm all for scraps, you know, but…"

"No man…trust me. I barely took the edge off. She saw you in the pit today. We watched you together…she was the one that brought you the food. That wasn't me."

"Really…" Jared responded, confused.

"Dude…your smokeshow of a woman just watched you dominate two barracks' worth of dudes in one session. One session. You know Megan... You know what gets her going. You think she really wants me tonight?"

"Really?" Jared's face brightened.

"Trust me. Take as long as you want, I'll watch the boys, get 'em to bed after we get dinner. Now stop gaping, get your damn shoes on and limp your bruised ass over there and get some. That's an order."

"Yeah. Okay…okay. I'll just…" Jared quickly fumbled around looking for shoes in his suitcase. Finding a pair of tennis shoes, he slipped them on and headed for the door.

Mark caught him on the way through the door. Grabbing Jared's ears and pulling his face close, Mark spoke in a harsh voice just above a whisper.

"Thank you for today. That was fucking perfect. You're a legend, Gunny. A fucking legend..."

Jared grinned broadly as Mark slapped him jauntily between the shoulder blades. Tucking Mark's keycard into his pocket, Jared slipped out the door and walked unsteadily down the hallway as the door clicked shut behind him.

* * *

Jordan…

Crap. Not again.

Laying naked on her side next to her sleeping husband, Jordan rubbed her warm forehead with her free hand. She had just finished a second round of gentle but somewhat desperate sex with David.

They had both soaked in the first round of spirited intimacy, followed by a deep and vulnerable heart to heart conversation. Then, spurred by her desire, which was in turn spurred by her own intimate feelings, she had initiated another coupling.

It was beautiful.

But the intervening conversation was one she had been dreading. But it had gone so well. So much better than she had anticipated.

She had been worried about the unanticipated crossroads they were approaching. With divergent career opportunities, she was terrified of either her need to eclipse his career or of his need to eclipse hers. She had feared a fight. One with a zero sum outcome where, even if she won, she feared the resentment generated when her husband left the business to support her.

But she had underestimated David. On the contrary, the level of his honesty, his vulnerability, his willingness to hear and acknowledge her concerns…she had felt so heard. So respected.

So validated.

Loved.

David had willingly heard her concerns about where his business left her career and had instantly yielded his own ambitions. She had felt bad about that, until he brought up his own thoughts on the Maersk job offer.

They had found some provisional middle ground. They both stood willing to yield some ground to each other. To compromise, sacrifice a bit for each other. The love was mutual.

As was the respect. Her heart had been full.

As she had basked in that deep feeling of emotional safety, the profound sense of connection had supercharged her physical desire. A desire not helped, she had to admit to herself, by David's relatively quick release into her body just prior to their heart-to-heart.

A desire that persisted unabated beyond their second coupling.

Jordan. Come in here. We need to talk, honey…

Jordan shook her head instinctively, refusing the call.

After their deep emotional connection, Jordan had timidly asked for more. She was afraid of what that timidity meant.

Did it mean she was being selfish?

Demanding he meet her needs after he had already yielded so much to her?

Did it mean that she knew on a not-so-subtle level that another few minutes with his excitement in her body would be unlikely to slake the warm thirst that generated the heat in her face?

She had smiled excitedly as he had exuberantly agreed to take her again. Nurtured by their deep emotional connection, she had followed her deep feelings in planting several wet, loving kisses on his mouth as she bucked her hips gently over his, taking care that he didn't slip out of her body.

That seemed to be too much for him, and he had shuddered inside her. But his quivering peak only increased the heat in her face, now spreading across her upper chest.

She had laid down, holding him tightly as his breathing slipped into the steady rhythm of sleep. She had reclined next to him, waiting for the heat to pass so she could sleep.

She had been tossing and turning for a while. She didn't know how long.

Jordan…

A different voice. Not her usual demon. A deeper voice. Commanding.

Jordan, come in here. Now.

Mark.

As if on auto pilot, Jordan's pale, lithe, uncovered body slipped obediently out from under the top sheet.

There, in the middle of a warm June Sunday night, Jordan padded quietly out the bedroom door, shutting it behind her, then slipped into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Turning on the light, she saw her reflection in the mirror, the harsh bathroom light catching the upper half of her naked torso. The marks of crumpled sheets lined some sections of her skin. Her hair was messy. Bed head. And her cheeks were definitely flushed. Along with the scarlet fog hovering over her breasts. Her nipples were noticeably stiff.

She looked warily into the mirror, waiting for instruction. Now her own voice returned.

I'm glad you could make it, honey. I'm sorry to resort to dirty tricks like that. I know we can't resist that voice. I just wish you wouldn't keep me waiting.

Jordan shook her head, refusing to engage. She closed her eyes and focused her mind's eye on her husband. Listening attentively to her. Holding her. Making her feel safe. She reached between her legs and found her moisture, gently moving the pad of her middle finger around it. David's face smiled at her in her mind's eye. She smiled to herself. She felt warm. Nice.

I love him, too, you know.

Jordan shook her head again, refusing to take the bait. She began to focus the motion of her finger toward the anterior cleft of her opening, parting the soft wiry hair around it to ensure soft, skin-to-skin contact. The warmth began to rise gently in her body.

I really do, Jordan. I'm not all bad. David's the love of my life too.

She shook her head again, holding her eyes closed.

Look at me, honey. We need to get something out in the open.

Annoyed at the distraction, Jordan opened her eyes, locking her gaze with her own gun barrel blues in the mirror. She stopped her play, resting both palms on the edge of the bathroom sink, leaning in to confront her interlocutor.

Her voice was exhausted. "What? What do you want?"

That's better. I promise I won't take long. I just think I've noticed something that you're trying really hard not to see. But I think it could help us both if you did.

Jordan stared at herself, frustrated. She ran her hand through her hair, smoothing it slightly as she waited for the nonsense to find its natural conclusion.

Honey, you know where I'm going with this. You know that every time David finishes is just about the time I start. Come on. Tell me you've noticed that. We're both grownups here…

A twinkle of delight sparkled out of the frustrated depths of the eyes of the woman in the mirror. Surprised, Jordan looked down, avoiding eye contact with herself.

Well? Have you noticed that?

She answered quietly.

"Yes."

So why don't you just come right in here when he's done so I can take care of you?

"Shut up." She sighed, rubbing her eyes before looking back into the mirror. "I'm here, aren't I?"

She heard a vague and foggy laugh. You're such a bitch when you get like this. I love it. Okay, mean girl…now that that's out of the way…you want me to talk you through it?

Jordan nodded, reaching between her legs again, surprised to find her stiff nub so sensitive. She began gently circling it with the pad of her middle finger. The warmth was stronger now. Radiating.

Or maybe you want him to do it?

Jordan nodded again.

A pause, then a deeper voice.

Get on your knees, Jordan.

She quickly knelt down, knees apart. The subtle convexity of her wetness pressed outward, which she began to explore, closing her eyes and breathing heavily.

Isn't it nice down there?

His voice took on the subtle playfulness of her usual interlocutor. He had never said that.

Don't you feel like you belong down there? At eye level with this?

Her mind's eye opened on Mark's cock. It was beautiful. She looked up to meet his eyes, but saw only fog. She looked down and saw the same. Only a thick, stiff, light brown cock wrapped in his powerful hands extended toward her. The warmth between her legs began to hum as her finger audibly slipped inside her body. She tilted her chin up, eyes closed, and let her jaw fall open and her tongue slide forward.

You want to taste this?

"Mmmhmmm."

What do you say, Jordan?

"Please."

Is that a question or a statement?

Jordan was on fire with the banter as she imagined the thick tip tantalizing her, just out of reach. Her voice pitched upward.

"Please?"

Jordan imagined the wide coronal flare behind the thick tip of Mark's cock pressing the circumference of her lips outward as he fed her. The warmth between her legs began to build steadily as she imagined…or remembered? The feeling of the full volume of him in her mouth. Of straining to hold her jaw wide enough so that her teeth didn't graze his skin. The terrifying invasiveness of his corona pressing against the narrowing space where her mouth softened and constricted into her throat. The desperate, arousing gagging and gurgling that followed.

The heavy member withdrew from her imaginary mouth as her real mouth hung open, miming the desired action still.

You did so good, Jordan. You're being a very good girl. Would you like me to cum for you?

"Mmhmm. I'll swallow it for you. Mmmhmm. Just give…just give it to me…please?"

splishsplishsplish

Jordan was mortified to hear the sound of her fingers moving in desperation as her moisture began, one drip at at time, to move in a shallow stream down her open thighs and, as she was kneeling obediently, the moisture even touched the curve of her heel where her thigh rested.

She saw Mark's powerful hand wrapped around the thickness, moving quickly. She was mesmerized as the stiffness rose to meet the velocity of his movements.

Are you sure you want this? In your mouth?

Jordan nodded, eyes clenched shut and mouth wide open, miming her eager receptivity.

Okay. All you have to do is cum hard for me. Then I'll give it to you.

"Yes…" the pitch of Jordan's voice rose, her volume diminished into falsetto, until she squeaked quietly,

Splishsplishsplishsplishsplishsplishsplishsplish

Jordan held her breath conspicuously as the warmth of frenzied motions of masturbation collapsed inward into a full, trembling orgasm.

Good girl. Here it comes.

Jordan couldn't hold her breath anymore. Her knees were trembling, eventually slamming together, strapping her hand in a vice grip between her thighs. She tried to stifle a gutteral exhale as her hand stopped moving. She focused on regulating her breathing, opting for forced, deep breaths to mask the obtrusive sounds of her own gasping.

Slowly, Jordan returned to herself, retracting her tongue, closing her mouth, and withdrawing her hand from between her legs.

The voices were gone again. Her body felt relaxed. Her mind felt troubled. Her soul felt ashamed. She knelt, confused for a brief moment, then rose to wash up and return to the bed she shared with her husband.

* * *

"Good evening, Gunny."

Megan's voice was bourbon smooth. She sat in a soft chair on the far side of Mark's bed, clothed in a soft, white, fluffy robe. Her legs were crossed casually, an acute triangle opening between the folds of the robe that dangled from her higher knee with a smooth run of coffee-with-cream skin showing on her inner thigh. She had a large paperback book open.

Joseph Heller. Picture this.

She spoke while reading, feigning disinterest without looking up.

Jared took a step into the room and shut the door behind him, setting the keycard in the TV stand. "Hey honey…how was your day?"

"Good," Megan replied, nonchalant. She didn't look up from the book, casually turning a page. "Great, even. Did a few errands, took the boys to the beach. Then I got fucked into pudding by your commanding officer."

Jared took two more steps toward his wife. "What did you say?"

"You heard me." Megan stood up, the exposed skin on her milk chocolate thighs fell beneath the cover of the front folds of her robe–or was it his robe?

Jared didn't know.

Her eyes narrowed at her husband and her voice took on a firm, assertive tone.

"I just fucked your CO. What are you gonna do about it?"

Jared's lips pursed involuntarily, his cock stiffening noticeably under his smooth basketball shorts.

"Megan. Come here."

Megan's head cocked confidently, smirking as it tilted to one side. "Make me."

Jared pounced like a panther, clearing the intervening bed and landing directly in front of her. With a lightning movement, he reached confidently into her robe with both hands, yanking it wide open.

Megan didn't resist.

She had dressed for the occasion, wearing a two piece matching lingerie set made of smooth, sky-blue silk.

The thong panties with a smooth, solid, sky-blue front betrayed only one imperfection–a small, moist dark spot at the bottom–while the sides tapered into thin straps that matched and continued the high arc of her iliac crest.

Her brassiere was a luxurious underwire, supporting her breasts without covering them, leaving them exposed entirely to view and touch.

Jared stood frozen with his arms out, holding the robe open. Megan smiled sarcastically, looking up at him and cocking an eyebrow.

"See something you like?"

Jared grunted.

Megan pouted playfully. "I feel like I got left out. You spent all day in that pit. You rolled around with the whole company, and I was left out. Just standing offside, watching the boys. Watching my husband…"

Jared's eyes narrowed, looking her body up and down.

"I just think…" Megan continued the charade of faux grievance, "that you should maybe roll around with me a little bit too? See if you can make me your bitch. I mean…if you have the energy."

Jared's basketball shorts had shortened visibly, hanging off his stiffening cock. "How do you want to go down, baby…" he grinned, eyes narrowing.

"That's up to you, gunny. All you have to do is out-fuck Captain Mark Rein. Think you're up to it?"

Jared jerked the robe down, causing it to fall around her feet. He slowly took her hand in his and kissed it. She smiled saucily when, with an audible yelp from her, he grabbed her thumb and twisted her hand into a wristlock, then twisted it further causing her elbow to wrench, her whole body contorting in a corkscrew until she flipped around to face the bed.

Megan whined as her "attacker" gently applied pressure to bend her over the bed and step behind her, her smooth, full buttocks–exposed by the thong panties–pressing against his crotch. With his free hand, he slipped a finger under the thong and began to probe the wetness between her legs. He smiled to himself as she whimpered and giggled. Then he moved his finger upward under the thong between her buttocks, surprised to suddenly encounter a deposit of smooth, sticky, yet viscous…

"Is this lube?"

The back of Megan's head, now forcibly profiled into the mattress, nodded. "Mark said you could have my ass when he was done…"

Jared's heart skipped and a growl emanate from his pursed lips. Still tightly controlling his wife's wrist, he pulled her thong out from between her buttocks and slid it to one side, then used his free hand to pull his basketball shorts down, his cock springing up toward her.. He squeezed her wrist a little more, causing her to gasp in pain.

"Ow. Owowow…"

"Say you're my bitch." Jared said quietly.

"Owwww, gunny…oooh, okay…I'm your bitch…"

"That's right." He relaxed his grip slightly, the tension of pain still apparent in her legs. "You want me to take your ass?"

"Mark said you could…"

Jared squeezed and lifted the tense locked arm. Megan, squirming in pain, involuntarily flailed her free arm against the bed.

"I didn't ask him. I'm asking you. And I'll ask again. Mrs. Poisson. You want your ass fucked?"

"Yes. Yes I want my ass fucked…please?"

"Somebody already have it?"

"Yes…uhhh, yes. Mark fucked my ass, now I want you to…ahh!"

Megan winced as Jared's free hand smacked her exposed buttock deftly, then reached forward to grab her hair. Her legs were now trembling in the tension of pain, her torso hung between her wrenched arm and her head dangling from her hair. A relieved smile accompanied the pained tension on her face as her breathing began to excite.

"Please baby…please take me. Take whatever you want…"

Jared let go and the vice grip of pain that seized three of her four limbs dropped into passivity on Mark's bed. Megan gasped, attempting to catch her breath as Jared reached into the nightstand for lube. Applying it generously to himself, he stepped confidently behind her, deftly slapping her rump again.

Buckle up, baby. I've got plans for you tonight.

With her face partially covered by strands of flailing hair left limp after writhing, contracting, and dilating in full body pain, Megan's eyes closed and her lips turned up in a smile as she felt Jared's pressure against her.

* * *

"Quit it, Tommy! Let go!"

Little David Stark heard the squeal of a familiar voice from across the playground. He had stayed in the classroom for the first precious minutes of recess time to organize his cubby. Then, trotting out the door, he saw a grubby boy from another class grabbing the back collar of Mackenzie's shirt and pulling it untucked from her high denim play coveralls.

Tommy. One name on a notable list of boys that harassed David for fun. David gritted his teeth when he saw another boy tossing pebbles at her.

Ricky. Another regular name on the list. Not as big as Tommy, but much meaner.

Mackenzie was distracted between the two of them, fearlessly flipping her head back and forth, her twin pigtails whipping as she whirled. She was at a disadvantage one way or the other, either by trying to wrench her shirt free or trying to swat away the pebbles as they came at her. She had plenty of fight in her. She was just outnumbered.

David charged across the open playground, leaped, and landed on the shirt-grabber, Tommy. His fists moved as tiny windmill hands, flailing furiously with no control or target. The sheer velocity of his attack caused Mackenzie's shirt collar to rip as Tommy fell down while clutching it, leaving a small tatter of cotton clenched in his hand. All three children tumbled to the ground. David, totally unfamiliar with how to fight, simply copied the behavior of the bullies who picked on him by grabbing a fistful of nearby dirt and jamming it in Tommy's mouth. Then another. And another.

Tommy coughed and swung his fist upward, catching David in the cheek and knocking his glasses off. David clutched his face as he tipped over onto his side, curling himself into a protective ball as Ricky came from behind and began kicking him in the back.

The teacher on playground duty had her hands full pulling Mackenzie off of Ricky's back, scratching his face viciously as he kicked David. Eventually another teacher got involved and the four were separated.

30 minutes later, David sat with shoulders slumped outside the principal's office, a sandwich bag of ice tucked against his bruised face. Mackenzie sat in the chair next to him, legs swinging freely without touching the ground as the principal stepped out of her office and beckoned them in. Mackenzie moved jauntily through the door, with David following sullenly.

In the office was a semicircle of six chairs on the far side of the principal's desk. The four on the left were empty. The two on the right were occupied by an adult man and woman. Mackenzie hopped easily into the seat next to the woman. David moved warily to the empty chair on the far side and sat down, leaving two empty chairs between him and the next person. He looked down at the floor as the principal took her seat behind her desk.

The woman spoke first as soon as Mackenzie flopped down in her seat.

"Oh, honey, you ripped your shirt…"

"I didn't rip my shirt, mom…" Mackenzie answered brightly. "Some asshole did."

"Mackenzie!" Her mother was scandalized. "Where did you hear that word?

"From daddy," she explained. "He said if someone picks on me for no reason, then that person is an asshole, and assholes don't get second chances. That's why I scratched Ricky's face. I got him good, too…"

The man's hand rose to cover his mouth, feigning consternation, but poorly concealing a grin. His wife stared daggers at him. He cleared his throat, but said nothing.

"I see…" the principal responded. "Well, Mr. and Mrs. Joner, I think we can all agree that fighting among the students cannot be tolerated. We understand that your daughter didn't start the fight. But she should have at least tried to get the teacher's attention. We cannot have children taking these things into their own hands and thinking that violence is the answer."

"Actually…" the man, now clearly Mackenzie's father, spoke for the first time, but he was quickly silenced by the firm grip of his wife on his wrist. Thinking better of it, he changed his tone, pointing over toward David, who sat still, looking down at the floor. "Where's his parents?"

"We weren't able to get in touch with Mr. or Mrs. Stark, but we will meet with them to discuss…"

"Stark," the man interrupted, directing his words to David. "David Stark. You're the guy with that cool Red Triceratops. He was at our house a few weeks ago. Had a little bit of an injury. His name was…it was Tony…right? Tony the Triceratops?"

David glanced up under his glasses, then down again, his head still hanging. He nodded silently.

"Triceratops. That's a cool dinosaur. I'm a Velociraptor man myself. Smaller, but whip smart. Runs around on two legs. Cool teeth. Good hunter."

The man's voice was jovial and kind.

"They hunt in packs…" David muttered.

He briefly looked up for the first time to see the man who knew his dinosaur. He was smiling warmly, dressed in a tight green suit coat with a tan shirt and tie. He had a neatly ordered stack of different colored rectangular ribbons pinned neatly on one side of his jacket, and two shiny silver bars attached to straps of fabric on the outer edge of each of his shoulders. His hair was cut short, almost bald, and he held a hat matching his coat in his lap. He was smiling warmly.

"Yeah, they do, buddy," he said. "They do hunt in packs. That means they know how to strategize. Cooperate. Pretty smart, huh?"

David smiled back. "Yeah…"

"So where's your mom and dad, buddy?" he asked gently. "I want to tell them how brave you were for jumping into it earlier. I heard all about it."

David blushed, looking down again. "My dad works at the car lot. He's busy. I don't know where my mom is."

"OK. I'll find out their info later, and let them know. Proud of you, bud. You did good."

David beamed, looking away from Mackenzie's father to hide his flushed face. He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, swinging his legs off the edge of the chair as the principal spoke up again.

"Yes, Mr. Joner. I can appreciate where you're coming from, what with your…professional commitments, but still I think we can all agree that violence is never the answer."

"Of course we can all agree on that," Mrs. Joner replied amiably.

"That's the second time you've said that," Mr. Joner replied. "Violence is never the answer…I love a good catch phrase as much as the next parent, but if you can't teach your students not to start fights, then I'm going to teach my kids to end them. These two kiddos didn't start anything. And they were looking out for each other. I'm not going to punish my daughter for stickin' it to a bully. End of story. Now if little Mack Mack here…"

Mr. Joner reached behind his wife to tousle his daughter's head. She shot a proud grin back at him past her mother's mortified silence.

"If little Mack Mack here ever starts a fight, you call me and I'll come have words with her. But every time she finishes one she didn't start, she's getting ice cream. That's how this is gonna go."

The principal's eyes widened in scandal. Everyone sat silently until Mackenzie's father stood up. Everyone else in the room, including David, instinctively stood up with him.

"So," he said confidently, "anything else?"

"I suppose not. Good day, Mr. Joner."

"Good day, ma'am. Thank you for your time. Come on Mack Mack. Let's get you into a shirt without a rip in it."

With her parents turning to walk out of the office, Mackenzie hopped down from her chair and followed. The door shut behind them.

David sat back down alone, uncomfortable with what had just happened. That man had basically said Mackenzie wasn't in trouble. In the principal's office! So she wasn't in trouble? How was that possible? Was he in trouble now? Did the blanket of amnesty extend to him? And did that man in the green suit really just say no to the principal? Did he have to do what she said at all anymore? Was the spell broken? He didn't know.

"Well, Mr. Stark, I haven't been able to get ahold of your parents, so I suppose we'll just have to chat, the two of us. I understand…"

The principal's office door burst loudly open behind David, and he whirled around in his chair to see Mackenzie standing at an angle, hanging off the doorknob with one hand.

"Hey David, my dad said I can invite you to have dinner at our house, and then we'll get ice cream. So do you want to have dinner at our house and then we'll get ice cream?"

David was flabbergasted and froze. He didn't know what to say.

Mackenzie just swung innocently from side to side, hanging off the doorknob and waiting for his response.

His eyes holding wide open, David nodded.

* * *

A thin, delicate brown finger traced a short, straight line of deep blue ink in white skin before taking a hairpin turn and tracing a broad, sweeping curve. That finger, complete with cream colored nail polish, hung delicately from a coffee-with cream colored wrist. It leaped a chasm of white space to land on a straight line before jumping again, tracing two broad arcs stacked on top of each other.

Gunnery Sergeant Jared Poisson lay exhausted on his best friend's king sized hotel bed, still bruised but significantly more relaxed. He now lay fully naked above the sheets, exposing a lean, muscular body with an elaborate mosaic of tattoos extending across his chest and downward on his stomach, lacing over and past his iliac crest and on to his thighs. In the middle of his body, in a blank space surrounded by tattoos, hung an above average sized cock, spent and gasping limply at an off center angle, a dab of milky semen still beading out from the tip. His upper body presented as before: halfway up his left pectoral was a comparatively blank white space containing a fist-sized circle of white space with the number 3-2 inscribed in the center. It was these numbers that his beautiful wife of ten years was languidly tracing with her left hand, her wedding and engagement rings clearly visible on her tracing hand.

She lay naked on her side, tucked into her husband's embrace with a trickle of semen of undetermined origin dribbling from her backside onto the top sheet. Her husband's arm was curled around her naked back, stroking her breast and toying with her nipple. They had enjoyed multiple rounds of passionate sex over the past few hours, and both had caught their breath only moments ago. Now they were simply soaking in exhausted afterglow: the full post-coital silence so rarely enjoyed by the parents of young children.

Jared sighed, his chest rising and falling deeply when Megan broke the silence.

"So, how was it really? Your first day?"

Jared hesitated. "I don't know yet. It's gonna be an uphill fight, for sure."

"Sure looked like it."

Jared chuckled. "What did you see?"

Megan giggled back. "Not that much. Maybe ten minutes. I just chatted with Mark. You were busy. But I'm pretty sure he watched the whole thing."

Jared didn't respond, gazing up at the ceiling.

"Did he tell you to take on the whole company?"

"Basically."

"What did he say?"

"He told me to get their attention."

Megan snorted in disbelief. "That's one way to do it, I guess."

"Yeah, it's my way."

She sighed and snuggled quietly up to him again.

"How's he doing?" Megan asked after a pause.

"I'm not sure," Jared answered. "He was in good form in the pit. Gave a whole speech, got everyone pumped. He was himself. Normal, inspiring Captain Rein. But something's definitely bothering him."

"I think it was the girl he was with before the transfer. I guess he really liked her."

Jared nodded. "Could be."

"Did you ever meet her?"

"No," Jared answered. "They weren't together for that long. He did mention her a couple times, and of course, there was that…"

Jared cut himself off.

Megan propped herself up on her elbow. "There was that what?"

"Nothing. Just, he mentioned something…I don't really remember. But yeah, I agree, I think he really liked her. But he always does at this stage."

Megan squinted at her husband for a moment, then moved on, resuming her idle tracing of his tattoos.

"I know," she said, "but he's usually not this glum if it breaks off at this stage. I don't know, I don't think it's just the girl. I think he's just at a life stage where he wants a stable relationship. Maybe a family."

"Maybe." Jared sighed again. "But he's also just worked up about this command. Probably ought to see how that pans out in the next few months before you start playing matchmaker."

Megan slapped his chest playfully. "I am not playing matchmaker!"

Jared laughed.

She pinched his nipple and pulled on it. "If anything, I'm cockblocking him. Keeping him all to myself…"

Jared smiled, stroking her hair and trying to ignore her last response as he felt blood move into his cock with the thought.

Megan dropped down and set her face on his chest again, still absently tracing the tattoos across his torso. "Do you think he knows about Marky?"

Jared blinked. "Knows what about Marky?"

"You know."

Jared paused. "He's not stupid. We named Marky after him, for God's sake. But he's never asked. And it's not like we know anything. Not really."

Megan nuzzled his chest. "I know. But…he's tall for his age."

"So was I."

"Yeah…But his skin's darker than JJ's."

"So is yours."

"Yeah…"

They lay in silence for a few moments. "I know that Mark feels like a part of our family, and I know we both want that, but…" Megan trailed off. "I don't know. Maybe we should…"

Jared didn't answer for a moment, waiting for her to finish her sentence.

She didn't finish.

Jared answered carefully. "I think we should let him hit his stride with this command. This is what he wanted. I think he'll calm down once he gets a firm grip on the rudder. Give him a little time. I know you care about him. I do too. But he always comes around. And I'm not gonna let him collapse. You know I'm looking out for him."

Megan propped herself on to her elbow again, leaning down to kiss her husband.

"I know you are, honey."

She sat up the rest of the way, pulling her hair back and running it through a hair tie. "Well…probably better get back and relieve the captain, don't you think?"

Jared sat up slowly, grimacing. "Yep. Let's head back. I need some sleep, tomorrow's gonna suck."

They dressed quickly and made their way back to their room. As the key card clicked and the door opened for them, they stepped in quietly, noting the near darkness in the room.

Everyone was asleep. Mark was still propped up on their bed, back to the headboard. Marky was asleep sideways on the same bed, stretched out perpendicular just below Mark's feet. JJ was passed out face down on the floor.

Megan and Jared smirked at each other. Megan tiptoed quietly over to the side of the bed to wake up Mark while Jared scooped up his younger son and tucked him into his own bed.

Mark jolted awake. "Oh, hey Meg. I thought you guys were taking the night. I was just about to put the boys down…" He stood up quickly to see Jared pull bed covers over JJ. Mark stood up out of the bed and followed suit, picking up the oldest son and setting him in bed opposite his younger brother.

Megan watched Mark and Jared tuck her children into bed, uncertain of her feelings. She followed Mark as he reached for his key card and headed toward the door. As he reached for the door handle, she stopped him,sliding her hands around his neck and pulling herself close to him.

Jared couldn't help but notice the near match in the skin tone of the faces of his wife and best friend as she quietly kissed Mark's cheek. He heard them speak a few words to each other in low tones before they kissed each other quietly on the lips and parted their embrace. Then Mark waved quietly to him before slipping out the door.

* * *

"Honey, I appreciate the thought. And the initiative. But I don't think that's going to fit."

"It'll fit. Just gotta get the right angle. It'll fit perfectly."

"David, I'm telling you, it's too much."

"Trust me, baby. You'll love it. Just give it a chance."

A rare argument in the bedroom between the young couple, as David wrestled a recently unboxed TV into place between the bedroom door and the closet door. After rocking the dresser into place, he set the TV down on top of it.

They were both right. The TV fit. It barely cleared the space between the bedroom door and the closet door. The dresser it sat on, however, extended into both doorways by a half inch, blocking both doors from closing. After wrestling the dresser back and forth several times while his bemused wife watched, David finally sat down on the bed, defeated.

"I measured for the TV. I just didn't measure for the dresser. Sorry baby."

Jordan sat down next to him, her hands folded in her lap. "I'm devastated, baby. I really wanted this TV in our bedroom."

David sighed. "I know you're joking, but I thought it would be cool."

"What's cool, honey, is that you got this nice thing for us! Let's put it out in the front room? Like adults?"

David shook his head, smiling. "Fine…" They each picked up an end and carried it into the living room, setting it down on the floor in front of the coffee table. They both stepped back, looking down to their feet to see the screen.

"Okay…" Jordan admitted, a hint of laughter in her voice. "Maybe I didn't think this all the way through either. So…if we're making a list, maybe something to put the TV on?"

David mimed checking a box in the air in front of him. "On the list."

"Still, baby, thank you. Our first TV! And it's a nice one, too. We don't have to watch stuff on the laptop anymore."

"Well, I wanted to get us something nice. We're not straining the budget every week any more. What the hell, right?" David joked as Jordan unwrapped the remote control and put batteries in it. She sat down on the couch and patted the seat next to her. David flopped down, squeezing her shoulders and kissing her on the cheek as she turned on the TV.

She turned to her husband as the display lit up, her lips pursing sheepishly. "The coffee table is still blocking it."

David stood up and, laughing, shoved the coffee table theatrically off to the side. "We'll make it all work later!" He sat down on the floor in front of the couch to be at eye level with the new TV. Jordan slid down to sit next to him. She opened the Netflix app and scrolled through the options, settling on an episode of Black Mirror.

"This okay?" she turned to ask David.

He nodded.

Looking past her husband, she saw the open TV box behind him, cellophane and plastic still sticking out. David would compulsively clean that up as soon as they stood up. She knew it. He always cleaned up after himself. It was almost like an auto-pilot setting for him. As much as she loved having a clean house, she sometimes worried that she wasn't pulling her weight. She was a little less inclined to tidy up after herself. She hoped he didn't resent her for it. Even subconsciously.

She shook off the thought and nuzzled into his shoulder to watch the show. As always, Black Mirror was a little weird, and a little thought provoking. David and Jordan both loved things that pushed the boundaries of their expectations or imaginations. So she always felt close to him when they watched things like this together, even though they didn't talk. Watching something that made them both think. They would be planning things to say to each other after it was over. Little observations and insights saved up. Watching a show like that, they were separate. Individuals having an individual experience, but also together somehow. Just sitting and watching together was enough.

Sitting on his left side, she tucked her right arm through the elbow of his left, absently stroking the underside of his forearm with her fingertips. She felt the muscles in his arm relax under her fingers, and she felt his shoulder relax under her cheek.

During a scary moment in the episode, she squeaked and then playfully bit his shoulder. He laughed, turning to look at her. She kissed him.

"The resolution's really good on this new screen," he observed. "I didn't realize how much of a difference that would make."

"Mmmhmmm," Jordan agreed. She flattened out her palm and slid it over his crotch. Quietly, she pinched the zipper of his pants and tugged it downward.

David looked down, then looked back up at the screen. Jordan felt his face begin to warm. She reached into his open fly and pulled out his penis, rubbing it between her thumb and first two fingers. It began to stiffen and grow, not extending far out of the fly of his pants, constrained in extension by its own limited size.

David cleared his throat, and Jordan smiled slyly to herself as he stiffened fully. She stopped rubbing him between her thumb and forefingers, and instead held him in a gentle half-pinch, moving slowly up and down bending only her wrist.

It was a casual interaction. David did not anticipate it, and did not know how to react. He was trying hard to focus on the highly cerebral storyline in front of him, all the while his breath became increasingly rapid. His fists intermittently clenched as he resisted, but yielded. After a minute or two of smooth wrist pumping, Jordan lifted her head off her husband's shoulder and looked at him.

"David? Honey?"

"Yeah?" A flustered David turned to look back at her.

"You don't need to worry about me tonight. Just cum, okay?"

David's pupils dilated and she felt his pelvis tense under her hand. She looked down to see little beads of liquid bubbling from his tip.

"There. See?" She said playfully. Smiling, she bent down and licked the tip of his penis and deftly sucked the tip. Then, sitting up, she met eyes with her shocked husband as she lifted her fingers up to lick them clean of his ejaculation, eventually pulling her index finger out of her mouth with a pop. Then, with David's eyes still gaping at her, Jordan resumed her original position, head on his shoulder, clutching his arm and stroking the underside of his forearm with the now-moist pads of her right hand fingers.

David's body was twitching, yet clearly more relaxed. Jordan smiled to herself as the show went on.

When it was over, Jordan found the remote and flipped the TV off.

"It's a great TV, baby. Good purchase. We just need…you know…something to set it on."

"I'll take care of that tomorrow…" David replied quickly.

"Hold on, baby," Jordan giggled. "Wait until Saturday. We can pick something out together."

"Oh, right. Okay."

"You're so jumpy, babe. What's up?" She squeezed his arm, looking over at him.

"I just…I don't uh. I'm not jumpy."

"You're a little surprised I did that, huh?"

David smiled, embarrassed. "Yeah."

"Did you like it?"

David's face reddened more deeply. "Yeah," he nodded.

"Good. I liked it too. I like to just…do stuff for you sometimes."

David laughed, surprised. "Well, don't ever resist the urge. I'm game for…you know…whatever."

She giggled again. "Good."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"David?"

"Yeah, honey?"

Now it was time for Jordan's face to turn red. She buried her cheek in his shoulder again, clearly hesitant to speak her mind. Finally, she spoke quickly, as if she wanted to shove all the words out at once.

"You can tell me what to do sometimes. I like that. Just sometimes though, okay?"

David's flush continued. "Okay. That's…good to know. Thanks for telling me. I like it when we communicate like this."

She nodded silently into his shoulder, still afraid to look at him.

"David?" she asked again after a moment.

"Mmm?" David sat silently, waiting for her to form her thought.

"How did your talk with the guy at Maersk go?"

"It went okay. Sounds like it's pretty much what Steve told us. One year contract, option to renew. Twelve rotations of three weeks away, one week back. Christmas week off, and one summer week. He gave me a rundown of the auditing project, too. It's big. I'd be busy. But I could walk away after that first year if it doesn't work out."

"Did you find out how much it pays?"

"Yeah, it's a lot. He offered $280,000. I countered with $310,000. He sounded like they'd take my counter. He sounded a little desperate, actually. I'm kinda wondering what I'm getting myself into here."

"That's a lot of money."

"Yeah."

"How do you feel about it?"

"Honestly?" David paused. "If we're just talking about the job, I'm excited. I kinda want to see what I can do. If we're talking about life, us, everything, that's when I get nervous."

Jordan let go of his arm and scooted around so she could look straight at him. She picked up his hands and held them in hers. "David, I can't be the reason you limit your career. Just like you couldn't be the reason to limit mine. I support you. And we can work out the details. If you want it."

David nodded. God, her eyes were beautiful. He smiled involuntarily. She smiled back, confused.

"What? What's so funny?" She cocked her eyebrow.

"Nothing's funny. I just like looking at you. That's all."

Jordan blushed again.

"So," David said carefully. "What do you think? Should I take it?"

Jordan paused, choosing her words carefully. Then she squeezed his hands. "David, I took a long time choosing a husband. I didn't date much, because I don't love who I can't trust. And I didn't feel like I could trust anyone else I dated. But I trust you. And I love you. And I chose you. And once I love, and trust, and choose my man, I want him to take charge. Not run roughshod over me, but take charge. That's attractive to me. So you know how I feel. You know I'll support and love you either way. But…I need you to make the choice."

David nodded slowly, holding her gaze. She was serious.

"Okay." David said confidently. "I'm gonna take the job."

Jordan smiled deeply. "Good for you, baby. I'm scared too. But we'll work out the details. And if you're excited, I'm excited for you. You've earned your shot at the big time. Now go out there and take it."

David beamed, squeezing her hand back. Jordan's smile grew to a grin. "I'm so proud of you baby. You brought me in, listened to me, then made the call. I feel so close to you right now. And I love a man who takes charge…"

* * *

"Company! Ten-hut!"

Day two.

Four formations, four lines each, formed in tight rectangles in the dark of the morning. Each man snapped into position, standing rigid at attention and clothed in green physical training uniforms consisting of thigh length shorts and matching blank T-shirts.

Captain Rein walked broadside to stand face to face with his company gunnery sergeant. They both smirked as they said the customary formal greetings, then had a brief exchange in low tones.

"How's it look? Any issues?" Mark began.

"Half a dozen are hung over. Had to drag them out of the rack. You'll spot 'em quick. Platoon sergeants are serious, though. You got their attention yesterday." Jared grinned conspiratorially.

"Good news for us."

"Maybe."

"Okay. Well, let's do this."

"After you, sir."

Mark dismissed Jared, who took his place in the formation as Mark began to speak.

"Good morning, Charlie company."

The sleepy murmur of the crowd returned the greeting.

"Oooh, that was a mistake on your part…" Mark winced visibly. "See, I like enthusiasm. Now let's see if we can find some, shall we? Company, on me."

Mark darted forward to the front of the long formation and took off down the dark morning road. Caught by surprise, the first platoon took off after him, then the second, then the third and fourth. The crowd of over a hundred followed their leader, who was clearly visible as the tallest man in the company loping powerfully at the front. They continued at the brisk pace for the better part of a mile in relative silence, the collective breathing becoming audibly tired and raspy before Mark turned to the man behind him.

"Are you the first platoon commander? What's your name?"

"No sir, I'm not. Lieutenant Jenkins is our platoon leader. I'm Corporal List."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know, sir. He never comes to morning PT."

"I see. Well, List, keep this pace. I'll be back."

"Aye, sir."

Mark sprinted down the line, stopping to jog next to each platoon sergeant, introducing himself, chatting and joking as they huffed and puffed. Making his way to the end, he noted that nobody had fallen out of the run yet. Good sign. He then sprinted back up to where Jared was working the line, shouting at the marines to keep form.

"How's it going?"

"Two have puked so far," Jared smirked. "Looks like a third is on a hair trigger over there." He pointed to a young, crew cut marine whose face nearly matched his shirt in color.

Mark snickered. "Good start." He ran back to the end of the line, then shouted out. "Fourth platoon! Overtake first! Move! Now!"

The fourth group reluctantly broke into an awkward sprint, moving to the side of the column and making for the front. Mark darted ahead of them, turning around and jogging backwards, grinning as he watched them gasp for breath. Once the returned to normal pace at the front, Mark ran to the end again. "Third! Overtake fourth!"

The same desperate sprint ensued, with Mark leading each time. It became clear by the time all platoons had sprinted the length of the column that their new CO was not going to get tired. His breath deepened, and sweat spots grew on his shirt, but his grin never broke. And the fact that he was doing four times as many sprints as any of them did not go unnoticed as he darted back and forth up and down the column, cracking jokes on the run.

Nobody dared to ask how long this punishment would go on, but little puddles of vomit punctuated the trail behind the company run as they strained themselves to the breaking point over several miles of intermittent sprints.

Eventually they found an open parade field, and Mark led the company on to the grass, calling a halt. The formation broke, staggering and heaving as they tried to regain their breath.

Mark stood silently watching from the front, breathing heavily but still in clear control of his body.

"Good warmup, gents."

Mark laughed out loud as he saw the fear light up the eyes of his charges. Warm up? That was the warm up?

The light had risen noticeably, but the sun hadn't broken the horizon just yet.

"Don't worry," he called out jovially. "You'll get used to this. For now, take five. Get some water from the fountain over there, then circle up. Gunny's gonna check your form while you do more pushups than you ever thought were possible, and we're gonna do the same sprint drills back."

The bewildered company staggered over to the water fountains. Mark moved among them, slapping them on the back and joking. Few had enough wind to joke back.

Over an hour later, Charlie company, sweaty and staggering, made their way back to the battalion campus. The other companies had already completed their morning exercise, and laughed at the unfortunates in Charlie Company as their sweat-soaked, shaky bodies jogged by on the way to the trailer that served as Charlie's company HQ.

Mark called a halt, and stood for a moment, waiting for everyone to catch their breath when he noticed a young first lieutenant in the normal uniform of the day walking past the group, nodding jovially to Mark as he passed. Mark turned to Corporal List, who was back in the front where he started.

"Who's that?"

List, still gasping from the run, answered. "That's Lieutenant Reynolds, sir. He's early today. Guess he heard you were coming or something."

"He was the acting company CO before I got here, right?"

"Yes, sir."

Mark nodded. "Thanks List. You did great this morning. I appreciate it. Keep it up."

Mark walked over to Jared, who was calling the formation to attention again. Again, they had an exchange in low voices.

"You hear anything about the officers? Apparently they come and go as they please here."

Jared nodded. "Sounds like. I was talking to the platoon sergeants on the run. Sounds like they basically run the show here. They told the platoon leaders about the run, I guess they didn't get the message. Or didn't care."

Mark nodded back. "Okay. Well, I get to deal with that. Fuckin' wonderful. Well, I guess that eats up my whole morning." He gestured to the company, all still heaving in short breath. "The rest of them…they're yours until lunch. Let them get some chow and get dressed. Keep them busy. Assemble again at 1300 for a uniform inspection."

"Aye sir." Mark turned and walked up and into the trailer/Company HQ as Jared spun back to address the company. He began to give instructions, but was interrupted with the harsh sound of glass breaking behind him. He whirled around to see what the entire company facing him could already see–an office chair flying through a closed window, with glass shards tinkling to the ground under it.

Jared stifled a laugh as he turned back around. "Looks like somebody's gonna have a worse day than you pukers…"

The company broke into laughter as he grinned. "All right. Fall out, get chow, get dressed. Back in an hour. I'm not done with you motherfuckers yet."

* * *

A quiet evening after a schoolyard altercation found a seven year old David Stark sitting next to seven year old Mackenzie Joner at her family's dinner table. Her mother and father, now changed into more casual after-work clothing, sat across from each other, and he was set next to Mackenzie. Mackenzie's baby brother Mikey sat in a high chair across from them, within arm's reach of his mom.

The dining room table was a menagerie of empty plates interspersed with plastic dinosaurs. Mr. and Mrs. Joner were both thoroughly charmed by the polite, nerdy first grader chattering away with extensive and unnecessary details about the various species that Mackenzie produced, one at a time, out of her toy box. A system developed organically: Mackenzie would run to her room, pull out a dinosaur and drop it on the table, then David would casually recite an encyclopedia entry's worth of information about the dinosaur before arranging it neatly with the others. A small army of prehistoric lizards had formed to the left of his plate.

"That one's called Ankylosaurus. It's from the Cretaceous period, and it has heavy armor. The club on the end of his tail is a dead giveaway. Not a lot of dinosaurs have that."

"Looks like it would hurt if he hit you with his tail…" Mrs. Joner replied.

"It would definitely hurt. But not as much as the Stegosaurus. That one has spikes in it."

"Interesting…" Mr. Joner nodded, smiling.

As everyone had finished eating, David instinctively hopped down from his chair and began gathering dishes from around the table, stacking them neatly and carrying them to the sink. The adults looked quizzically at each other as he continued to discuss the foraging habits and anatomical curiosities of the Ankylosaurus while making multiple trips to clear the table and walking into the adjoining kitchen, reaching over his head to slide the dishes awkwardly into the sink.

After the clearing was done, David paused his dissertation briefly to hunt for something under the kitchen sink.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Joner. Where do you keep the stool?"

"I'm sorry David, what stool?"

"The stool for washing dishes. I can't reach."

Mackenzie's parents shared a confused look.

"You don't have to wash the dishes, buddy. I'll take care of it later," Mr. Joner said.

David didn't respond. Instead, he began rifling around under the sink. The adults shared another, more concerned look. Mr. Joner stood up and walked over, finding David trying frantically to climb up onto the counter near the sink.

"Hey, hey buddy…what are you doing?"

"I'm doing it now, I promise…I just can't reach." David's voice rose in pitch, and tears began running down his cheeks.

Mrs. Joner came around to pat David's shoulder. "It's really not necessary, David. But thank you for being so willing to help!"

David began to cry, his breath heaving in panic. Mackenzie dropped her dinosaur and ran into the room. With all three of them looking at him, David covered his eyes with his hands while Mackenzie's father patted him on the back, trying to calm him down. Mr. and Mrs. Joner exchanged worried looks. When he caught his breath, Mrs. Joner gently tried to ease his worry out.

"Sweetheart, don't worry. You're our guest. We can take care of this."

"I just want him to like me…" David blubbered, pointing toward Mackenzie's dad. Mrs. Joner looked at her husband, puzzled. He shrugged.

"His dad gets mad when things are dirty," Mackenzie explained flatly.

The kitchen fell silent. Only the gurgling sound of the baby in the next room, still in his high chair.

Mr. Joner cleared his throat and squatted down to look David in the eye. "Is that true, David?"

"Sometimes…" David nodded, still holding his hands over his glasses.

"Okay," Mr. Joner replied gently. "Well that's okay. I'm not going to get mad if you don't do the dishes. And I like you anyway. I think you're pretty great."

David held his ground, his hands still up over his face.

Mr. Joner waited for a moment. "Okay, how about this…we can do the dishes together, okay? Me and you. I'll wash, and you can sit on the counter and dry them. Then Mack Mack can put them away. We'll be a team. How does that sound?"

David waited for a moment, thinking. Then he nodded, slowly dropping his hands from his eyes. Mr. Joner silently lifted him up by the armpits to sit on the counter and handed him a dish towel, before turning on the sink.

When the chore was done, Mackenzie happily led the whole troop out to the car for the trip to the ice cream parlor. Her parents exchanged concerned looks as the duo marched out of the house ahead of them, unsure of how to respond to David. As Mackenzie appeared unfazed by David's emotional display, her parents assumed she had seen a breakdown like this before.
Baby Mikey's car seat was situated on one side of the back seat of the Joner family car, so David and Mackenzie sat hip to hip next to each other on the other side and in the middle seat. Mackenzie chattered away as they pulled out of the driveway, explaining the ice cream store procedure patiently to David. "You can get any ice cream, but just one scoop. Because you don't want to be a psycho all night because of the sugar rush…"

David nodded gravely, grateful for the instruction as Mackenzie chattered on.

"But if you don't know what flavor you want you can ask for a sample and they'll give you a little spoon to taste. But you can't go overboard and ask for a million samples, 'cause sometimes other people are waiting."

Captain Joner kept stealing glances at the little boy with the glasses in his rearview mirror. He was laser focused on his daughter's non-linear instructions with a concerned, almost panicked look on his face.

Then, noting a lull in his daughter's chatter, he looked again to see that she had noted David's anxious look as well.

"It's okay, David. I'll be there too. I'll help you if it gets hard."

Captain Joner smiled into the mirror as he saw his daughter take David's hand into both of hers and hold it tightly.

[MustBeDenied2]

Another fantastic chapter, Crushing! I never want it to end.

MBD

[Bovary2012]

More great stuff, Crushing! Thanks for continuing to write and share this opus.

[nnjcpl2002]

I must admit that I started reading your Jordan story with a primary interest in the juicy erotic passages. As it all unfolds, however, I have become more interested in your intriguing character development. Each player in the work is beginning to take shape as a real person with his/her own unique and interesting background and personality. Hey, we still enjoy the juicy parts, but I've pretty much been captivated by what the future may hold for your characters. This has become a serious piece of literature by a talented author. Thanks, Crushing!

[Johng1953]

I must admit that I started reading your Jordan story with a primary interest in the juicy erotic passages. As it all unfolds, however, I have become more interested in your intriguing character development. Each player in the work is beginning to take shape as a real person with his/her own unique and interesting background and personality. Hey, we still enjoy the juicy parts, but I've pretty much been captivated by what the future may hold for your characters. This has become a serious piece of literature by a talented author. Thanks, Crushing!

Couldn't agree more. This is a great story even without the erotic bits and I'm genuinely interested in how it develops as it goes on.

[Crushing]

With the deployment coming to a close, the command center was abuzz with activity as it did the work of transition, handing off responsibility to the incoming marines. The new infantry battalion had arrived in force, and everyone from the war-weary incumbent battalion was busy getting them up to speed. With two marines for every chair in the command center, many had to find space elsewhere in the bombed out school to meet or conduct business.

Sergeant Mark Rein stood in the doorway watching the hubbub. He didn't remember things being this crazy when he arrived. Although, he admitted to himself, he was not in the battalion command area when he arrived. So he had no idea what it looked like then. He had been a platoon sergeant, one of twelve, whose primary responsibility had been outside the building, tending to and training his marines. While that was still his role, things had evolved, as, over the course of the deployment–for reasons that were obvious to everyone but him–Mark had been called in to company and battalion level meetings with increasing frequency.

Now he stood confidently next to Captain Wolfe, his company commander, as they waited to meet with Lieutenant Colonel Chen and the new battalion commander. Apparently the new commander wanted a full, in-person brief of the clearing operation that Mark had spearheaded, as there was reason to believe the enemy was stockpiling weapons and manufacturing heroin again in a similar village, and a similar action was already being contemplated by the new unit.

There was good reason for the new commander to consider repeating the action. Mark's clearing operation had been enormously successful. Despite the unfortunate casualties, the gamble had paid off, and local insurgent activity had dipped significantly. The firefights and IED explosions didn't end, of course, but the second half of the deployment had been fairly quiet compared to the first.

So quiet, in fact, it had almost been boring.

Mark saw the outgoing and incoming commander talking over some maps rolled out on a table on the far side of the room. Catching their eye, Lieutenant Colonel Chen waved Mark and Captain Wolfe over to talk.

"Wolfe. Rein. Thank you for coming." Chen was characteristically gruff and short spoken as they approached. "I'd like you to meet Lieutenant Colonel Joner. He's taking over."

"Nice to meet you both." The new commander, a slender, light skinned man in his forties with a balding crew cut extended his hand to both and shook in greeting. Unlike Chen, his bearing was warm and friendly, even gregarious. He cracked jokes as they talked and made eye contact without making them shift nervously or even cower. With Chen, they were used to a very different feeling in meetings. Joner took the time to make them feel comfortable before talking business. Chen shifted his weight impatiently as they spoke.

Eventually they turned to the map and Lieutenant Colonel Joner took over the conversation, his tone of voice shifting from pleasantries to business.

"I know how the operation went at the battalion level. I read the orders and the after action reports. What I couldn't glean from the reports, your battalion commander here filled me in on. I think I understand everything at my own command level. But I want to hear some voices closer to the ground. So I'm going to ask you some questions about it. That okay?"

"Yes, sir," Wolfe and Mark answered in unison.

"Captain. I understood you were on foot, filling in gaps in the cordon. How did you move there?"

"We caught a ride with Alpha and Bravo companies, sir. We just had two extra guys in every truck and a couple seven ton troop trucks in the rear. When the armor rolled into place, we dismounted and hustled up."

"And they didn't see you?"

"They might have, sir. We tried to find concealment in the fields, and I think we had some success with that. But really, if they didn't see us it was because Sergeant Rein had them so thoroughly distracted. No shots came in our direction until after third platoon disengaged."

Joner nodded, then turned to Mark.

"Sergeant, tell me how you planned this move. Would you have done anything differently if you could do it over?"

"I would, sir, yes. Definitely." Mark stepped forward and began indicating on the map as he spoke. "The biggest mistake was getting caught on approach. There's a wide open space moving up to the south entrance to the village. I thought it would be a clear approach, that they would wait and ambush after we were caught in these tight alleyways. That's what we were prepared for, since that's always what they did before. This time they opened fire well before we got to any cover. And they had mined the area extensively, which ended up going badly for us."

"Not bad enough to stop you, though."

"No, sir."

Joner nodded, turning back to Wolfe.

"Captain, how involved were you in planning third platoon's movements?"

"Very little, sir."

"Don't you think that might have been a mistake?"

They fell silent. Chen looked silently back and forth at Mark and Captain Wolfe.

The company commander spoke up. "Honestly sir? No. Sergeant Rein knew that territory better than anyone. Furthermore, I concur that most of the IED activity we've seen on this deployment has been squeezed into tight spaces, not spread out in open fields. We hadn't seen it before. And there were no indications that they would fire that early, nor that they would scatter IEDs so widely in an open area. They're usually just more…efficient than that. We were planning on being bottlenecked."

"I see. Well, indulge me Captain Wolfe. If you had planned the movement, what would you have done differently?"

"Honestly sir? I would have staggered the movement with multiple platoons moving in obliquely from the southeast and southwest. And if I had done that, it would have been a catastrophe. When we sweeped that approach after we took the village, we found 84 IEDs buried. Sergeant Rein hit three of them. Two in the field, one in an alley. With my plan, we would have hit…at least 20. Maybe more. I would have generated ten times the casualties, simply because I only know the area from maps, and I would have overplanned in the wrong direction. Sergeant Rein kept his men in a tight single file, which avoided almost all of the mines. His plan was as good as it could have been."

Lieutenant Colonel Joner nodded slowly as he spoke. Then, after digesting Wolfe's response, he turned back to Mark. "So if you could do it again, what would you change?"

Mark answered quickly. "I would have stayed single file in a vertical column until we got to the front walls, then fanned out. We spread out too quickly when we got caught off guard. I…I panicked. I take responsibility for it. The rest of it…once we got into the village, we were more prepared for it."

"You were massively outgunned, sergeant."

"Yes we were sir, but that was the point."

Joner turned to Chen. "Was that the point?" Chen paused, thinking, then nodded solemnly.

"Hmmm…" Joner intoned, looking down at the map. "Well I appreciate your insight. I have a lot to think about, but I gotta hand it to you. It seems like it did the trick. The fact that the medium term objective worked out so well definitely makes this kind of action attractive. Anything that sees a fifty percent drop in insurgent activity has got my attention. So I'm impressed as far as that goes. I appreciate your time, gentlemen." He turned back to Chen. "Do you need them for anything else?"

"No," Chen grunted. "Dismissed."

Captain Wolfe and Sergeant Rein walked wordlessly together out of the bombed out school. Following the fated mission, they had, of course, done the requisite after-action reports and briefings. And Captain Wolfe knew that Mark took on the full emotional weight of all the casualties suffered by his unit. But given the need to stay focused on the mission, they didn't talk about it much after the fact. They just kept their eyes forward and fixed on what was in front of them: the present day. Then the next. Then the next. Now that they were preparing to move out from combat, toward a time of reflection…

Neither of them relished the prospect of reflection. Staying mission focused was just…it was easier.

"I meant it, Rein," Captain Wolfe said at length as they approached the armored convoy waiting to take them back to their bases. "I would have botched that operation. You saved it. It was never gonna go perfectly."

Mark nodded and said nothing.

"Hey," Wolfe changed the subject. "One more thing before we hop on the convoy. I've got the awards recommendations for the company ready to send up. It's not final, but I thought I'd run the ones for your guys by you first. All the ones you recommended are approved, and a few more."

"That's great, sir…I thought we wouldn't do that until after we get back?"

"We won't actually hand them out until we get back, but the paperwork is moving."

"Okay. So how did it break down, sir? If you don't mind me asking."

"Combat action ribbons all around, eight purple hearts, an achievement medal for Corporal Arnold for charging that machine gun, a bronze star for Poisson for stepping up and a handful of other stuff, and then a dozen or so commendations. All like you recommended."

"Eight purple hearts? I sent up seven. Do you remember who they all go to?" Mark raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I do." Captain Wolfe fished a folded up piece of paper out of his breast pocket and opened it. "Purple hearts…third platoon…here it is. One, Poisson, two, you, obviously…three, Jett, four, Jackson, five, White…six and seven are Manta and Seely, your two KIA of course, and eight…Lieutenant Macintosh."

Mark's head jerked back in surprise. "Lieutenant Macintosh?"

"Yeah," Wolfe replied. "Apparently he got peppered with IED shrapnel in the charge. Did you not know that?"

Mark shook his head in disbelief.

Captain Wolfe cocked an eyebrow. "Is there something I should know about here?"

Mark's jaw clenched. "No…no, sir. Just do me a favor and don't finalize them until tomorrow? I just want to check on some things."

"No problem," Wolfe replied, tucking the paper back into his pocket. "Oh, and Rein, there's one more award going up, but it requires division level approval, so it's likely to take a little while. Won't be able to award it with the others."

"Okay," Mark replied, lifting on his flak vest and strapping it around his torso. "What is it?"

"Your silver star."

* * *

The morning was gray and cool, a welcome break from the early summer heat. A flat light coated the dark running track surrounding the empty grass field with a cool, almost detached feeling. Those who had arrived to use it for their morning exercise were similarly detached, with very little chatter between runners.

Jordan was two miles into her usual five mile run. Her heart rate was up, her breathing was steady and deep. She had hit her stride.

As was usually the case when she hit her stride, Jordan's mind was in a state of cool equilibrium, primed to process anything from the previous day's irritations, to the overwhelming complexities of a given psychological school of thought, to the meaning of life itself. Whatever happened to interest her that morning.

This morning, she couldn't shake a feeling. Troubled, but non-specific. Unable to identify the actual source of the feeling, she began to move through the various stressors of her life, scanning for the root cause of her unease.

The obvious frontrunner in possible sources of unease: Change was coming.

Her recent conversation with David had been very productive in quickly rooting out issues that may have festered over time. She was glad that she expressed her concerns early about the inevitable conflict in their careers with the way things stood.

It was a little awkward for her to think about how the looming conflict had come about. David's success in business had been…not unexpected, but surprising.

Jordan found herself hunting for a word to describe her husband and his recent success that matched her feelings about him. Obviously she loved him, she loved to be with him. He made her feel wanted and valued, and she loved how overtly he admired her not only as his wife, but also as a professional woman. It was hard to describe, but it was apparent in how readily he yielded his own ambitions to make room for hers.

It was almost like…he looked up to her? It was a good thing, but she had mixed feelings about it. Feelings that situations like this career impasse seemed to bring to the front. Feelings both good and…well, if not bad, then…less good.

It didn't seem like the right way to phrase it. She wanted the outcome in this case. David had deferred to her, making room for her own career ambitions. But it was like…he looked up to her or something? Was that it?

She had other people who looked up to her, so the dynamic was recognizable. She had recently taken a larger role in the Wednesday night girls group at church, and had unsurprisingly been viewed in favorable terms compared to the humorless, frumpy Mrs. Deleuze. Jordan had been approached by some of the girls, and even some of their mothers with earnest solicitations for advice and gratitude for her contribution to the group. Some of the girls–not all, but some–would flag her down on the street to eagerly chat.

She liked that feeling. It was fun to be a mentor. That said, that wasn't quite the dynamic she felt that she had with David. But there was a degree of overlap in the eagerness of her informal teenage church proteges to please her and the solicitude consistently shown by her husband. In particular, the instinct to yield when she spoke. David never talked over her, and always made sure she had room to talk.

This wasn't to say they never disagreed. But Jordan always found that her husband was always more concerned as to whether he fully understood her than he was concerned that she understood him. So disagreements were never fights, just a long series of requests for clarification. When she wanted his thoughts, it was always a bit of work to pull the truth out of him, not because he was inclined to lie or hide the truth, but because he seemed willing to bury an inconvenient truth or opportunity if he thought it would get in her way.

The recent flash of success in business was a perfect case in point. Jordan did not relish raising the objection of her own career. She didn't want to stand in the way of his success. And she knew that he would leap off a tall building before he stood in the way of her own career path. But she also found herself very conflicted about the kind of power imbalance inherent in their relationship. It made meaningful compromise difficult when she knew her husband would simply leap out of the way whenever she asked. And that impulse on the part of her husband led her to feel like she was an emotional steamroller–guilty about the course and outcome of any conflict.

It was hard to see herself as a good wife the day or week after interactions like the one she had last night. She had basically asked David to throw his business in the trash. Or at least discard his stake in it. And he did it. Immediately. In fact, he was probably at work, doing it right now. Pulling out of the success he'd made for himself.

In his mind, the success he had made for them both. For her.

Not only did he not resent her for that, he didn't even hesitate to hit the big red button on himself. In fact, she recalled, he apologized to her for the logistical complications of his success!

Coming to the end of the third mile, Jordan rounded the turn on the track, surprised to spot Patrick and his girlfriend Kristy doing pre-workout stretches at the starting line. Approaching them, she smiled and waved, and Patrick waved jauntily back. Kristy gave an ambiguous smile that Jordan decided to ignore.

Suddenly, Jordan was conscious of her outfit. What was she wearing? It wasn't overtly provocative, but it might have sent the wrong message. Maybe a source of the mild stink-eye she got from Kristy just now. Jordan's shorts were fairly high cut, but that was standard for a competitive distance runner. Which–not too long ago–she was. She had run in distance events competitively. Kristy knew that.

Maybe it was her top. Rather than her usual gray t-shirt, she was wearing a skin tight tank top with thick shoulder straps. David had commented once that it looked like a cross between a sports bra and a swimsuit top.

That might be it. She liked to feel the cool misty air on her skin when the weather was like this. A small indulgence, but perhaps her choice of activewear this morning did send the wrong message. Probably best to keep clothing loose when she ran at the school in the future. She was a married woman, after all.

Rounding the turn away from the couple, Jordan's thoughts returned to David. She had braced for impact when raising her concerns to him last night. Would he be angry? Resentful? Would he sulk, or be passive aggressive? Would he subtly belittle her career, or make vague references to starting a family since he was moving into the position of a breadwinner, effectively sidelining her ambitions?

He did none of those things.

Just jumped right onto his sword.

Jordan shook her head to herself. She had tried to salvage the situation by offering her support for the Maersk job. No question: it was a huge opportunity, and it seemed like David's old boss Steve felt bad enough about how things went when David left the warehouse that he swung for the fences to secure that opportunity for his protege. It seemed stupid to waste it.

Yet she assumed he would still pass, opting to spend time with her rather than go gallivanting around the world mending every weak link in the global supply chain.

Going into another turn, Jordan caught herself. At least one source point of her unease. David's new job. He had sent an email accepting the position this morning. She didn't know when he would start, or how his time away would work. But on some level she felt like he was leaving her behind, and she…

She had feelings about it.

She had meant everything she said to David in support. About how busy the next year would be, how it's the perfect time in their life to do something like this, about how she wanted to make room for him to chase his career goals. She meant every word. She also felt a little left behind when he said yes.

It was silly, really. Even a little hypocritical. Sometimes supporting the one you love requires sacrifice. He was clearly willing to do that for her. Why wasn't she so obviously primed to jump on her sword for him?

Jordan spotted Patrick on the opposite end of the track, chatting and laughing with Christy. Christy wore a much more revealing running outfit than she did. Skin tight from head to toe, her workout pants were almost obnoxious in accenting her shapely rear end. She had big boobs, too…

Jordan shook off the thought, looking straight ahead and pulling her stride just a bit, picking up speed.

She wanted David to do what he wanted. She just wanted that thing-he-wanted to always be with her. She liked sharing a bed with him. She loved his dinners, and his nerdy monologues that would drop out of his mind with little provocation. She liked their nature walks, and how he went to church with her every Sunday.

She didn't want to miss that.

But it was done now.

Coming out of another turn, she saw Patrick on the opposite side again. Kristy was looking seriously ahead, but Patrick caught her eye and made a funny face, scrunching his eyes and sticking out his tongue.

Jordan laughed and shook her head at him as he passed out of view.

She had explicitly asked David to take the lead. She said she liked it when he did. And she did like it. But she still felt…a little left behind. She didn't want to feel that way.

Maybe she would feel differently after they fell into the rhythm of this new job. And she would have very little time this year for anything except research, writing, teaching, and the million little tasks that accompany the last touches on a doctoral degree.

"This can work…" Jordan whispered to herself.

Pulling into another straightaway, Patrick made another face from across the track as they passed, this time pulling his lips out sideways and crossing his eyes, stumbling slightly. Jordan smirked and looked away.

She noticed Patrick's tank top was beginning to get a little sweaty. He's starting to get a good workout. The sweat is starting to cause his hair to clump a little…hang a little differently than his usual smooth, jet black, floppy haired look.

Jordan shook her head again and looked away as she moved into another turn, starting her fifth mile.

The change would be fine once she got used to it. She loved David, and she had absolute faith in him.

But here came the contradiction. An unavoidable observation that cried out for resolution in Jordan's mind. One of the curious dimensions of their relationship was how he always came through with unstoppable grit and determination, yet he always seemed…small. Like Mighty Mouse, or something.

Heroic. But…small.

That was a good word for it. It sounded mean, but Jordan realized that at some point she began to view her husband as strong (in his way), loving, morally centered, supportive, handsome, smart, caring, and…a little small. Even though he was an inch taller than her.

Once again appearing across the track, Patrick had hit his stride now. As an experienced runner, Jordan could always tell when a runner hit their stride. His gait was smooth, comfortable. Sustainable. Even graceful. Christy loped along beside him, but, being shorter, she had to move more quickly to keep up. Patrick's legs were longer. He had good form. Well turned calves, lean but hard quadriceps. Good arm swing. His shoulders were broad. Swimmer's body.

He passed out of view again. Jordan leaned into the final turn of her fifth mile and did the customary sprint to the finish line. Crossing the line, she raised her arms up, her elbows draped over her head as she cooled down. Facing away from the track, she paced back and forth until her breath and heart rate slowed. She saw Patrick again out of the corner of her eye as he passed by and she turned toward the door into the changing room.

He had worked up a pretty good sweat…

Jordan shook her head, returning her thoughts to her own situation as she entered the women's changing room and headed to her locker.

She did genuinely like how he finally committed to the job. She wanted to lean into supporting him. She wanted to encourage him to be more assertive. If he could do that, perhaps the sense of his…smallness wouldn't nag at her. She wasn't sure what to do with that. It was one of those…feelings that seemed to rise from nowhere in her mind. Feelings that seemed to have no source or logic to them. But they kept coming up…

She grabbed her towel and toiletry bag out of her locker and headed to a shower stall, closing the curtain behind her. She hung the towel on a peg and hastily undressed, draping her workout clothes over the shower rod. She turned the shower on, waited for it to warm, then rinsed off her body, running her hands through her hair as the warm water coated her.

Those feelings…those little nagging impulses that she neither welcomed nor wanted to entertain in her mind. Those little things that all seemed to threaten to drive little subconscious wedges between her and her husband. She just wanted to be rid of them all. What purpose did they serve but to distract her? And to indirectly hurt her marriage?

Jordan began to wash her hair with fruity shampoo, then lather her body in bodywash as she consciously directed her thoughts to her husband's virtues.

He wasn't a small man in any sense that mattered. He had a big brain, a big work ethic, and a colossal heart. He was dependable, safe, and had a big love for her. She wasn't sure where this vague sense of his diminution came from.

It was strange.

She finished rinsing her hair out and turned the warm water off. Squeezing the excess water out of her hair, she lifted the towel off the peg and began patting her body dry. She smiled as the terry cloth dabbed between her legs, patting her soft pubic hair dry. A sweet memory, as recent as early that morning, of David's ears wedged between her thighs in the shower. They woke up together, and he simply dove under the sheets so that he could...

He was getting better and better and making her feel good…

Jordan fastened the towel around her body under her armpits, gathered her things, and walked to a sink. She jerked her head forward and backward, then side to side, her wet hair flopping in response, shaking out the bigger clumps before reaching into her shower bag for a hair brush.

She didn't want to linger. She had to get to the office and get to work. While she did not have many entries on her daily calendar, it was still a busy time. She had to maximize every second she could during the summer so she could get a strong start on her dissertation draft. She would get to the office, crack a joke or two with Patrick, then lean in to her review and research work with gusto.

Running the brush through her hair, she wondered when Patrick would get there. Maybe he would stop for breakfast with Christy first, or maybe he would shower like she was now, then head straight up to the office…

Patrick really did have excellent form when he hit his stride. Especially for a swimmer. Maybe she should tell him that when he got to the office. She had heard that men aren't used to getting compliments. She didn't want to be misunderstood, but she also felt she should be nice. They were friends, after all. He would probably like the compliment. She would make sure to be diplomatic. Like a coach, just making an observation. Not like…you know…

Jordan caught the surprised twinkle of a gun-barrel blue eye in the changing room mirror as she pulled the brush through her hair.

Hello, Jordan.

No.

No.

No,...not here…

* * *

"Dude…there's soooo many muffins over there. All the flavors too. Just sitting on this big-ass tray, nobody's guarding it!"

Corporal Jared Poisson dropped an armload of individually wrapped muffins on the cafeteria table. They rolled in all directions, bumping into five lunch trays marking the inner perimeter of a circular table.

Mark shook his head, smiling to himself as Jared and the other squad leaders ripped into the muffins.

Ali Al Salem Air Base. Kuwait. A staging area between the combat zone and the final leg of the journey home. With Afghanistan behind them, but home still several days away, the battalion's sole duty was to wait their turn for a flight home.

No more firefights, no more IEDs, and a seemingly endless supply of food–junk and otherwise–overflowed the base chow hall.

The prevailing feeling among the troops was a strange mixture of excitement and boredom. Fresh from the fatigue and deprivation of a forward combat deployment, everyone was eager to get home, but no one was ready to re-assimilate into decent society. A pack of crazed wild men craving…god knows what…the marines could get a little unpredictable.

Mark's sole duty at this point was to make sure his marines didn't steal food, start fights, or burn anything down.

It was a harder task than one might imagine.

But…he had observed…it was nice to see smiles again. Spirits were high, as the deployment was all but over. Everyone was about to return to their loved ones, and everyone in third platoon had proven their worth several times over.

Well, almost everyone.

"So Macintosh is getting away with the purple heart thing, huh?" Corporal Arnold asked bitterly, knowing the answer. He took a comically large bite out of a chocolate muffin.

Mark's smile faded and he nodded, sighing wearily.

"Yep. Looks like it."

The little cluster of platoon leaders sat glum with the thought for a moment. Wanting to change the subject, Jared interjected.

"Jackson. First thing you're doing after getting off the bus at home. Go."

Corporal Jackson didn't hesitate. "Taco Bell. I'm gonna shut that fuckin' place down. I'm takin' a wheelbarrow to handle all the dollar tacos. And a credit card, cause I probably don't have enough cash on hand to get a full wheelbarrow full of tacos. And I'm not leaving until the wheelbarrow is full."

Mark grinned. "Good answer, Jackson. What about you, Frenchie…"

"I got some sweet…hot…brown…pussy…waiting…for…me…" Jared spoke in singson, miming an awkward pelvic thrust under the cafeteria table with each word. "I'm gonna rail the absolute bejesus out of that woman."

Mark smiled as the others laughed out loud.

"It's been a year, Frenchie," Arnold objected. "You're gonna last 4 pumps, dude. 5, tops. You know it." He punched Jared in the arm.

"Yeah, I know. But those 4 pumps…baby…they're gonna blow her mind…"

The laughter continued through Jared's acknowledgment and after. Mark only chuckled, a thin smile on his face. Noting sadness in his eyes, Jared steered the conversation toward him.

"What about you, boss man? You gonna hook up with your girl Molly?"

Mark shook his head slightly. "Nah, not right away. She's busy. She's a no-shit grown-up. She's got a job and obligations and everything. And she lives a couple hours away. She ain't gonna hang around base waiting for me. So I'm gonna wait for the weekend, get a liberty pass and head out to meet her then. I don't really know what I'm gonna do on the first day back. Taco Bell sounds good. Maybe go to the bookstore."

The five marines sat in silence.

"Nah, he's hanging out with me, obviously…" Jared interjected.

"After you rail the bejesus out of your woman?" Jackson joked.

"Yeah, well, four pumps ain't gonna take long. Even if they are the best four pumps she's ever had. I can probably knock it out in the back seat of your car before we leave base, Arnold. Then I can get Sergeant Sad Face over here back home for some decent food and TV and shit."

"My car? What the fuck, man?" Arnold objected.

"Well I don't wanna get mine dirty." Jared mimed his fist hammering his open palm: "It's gonna be one…two…three…four…then firehose, baby. And I don't wanna fuck up the interior of my car."

Mark laughed out loud with the group, then reached for one of the muffins.

The group chatted about post-deployment leave plans until everyone but Mark and Jared went back to their tents. The two best friends sat in silence, munching away at the leftovers on their plates.

"You okay, man?" Jared asked. "Seriously?"

Mark nodded. "Yep. I'm fine. I was just thinking…I need to reach out to Manta and Seely's parents. And Jett's, of course. Again."

"You already talked to Jett's parents?" Jared's eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"Not since the op. But before we came over, when we were on pre-deployment leave, he got arrested at a party for underage drinking. I talked to his dad on the phone. I told him I'd look out for him, keep him safe. Molly was with me when I said it."

"Oh." Jared replied flatly.

"Yeah, I think I owe them an apology."

They sat in silence for a moment, before Jared cleared his throat and asked:

"How's he doing? Do you know?"

"Jett?"

Jared nodded.

"Not that bad, apparently," Mark said. "Bullet collapsed a lung, but they say he's recovering well. It's been a couple months, so he's making progress. Apparently he's up to jogging on treadmills, but it's still hard for him. And if he can't pass fitness tests, they'll discharge him."

Jared nodded. "He's a tough little shit. He'll bounce back."

Mark nodded quietly, increasingly aware of the thousand yard stare defaulting in his facial expression. He shook it off and smiled warmly at his friend.

"What about Meg? Did she ever take that LSAP test she was talking about?"

"LSAT. Yeah, actually." Jared nodded, grateful for a chance to change the subject. "She did really good, too. I don't know how the scoring works, but she said she got a 177, which apparently is pretty high."

Mark nodded. "She's wicked smart, dude. She applying to law schools?"

Jared shrugged. "We don't know yet. She wants to, but we don't know where we're gonna be next year. My contract's up, and I'm gonna get transferred when I re-enlist."

"So apply to law schools in all the places you might go." Mark replied, shrugging back. "Where do you want to go?"

"Honestly?" Jared replied hesitantly. "I don't know…I was thinking about applying for presidential guard. I always wanted to do that when I was a kid. Don't know if I'd get it though. It's competitive."

"Dude, you should go for it. You've just been cleared for a purple heart and a bronze star. You're resume is fucking sparkling right now. They'll totally take you."

"You think so?"

"I mean, I don't actually know, but shit, how many decorated combat marines are there that want to sweat in their blues all damn day while smug assholes in suits ignore them?"

Jared laughed. "Good point. Wanna do it with me?"

Mark laughed incredulously. "Fuck you, man, that sounds like it sucks!"

Jared's smile broke slightly. "Come on, man. Please?"

Mark's lips pursed as he picked up on Jared's body language.

"Uh…I'll think about it. I'm not really into the ceremonial stuff. But if you want to do it, you should definitely do it. And Meg should definitely apply to law school. You know what's hotter than a smokeshow of a woman who loves you and totally wants to suck your D?"

Jared's smile widened and his eyes dropped modestly. "What?"

"A confident, successful smokeshow of a woman who loves you and totally wants to suck your D."

Jared laughed. "Good point."

"You know damn well it's a good point. You're planning on doing ceremonial shit in DC. They'll probably take you. I don't know if there's law schools in DC, but I'd be surprised if there weren't a shit ton. She's smart as hell. She'll get into one of them for sure."

"Yeah…You're right. It's just that no one from her family has done this before. Mine either. We just don't know how to do it I guess." Jared said, still looking down.

"Hell, man…you think I have? I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. But I can't imagine that someone as smart as Meg can't figure that shit out. And you got a job you can't get fired from for the next four years. How long's law school?"

"She said three years."

"There you go. You can pay bills while she does it. Bing, bang, boom. You get presidential guard, she gets a law degree, you get your D sucked by a hot lawyer. Nothing to it."

"Yeah, maybe. Maybe you're right. I should probably get a little louder supporting her. She wants to do it, but she's nervous."

"Fuck yeah, man," Mark said. "I'll be loud too, if it helps. Whatever it takes to get her over the hump."

"I really appreciate that, man. I really do."

"No problem. Whatever you guys need." Mark nodded seriously.

Jared shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Hey, also…ummm, I was thinking…one of the reasons I want to do presidential guard detail…it's half an hour from Quantico and the MACE. You know, the martial arts center? I was thinking I could spend some free time down there. I want to belt up, maybe build up my resume that way. If you go with me, maybe we could do that together. Might make up for sweating in our dress blues during the day…"

Mark nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. I hadn't thought of that…That would be cool." He paused for a minute, then brightened noticeably. "Yeah, that does sound cool. Seriously. Good pitch, man. I'll seriously think about that."

The conversation hit an awkward wall as Mark finished his muffin. Then, crinkling the cellophane wrapper into a ball and tossing it into a trash can, Mark slapped the table and stood up.

"All right, Frenchie. We're going to the phone room and calling Meg. We're going to tell her, together, that she's gonna burn up DC area law school applications, and she's gonna do it right the hell now. Get up. That's an order. Move your ass."

"All right, let's do it…"Jared grinned and followed.

Thirty minutes later, Mark was alone. After shepherding Jared through a phone call encouraging Megan to chase her dreams, he had left the call to give them some privacy, returning to his own empty tent.

Now, in the hot dark of an early summer night of desert heat, he lay on his back, knees up, laptop opened on his chest. Fiddling around with a computer game, he found himself actively avoiding thoughts of the deployment.

Despite having handed over all the heavy gear and responsibility of his platoon's area of operations to the incoming sergeant, Mark had trouble believing that he wasn't still there now. He still felt like there were guard shifts to check up on, patrols to plan, things to inspect and repair. To prepare for, or dangers to leap into reacting to.

The tent was silent except for the noise of his computer game, just above the level of a dull buzz in his ears, the constant signal that something unexpected and dangerous was just around the corner.

But the only unexpected thing that arrived was the silence and solitude of the tent. And that seemed to heighten his tension rather than relieve it.

He swallowed as he tried to shake off the vague, uncomfortable feeling. He turned up the volume on his game, sitting upright and changing posture intermittently.

He was tired, but he didn't want to sleep.

Eventually he closed the game and decided to watch a movie, reaching for his portable hard drive. Closing the game window, the background photo on his laptop appeared, dominating the display, speckled only with the few desktop icons tucked into the corner.

The photo. A closeup shot of a woman's face, cropped from the forehead to the chin.

Green eyes, pale skin, light freckles, button nose, high cheekbones. A happy smile with exposed, straight, white teeth. Two strips of shiny red hair dropped down both sides of her face, framing it.

Molly.

Mark instinctively touched his screen with his fingertips, then, catching himself, he shook his head and fumbled in his bag for the hard drive with his movies on it.

He could touch her soon. Maybe a week. Maybe two. But soon.

* * *

The morning was cool. Misty. David pulled on to the school bus lot as his car clock clicked seven, seeing Hamad already at work leaning into the back engine compartment of a yellow school bus.

"Everyone already on their sites?" David asked, the gravel crunching as he walked up to greet his friend.

"Yes…I get your text and we are all good." Hamad said without looking up. "The two new guys are meeting me here at 8, and we can start training them. I just want to get this new alternator on before they get here."

"You need a hand?"

"No, it's almost finished."

David nodded, waiting for him to finish.

"Hey, remember that time when you swap out alternator from the junkyard?" Hamad looked back at David, grinning. "I hid the burned out one in my locker so Vinny never finds out?"

"Yeah…" David laughed. "I still can't believe that worked."

"It works because you think so fast, boss man." Hamad switched wrenches and leaned back into the compartment.

David grimaced to himself. He wasn't looking forward to this conversation. Hamad finished tightening down the new part and leaned out of the compartment. David helped him move the cover back into place, then clipped it shut.

"So," David began, "the new guys will be here at 8. I've got tools ready for them, we can have a sit down, then the three of you should probably head out to Triple D concrete for the day. The new guys seem good, but fresh out of the program. They're certified, but they'll probably need babysitting for a while."

Hamad grinned, wiping off his hands. "That's okay. I can babysit."

"And…" David continued hesitantly, "we need one more hire. I'm lining up some people to interview later this week."

"We keep growing, we need more people," Hamad shrugged.

"Yeah, this is different. We need to bring in a manager."

Hamad cocked an eyebrow. "Why manager? You do a great job."

David nodded. "Well, we're getting bigger, and…I'm…not gonna be around forever."

Hamad furrowed his brow, nodding in unwilling acknowledgment. "You took Steve's job."

David hesitated, a little shocked that he knew the truth. "Yeah. I did."

Hamad's shoulders slumped. "I thought you might do it. It sounds like good job."

David didn't know what to say. Hamad looked down at the ground, defeated.

"I'm actually really confident in the list of potential managers. I got some of the names from Steve, and some others from this accounting firm I interned at. We've got five good options. One of these guys will work out great."

"They're not David Stark," Hamad said, turning away and putting his tools back into his bag.

"No, they're actually going to be better," David insisted. "More experienced. I asked Steve if he knew anyone who worked in local government, someone who knew the people we have to keep up our local government contracts with. He gave me a few names…one was a former mayor, another handled contracts for the whole state. This could be really good. They could keep expanding into other areas in the state."

"Maybe good. Maybe not. You keep the show running."

"Actually, Hamad," David corrected him, "you keep the show running. I agree, I make the schedule, but you're always the one checking in, making sure people are on time and where they need to be. Making sure everything gets done on schedule. You're the one running the things that matter."

Hamad smiled, still looking down. "I can get guys to work, yes. I can keep doing that. But what if a customer gets mad? They won't want to talk to me, I'm just the mechanic!"

"I don't think that's true," David insisted. "Customers will actually really like talking to you if you're comfortable doing it. It's true, I talk to the office people about numbers, but they know I'm not actually getting the work done. I'm basically a walking calendar who…I don't know…shakes hands with people. We can get someone else who's just as good at that as I am. But you're an owner here. You are a huge reason this is working. You should get the respect that you deserve. People should see you and know what you do. I think that's just as important as what I do. Maybe more."

Hamad nodded, looking up. "Really? I'm not used to that, though. I've never been the boss."

"You'll pick up all the skills you need with a little practice. If you keep everything running on time, if everyone's vehicles are in good shape and they know you're responsible, people will respect that. That's 90% of the job. After that, just act like an owner, because that's what you are. You don't work for me. We work together. And all these other guys work for you."

Hamad nodded again, thinking, as David continued.

"And I'm not leaving all the way. I'll be back once a month for a week, I'll check in and do whatever needs done when I get back. I can watch the finances and do payroll and everything from my laptop wherever I am. So I'll have a firm grip on the money stuff, and I'll coordinate with whoever we hire to make sure no one drops the ball. I'll still be involved."

Hamad looked up, nodding with a little more confidence. David moved to put the cherry on top.

"And when Jordan and I set up wherever she gets a teaching position, I'll look into expanding the business there. We can get a regional thing going. That's when the big bucks really start rolling in."

Hamad nodded through David's explanation, starting to see the picture David painted.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Hamad responded. "So who are the guys? When do we meet with them?"

* * *

"Weapons check will move as quickly as humanly possible so we can get everyone home to their families."

Captain Wolfe was huddled with the platoon leaders at the front of the bus, which was lumbering along between the military airfield and the battalion headquarters after a 14 hour flight. The clear air of a midsummer's midafternoon showed the world zipping past the bus windows in bright, lively color under the canopy of a cloudless blue sky.

"We'll line up every platoon alphabetically, disregard rank, so they can basically stack weapons as efficiently as possible and we can get the hell out of here. Everyone has cleaned their weapons before the flight, correct?" Captain Wolfe looked around to get eye contact and confirmation with all his subordinates.

Everyone nodded.

"If we get held up because one lazy bastard didn't clean his rifle I'm going to rain hell down on all of you. I got stuff to do. As do all of you, I know."

Everyone nodded again.

"All right. We're about ten minutes from the armory, then we'll head to battalion HQ from there. Everyone's people are waiting there, I understand. Lets get everyone back in their own beds tonight. Under an hour, tops. No hiccups."

"Understood sir…" The little group of lieutenants, staff sergeants, sergeants, and the company gunnery sergeant murmured acknowledgment before returning to their seats.

The buses rolled up to the armory. The marines tumbled out to turn in their weapons. The company was a model of efficiency moving briskly and in an orderly fashion. Once the company's arms were secured, the marines mounted the convoy of buses again and rolled toward the battalion headquarters. Turning the corner, Mark saw an excited crowd assembled on the grass by the parking lot. He looked around at his marines, seeing the excitement in their eyes as they saw their families for the first time in many months. The hunger for affection they had been deprived of for so many months. He smiled to himself.

He knew nobody was waiting for him in that crowd. Well, not waiting just for him. He had friends, and their families would be kind to him. But he knew the routine, shaking hands diplomatically and hugging the wives and families of his friends. But Mark's family was gone, and all his real friends were on the bus. Even Megan, with whom he had had a more intimate connection, was ultimately his best friend's wife. Even when he was in her bed, he remained the third in the relationship. And while both Jared and Megan had insisted that he was welcome to spend time with them in their home, he had insisted back that they spend some time alone to reconnect after the deployment. Jared had earned that privilege several times over.

Mark was actually looking forward to running to Taco Bell with Jackson, then changing into something other than camouflage and settling down to read in a soft chair without anyone or anything exploding to interrupt him.

The bus rolled to a stop, and the marines filed off, greeted by a cheering crowd of loved ones. Mark watched through the window as the same motions repeated themselves over and over: a marine would step off the bus, look around, and find his people frantically signaling him. So summoned, the marine would make a bee line to his people, where he would be swallowed in embraces. He smiled to himself in satisfaction. This was a cool thing to watch.

He waited until everyone else got off the bus, checking all the seats quietly to make sure no gear had been dropped or messes left behind. Then, descending the steps, he began navigating the crowd as his marines enthusiastically introduced him as a hero to their parents, spouses, girlfriends, friends, and siblings. He shook dozens of hands and smiled warmly, commending his marines to their loved ones and moving along. Nearing the end of the crowd, he was looking forward to making his way up to his barracks room, where he could change, pick out a book, and…

"Sergeant Rein?"

"Yes?" Mark turned around, ready to shake the hand of yet another relative when his heart froze.

"Molly…"

There she was. Her pale, lightly freckled face, nervously smiling, her emerald green eyes locked upward in a hopeful gaze that met the shock of his own. Her bright red hair cascaded down her neck, splashing fore and aft over her bare shoulders. Over her body hung a light seafoam green sundress from thin straps, flowing seamlessly down her body and stopping just above her knees, leaving her smooth legs bare until her dainty feet settled into modest, beige strap sandals, her little toes pointing out from the tip, each one painted to match her dress.

"I took a couple days off to see you when you got back. I hope that's okay…"

Mark stared into her face, dumbfounded. His silence tilted her insecure apprehension upward into open fear, worried that she had overstepped. She began to apologize.

"I'm sorry if…"

Her apology was snapped short as Mark leaned down to kiss her deeply, pulling her body in tightly until her front was fully pressed into him. Her arms swung up around his neck and returned the kiss, exhaling in relief.

A collective swoon rose from the crowd around him, as no one in his platoon had seen him with a woman before. Well, almost no one. A general wave of laughter could be discerned, and a few isolated strains of "go get 'er, sarge!" and "Holy shit…it's good to be the sarge…did you see her? Jesus…" could be heard interspersed with the general applause. The next interaction, following the break of a long kiss, should have been predictable, had Mark been in the mood to predict things.

"You must be Molly. My name's Jared."

Molly, still a little dazed at the force of Mark's greeting, shook her head slightly and grasped Jared's outstretched hand.

Jared shook it gently, smiling. "My man Rein here has…well, he's got the hots for you, let's just say that."

Molly beamed and blushed, taken aback by Jared's words. Mark looked over to see Megan looking up at him, an ambiguous look in her eye. She, too, extended her hand and introduced herself. The two women cooed and complimented each others' outfits, seeming genuinely friendly, but a little wary. Jared just stared at Mark with a cheese eating grin on his face until Mark shook his head and laughed back.

"Fuck you, Frenchie."

"So…" Megan broke the awkward silence. "We should hang out, don't you think? Maybe get some dinner?"

"How about lunch tomorrow?" Mark said, looking back down at Molly. She blushed again, running her left hand through her hair and tucking it behind her ear.

No wedding ring.

Interesting.

"That works great for me…" Molly answered diplomatically. "But I'm up for whatever. Whatever you all want..?"

Mark and Jared exchanged a look.

"We want lunch tomorrow," they said almost in unison as both women laughed, blushing together. The four parted ways and made their way through the crowd, each couple holding hands. Jared was slapping Megan repeatedly in the behind as she squealed, breaking into a jog across the parking lot toward her car. Mark smiled after them, following Molly back to her little SUV and getting in on the passenger side. They shut the doors behind them, buckled seat belts, and looked at each other.

"Well, ummm….where to? Are you hungry?" Molly asked.

Mark nodded.

"Okay, well, we could stop somewhere and get a bite, I saw a place…" Molly offered.

"Where are you staying?" Mark interrupted her.

"I…I, uh, got a hotel room," she gestured, pointing awkwardly in a random direction. "It's not too far from the base entrance. I think there's a little steakhouse on the way…"

"No. Let's go to the hotel. Now."

Molly blushed, looking down and tucking her hair behind her ear again.

"Okay…"

* * *

It was nearly lunchtime in the shared office space. The other researching students–the ones that stuck around during the summer and had no other research or internship commitments–had more or less cleared out. The foggy morning having shifted into a steady rainfall, Jordan wasn't about to take her lunch bag out onto the lawn. Instead, she moved the growing pile of books away from the edge of her desk and set her lunch down in the cleared space.

Pulling out her sandwich, she leaned back in her office chair with a sigh.

"Sounds like a riveting turn of events over there."

Jordan smiled to herself, then turned to roll her eyes at Patrick.

"Very perceptive, Dr. Lin."

"Well, that's what I'm paid so well for, Dr. Simms."

She grinned. They often sarcastically referred to each other by the titles they had not yet earned. A shared joke to ensure they didn't take themselves or each other too seriously.

"So what are you into? How's the reading coming?" he asked, not looking up from his laptop.

"Social dimensions of identity construction. Anthropology stuff. Some of it's pretty cool. Most of it is horribly repetitive."

"Some of it's pretty cool. Most of it is horribly repetitive…" Patrick repeated. "Isn't that the motto of our whole department?"

Jordan laughed. "Seems like it should be."

Patrick continued working in silence as Jordan swiveled her chair to stare out the office window.

"What are you working on?" Jordan asked.

"I've got a working draft of my second chapter. Just fiddling with it."

"You're already on your second chapter? I'm still in lit review. I'll be reading for another three months, probably, before I can get pen to paper at all. How'd you move so fast?"

"Good clean living. And, you know, drugs. Crack, and the like." He smirked, still not looking up as he typed.

Jordan smiled as she shook her head. He had great hair. Shiny, a little floppy. Hanging over the ears but not greasy or unkempt. Kind of a surfer look…

She shook her head and reached for her water bottle, washing down the most recent bite of sandwich.

"So…" she said when she swallowed, "You going to lunch with Kristy? Aren't you usually gone by now?"

"No…" he replied. "She's got an interview lined up this afternoon. So I'm sticking around." He turned his head to look over at her for the first time. "Hope I'm not cramping your style."

Jordan shook her head. "Not at all." She took another bite and looked out the window again. Patrick returned to typing. She thought about telling him that his running form was good, but this seemed like a weird time. And, the more she thought about it, a weird thing to say to a work colleague. And the fact that it kept occurring to her was a little weird, too.

The thought was interrupted with the main door to the shared office space flying open. Jordan whirled around in her chair to see Professor Lukacz, her dissertation advisor and mentor, standing in the doorway. She stood up, half a bite of sandwich still in her mouth.

"Pwfssw Wukach…." She caught herself, chewed quickly, and swallowed. "Professor Lukacz, hello. I didn't know you ever even came down here. Is something wrong?"

The professor looked back and forth across the nearly empty room, his eyes settling on Patrick, who had turned and begun to stand politely as well.

"I feel like we've met before…" Lukacz said to Patrick, not acknowledging Jordan.

"We have, Professor Lukacz. Several times, actually. You're on my dissertation committee."

"I am?"

Patrick blinked in surprise. "Yes…yes you are. You signed off on my prospectus a month ago."

"I did?"

"Yes. It's on therapeutic approaches to death counseling…I'm tackling the issue from the perspective of…"

"Oh, yes, that one," he interrupted. "I do remember that now." He turned to face Jordan again, apparently finished talking to Patrick. "Ms. Simms…"

"Yes? Is there something I can do for you, Professor?"

"Yes there is…we met some time ago about adding a section to your dissertation, specifically addressing the work of Thomas Schenk."

Jordan nodded, turning a little red. "Yes, I remember. Is there an issue?"

"No, not a direct issue. But I thought you should know that the department has invited Professor Schenk to lecture at a symposium here in October. He has accepted the invitation."

"Oh, I see.." Jordan nodded. "I…I'll be sure to attend, I may have some questions for him…"

"No, you won't attend, Ms. Simms."

Jordan's face reddened further, confused. "I won't, why not?"

"Because you will be participating. Professor Schenk prefers to have a faculty member read his paper before he delivers it and respond to it after he gives the lecture. He prefers to start a debate on the issue before opening the floor to questions in order to focus the conversation. He asked me to respond to his paper. I deferred. I informed him that you would respond to his paper."

"Me? Why…I'm not sure I understand…"

"Your work seems to be tangentially related to Professor Schenk's current research interests."

"I'm flattered, Professor, but…Schenk is a big name. Shouldn't someone closer to his academic stature do it? Like you?"

"I already said I deferred, Ms. Simms. And I think you're a better fit. Your research is showing…promise. Professor Schenk is indeed, as you say, a 'name.' And other 'names' are also coming to present research at the symposium. If you want to be a 'name,' this is an opportunity to be seen as such."

Jordan gulped. "Well I…I'm grateful for the opportunity, of course. What should I do to prepare?"

"Professor Schenk will send you a draft of his paper a few weeks before he arrives. In the meantime, I'd suggest familiarizing yourself with his work. Beyond the articles associated directly with your dissertation that we discussed previously."

Jordan nodded, her heart fluttering nervously, not daring to smile at his huge opportunity to impress her colleagues–many of whom would be on the very search committees she needed to impress for her first job.

Professor Lukacz's customarily severe look broke slightly, a hint of a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. "You'll do well, Jordan. I wouldn't have deferred the assignment to you if I thought otherwise."

Jordan smiled nervously. "Thank you, Professor, for the opportunity. I'll try not to let you down."

He nodded briskly, then turned to walk back out the door, catching Patrick's eye as he did.

"It was nice to see you again, Mr…"

"Patrick. Patrick Lin." Patrick said, an edge of disappointment in his voice.

"Yes, Mr. Lin. Until…next time."

* * *

In the quiet, empty hallway of a respectable, but affordable hotel, walked a tall marine wearing faded desert camouflage. He moved next to a fair skinned, red haired, bare shouldered woman in an attractive sundress somewhere on the chromatic spectrum between light blue and airy green.

Neither spoke, but he held her small right hand clutched in his large, caramel toned left hand. There was a hint–albeit a distinct one–of heat rising from her palm as she gently pulled him toward a specific door.

Removing a white keycard from her purse, Molly beeped the pair into the dark room, towing her lover past the threshold with her hand clutched in his. The door clicked shut behind them.

Molly felt his large hand drop hers a fraction of a second before two long and strong arms wrapped around her back and pulled her in. Lifting her face in the dark, she was delighted to discover that his mouth moved desperately around her, latching affectionately on any available patch of skin on her face, neck, or bare shoulders. Finally his lips found hers, locking and holding the shared kiss as his hands ran up and down the length of her back.

She tried to keep up with him, but found herself on her back foot with the vigor of his advances. Not having encountered this level of desire in a man before, she simply tried to keep up, feeling an urgent heat begin to take shape in her, rising to meet his passion.

His large, rough hands found the zipper at the top of her dress, pulling aggressively down, opening the back of her dress down to the waist with the speed and force of a sword slash. She felt the open air tickle her bare skin for an instant before feeling his hands pulling the hanging shoulder straps of her sundress away from each other.

The form hugging tension and the small strap suspension holding Molly's dress failed together, and the airy cotton garment crumpled past her waist to the ground. Molly stood bare breasted in the dark before her lover, a breathy pant her only rejoinder as he broke the kiss and bent in to suck deeply on the stiffening skin of her nipple.

Unnnhhh…

Molly instinctively clutched the back of his head, feeling the fresh stubble of a new haircut on his neck as the intense arousal expanding outward from the focal point of her breast. Her jaw dropped open, inhaling quickly and exhaling heavily, the rasp of her breath layering the dark silence of the empty room. A brief reprieve followed as he switched from one nipple to the other.

Molly felt herself tumbling at his behest toward a blank wall, the shock of the cold painted surface pressing against her bare back. Mark's left hand now covered her right breast, his mouth suckling her left.

His right hand slid directly down the front of her panties.

His fingers found a radiating heat, equal parts smooth and swollen, well before his fingers found the damp of Molly's welcome.

His lover was offering him something he had not before encountered. At least, not anywhere near to this degree.

Heat.

Pure heat. A beacon of desire. The sign of a woman at the apex of arousal following a desperately long, slow burn. The heat of a woman who, knowing full well that she shouldn't, dreamed of him while asleep in bed with her husband. The heat of a woman who found in him and only him the outlet of desires just recently discovered. The heat of a woman whose feelings for him did not yet find or possess words to dull, diminish, or divide their power.

That heat mixed with Mark's own hunger, also well beyond words. He felt a level of drive, of desire, that he could neither name nor tame. Here she was, her porcelain skin laid bare to him, the gentle, unformed utterances of her desire calling powerfully to him.

He, too, had dreamed of her in the restless nights to push back against thoughts of danger and death. Her voice had called him through the fog of war. The mere thought of a word on a laptop screen from Molly had buoyed him through horrific anguish of mind. Now her body stood ready to warm his, ready to receive him, ready to give and be given, to take and be taken.

Mark, still fully dressed, lifted Molly's nearly naked body and dropped it on the hotel bed. Molly giggled in the dark, and he heard her shuffling to kick her shoes off, followed by that whhsssspp, the smooth, unmistakable sound of panties, hooked under thumbs, sliding down legs.

Mark hastily unbuttoned his uniform top, shucked it off, then threw it into the dark behind him. He then ripped open his belt and unbuttoned his fly, jerking his pants down to his knees.

The dignity of the moment seemed lost when he realized that removing his boots would simply take too long. Grateful for the dark, he answered the urgency of his hunger, climbing on the bed with his pants bunched around his ankles over his boots. Leaning down over the vague, pale, feminine shape below him, Mark felt Molly's hands slide under his undershirt as he lifted his stiff cock to find the eager warmth of her welcome.

Thus Mark and Molly's bodies found each other in the thick darkness with the relief of their shared exhalation filling the blackest corners of the room. Molly's rhythmic breathing began to rise as Mark's settled, and each one of her measured sighs was tinged with a small squeak as Mark gently maneuvered himself into her body. Unaccustomed to his size, Molly bucked her hips slightly to signal a continued welcome to her lover, who withdrew, returned, withdrew, and finally slid gently in, fully seated in his lover's body.

A moment of silent, motionless bliss to savor the long deferred coupling was followed by long, deliberate motions as Mark began to ravish Molly.

Still, no words formed in the dark, only deep breaths and short, gutteral cries at widely divergent pitches. A few moments in, seemingly without the usual prelude, Molly felt her lover release a thick stream into her body. But his movements didn't slow. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his bare waist, hooking her ankles together when she heard his first whispered words in the dark.

"I have more…you want more…"

The darkness did not reveal the intent of Mark's words. Their meaning was ambiguous. Molly did not know if, in response to his whisper, she was expected to answer a question or to affirm a statement.

Lucky for her, the answer, whispered desperately from the deepest place in her lungs and released into the darkness, was the same regardless:

"Yes…."

Mark's motions gained in speed and force, He urgently seated himself in the depths of her secret place, continually shocking her and forcing her mouth open to choke out joy.

He continued. Molly felt her own rump being pushed less and less gently down into the bedsprings. The anguished creak of the bed finally began to register in her ears.

Molly's head was spinning. It was all so fast…she felt herself wondering if this is what it felt like to be truly "taken." She tried to catch up to the present moment, constantly pulled away by the deep feeling of her thick lover filling her.

Delirious from her lover's passion, it took a few minutes for her conscious mind to contemplate the grand sum of sexual stimulus that had taken place since she had towed him into the darkness of this hotel room and shut the door behind them.

Sergeant Mark Rein had followed her in, had attacked her with desperate kisses and embraces, throwing a level of passion at her she had never experienced before. Within moments, he had stripped her of her clothing, suckled deeply at her bare breasts, thrown her on the bed and had slid his large, thick cock into her. Moments later, or maybe hours later, she couldn't tell anymore, Sergeant Mark Rein had filled her with his thick semen. And now, utterly undiminished, his hard cock continued to…

The syncopated exchange of desperate breath and inarticulate whispers was eclipsed as the long crescendo of a desperate wail spilled into the darkness out of Molly's gaping mouth. The force of the feeling brought Molly to near unconsciousness as her body involuntarily gripped Mark's cock. Undeterred, Mark continued, intensifying the pressure at the deepest part of each stroke as he felt a bubbling release of liquid press flow from his lover. Withdrawing from Molly, he grinned as the remainder of her fountain sprayed into his pubic bone. Molly's hips bucked twice more before falling, spent, back onto the mattress. The subtle sound of a few drops of liquid pattering on the bedspread was all that punctuated darkness of Mark and Molly's panting.

Mark caught his breath, gently stroking Molly's warm inner thighs as she caught her own breath. When his panting slowed to resemble normal breathing, Mark's deep voice, no longer suppressed in a whisper, cut a deep slice out of the darkness.

"I'm not done, Molly."

Her panting continued, the end of each exhalation tipped with a light whimper. Finally, she replied:

"Okay…"

[nnjcpl2002]

Great work, Crushing! And I have a feeling that we're just getting started. The friends to whom you have introduced us have some interesting and fairly complicated life situations to be resolved. Can they all live happily ever after? I foresee some difficult challenges. Your device of skipping around the sequential time line works well. It's like we're going back in time to fill in some blanks.

Again, thanks for your gift to your followers!

[Oneillfranko]

What nnjcpl said! Loving this story!

[Guhunkadorn]

Just caught up with this gem...amazing.

[Crushing]

Great work, Crushing! And I have a feeling that we're just getting started. The friends to whom you have introduced us have some interesting and fairly complicated life situations to be resolved. Can they all live happily ever after? I foresee some difficult challenges. Your device of skipping around the sequential time line works well. It's like we're going back in time to fill in some blanks.

Again, thanks for your gift to your followers!

So just a quick peek behind the curtain, if anyone's interested, since I've gotten some feedback about the timeline. Overall, we're about halfway through the whole story if I stick to the plan I have now.

The chronological style I'm using for this story is a kind of modernized version of medieval romances--long narratives about a knight or group of knights with their ladies. If you've read some of those, you'll recognize that they tend to bounce around from character to character quite a bit as the characters wander around seeking their own adventures. While they don't split time the way I do here, they do develop (somewhat problematic) archetypes of masculinity who frequently define themselves by the women they love. Frequently, those relationships are adulterous. I came up with this story to explore that dimension of attraction, but in a more modern, soap-opera kind of style that drills down on the psychology of the participants.

So the through line of the narrative is this: Mark is wandering around looking for a woman to define him as a man. Jordan, in turn, is trying to come to terms with a dimension of her libido that she thinks she shouldn't have. The individual episodes focus on key characters in different times of Mark's life, the epicenter of which is when he and Jordan meet for the first time.

A quick key if you get lost in "when" we are at a given moment. If David and/or Jordan are present, we are in the "present" (unless of course one of them is flashing back to childhood.) Molly is in the past, and Megan is a kind of through-line, a constant in Mark's life. She is increasingly connected to Mark, but unlike the other women, she very much has her own knight, so the dynamic is a little different. Also, whenever Mark is referred to by lower rank, it's a flashback to the past, and when he's referred to as captain, it's in the present. For the most part, I'm running the Jordan/David part of the story constantly, and flipping back and forth from past to present in individual chapters for Mark. The end of part two (of three) will culminate in a much more detailed recap of Mark and Jordan's initial encounters from Mark's perspective, as opposed to the description in Jordan's letters that we saw in part 1.

Hope that's not too much detail. Here's the next chapter.

[Crushing]

The small group of stunned lieutenants stood frozen as the new company commander shifted from a strained posture toward one more dignified: standing up straight, adjusting his uniform, and brushing broken glass off of one of his sleeves.

It was…disorienting.

What were they to think? When the new captain had entered, he had seemed friendly and casual, nodding affably at each of them as he walked in the door. One of the young lieutenants, with the name "Frank" on his uniform, had stood up to greet him and shake his hand. Instead of grasping it, the new captain, who was easily a head taller than him, had walked right by him, picked up the heavy old-style leather office chair that sat behind the company commander's desk and heaved it through the closed window of his office, shattering it in the process.

Now Lieutenant Frank stood gape jawed, his hand still tentatively stretched out. The captain continued to ignore him.

The cluster of officers stood silently looking back and forth at each other.

"I guess I'll start," the new commander said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Good morning, gentlemen."

"Good morning, sir…" they murmured in more or less weak unison.

Lieutenant Reynolds, the acting company commander, approached him confidently and stretched out his hand. "Sir, I'm Danny Reynolds, I was provisionally…"

"Yes, I heard," Mark cut him off, seeming to insist on the silence. They all waited awkwardly as the Captain's jaw flexed.

A third officer, a lieutenant with the name "Mitchell" on his uniform, cleared his throat and squinted at the nametape on the new commander's uniform. "Good morning sir, Captain…Rain, is it? We're happy to meet you, sir."

"Rein. Pronounced like the river in Germany."

"Oh, I apologize sir, I didn't know.

"Don't sweat it, Mitchell," the new commander smiled. "Common mistake. I know, I know…I don't look German. Actually, my mother was El Salvadorian. She kept my father's name after he ditched her when I was a couple weeks old. Motherfucker never came back. Now, forgive me, maybe that's too intimate a detail for me to share. It's probably a little too early in our work relationship for that kind of stuff. If so, I apologize. I don't want to bore you with my biographical details, but that particular detail might be helpful for you to understand why I have a a pet peeve about authority figures who, you know, aren't where they're supposed to be."

Mark looked back and forth at the wide-eyed younger officers before continuing.

"Speaking of that particular pet peeve, does anyone here want to enlighten me on why I didn't see any of you yesterday? You know, the day I reported to take command of Charlie Company?"

"Light training day, sir," Lieutenant Reynolds explained. "We had a tee time at the officer's club at 11, so I gave them the morning off. I take full responsibility."

Mark nodded. "I'm glad to hear it, Reynolds. Responsibility. I'll let you take all of it. So go ahead and get your shit out of your desk and get out. You're fired. Report to battalion headquarters for reassignment. Or run off into the sunset, never to be seen again. I don't care…whatever you want, really. Just get the fuck out of here."

Lieutenant Reynolds looked shocked and indignant. "Sir, if I may, isn't that a bit drastic? I can talk to Lieutenant Colonel Wolfe, and…"

"Please do, Reynolds. Please do it. I would love to have a sit-down with you and the battalion commander. Name the time and place. But right now, I have a company to command, and you're not in it. Get out, or you're gonna find out what being that chair felt like."

The young lieutenant's face reddened as he picked his hat off his desk and walked angrily out the door. It slammed behind him.

The other officers didn't dare to speak. Mark looked back and forth across the faces of the remaining four lieutenants. Eventually, he broke into a broad grin. The others nervously began to laugh as their new commander seemed to relax.

"Sorry about that, guys…" Mark explained, leaning back to sit casually on the edge of an empty desk. "I just wanted to get your attention, you know?"

They all laughed a little harder. "Well, it worked, sir…" Lieutenant Frank said, sticking out his hand. "I'm Jim Frank, second platoon leader. Nice to meet you."

"Hey, it's great to meet you, Frank." Mark shook his hand warmly. "Sorry for being so rude earlier. First day, you know."

"Hey, it's fine, sir. Totally fine. We'll get that window fixed right up. I think it had a crack in it anyway."

"Hey, that's great. Just got one question for you, Frank."

"What's that sir?

"How much patience do you think I have for shitbag lieutenants?"

The smile faded from Frank's face. Then the others.

"How much, Frank?" Mark repeated ominously. "Go ahead, I know it's hard to quantify, but give it a shot, would you?"

Lieutenant Frank's eyes dropped down to the ground. "Ummm, none sir?"

"YOU'RE GODDAMN RIGHT!" Mark shouted and stood up. With a single hand, he gripped the empty desktop and flipped the whole metal desk into the air, causing it to overturn and rip a large gash into the cheap drywall of the trailer.

Now all of the officers fearfully took several steps away from him, then snapped to stand at attention.

"Fucking finally!" Mark exclaimed, referring to their stance of polite attention. "I was beginning to think I actually stumbled into the Nantucket Yacht Club on costume night or something. It sure didn't look or feel like a company office when the commander walks on deck."

No one dared answer.

"So, first things first. Call me old-fashioned, but I have some expectations of you. As is customary in the US Marine Corps, please remain at attention when I enter the room until I indicate otherwise."

They stood stock still, waiting for orders. Mark began to pace back and forth across the room.

"Frank."

"Yes sir."

"Who's the best shot in your platoon. Both rifle and pistol scores please."

"I…I don't know, sir."

"You have five minutes to find out. You show back up here in six minutes, or in less than five minutes with no answer, you get to chase after Reynolds and beg the battalion head shed for a new job. Dismissed."

Lieutenant Frank grabbed his hat off the rack and darted out the door.

"Dodd. Who's the youngest marine in your platoon, and what is his mother's name?"

"I…I don't know, sir."

"Better fucking move, then…"

He darted out the door after Frank.

"Lieutenant Jenkins. Who's got a best friend in your platoon?"

"Sir?"

"Name the two marines in your platoon that are inseparable."

"Kuhn and Remington, sir."

Mark paused. "Really?"

Lieutenant Jenkins nodded. "Yes sir. You'll never find one without the other."

Mark nodded, continuing. "Good start. Let's keep it going. Most reliable NCO in your platoon. Go."

"Corporal List, sir. Just promoted."

Mark nodded. "Why is he your most reliable?"

"Lots of reasons, sir. Never late, always runs in front, keeps tabs on everyone. He's my go to guy in the platoon."

Mark nodded. "I met him yesterday. I could see that."

Lieutenant Jenkins stood still as Mark paused, thinking.

"Jenkins, you're currently the front runner to be my executive officer."

"Thank you, sir."

"You want the job?"

"Not sure, sir."

Mark laughed genuinely for the first time. "Good answer…"

Lieutenant Frank burst through the door and stood at attention. Mark turned around. "Well?"

"Corporal Hopkins, sir. He's had two perfect scores at the range in a row, and the test before that, he missed a perfect score by one point."

"That's goddamn impressive…" Mark said, walking toward him and lowering his voice. "Do you know if he's expressed any interest in sniper training?"

"No, sir, I don't know."

"Don't you think that would be a good thing to know?"

Lieutenant Frank nodded nervously as Mark continued, his voice softening as he walked toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't you think it would be a good thing for me to know, too? Seeing as I could probably set that up for him? Help his career and all?"

"Yes sir. I'll have a talk with him."

"Do it today," Mark nodded as Lieutenant Dodd burst through the door and stood at attention.

"Private Jenkins is still eighteen, sir," he shouted awkwardly. "His mother's name is Mary Jenkins."

"Good. Anyone got anyone younger than Jenkins?"

Silence.

Mark looked at each one of the officers again, then lifted the upturned desk back down into its place, sighing.

"Stand at ease, men."

They all relaxed their stance, but remained tense as they waited for Mark's next order.

"Gentlemen. The days of Charlie company being the battalion shitbags are over. The enlisted men are a day ahead of you in un-fucking the mess I walked into here. You are the leaders of this company. You will catch up to them, surpass them, and then lead them. This is my expectation. Understood?"

"Yes sir…"

"Now listen carefully to this next part. You might be aware that I brought someone with me. A company gunny. Gunnery Sergeant Jared Poisson. You might have heard some talk about him, since he fucked up every single marine in the company yesterday. Well, everyone except you shitbags. Understand this: They don't make better enlisted leaders. I trust him completely. I know you technically outrank him, but if he gives you advice, consider it an order from me. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

Mark paused, thinking for a moment before speaking again. "I'm a better friend than an enemy. And I don't want to be your enemy, but if that's what it takes to fix this pile of shit, I will be. So that choice is up to you. But if you want to be friends with me, the command culture of Charlie Company has to change. As of today, you all hate golf. So lose your fucking clubs. The next time one of you misses training or work for tee time, you're going to find out if I can remove your mandible from your skull with my bare hands. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Lieutenant Dodd still looked confused, holding his brow furrowed.

"You got a question, Dodd?" Mark asked,a hint of weariness tinting the question.

"No sir…just…can you remove someone's mandible from their skull with your bare hands?"

"I don't know, Dodd," Mark said, sighing. "I haven't done it before. But I can try. Do you want to find out together?"

"No, sir…" Dodd shook his head briskly.

"Very well then. As for the rest of you, unlike Lieutenant Reynolds, you still work here. I am reinstating your positions as platoon leaders. But you lead from the front now. Unless I have specific business with you, I expect to find you with your platoons at all times. Get to know your marines like sons. Whenever you report to me, expect that I will have many questions like the ones I asked earlier. I expect you'll have ready answers when I ask. Understood?"

They all nodded in unison.

"Okay then. Dismissed."

* * *

"Welcome to the Port of Los Angeles, Mr. Stark."

"Thank you…" David nodded in acknowledgment toward the attractive HR representative that greeted him.

The new move had been a whirlwind. Within a month of accepting the job with Maersk, David had interviewed several candidates to manage his business and, with Hamad, had hired a new manager and spent the following weeks getting him up to speed. He had also begun his onboarding with his new company which included a bleary eyed, jet-lagged 3 day trip to Denmark and a meeting with Arne Clausen, the Chief Operations Officer of one of the largest freight moving companies in the world.

The meeting had gone well–or so it seemed. It was hard to tell with everything so new. But essentially David discovered that he had fallen out of a very small frying pan and into a very large fire. Arne–his new boss–had informed David that the company he now worked for had a standing policy–what amounted to a clandestine headhunting operation–where mid level managers from subsidiary and even competing logistics hubs would scout talented young upstarts and give them a shot at the big time. Steve's referral of David to Arne was just that–a shot at the big time.

Arne and David had discussed the specifics of the job he was about to start. That job, while sounding simple with the title of "logistics auditor," was mired in infinite overlapping complexities, a near total chaos of moving parts. His "shot" at the big time was to bring a fresh set of eyes to critically examine every single friction point in the global supply chain that Maersk had a hand in. He would audit how freight moved, identify friction points and make recommendations for increased efficiency, always accounting for upstream and downstream effects of his recommendations.

Once he accepted the job, David was presented with a carrot and a stick…or perhaps a carrot and an omen. The carrot? The job would be lucrative. The promised base pay, which was substantial, would remain the same, but substantial bonuses were on the table if his recommendations were accepted, implemented, and resulted in profit-measurable increases in efficiency. And if the success was sticky, resulting in multiple months of increased efficiency, the current one-year offer would be extended to full time employment. On the other hand, the stick, or the omen, was a sobering statistic. Of the last three dozen talented young auditors, only two had lasted the whole first year. More than half had given up in despair in the first month. But the two that lasted the whole first year? They were now senior management. One of them was Arne himself, the recently appointed COO.

David had nodded in understanding through bleary, jet-lagged eyes. Arne had handed him the schedule for his first "tour," starting with a week at the Port of Los Angeles, followed by a week at the major midwest US rail hubs in Chicago and Kansas City, followed by a week at the Port of New Orleans. Then, after a week home, he would spend the following two weeks in Japan moving between Nagoya, Tokyo, Kobe, and Yokohama, with a follow-on week in Busan, South Korea. If he lasted that long, he would be informed of his next audits after his second week back home with his wife.

While still a bit bug-eyed, David had agreed to the terms and expressed genuine eagerness to get started. That eagerness increased as he was given a brand new company laptop–his first ever–with access to the company's tracking software which he used to familiarize himself with thousands of little dots on maps that moved carefully in real time around the globe: trucks, trains, ships, and airplanes.

Now, David found himself with the task of comprehending the entire Port of Los Angeles. Walking down the hall, accompanied by an attractive woman in her twenties, he was let into a temporary office and introduced to an assistant, a mousy young woman named Tara, also in her twenties, who seemed more nervous to meet David than he was to meet anyone.

The office, while far from glamorous, had a panoramic view of the port, which was filled end to end with huge stacks of multicolored shipping crates, massive storage tanks, rail lines zigging and zagging, and several large cranes hulking over ships sitting in the port, all actively being loaded and unloaded.

"Can I get you some coffee, Mr…Stark?" Tara asked as he looked intently out the window.

"Call me David. And no thank you, I'm fine."

"Would you like to walk around the port? Maybe start with a tour?" she asked.

David shook his head, then took off his glasses and wiped them clean on his shirt. "Not right now. Actually, I need some things thrown together, if you could. If you have them on paper, I'd prefer that, but if they're in electronic format, just email them to me while I look over the cargo flow data from the last few weeks. I'm going to need historical weather reports and tide charts for the last six months for this area. I need detailed schematics for the piers and crane infrastructure as well as maintenance reports. Then I need traffic patterns for the ships themselves, how they approach and when, all that kind of stuff. We'll focus on the big stuff at the pier first, then we'll move on to moving, stacking, and intermodal and rail stuff later. Probably tomorrow."

Tara furiously typed on her keyboard as David talked, clearly bewildered at the list of instructions.

"Usually the people want to walk around the port first," she explained. "They do that and then they write up recommendations."

David shook his head. "Nope. I want to understand how it works on paper first. Then I'll see if the reality matches the paper. If it doesn't, recommendations will be pretty obvious. But a walkabout at this point would be a waste of time."

Tara finished typing and then stood up to get to work. David took one more look out over the port, then sat down and opened his laptop.

He was surprised at how quickly he missed Jordan. She had dropped him at the airport the previous night with a "proud wife" hug and kiss before climbing back into their old Camry with a wave through the windshield.

Then she drove away.

After enduring the sterile silence of a Sunday evening flight, he had a brief text exchange with her before checking into the hotel. But he had not enjoyed the crisp, neat, yet lonely feeling of his hotel bed near the Port of Los Angeles.

To kill the time, he had done some more review work on his company laptop, then found a few episodes of Battlestar Galactica to watch before he had tried to fall asleep. But it was hard. He struggled to relax, preoccupied with the anxieties of his first real day of work.

He had tried to think about Jordan. About her face, her smile, her flowing auburn hair. The sound of her laugh when he caught her off guard, or the delighted squeal when he surprised her by preparing her favorite foods. He had lain awake past midnight, wishing she was here beside him, that she would offer her warm body to comfort him.

David had imagined Jordan sitting cross legged on the bed next to him. He smiled as, in his mind's eye, she began chatting about her upcoming week, or something that happened that morning when she sang with the church choir. With his gaze initially fixed on her face in his mind's eye, David's focus drifted downward, noting that she was wearing the forest green one-piece swimsuit that had so thoroughly captivated him when he first went to the lake with her family. The same swimsuit she had donned, removed, and replaced as she teased him while on a video call with her lover Mark.

That seemed like it was so long ago.

He had unbuttoned the fly of his pajama pants and began to masturbate quietly in the empty dark of the hotel room. His eyes still closed, he could see Jordan, still seated next to him on the bed in her swimsuit. In his mind's eye, her smile had faded as she had seen his hand move rapidly up and down under the covers. A grave expression replaced her smile, and David had fallen into her deep blue eyes as she seemed to convey a solemn, silent focus on his pleasure. Then, without thinking, his mind's eye drifted downward again, noting the small but distinct protrusions pressing up against the forest green fabric from the center of the bulb of her petite, perky breasts.

In his mind's eye, Jordan had looked down and noticed this slight breach of modesty herself before raising her pinkening gaze to meet his own again. Noting that David had acknowledged a smothered hint of her arousal, she had smiled and nodded at him as he had quietly ejaculated, feeling the damp daub of the sheet where his small penis had pressed before beginning to droop.

He had slept soundly, waking on time, and reporting to work where he now again found himself. Tara returned into the office, an armful of file folders to stack on his work space.

"Thank you very much! I'll have the next list for you in a moment." David smiled brightly, reaching for the first file.

* * *

Black pumps, nude pantyhose extending up to a trim, dark gray professional skirt. A classy belt, white blouse with faux-ivory buttons, and a snappy coat to match the skirt. Light makeup and a modest lipstick, brown eyes smoldering with intelligent intensity under black horn-rimmed glasses that matched her black pumps and her black hair, pulled back tightly into a neat, black bun.

Walking up the walkway to the house, Megan looked much as she did when she left that morning. Having received a transfer to the US Attorney's office in the Eastern District of North Carolina, she had yet to be assigned any cases. Today was only her second day, and it was a late day, as she was directed to drive from her assigned office in Wilmington to the office in Raleigh, several hours away, to meet colleagues and her regional boss. It had gone well, but it was a boring day. Now, at the stroke of nearly seven, she had spent twelve hours in the business suit. She was more than ready to switch to sweats and relax with a bowl of popcorn and some trash TV.

Jared had said he would handle dinner. Mark was still living with them, having not found a place of his own yet. Between the two of them, dinner was likely pizza, burgers, or some god-awful concoction from canned chili, shredded cheese, and leftover odds and ends they found around the house. Of those, she would prefer a slice of pizza.

She opened the front door and looked around. No one in sight. Walking over to the living room, she found JJ in his pajamas, playing with his Legos in front of the TV.

"Hey baby!" Megan crouched to meet him.

"Mommy!" The five year old hopped up from his pile of legos and ran over to hug her.

"Where's Marky and Daddy?"

"Daddy's in the garage with Uncle Mark. I don't know where Marky is…"

Megan stood up and walked up the stairs to her older son's room, seeing him reading a Harry Potter book through the open doorway.

"Heya…" she called through the doorway.

"Hey Mom. How was work?"

"Boring…but I'm glad to see you! Whatcha reading?"

"Prisoner of Azkeban," he replied, not looking up.

"Cool. Didn't you already read that one?"

"I'm reading it again," he replied flatly.

"Okay, okay…that's fine. How was baseball?"

"Dumb."

Megan smiled to herself. "You had fun, though, right?"

He nodded, not looking up.

"Okay, that's all that matters. You know where Dad is?"

"He's in the garage with Uncle Mark."

"Okay. You guys get dinner?"

"Yeah, Uncle Mark brought pizza home."

Bingo. She smiled to herself.

"Okay, sweetie. I was thinking of going to the beach again tomorrow, since I'm off work. Think your new friend might want to come? What was his name…Ryan?"

"I'll ask."

"Okay."

Megan smiled to herself again, surprised that she always found her older son's flat affect so charming. He was so serious for an eight year old. She always imagined him as a newscaster, or giving little press conferences, standing on a box in front of a podium as he briefed on serious matters of state or finance.

She made her way down the stairs and to the kitchen door that attached the house to the garage. She heard the distinct sound of music. A heavy, forward leaning beat.

She leaned closer.

Old school hip hop.

The sound had a kind of obnoxious, not quite angry flow to it…

Megan smiled in recognition. Beastie Boys.

Jared had definitely decided what music they would listen to…

She leaned in, pressing her ear against the door, hearing muffled hints of conversation. She heard Jared's voice.

"Back foot. Back foot, man. Watch your back foot…"

"I'm watching it, Frenchie…don't tell me my business."

Thap…thapthap…thop…

"See? I've got major reach on you. And my footwork's fine."

Megan smiled to herself.

They were sparring. The sound of heavy boxing gloves–training gloves–making contact with skin.

Mark had asked her husband to coach him in martial arts. Now it seemed like they were having their first training session.

"Yeah, you think I didn't let you land those?" Jared's voice insisted through the door. "I'm trying to fix your damn stance, Lurch…"

thapthap…

"You let me land those, too?"

Megan heard her husband laugh at the taunt. "Yes. Yes I did. You move with the grace of a goddamn river barge, man. I could take out your left nut anytime I feel like it. And Just the left one. Don't even have to get both of 'em."

Thapthapthap…

"Oh yeah? Put up or shut up…take your shot, little man.

thapthap…thop…

"Come on, Frenchie. I'm standing right here…"

"Mark, I'm serious. Fucking pick up your back foot or I'm gonna take out your left nut…"

"Seriously, Frenchie, try it. You can't get close enough to…uuuuuuunnnhhhhhh…"

Megan lifted her hand to her mouth, stifling a giggle, still straining to hear through the door.

She could hear Mark heaving in pain.

"Fuck man…FUUUCK! That hurts. Owwww! And how…how'd you get just the left one? Ahhhhhh….hsssshhhh…How did you even do that?"

Megan could hear Mark breathing heavily through his teeth, clearly doubled over in pain before her husband answered him.

"I told you to fix your footing, dude. You're the dipshit who wanted to taunt me. You doubt me? You call my bluff? Now you only got one nut. Consequences, man. Action, reaction. Cause and effect… "

Megan's eyes crinkled as the whisper of her stifled laugh caused her to bend forward and her shoulders to stoop. She stepped quietly away from the door to finish her giggling fit. Once she regained her composure, she walked out of the kitchen to check on JJ again, still completely immersed in his lego building project, before she took off her pumps and jogged upstairs.

Marky was still nose deep in his reading, so she slipped into her own bedroom and quickly undressed, separating her clothes into the bins for either dry cleaning or the laundry cycle. Once she was undressed, she stepped into the master bedroom shower and washed her body, soaking in the warm water and steam after a long workday. After she had dried off and brushed out her hair, she stepped back out into the bedroom, a towel tucked around her body under her arms.

She smiled again at the memory of Mark's gutteral response to her husband's superior hand-to-hand skill. She could picture his larger frame in her mind's eye, doubled over as Jared taunted him.

While funny, the outcome was predictable. Jared was one of the best unarmed combatants in the Marine Corps, confirmed by multiple in-service and inter-service tournament victories over the past half dozen years. This automatically made him a world-class fighter, a fact that Mark knew well. But Mark could be…overconfident at times. His superior size and strength often gave him an advantage, but he didn't fully realize how much Jared had studied to be able to neutralize the advantage of any opponent, including and perhaps especially an opponent as big and strong as Mark.

So Jared was good at what he did. Really good. He didn't have to play second banana to Mark to advance his career. In fact, returning to a line company in the Marine Corps might even have held him back. He could easily have returned to the MACE with his reputation, and finished his career with more prestige. They certainly knew and liked him there, where he had spent years training while she was in law school. Or, if he wanted, he could likely have gotten out of the service entirely and pursued a professional mixed martial arts fighting career.

But, curiously, he clearly felt most comfortable as the second man to Mark's first. It was almost like destiny. He settled so naturally into that role. So he jumped at the chance to be the senior enlisted man in Mark's company, a position with significantly less prestige than a lead instructor at a world renowned martial arts training center.

Jared simply wanted to be there for his friend. In every way possible.

And Mark clearly felt the same way. To that end, in the few weeks that he had been staying in the spare room in the Poisson's new basement, Mark had been politely, at times even painfully deferential to the family's needs. He had been helping unpack, moving and assembling furniture, even doing some repair work on weekends. He was always playing with the kids, cleaning up after dinner, and joining in on family movie night. He was clearly preoccupied with his new assignment, and he and Jared frequently held informal private "meetings" in hushed voices about their "rehabilitation project," namely, bringing Mark's first company from the worst reputed in the battalion to the most highly regarded. But even when they were clearly talking business, if Megan poked her head in and said that the boys needed something, or that it was getting late and Jared needed his sleep, Mark instantly deferred, not wanting to jam up the smooth operations of the Poisson family.

With Mark's clear intention to avoid intruding on the family dynamic, Megan never stopped being surprised that on most nights, after climbing into bed with Jared, she was wordlessly nudged back out of her marital bed by her husband after their children fell asleep. She knew what his silent gesture meant, and she had long passed the point of needing to lie to herself that she didn't also crave it. She would eagerly and sweetly kiss her husband, rise from her bed, walk quietly downstairs to the main floor, then tiptoe down into the basement to Mark's room.

And while Mark never made overt demands, he was always expecting her. She would enter, he would smile, stand, quietly remove her clothing, position her body to his liking, and use her for his pleasure.

While still highly gratifying, the ritual was routine. Mark and Megan had been eager sexual partners on and off for years now. But the vigor and aggression of Mark's style in using her body never grew stale. He was bigger, stronger, and more aggressive than her husband–who was not a small, weak, or passive man. Frankly, Jared could be downright savage in bed. He had incredible endurance, paid very close attention to her needs, and ensured her pleasure above his own. He even had an above average male endowment.

Yet each night with Mark, she would desperately stifle the involuntary sounds coming from her mouth as she would be brought to one or more deep, body curling climaxes as her body clenched around his larger, thicker cock. Following the throes of her own pleasure, each nightly coupling would culminate in a tight, still embrace for several moments after Mark's own urgent movements relaxed into the smooth release of his warm cum into her body. Then, after the still panting slid into gentle cuddling, Mark would withdraw and they would kiss affectionately until Mark's eyelids got heavy and Megan returned dutifully to her husband's bed.

She would find Jared exceptionally eager for her return. Every time.

The intensity of that ardor, too, had not diminished over the years.

Now, as her two men sparred in the garage, Megan felt the urge to change into something more comfy. She looked down into her half-filled dresser drawers to find loungewear to pass the evening.

It was always a delicate balance when Mark was staying over.

If she was all alone, she would have preferred to don her trusty gray sweatsuit for sheer comfort. But that wouldn't do tonight.

She pulled out her black AC/DC T-shirt. Jared loved that shirt, not only because it was one of his favorite bands, but because of the way it hugged her body. She could wear that, and her maroon pajama bottoms that he liked.

Then again, she knew Mark preferred bare shoulders. She could wear this navy blue tank top. He liked that one. Especially without a bra. And he liked the way her black yoga pants hugged her rear end…and Mark was more likely to take her from behind if she drew attention to it…

So, should she dress to excite her husband? Or her lover?

Ten minutes later, Mark and Jared walked into the kitchen from the garage, sweaty and breathing heavily, to find Megan leaning against the counter in a navy blue tank and black yoga pants, eating a piece of pizza.

"Hey Meg…" Mark said. "Lookin' good. Love that top."

"Thanks…" she responded casually. Jared walked over and leaned in to kiss her. She returned the kiss, then went back to eating. "You guys working out or something?"

"Just working on my fighting form…" Mark responded, matching her casual tone.

"How was your day, love?" Jared asked, grinning as he changed the subject.

"Not too bad…"

* * *

The bedroom was dark and lonely. Jordan had anticipated feeling a little lonely, but was surprised at just how empty the apartment felt without David in it on a Sunday night.

She had hugged him tightly with a sense of real pride when she dropped him at the airport departures curb. He had scored a major career opportunity, and he seemed ready and eager to tackle it. She had seen him digging into numbers and data on his brand new laptop over the last week or so.

His trip to Denmark was only a few days, and they had texted each other nearly constantly through all of them. Now, David's travel was more than for a single interview. Now he had work to do, and from what she could gather, there was going to be a lot of it. David was going to be busy.

The feeling of knowing your husband is going to be gone for three days is a very different feeling from knowing your husband will not be back for three weeks.

So the silence in the apartment was loud. Distractingly loud. Rather than do homework, which was her original plan after her husband left, she opted to fill the deafening silence with comforting noise. She sat down on the couch, turning on the new TV that David had bought them just weeks before and flipped through shows she might want to watch. Finally, she settled on The Little Mermaid, a favorite movie from her childhood.

Jordan sat still on the couch, fixated on the children's movie in front of her. She found herself smiling, eventually grabbing and hugging a couch pillow, tucking her knees up to her chest as Ariel the beautiful but naive mermaid tried to find her way without a voice in the strange new world of men.

Eventually the movie ended and the deafening silence returned.

Jordan turned off the TV.

She looked at the clock.

9:30.

Still an hour before David was set to land in Los Angeles, and she couldn't text him until he landed. She decided to take a hot shower and go to bed early.

Emerging from the shower, Jordan toweled off and put on comfy pajamas before turning off the light, turning on her nightstand lamp and climbing into bed with a book. She read for a while, expecting the eye strain to make her tired.

It didn't work.

She closed her book around a bookmark and replaced it on the nightstand, clicking off the lamp.

David had made the bed that morning. Crisp, clean sheets smoothly shrouded her. It smelled like fresh linen. It was nice.

She rolled to her side, absently pulling David's pillow toward her body and clutching it to her chest.

In the loud, still darkness, Jordan felt herself begin to cry.

* * *

A modest black Toyota Tacoma rolled into the driveway, pulling up to a closed garage door.

Still sweaty from the long day at work, Gunnery Sergeant Jared Poisson turned off the engine and stepped out of the truck, pulling his gear bag out after him. He checked to see that the garbage cans had been brought into the backyard, then walked up to the front door and let himself into his home.

"Meg?"

Jared shouted into a quiet house. He checked his watch.

6:15.

Usually the boys were home from day camp, but they had a movie night and sleepover tonight. He had forgotten. Setting his gear bag down next to the door, he tossed his hat onto the rack and began to check the house.

No one in the living room. He walked upstairs and saw the empty boy's rooms, and his own empty bedroom.

Meg must have had to work late.

He untied his boots, then pulled them off, setting them neatly next to his dresser. He then stripped down and stepped into an ice-cold shower.

He had developed a love for the shock of cold water while doing advanced hand-to-hand training. It was a way to jolt his system after long, fatiguing stretches of training and combat. He had found a kind of magic quality to it, extending his stamina and giving him the sensation of a fresh start. Heaving in air as he ran a bar of soap over his body, he felt his energy return and the fatigue drop from his eyes.

Turning off the water, he quickly toweled off and stepped into a fresh pair of old jeans and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt. He dropped his sweaty clothes in the hamper, then moved back downstairs to get a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, he leaned down to open the fridge, pulled a cold bottle of water, then closed the door.

Unscrewing the cap, he took a big swig from the bottle when he saw Mark in the room, dressed in a plain black t-shirt and light blue jeans, leaning against the counter and jutting his chin up in greeting.

"Hey man."

Jared swallowed his swig and dropped his hand, still clenching the bottle. He looked down with widening eyes to see his wife in a dignified kneeling posture in front of Mark. She was facing away from her husband, her flat palms resting on the thighs of her bright blue yoga pants. Her torso was only partially covered by a black tank top, the rumpled back of the garment riding slightly up her partially exposed back, signifying that, although not visible to Jared, the front of that tank top was lifted cleanly over her fully exposed breasts.

Megan's black hair was knotted tightly into a trim, braided ponytail that waved gently back and forth between her shoulder blades as she performed a steady, silent, meditative fellatio on her husband's best friend.

Jared was frozen in place at the sight, the cold shock of his shower giving way to a rising heat in his face. Mark's palms rested on the edge of the counter, his fingers casually gripping the ledge as he engaged Jared in casual conversation.

"So, how'd it go?"

Jared blinked, then responded. "What?"

"How'd it go?"

"How…how'd what go?"

"The clinic."

"Oh, that…" Jared's eyes were fixed on the back of his wife's head, moving steadily in and out, the peak of her forehead nearly touching the clasp of Mark's belt buckle with each silent bob of her head inward.

"It went fine. I'm basically working through the company two squads at a time. Just seeing where everyone's at. We'll get everyone up to green belt, then I'll pick a handful to go up from there."

"That sounds great. Any early prospects?"

"Yeah…" Jared struggled to look up from his wife's hypnotic motions. "Yeah, a couple. That List guy in third platoon, you were right about him. He's got potential. A couple others stood out, but it's only the first day for them. All the platoon sergeants seem like they want to break the funk. So there's plenty to work with."

"That's good to hear," Mark responded, nodding. "Getting everyone belted up is a great idea to start. If we can get them in fighting form, we can build skills from there, maybe start with…hang on…" Mark paused, looking down as he grasped the base of Megan's braid near its base at the back of her head and pulled her mouth off of him, gently pulling down on the braid to direct her face and eyes upward.

"Watch the teeth. Tilt your chin up a little, then take it as deep as you can. Once it's in your throat, just pulse. You got it?"

Megan, looking quietly up into his eyes, nodded obediently.

"Good girl. Get to it."

She opened her mouth and held her head as she was instructed. She then took his wide cock as deep as she could while Mark returned to his original posture and turned his attention back to Jared.

"What was I saying?"

Jared cleared his throat, reaching for the crotch of his jeans. "You were talking about building from…"

"Right," Mark cut him off. "We've been running the hell out of them, and that seems to be doing the trick at this stage. But it's time to pair it with some head games. Stuff that drives them crazy. Daily uniform inspections, barracks inspections, that kinda stuff. Then once they're on their toes, we pepper in actual skill building and skill testing, until that's the main focus. I can line up whatever we need to get that going, just get me a sense of a schedule when you figure it out. Oh, and Wolfe was saying we might have…actually, hang on a sec…"

Mark paused his thought, a look of concentration coming over his face. his fingers gripped the counter's edge more tightly, throwing his head back and grunting powerfully. He took a couple deep, careful breaths before dropping his gaze down toward Megan, whose posture was now stock still below him, her lips tightly sealed around his pulsing cock.

"Hold. Hold right there. Get it all…"

Jared's heart pounded as he saw his wife's cheeks suck inward.

Then again.

Then again.

He pulled a kitchen chair away from the table to sit, dumbfounded.

"You get it all?" Mark asked, looking down into the eyes of his silent partner. Her body held still, her head nodded slightly.

"Good. Now be a good girl and show him."

Megan's head withdrew slightly and Mark's thick, wet cock fell from her lips. She stood up and turned around, the bottom hem of her tank top resting up under her collar bone, leaving her full breasts and erect nipples plain to view. She took a few steps toward her husband, then kneeled again, dropping below his eye level and opening her mouth to reveal a thick pool of semen bathing her tongue and bubbling up between her lips and gums.

Mark tucked his cock back into his jeans and zipped up.

"Swallow."

Not breaking eye contact with her husband, Megan's lips closed, concealing an impressive volume of Mark's viscous enthusiasm before the muffled yet certain sound of a gulp rose from behind her pursed lips.

"Show him," Mark said, tersely.

Megan opened her empty mouth to reveal what she had done.

"So," Mark continued casually, "Wolfe is saying we might do an amphibious landing exercise with Division sometime in the next few months. Think we can be ready?"

Jared's eyes were glued to his kneeling wife looking up at him, her mouth still open, her breasts still exposed.

Mark smiled.

Business could wait.

"Megan. Up. Cover your front."

Megan closed her mouth and stood quickly, pulling the front of her tank top down.

"Hands behind. Now."

Megan reached both arms behind her back, each hand gripping the alternate forearm, elbows at tight, parallel right angles as she stared straight ahead.

Mark walked over and grasped the base of her ponytail again, leading her gently to the edge of the kitchen table. With the family move-in still not entirely complete, the tabletop was cluttered with odds and ends that had not yet been put away. Mark shoved things from one side of the table to the other, then gently bent Megan over it, turning her head so her cheek rested on the table top. He ran his large hands down the back of her tank top, slipping his fingers slightly under the back hem of it before curling around the waistband of her yoga pants and underlying panties, pulling them down to her mid-thighs in one smooth move.

"Frenchie. Come here. Check this out."

Jared, visibly shaky, stood to see Mark's fingers visibly probing his wife, moving around her genitals, parting her lips, and sliding his fingers in and around in an exploratory manner.

"Seriously man. Come check this out. Feel."

Jared reached down behind his wife, who remained stock still in the position Mark had placed her, and began to feel the warm, wet welcome of his wife.

"She's been pretty good to go, lately, huh?" Mark said casually, holding his thumb over her clitoris while Jared parted her lips with his fingers.

"Yeah…" Jared said.

"Yeah," Mark continued. "She got mouthy earlier, wanted to play the part of the fussy strumpet. I wasn't in the mood. So she's not allowed to talk tonight until I say so."

Jared could see Megan's eyes look lustily into his, her face still resting quietly on the table.

"So," Mark explained, "she's gonna be a nice…quiet…compliant…free-use piece of ass tonight." Mark pulled his hand away from her and dropped a firm, noisy slap on her bare right ass cheek. "Isn't she?"

Megan quietly nodded, her eyelids falling heavy.

"Yep. Since the boys are at sleep-away camp tonight, we've got ourselves a nice slice of opportunity. So I got some plans for this cute little pussy.."

Megan moaned as Mark firmly slapped her bare rump again.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, noisy girl." He slapped her bare cheek once more before turning to look at Jared again.

"Team effort tonight, amigo. We're gonna rail the shit out of her. You want first crack at this pussy? As you can tell, it is good-to-go."

A red-faced Jared, his mind nearly detached from his body, nodded quickly, clearing his throat.

"All right," Mark said, laughing lightly. "We'll talk business while we're gearing up for round two. Or three. Or whenever you snap outta this little pussy-drunk haze you're in. For now, get in there. You got about ten minutes before I'm good to go again. Make 'em count."

Jared stood clumsily, fumbling with the button and zipper on his jeans.

* * *

Bzzzz

Jordan perked up, looking over at her phone buzzing on the nightstand, the display screen lit up with a new message. She rolled onto her back and reached to pick it up.

From David.

D: Hey, Jojo, just landed, heading to the hotel now. I miss you already!

Jordan sniffed and smiled, wiping her eyes.

J: Thanks for checking in, honey! I miss you too…

Jordan waited for a response, anxiously refreshing the text box.

Several minutes passed.

Then,

Bzzzzz

D: Sorry, took me a minute to get a taxi. How was your evening?

Jordan smiled again.

J: Kinda boring. Watched a movie, read a little bit. I'm in bed now, thought I'd turn in early and get a fresh start tomorrow.

D: Oh, okay. If you want to go to sleep, maybe I can call you in the morning?"

J: No baby…I want to talk. How was your flight?"

D: Good. Boring. Couldn't get my headphones to work. But you know. Long flights.

J: Sorry baby…Are you going to go to Disneyland while you're there?

D:
D: I wish. No, I'm looking at all the material I've got here…there's gonna be no free time this go around. I'll probably work late every day, actually. Then straight to Chicago.

J:
J: That's no fun.

D: It's okay. It's a job. And so far, it's kind of cool just seeing how things flow together. Maybe I'll change my tune and hate it later, though. Arne said pretty much everyone burns out within the first six months.

J: Not my man. My man's a finisher.

D:
D: I like to think so.

J: I know so. I'm so proud of you I could explode. I wanna grab you and kiss you a million times.

D: If only. All I can think about is why hasn't someone invented matter transporters like in Star Trek yet? We could just beam me back to you every night.

J: I wish! 🥰 Get my man home every night. Take care of my womanly needs.

D: 🥵
D: Gonna drive me crazy here, Jojo.
D: In a good way.
D: To be clear.

J: I'm just teasing you, baby.
J: But can I be really honest about something?

D:...
D: Of course, baby. What's on your mind?

J: I'm super, super proud of you, baby. And I support you. But I really do miss you. I know it's just the first night, and that's probably part of it. But I'm in bed, and it feels wrong. This is our bed. I just miss you. I don't want you to change careers or anything, but I also want you to know that I miss you.

D: I miss you too, honey. It'll get a little easier, and it's only for a year. We can figure out the next steps later. But I'm glad you're honest about your feelings. I miss you too.

J: 🥰🥰🥰

D: I'm pulling up to the hotel, honey. You want to do a call when I get set up in my room?

J: Actually, I'm getting sleepy now. You should go to bed too. Be fresh for your first day.

D: Okay. I'll text you in the morning. Sleep tight.

J: You too. Love you baby!

D:

Jordan smiled warmly in the dark. She closed out the text chain with David, leaving her phone contacts up as the last application opened. David's contact [STARK, DAVID (hubby)] was still selected. Scrolling up the screen, the names descended back toward A by last name. The next entry up made her smile to herself.

[SIMMS, THE RIGHT EVER REVEREND JONATHAN (dad)]

Jordan and her father had an inside joke, over-inflating his name and title to sound fancy. She remembered giggling as she had entered the pompous sounding contact into her phone the first time, and just never changed it back. He had promised to do the same for her once she had completed her degree, even buying her a gag gift–a fake desk-plate with "The right good professor doctor Jordan Stark-Simms, Ph.D" engraved in brass.

She scrolled up again, passing a few other names from school…church…some colleagues she met at conferences before

[REIN, CAPTAIN MARK (ROTC liaison)]

Her thumb hovered over the contact for a moment, hesitating.

Finally, she opened the last text chain with him…completely innocent. Plans to meet for a double date at a vintage Star Trek movie. With David and that mean woman.

She scrolled up, feigning innocent curiosity, and at length she came to what she wasn't ready to admit she was looking for. Her face warmed as she saw some of their exchanges.

The empty bed loomed larger, drawing her attention to a more specific dimension of loneliness.

She closed out the text chain and the contacts, placing her phone face down on her nightstand and turning back onto her side. She clutched David's pillow to her chest again, taking a deep breath and focusing her mind on relaxing…eventually…sleeping…

Jordan…

She shook her head in the dark.

* * *

1:30

The square numbers on the alarm clock glowed in the dark of Jared and Megan Poisson's master bedroom. Megan lay on her stomach, her cheek resting on the mattress between her husband and her lover. Her posture was exhausted, her arms akimbo, twisted into odd angles that she had no energy to straighten. Her dampened ponytail braid flipped at a strange angle, a kind of light fishhook bending at the base of her neck, the tip dropping over the edge of her left shoulder.

Jared and Mark lay on their backs on either side of her, sweaty but otherwise relaxed. After the last of a half-dozen releases of semen in or onto her, all three participants seemed content to simply enjoy the silence as they caught their breath.

"Can I talk now?" Megan said, her voice slightly muffled by the sheets.

Mark smiled, looking past her toward her husband. "What do you think, Frenchie? You get what you need?"

"Don't pull me into this decision. I get in trouble for this shit…"

Mark laughed, his grin spreading broadly. "Allright Briseis. Achilles and Patroclus are done using you. For now. You okay?"

Megan wearily moved her hands until she carefully pushed her torso up from the bed, then turned around to sit, her back against the king-sized headboard.

"Yeah…I'm good."

Megan reached under the sheets to feel between her legs, wincing at the tenderness as she felt the warm, outer evidence of the semen pooling and beginning to drip from her. She shuddered knowing that she had been filled by both men.

"I'll tell you boys, it can be rough being a marine wife. All the moving, the uncertainty, the long hours sometimes, the deployments…But you play it right, and there are…some advantages."

Jared grinned and looked over at her naked torso, now marked here and there with passionate bite marks. A still visible but dried sticky trail of semen trailed from her middle left clavicle down her breast, almost reaching her nipple, with a few additional drops flanking the run. Her eyes were exhausted, sweat still beading under her dampened hair.

She turned her head and smiled at her husband, winking and making a quick kiss face. He felt his exhausted cock twitch.

Megan sighed deeply, looking over at Mark. Mark leaned over and kissed her deeply. She returned it, her fingers clenching the top sheet now pulled up to her belly button.

"Can you hand me my phone, Achilles?" she asked.

"Yep…" Mark reached to her nightstand and handed her phone to her. "Something up? Work thing?"

"No…" Megan replied casually. "Just making sure I didn't miss a message from camp. Last time JJ bit a counselor."

Jared smirked.

Mark lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"

Megan nodded, flipping up on her screen, then turning it off and handing it back to Mark. "Yeah, really. Looks like we're clear though."

"When do you pick them up?"

"They've got all day at camp tomorrow too. So Jared can get them after work."

"Jared's teaching another clinic. But I can get them." Mark answered.

Jared nodded. "Yeah, that works."

"You're too sweet…" Megan said, kissing Mark again. Then, turning the other way, she ran her fingers through Jared's hair.

"I found a place." Mark's voice came from behind Megan's turned head.

Jared saw a shift in Megan's eyes before she caught herself at the announcement.

"Oh. Cool. It's a nice place?" She asked innocently, not looking back at Mark.

"It'll do. Not a condo. Got sick of that last time. Just a little place, kinda secluded. Got a lawn I can mow. Thinking I might get a dog or something…"

Megan nodded. "Sounds great," she said softly.

"When do you move in?" Jared took over as he saw Megan begin to blink a little faster.

"Next week. I get the keys this Saturday, but the travel office isn't dropping my stuff off until Monday. I'll set it up then."

Jared nodded. "You need a hand setting up?"

"Maybe," Mark answered. "I'll see. But you guys come over whenever. Boys can play in the yard. Barbecue sometimes. You know. All that stuff."

Megan's eyes were definitely watering now. Jared sat up with his back to the headboard next to her, discreetly wiping her eyes so Mark wouldn't see. She regained her composure, then turned back to face Mark.

"Duh…of course we'll be over there all the time. You won't be able to get rid of us."

"I was hoping that was the case…" Mark smiled gently, understanding the look in his lover's eyes.

The three sat in silence as Jared gently rubbed Megan's back. Finally, Mark sat up too, turning to get out of the bed.

"Wait…" Megan insisted as he turned his back. Mark looked over his shoulder, waiting.

"You…ummm…have to take my braid out. Since we're done with…you know…"

"Oh yeah, of course…" Mark answered. "Yeah, turn around."

Megan shifted to face away from Mark, smiling at her husband as Mark undid the braid and slowly unraveled her dark hair, letting it fall loose around her shoulders. She shook her messy hair lightly, then ran her fingers through it, making sure it was fully unraveled. Mark took the hair tie and replaced it in the bedside drawer, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed to leave.

He felt a small, soft hand gently grip his bicep as he leaned forward to stand up.

"Don't go. Please?"

Mark grimaced, not turning around.

"You know that's not a good idea, Meg."

"Not forever. Just tonight. The boys are at sleep away camp tonight."

Mark shook his head slightly, still looking away.

"Please?" she requested quietly.

Mark turned his head to look past her.

"Frenchie? Thoughts?"

Jared cleared his throat. "It's cool. We got room for one more tonight."

"You sure you're okay with this?"

Jared cleared his throat again. "Yeah. You know me, man. I, uh…I like it when she…wants things."

Mark half smiled, shaking his head, then lifted his feet back up on the bed and slipped back under the covers. Megan beamed happily as she reached over Mark to turn off the bedside lamp. She settled in and laid her naked body down next to Mark's. She turned on her side, her leg draped over his leg, her upper thigh making pointed contact with his thick, exhausted cock. Then, reaching behind her, she found her husband's hand and pulled him onto his side behind her, gently placing the palm of Jared's hand on her bare breast. Resting her head and arm on Mark's chest, she sighed deeply and closed her exhausted eyes in the dark.

[nnjcpl2002]

Geez, Crushing, we're hungry for more.....just like Rein's women! Great work, thanks!

[MustBeDenied2]

Overall, we're about halfway through the whole story if I stick to the plan I have now.

I’m thrilled that we’re not close to being finished with this erotic masterpiece! As other commenters have noted, I would read this even if there was no sex. The character development and storytelling is top notch.

Thanks again, Crushing!

MBD

[Crushing]

"Hey kid, that was a hell of a game! Way to take it to 'em! Keep it up!"

Mark grinned and waved amiably at the middle aged man driving by, hanging out of his car window.

It wasn't out of the ordinary for him to be noticed walking down the street. He was pretty visible. Both because of his size and because of his growing reputation. Several other cars recognized him and honked excitedly as he walked down the road in the fading Texas heat after the big game, a backpack full of books hanging over one shoulder and his cleats dangling over the other.

It was a hell of a game. 4 QB sacks and a touchback. A star outside linebacker, he was unstoppable. And it was the season rivalry game, too. Homecoming. He was bound to get noticed. Maybe some college scouts. Cheerleaders started the chants of his name after only the second time he broke through the offensive line and threw the opposing quarterback ferociously onto the ground. By the fourth quarter, the stands echoed with his name each time the defensive line set. After each dominating display, Mark had stood up quietly and helped the defeated player stand, shaking his hand with a stoic look on his face.

Every play was a chance to prove himself again. Every play saw him reset his game face. Every play saw the opposing team look toward him with fear.

It was a big win, and when the game was over, Mark had been invited to the usual post-game party. Even though he was a junior, the senior girls were making eyes at him.

But his mom had made it clear: No parties on weeknights. And he had a big paper that he hadn't finished. So he had to shrug off the invitations and leave to walk home to the apartment he shared with his mom.

thok

Mark rolled his head to hear his neck pop. It felt good.

Mom couldn't make it to his game. It was okay. It wasn't her fault. She couldn't make it to most games. The restaurant was always short on help. He had offered to take a job there to help her out, since he had just turned sixteen, but she wouldn't hear of it. They didn't have much money, but she would make it work. Nothing could get in the way of his education.

He knew that he was Leticia Martinez-Rein's one chance to make a mark on the world. When her husband had abandoned them, she knew it was just the two of them, and she simply gritted her teeth and dug into it. She worked her fingers to the bone to give him every opportunity she could, and he knew it. He always made sure not to disappoint her. He wouldn't go party–even on the night of a big victory–if it meant letting her down.

And all the other varsity players knew she worked at Arby's.

They didn't say anything, but he knew on some level that they looked down on her. On him too. On both of them. He knew that if he was less of an asset on the football team…if he was smaller, nerdier, weaker…if he was anything less than the star outside linebacker that brutalized any opposing team dumb enough to try and get past him…

They wouldn't like him. They would be brutal to him. They'd probably go to Arby's and make fun of her.

thokthok

More popping as Mark shrugged, pulling his shoulders back and shifting the weight of his backpack. He turned to take the shortcut home: through the alley behind the grocery store.

The game had gone long. It was pitch black.

But he wasn't worried. He knew the way.

A few dozen footsteps into the dark.

Mark began to feel uneasy.

Looking around, he couldn't see the entrance to the alley anymore. He didn't remember it being this long. Somehow he got the sense he wasn't even in El Paso…

Startled by an unfamiliar noise on one side of the dark alley, he froze, listening.

scchhhlllk

He leaned forward, straining to hear. The sound grew a little louder, holding in a steady 1-2 rhythm.

scchhhlllk … scchhhlllk … scchhhlllk …

He put down his backpack and walked tentatively toward the noise.

He saw something. A dim outline…a man laying on the ground. It became clearer as he moved closer.

SCCHHHLLLK … SCCHHHLLLK … SCCHHHLLLK …

The man was wearing camouflage…he had a helmet on his head. He was clearly hurt. Mark ran up and knelt next to him.

"Hey man, you okay? Can you hear me? I can run in the store and call 911."

SCCHHHLLLK … SCCHHHLLLK … SCCHHHLLLK …

Mark reached down and gently shook the man's shoulder. The man didn't move, but the hand Mark pulled back was covered in blood. Mark saw a large, dark stain on the back of the man's shirt.

The bloody hand. The stain. The noises. He knew what this was. He had trained for this. Or had he? Didn't he just come from a football game?

SCCHHHLLLK … SCCHHHLLLK … SCCHHHLLLK …

It was a sucking chest wound. Evidence of a lung ripped apart by a bullet.

"Sir, are you okay? What should I do?"

He didn't answer. Shaking, Mark reached down to gently turn the man over, then snapped back in shocked recognition as the body rolled onto its back.

"Jett?"

"Sarge…" Lance Corporal Jett's eyes bugged out. Blood poured out of his mouth and down his chin.

"Jett, we got a medevac right outside. Just hang on, buddy, we're gonna get you help."

SCCHHHLLLK "sarge…" SCCHHHLLLK "sarge…I said I'd be good. SCCHHHLLLK "Was I good?" SCCHHHLLLK

Jett's eyes bugged as he reached out, grasping for the reassurance of Mark's hands. Mark pulled his bloody hands back, horrified. Looking down, he could make out the gaping, sucking wound in Jett's chest.

"Hang on, Jett. Just keep looking at me. Don't look away. Don't close your eyes. Don't look away for a second."

"Mark…"

A woman's voice. In the dark.

Mark looked around in the dark. "Hey lady…if you can hear me…call for help!"

He couldn't see anyone.

"Mark…I'm here…"

His eyes opened in the dark, bugging grotesquely as his chest heaved.

He wasn't in an alley. Now he was on his back looking up, covered in sweat and looking into the dark outline of a woman's face.

"Mark…it's Molly. I'm here, Mark. You're with me in a hotel. Everything is okay. You're in a hotel with me. It's just us in here…"

Mark blinked slowly as he gradually came to recognize the speaker and surroundings. She reached over him and turned on the lamp on the nightstand.

Mark stretched his body out, the tension showing as he fiercely clutched a clump of flat bedsheet in his fist. She leaned over him. He could see her clearly now. It was definitely Molly, brushing her hair out of her eyes, a worried look on her face.

Mark's breathing was shaky and labored. Molly gently put her flattened hand on his chest and slowly rubbed back and forth. As he caught his breath, Molly held his eyes firmly.

"Tell me where you are, Mark."

"I…I'm in a hotel. By the base. I'm home now…"

Molly nodded. "Tell me who I am."

"You're Molly. You're my girlfriend…"

Molly nodded again, taking his pulse under his chin. "Your heart rate is coming down. That's good. Try to relax. Take deep, slow breaths. You're here, I'm here with you…"

Mark nodded back. "I…I don't know what happened."

"It's okay…everything's okay…" Molly whispered gently, going back to rubbing his chest back and forth.

For some reason, it was only at that moment that Mark realized they were both naked. He blinked slowly, trying to process everything.

"Tell me what you did today," Molly asked quietly.

"I…I was on the bird…coming home, then we landed. I came back on the bus."

"Mmmhmmm, what else?"

"We got back, turned in weapons, then all the families were there. And you were there…"

"I was, yeah…I was there…" Molly leaned down and kissed his lips. "I came to see you. I'm here now, too."

"Yeah…we came back here."

"Where's 'here?'"

"Your hotel. We came to your hotel."

"Mmmhmmm."

"We had sex, Molly."

"Mmmhmm, we did…" Molly cooed. "See? Everything's fine. You're here with me."

Mark's body began to relax, and his vision became fuzzy. He squinted. "What time is it…"

"It's late. We can go back to sleep…"

"I don't want to go back in there, Molly."

"You don't have to go back there. You're here. With me. Just take some deep breaths. You can go back to sleep. I'll be sleeping here too. I'm right here with you. If you don't like where you go, when you wake up I'll be right here…"

Mark's eyes unfocused, his fading vision awash in a tight cascade of bright red hair reflected off the hotel lamp. His head dropped back on his pillow as Molly leaned over to turn out the light.

"I'm glad you came, Molly…" Mark murmured in the dark as he felt her face come to rest on his chest.

* * *

Technically, there was room for her open laptop. Technically.

Jordan's desk was beyond cluttered. On one side of the desk were loose stacks of printed articles, and some soft-cover scholarly journals. On the right side were stacks of bound books. Some hard, some soft. Some old, some new. Freud. Plato. Kristeva. Jung. Sapolsky. Mead. Chomsky. Augustine. Goffman. Erikson. Arnett. Taylor. Marcia. Husserl. Marion. Kant.

The names disappeared below the upper rim of her laptop screen. The two stacks of reading material created a canyon of paper into which her laptop barely fit. She had arranged two separate stacks of books to serve as a kind of reading pedestal where whatever she was reading at the time could sit while she typed notes on her laptop and drew diagrams in her notebook.

"You did go home last night, didn't you?" Patrick laughed as he walked through the door and sat down at his desk.

"Huh?" Jordan turned around and looked at him perplexed.

To Patrick's credit, Jordan did not look like she had been home in a while. She was wearing an old gray sweatshirt and faded jeans and red converse sneakers with little stains on them. Her hair was tangled, and she hadn't worn contacts in a few days. Her glasses were sliding about ⅓ of the way down her nose.

"You look like you pulled an all-nighter. Or three."

"Oh, yeah…" Jordan answered in monotone, turning back to her notebook. "No, I went home and everything..just skipped running. I'm busy…working on stuff."

"I can see that. Want me to move some of these to an empty desk? Maybe give you some room?"

"Don't touch anything…" Jordan responded absently. "I have a system."

"Okay. Just asking."

Jordan nosed back down in her notebook, writing. Patrick opened his laptop and began working. A few other graduate students trickled into the shared office space to do the same.

Jordan was oblivious to it all. When she got in the zone, when her "dissertation face" became her primary facial expression, it was not easy to pull her out of it.

Patrick looked over to her occasionally, noting her messy hair and glasses. She was usually more put together, but the intensity of her expression…

It was…

He looked forward again, focusing on his work.

Hours passed. People came and went. Patrick stole glances at Jordan. Jordan's eyes only went from book, to notebook, to laptop, and back. Patrick could see her lips move as she whispered to herself, deep in thought.

Eventually he stood up and walked over to her.

"You gonna take lunch? Or a bathroom break? Or like…breathe?"

"I am breathing. Lunch is in my bag when I'm hungry. Don't need bathroom. Grown woman. Thanks."

Patrick checked himself and put up his hands in defense. "Sorry…I was just kidding. Didn't mean to overstep. You just look like you're redlining the engine a little bit."

"Not redlining. In the zone," she mumbled. Patrick stepped back and began to head back to his desk.

"Ms. Simms…"

Patrick looked over his shoulder to see Jordan's mentor walk in the door and stand behind her. She didn't even react to his voice. Patrick walked back and tapped gently on her shoulder.

"Hey…uh, hey Jordan? Professor Lukacz is here."

"Funny…" she answered in monotone, still laser focused on her book.

"I'm afraid he's right, Ms. Simms."

Jordan snapped out of the fog and stood up quickly, turning around to see the professor standing and waiting impatiently.

"I sent you an email and two text messages, and you didn't respond," he began.

"I didn't have it…um, I'm sorry Professor, I was doing other things. I'll check it right now."

"No matter," he lifted his hand to stop her. "I could use the walk. My physicians tell me I don't walk enough. So I came here. To this…place. Again." He looked around with thinly veiled disdain at the shared office space.

"Well, um…what can I do for you, Professor?"

"Your course syllabus. We need to make a change before we officially assign you to your two sections. I understand you volunteered to teach an introductory philosophy course as well?"

Jordan nodded, pushing her glasses back into position, still flustered at the interruption. "I did…they said they needed people and I thought…"

"I just wanted to make sure you thought you could handle it with your schedule. Three classes each semester during your dissertation year, it might be too much."

"Well, I want to help if I can. And I can handle it. And…my husband's working abroad this year, so I'm kind of looking to fill the time…"

"I see." The professor knitted his eyebrows, then looked past her to the tall stack of books, scanning the bindings quickly.

"Augustine? This isn't on your agreed reading list."

Jordan turned to look at what he was seeing and then turned quickly back. "Yes. Well, I've read him before, and you know I think a longitudinal approach to identity constructs is crucial to supplement a contemporary survey, which is the key to my first chapter, and it's kind of a classic in identity theory in antiquity. I've read it a bunch of times before…actually most of those…"

The professor's eyebrow cocked upward as he looked at the small library piled on his protege's desk. "You've already read most of those?"

Jordan hesitated. "Well, yeah."

"When have you found time to read this much material? I know for a fact that you don't have time when you're my doctoral student. I've kept you very busy."

"Yes, you have. Um, well, it was before. Junior high school for some. High school for others. My dad had a library…"

"You read Husserl in junior high school?"

"No," Jordan quickly corrected him. "I read Augustine and Aristotle in junior high school. Husserl…let's see, my early phenomenology phase was probably…eleventh grade, I think."

"I didn't know you were so precocious," he smirked. "Didn't you have other, normal, teenage girl things to do? Sports, parties, boys? Perhaps the occasional trip to the mall?"

"I ran on the cross country team, but I didn't do parties. I still don't, really. And boys in high school were annoying. And look at what I'm wearing. Does it look like I know my way around a mall?"

The half dozen or so workers in the office space held their breath, horrified at her sarcastic barb.

Then the unthinkable happened. Professor Lukacz broke into a wide smile and laughed out loud.

No one had ever seen or heard that before.

Jordan, however, was unmoved.

Still in the zone, she stood uncomfortably facing her mentor with an earnest look on her face.

"Well, Ms. Simms," Lukacz concluded, "carry on. Please check your email and return a corrected syllabus immediately. I believe Professor Andrews has also reached out about the class in the philosophy department. Please don't keep him waiting. We have to finalize classes with their instructors by the end of the day."

"I'll do that right away, Professor," Jordan said, sitting back down in her chair and opening the email app on her laptop.

"Thank you. And Jordan…"

The room froze again. Nobody had ever heard Lukacz refer to a student by their first name, either.

"Yeah?" She said, typing without looking back.

He paused, and at length cleared his throat. She caught herself, stood, and turned around to face him respectfully.

"I'm sorry. Yes, Professor?"

"I like the way you think. Just don't get sucked down the whirlpool when you need to go downstream in your research and writing. Forward momentum. Every day this year. Don't get bogged down in too much extra work. Come see me if you get stuck. We'll work it out."

"Thank you, Professor. I appreciate that. And I will."

The older man nodded and smiled again, his dress shoes clicking as he briskly exited the office space.

Jordan returned her attention to her work as the other doctoral students looked in shock at each other.

In the past five minutes, the most notoriously difficult, standoffish, and pompous professor in the department had openly laughed, called a doctoral student by her first name, and had made an open-ended offer of assistance on her research and writing.

Jealousy seethed through the room.

Patrick couldn't stop looking at her.

Jordan didn't notice.

Her nose stayed down, her eyes focused, her fingers flying on her keyboard.

* * *

C: You up?

M: I am now.

C: Sorry, didn't mean to wake you. I just didn't hear from you. I was worried.

M: Yeah, sorry. I've been busy.

C: Everything okay? Where are you?

M: Everything's fine. I'm at the hotel.

C: Is he there too?

M: Yes.

C: OMFG
C: That's so hot.

M:

C: How was it?

M: Fine

C: Come on, Mol…give me a little more than that

M: God, you're insufferable.

C: Yeah, I am. So what happened. What did you do?

M: I met him at the base, he came back on a bus with a bunch of other marines. It was weird being there, most of the guys had families and I wasn't sure where to stand. I don't think I could have done it if he had family or something. Would have been too awkward. Anyway, he was literally the last guy off his bus, and I was super scared to approach him. I almost left, but then I just did it.

C: Was he happy to see you?

M: Yes.

C: Did he kiss you?

M: Yes.

C: Oh god. That's so hot…

M: You're so weird.
M: I'm glad you like it though.
M: I'm starting to like this arrangement.

C: OMG Mol, I'm gonna lose it.

M: Well do it quick. He's starting to stir, and I want him to fuck me again before breakfast.

C: OMG Molly…🥵

Molly heard Mark rustle and felt a large arm slide under the covers onto her stomach and move slowly up to cup her breast. She set her phone down on the nightstand and turned her head to meet Mark's dark brown eyes. They still seemed a little blurry, but he was smiling.

"Hey."

His voice was so deep.

Molly turned on her side and touched her nose to his.

"Hey. How'd you sleep?"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then kissed her. Then, rolling back onto his back, he sighed again.

"I had a weird dream."

"I know."

Mark squinted, looking over at her. "What?"

Molly leaned over him and nuzzled his nose with hers again. "I thought you wouldn't remember. You were pretty fuzzy. I could tell you were getting upset. I just rubbed your chest and told you where you were. You went back down pretty easy."

Mark cocked his head and held the squint, confused.

Molly pulled her lips back into a tight smile, her deep green eyes showing concern. "Have you had a lot of dreams like that?"

Mark didn't answer. "I don't remember you talking to me…was I sleepwalking or something?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Just agitated. Making noises and shaking a little bit."

"What the fuck…" Mark questioned himself under his breath.

Molly ran her hand up and down his arm and looked into his eyes.

"You know this stuff can happen with you guys, right?" She asked carefully.

Mark didn't answer. Instead he just shook his head again as if trying to clear cobwebs out of it.

"It's not a big deal," he finally answered. "First night back. I think my brain's just trying to get used to sleeping in a bed again."

Molly nodded, her eyes showing that she was unconvinced. "Okay. If it keeps happening, don't ignore it. Okay? And don't shut me out."

"Yeah, yeah. Of course. I'm fine, though."

She rolled onto her back next to him and sighed deeply. "I slept like a rock." She playfully slapped his bare chest. "You, sir, work wonders on a girl's sleep cycle."

Mark laughed. "Glad to help, I guess."

She giggled and leaned over him again, kissing him playfully. "So, what's the plan for today?"

"Didn't really have one, actually. I didn't know you were going to be here. When do you have to go back?"

Bzzzzzzz

Molly looked distractedly in the direction of her phone, then looked back down at Mark. "Sunday night."

She kissed his arm.

"So we've got all day…" She kissed his cheek.

"All night,.." she pecked him on the lips.

"And all day tomorrow. I'm all yours…" She kissed him deeply, holding it for a moment, then pulling back slightly to hold his gaze again.

"Awesome…" Mark grinned. "I don't know, Jared and Megan wanted to meet for lunch or dinner or something, that okay with you?"

"That sounds great. I want to meet your friends," she said with a grin before kissing him again.

Bzzzzzzz

"You need to get that?" Mark asked, looking over toward her phone.

"Later. You want to go get some breakfast?"

"Yeah, I'm hungry," Mark answered.

Molly pushed herself up to a seated position facing away from Mark and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. The flat sheet fell away, exposing her pale, bare torso with the smooth alabaster skin of her back.

"I know a good breakfast place in town," Mark said.

Bzzzzzzz

"Okay…I want to take a shower fir…" Molly squealed as she felt Mark's strong hands pull her forcefully over his own body and throw her on her back on the opposite side of the bed. The sudden movement made her legs catch the bedding, landing on her back on the top of a hasty rumple of bedcovers and exposing both of their naked bodies.

"Pussy first," Mark growled. "Then breakfast."

Molly giggled, looking up at him from her back. "I'll have to check my calendar, but I think we can make that work…"

Mark grinned as her creamy legs fell open in welcome. He sat up and rotated his body, climbing over her. As his strong, muscular V-shaped upper body positioned itself above her and his own long legs between hers, Molly's soft, white hands climbed up his arms and settled flat against his clavicles. She gazed up into his eyes and smiled as she felt his excitement press between her open legs.

"Oh…looks like you woke up ready to go, didn't you…"

Mark grunted.

Bzzzzzzz

"Mmm…I might still be pretty sore, and you're a big boy…don't go too fast…"

Bzzzzzzz

"Ohhh, yeah…god…a girl could get used to this…"

Bzzzzzzz

Bzzzzzzz

* * *

Bzzzzzzz

Bzzzzzzz

Jordan sat up in bed, grabbing her phone and lifting it to her ear.

"Hey baby…"

"Hey, Jojo. Sorry it's late. How was your day?"

"Good. Busy."

"I'm sorry I'm calling late. I just got back to the hotel."

"It's okay. Another long day?"

"Yeah, that seems to be the norm. I'm beginning to see why other guys give up in a month. This is an intense schedule."

Jordan smiled to herself, looking down. "For lesser men, maybe. Not my David."

"No, not me. I'm actually fine. I just don't want to mess up your sleep. How's the dissertation coming?"

"I've got notes, but I'm still trying to straighten out my ideas. Doing a lot of philosophy stuff, so my brain's in knots. Should get easier when I just get to the empirical and data driven stuff. But now my head's just…all over the place."

"That's what comes from being a genius, I guess. Everyone's got a price to pay."

Jordan blushed to herself. "You're sweet. But I'm not a genius. Just a nerd."

David chuffed through the phone. "Not all nerds are geniuses, but all geniuses are nerds. Isn't that a philosophical something or other?"

"Not really," she responded automatically. "It's moving toward a syllogistic construction, but you're really just describing a set and a subset within a category, in this case intelligence. Technically you just indicated a semantic relation: a hypernym and hyponym. There's no real deductive premise, and no real conclusion. It just sounds like a syllogism because of the way the phrase is worded."

David laughed out loud. "Not a genius, huh?"

"Shut up!" Jordan caught herself grinning into the phone, feeling herself blush. "I'm not a genius."

David laughed again.

"I don't feel like one, anyway. Just a girl trying to figure out the world."

"Well, charting new intellectual waters. That's not going to be easy, no matter what you do."

"Yeah, that's true. Plato…well, kind of Socrates I guess…compared coming up with new ideas to the pain and work of delivering a baby."

"That's intense."

"Yeah, not like he'd ever done it. But…I guess I haven't either."

"But you will, right?"

Jordan blushed again. "Yeah, I guess I will. Then I'll take that experience and shove it right in Plato's face!"

David laughed. "Ah, I miss you, Jojo. But it's still fun talking to you."

Jordan giggled back. "I'm glad."

She paused for a minute.

"Hey David?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you imagine what our kids are going to be like?"

David laughed again. "Pretty high strung, I'm guessing."

Jordan laughed back. "Super nerds! Sci-fi junkies with OCD and crippling social anxiety. It's going to be a mess!"

David laughed back. "Yeah, they'll be cute though. Because they'll be half you. And the part of them that's half me will…well, it'll keep them humble."

"Easy there, baby…" Jordan chuckled. "You're actually quite handsome, in your way. I didn't marry a troll. I have good taste…"

"That's good to hear…"

Another pause. At length, David broke the silence.

"I was super into dinosaurs when I was a little kid. Like, full-on obsessed."

"Cute!" Jordan cooed, delighted. "I didn't know that! I was an obsessive little kid too, but with astronomy. My room was literally covered from floor to ceiling with those star charts you could print off the internet back then…"

"Our kids are going to have adorable little obsessions…" David gushed.

Jordan squealed, "I can't wait…it's going to be so cute!!!"

Another pause. Then, Jordan.

"I am excited to have kids with you, baby. For real. I know it's not the time, and I know I'm a career gal, but I don't think we've ever really had a serious talk about this. Not today, but I want a baby. Babies. I want your babies."

David appeared flustered through the phone. "That's really good to hear. And just…We're on the same page. Once we get settled…"

"Yeah…" Jordan agreed quietly.

Another silence. Then David.

"This got awkward."

"Yeah.

"Why…why is it awkward?" David asked genuinely.

"Because, David. Usually after an intimate exchange like that, I'd want to make love."

"Oh."

"Yeah. And you're in New Orleans."

"Yeah, I am."

"And I'm here. By myself."

"Yeah. No good."

"Yeah." Jordan sighed, then changed the subject.

"So what's on your schedule tomorrow?"

"Actually, they're flying me out to an oil rig in the gulf. I didn't plan on it initially, but when I started looking over the port traffic, I realized a lot of it was unloading oil from tankers and smaller ships, and I didn't know how they get loaded from the rigs. So I'm going to go out and see how it happens."

"That sounds fun…"

"Yeah, I've never ridden in a helicopter before. They've got a resupply flight scheduled, they said I could tag along. But the flight leaves at 5 tomorrow."

"5? Baby, you need to get some sleep. It's after midnight there."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"You're coming home Sunday night, right?"

"Yeah."

"When do you land?"

"6:30 I think. I'll double check, then text you."

"Okay. Get some sleep, baby. I love you. Thanks for calling."

"Of course, Jo. I love you too. You get some sleep too."

"David?"

"Yeah?"

"I miss you."

"I miss you too, love. Sunday night. We can talk about babies again."

"Okay. Be safe."

"I will. Bye."

"Bye, baby." Jordan wiped the corners of her eyes as she hung up the call and placed her phone on her nightstand.

She leaned back onto her pillow, laying her forearm onto her forehead.

Her forehead was warm.

She felt her cheeks.

Warm.

Her neck. Clavicle.

Warm.

She turned on her side, squeezing David's pillow against her chest and tried to go to sleep.

The night wasn't particularly warm. She was just…

Restless.

Hey sweetie. Long day?

Jordan buried her face in David's pillow. Shaking her head in frustration, she rolled onto her back and sighed into the dark.

"Fine. You win."

She reached for her phone. Opening her old text thread with Mark, she began scrolling upward.

* * *

"Are they here?"

Mark looked around the bar and grill, spotting Jared and Megan tucked back into the corner of the building.

"Yeah. Back there. Follow me."

He took Molly's pale, lightly freckled hand and led her across the room, weaving in between tables and the raucous ambient noise of a bar and grill on a Saturday night.

Jared noticed them approaching and waved them in. Megan stood up, looking a little nervous.

Molly noticed and went in for a quick hug, then pulled back, holding Megan's shoulders. "I'm Molly. I know we met once, but the boys were in such a hurry to leave. How are you? Megan, right?"

"Right…" Meg answered, a little shy.

"Mark won't shut up about how great you two are…"

Megan blushed as the party of four sat down around the table. After ordering drinks, the women largely carried the initial stage of the conversation.

"So you're a nurse?" Megan answered.

"Yep. Registered nurse. Hospital stuff. Emergency Department, sometimes surgery. Sometimes maternity. Kinda depends on where the most chaos is."

"That must be exciting…" Megan raised an eyebrow.

"Some days. Some days it's boring, others it's tragic. Sometimes it's just people yelling at you for no reason while you're trying to get them to take their medicine. But then sometimes you can really help out, and that feels good. So, it's a mixed bag. It keeps me on my toes."

"You like it?" Jared answered.

"For the most part, yeah, I do." Molly nodded, continuing.

He prodded further. "Got any cool stories?"

She thought for a moment. "I'm sure I do, I just don't know what counts for 'cool' with two marines who just got back from a war zone…"

"Try us…" Mark laughed.

"Okay, let's see. So, last week…"

Jared had seen the pictures near Mark's bunk while they were deployed. Mark wouldn't let him see the more risque pictures, of course, but Jared had a sense of her physicality from the ones he was allowed to look at, and she seemed pretty. But here, in person, in a social setting, Molly positively sparkled in the low light of the restaurant. He could easily see why Mark was so taken with her. The way her head moved expressively with her hands as she told a story, her red hair flipping playfully back and forth. She had a delighted half-smile that she would employ strategically at different points during the story to cue a laugh. She was obviously very charming, in addition to being attractive.

Megan was trying to sort out her feelings for the new girl as she told her story. Molly was very pretty, a little thinner than she herself was, but not stick-thin. She was clearly in great shape, as the clear muscle definition in her arms was apparent in the sleeveless shirt she was wearing. She seemed genuinely nice, and a good storyteller.

Megan had only been with Mark that one time. It was an experiment. A playful dalliance they had jammed sideways into the emotionally intense pre-deployment period about a year ago. Once Mark had met Molly, he had stopped their sexy communication and clearly just wanted to be friends. But she and Jared had returned to the memory of her night with Mark quite often, both individually and as a couple. Seeing him with a new girl was…weird.

"So…you never know what you'll find up there…" Molly concluded her story as the table laughed at the anecdote.

Molly smiled warmly at Megan, aware that she was uncomfortable, but not entirely sure why.

"So Megan, tell me about you. What do you do?"

"Junior high school English teacher…" Megan's eyes dropped shyly.

"Oh, that's so cool! Do you love it?" Molly followed up brightly.

"It pays the bills. And I like to read. And I like the students. Well…some of them."

The table broke into laughter again.

"How long have you been teaching?" Molly asked.

"Not long. Two years. Started just after graduating and marrying this guy…" She nudged Jared.

"Yeah," Jared quipped, "She can't get enough of dealing with my seventh grade bullshit at home, so she decided to teach middle school."

Molly smiled. "Did you grow up wanting to be a teacher?"

Megan shrugged, looking down. "Kind of. I liked my teachers, so I think I wanted to do it when I was younger. But it's not my dream job."

"Really? What is?" Molly leaned in, interested.

Megan hesitated, then looked up again.. "I kinda want to be a prosecutor. Like Casey Novak on Law and Order, you know? Putting bad guys in jail."

Molly smiled, nodding intently. "Totally. So you wanted to be a legal badass, huh? I could see that."

Megan smiled, looking down again. "Yeah. Actually, I, uh, took the LSAT a little while ago."

"Really?" Molly brightened. "So you're thinking of going for it? For real?"

"Thinking about it, yeah. Applying to some law schools. I don't know if I'll get in, though."

"Do you mind me asking how you did on the LSAT?"

"Yeah, um…pretty good. I scored, uh, a 177." Megan blushed.

Molly's eyes widened. "Really?"

Mark spoke up. "I think that's pretty good, right?"

Molly turned to look up at him, wide eyed. "A perfect score is 180. 177 is really impressive. Like…really, really good." She turned back to Megan. "Was that your first test?"

"Yeah, it was."

"That's so impressive! Girl, you've got to go for it. Be a badass prosecutor!" She slapped Megan's hand playfully from across the table. "You'll be the woman that brings down the next Capone!"

Megan blushed again. "Yeah, well…I was happy about the score anyway."

Mark turned to Molly, curious: "How do you know about LSAT scores?"

"I was looking into the MCAT. So I was curious what top scores were for all the big tests. GRE, MCAT, LSAT, some others. Just curiosity."

"MCAT? You're going to be a doctor?" Jared asked, surprised.

"I don't know yet. But if we're talking about chasing dreams, that was mine growing up." Molly said. "I like being a nurse though. I might stay put."

Megan was warming to the new girl. "You should go for it.," she said, encouraging Molly. "I didn't think I'd do as well as I did. You should at least take the test. See how it goes."

Molly nodded. "I am definitely thinking about it."

The conversation continued amiably, with both women trading the spotlight as lively storytellers, comparing seventh grade classroom and hospital emergency room horror stories. Both Mark and Jared seemed content to listen as their dates traded animated anecdotes. Both men had muddles of tired and sparkling eyes, evidence of their mixed dispositions: enchanted by their dates and the beginnings of delayed exhaustion resulting from the deployment.

"So, Jared…" Molly changed her tone after they finished eating dinner. She looked over at Mark's best friend. "I've got to know…what's it like working with this guy?" She elbowed Mark playfully.

Jared seemed a little taken aback at the question. "It's…good. He's a great platoon sergeant. I'm not sure what you're asking, though."

"I'm just curious what a work relationship is like in a deployment. I know you guys are good friends, does that get in the way of work at all?"

"Never." Jared said firmly.

"That's cool…" Molly replied. "I really respect that. I think that divided loyalty between friendship and professional commitments might make things awkward sometimes."

"Nope. Not at all." Jared replied confidently.

"That's awesome." Molly held eye contact with Jared, clearly ramping up to something. "So…you wouldn't mind if I test that theory?"

"Go for it." Jared smirked, and Megan's eyebrow raised, uncertain as to where the conversation was going.

Molly smiled at Mark and slipped her hand into his on the table, their fingers interlacing. "I was wondering if you might be able to tell me which one of your platoon mates got shot in the firefight where you got knocked out. Mark never told me who it was."

Jared's pupils widened slightly. Megan's eyes narrowed in confusion.

"That was…Jett." Jared answered.

"Jett. You sure?" Molly asked.

Mark looked uncomfortable.

"Yep. I'm sure. You can check his purple heart citation."

"I wouldn't begin to know how to do that, but it's okay. I trust you." Molly answered. Megan looked down, shifting her weight.

"So Jett got shot in that firefight, right honey?" Molly looked up at her boyfriend.

Mark nodded silently. "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," she responded. Then, leveraging their interlaced hands, she pulled Mark's arm to the center of the table and pointed to the scar on his inside forearm. "So, anyone want to tell me when this happened?"

Nobody answered. Mark fumbled to respond when Megan jumped in.

"I didn't know he didn't tell you…" she whispered urgently across the table. Then, turning her gaze to Mark: "What the hell, Mark? You didn't tell her?"

"I told her it was someone in the platoon."

Molly nodded with a tight smile, displeased. "And thought I wouldn't notice the obvious bullet wound in his body? Because an ER nurse probably wouldn't notice. Or the one on your jaw." She smirked at Megan, scrunching her nose playfully, "don't you love it when they think we're stupid?"

Megan smiled uncomfortably.

"So, hulk-man…" Molly said, looking back over at her boyfriend. "Here's your chance to come clean. That scar on your jaw line? Anything you want to tell me?"

Mark's jaw flexed uncomfortably.

"Yeah. I got shot. Twice. Not a big deal though, they pulled out the bullets and stitched it up. I'm really fine. I just didn't want you to worry."

Molly nodded, holding her tight smile. "Okay. Well, thanks. Anything else you wanted me not to worry about?"

Mark shook his head and shrugged, uncertain of what to say.

Molly looked into his eyes, her lips pursing together. "Just don't shut me out. I can't help from the outside.Okay?"

Still holding his hand, Molly squeezed it urgently. Megan threw a napkin at Mark's face from across the table.

Mark nodded, swallowing uncomfortably.

"Okay…" Molly's face brightened. "Sorry to be a downer, everyone, but we got all that figured out. I'm ready to have fun again! Let's get another round over here, huh?"

* * *

The air conditioner wasn't working.

Granted, it wasn't the heat of the day, but even a little after midnight, Jordan found the room sweltering.

If David were here, he would have had the cover off that thing in a jiffy, and then he'd have been elbows deep in gears and little tiny screws…

Then it would work again.

There was a middle space, of course, between when he dug into a repair and when things would work again. But that was David's time to shine. She ceded it to him entirely. It was one of the things that she loved about him.

Having a handy husband who will twist himself into knots to make you comfortable…who could beat it?

But David wasn't going to be home for several more days. She was stuck with a hot, empty bedroom.

Exasperated, she crawled out of bed and opened the window as wide as she could, and then flopped back down on top of the bed. She kicked the blanket off, and slid under the flat sheet.

Another busy day. And now she couldn't sleep. She had already talked to David again. He had lots to say about his visit to the oil rig yesterday.

It was like talking to Mr. Rogers sometimes. He was just endlessly fascinated by things.

Jordan smiled to herself at the thought, wondering what he was doing now. Probably sleeping.

But if he wasn't sleeping, maybe he was thinking of her, too.

She thought about texting him, but with the time difference…and he was so busy…and he needed his sleep.

She thrashed on the bed, throwing a small tantrum to vent her physical discomfort. She was stressed.

And now she was hot. She couldn't get to sleep.

Maybe…if David was thinking of her, maybe he might be…

Jordan bit her lip in a sly smile. She pictured her husband, lonely in a hotel room, unable to sleep without her. Pining for her. Thinking about her as he reached down into his underwear…

Jordan closed her eyes and stretched out on her back. She let out a sigh as her right hand began to tease between her legs.

There you are. I've been waiting for you.

Jordan rolled her eyes impatiently but didn't stop. Her attentions were creating a smooth, warm feeling of comfort.

I know you like thinking about him…want to up the ante a little?

Jordan closed her eyes and shook her head, turning her focus onto her husband's face. Imagining him smiling at her. Drinking in her body.

The warmth between her legs deepened.

She pictured him pushing her against a wall and kissing her deeply. Taking off his glasses and tossing them aside as he pulled up her shirt. Noticing the air conditioner was broken. Stepping back and putting his glasses back on, and raising a finger in indication.

"Just a minute Jo…I'll get that fixed…"

Jordan felt the frustration as she tried to force the fantasy back into the erotic space.

No. He can't hold back from needing her. He comes back in the room with his tool box. He sees her. She's wearing a loose tank top, and her nipples are hard. He drops the box and moves aggressively toward her, grabbing her around the waist...

Jordan's free hand slipped under her shirt and began to tease her nipples as she imagined her husband's hand doing the same.

"God I've missed you, Jordan."

It was David's face that spoke in her imagination, but the voice was deeper.

She shrugged. No matter. She kept kissing him. He took his glasses off again and began to run his hands up and down her back under the tank top.

"It will only take a minute, and then we'll be so much more comfortable. Just give me…twenty minutes. I'll fix it, and then the room will feel so good…"

David's higher, reedier, chipper voice returned as he slipped away from her embrace and picked up his toolbox, heading to the window unit.

This wasn't working.

This isn't working.

Jordan shifted uncomfortably, physically frustrated.

Improvise, honey. You take the lead, I'll follow.

Jordan chuffed indignantly in the dark. She snapped her hand over to the nightstand and picked up her phone, opening an internet browser and typing quickly in the search bar.

"Hot Latin Men."

The image search returned an infinity of attractive men with varying shades of pale to tan to copper skin.

Mmmm. I like it. You're gonna have to be more specific though.

She went back to the search bar.

"Tall hot latin men short hair."

The image search refreshed with a new haul. Jordan began scrolling through.

That's a nice one. Look at his eyes.

She kept scrolling.

Oooh, I like the shoulders. And how he stands…

And scrolling.

Until.

There. There he is. Almost a twin. Give him a scar on his jaw and you'd have him. Oooh, good choice, sweetie. I like him…

Jordan switched the phone to her left hand and slid her right hand under the waistband of her panties.

Her fingers grazed over the tangled soft hair under her panties until they found her moisture. Her middle finger found its mark as she gazed intently at the handsome model on the screen.

He really did look like him. Similar cheekbones, similar eyes. They could be cousins at least. Maybe a little shorter than he was…

The warmth began to spread into her body as her finger alternated between toying with her stiff nub and exploring her wetness. She extended her middle finger into her body, drawing out moisture and using it to methodically cover the space extending up to her excited clitoris. The smooth back and forth motion caused her legs to tense.

You want him to talk to you, honey?

"Yes…please…" She whimpered in the dark. Her excitement grew as the image on her phone screen smiled and extended a hand to her.

"You ready to be a good girl for me tonight, Jordan?"

"Yes…" her whimper was truncated, the crisp pitch of her voice rising.

"Okay. Now be a good girl. Give me what I want."

"Okay…" she whispered as the movement of her middle finger became frantic. The edge came nearer, then nearer still as she sucked in her breath and held it, until…

the smooth warmth transformed into a silky lava flow of relief radiating from between her legs.

Jordan gasped a few times before catching her breath, then, red faced, withdrawing her hand from her panties and closing the browser window on her phone.

Once her breath returned to normal, The room was somehow emptier than before.

She turned on her side and curled into the fetal position, clutching David's pillow to her body again.

See? That wasn't so hard, was it? Don't you feel better?

"Go away…" Jordan pouted into the dark silence of her empty bed.

* * *

"I'll be home soon."

"I'm sorry, I can't keep him out of your room if I'm not there. I'm not magic."

"So what did Dad say?"

Molly looked over at Mark, her phone up to her ear, and mouthed an embarrassed apology. Mark chuckled silently and waved off the apology.

"I'm not going to say anything that your dad didn't already say."

"Okay, I'll talk to him. Put your little brother on."

Molly looked over to Mark again and rolled her eyes in embarrassment before snapping back into her conversation.

"Hey Maxy. No, I know all about it. Don't make excuses, young man. Do we need to put a lock on Lucy's room?"

"Well, we've talked about this. That's her private space. You've got your own room."

Molly involuntarily put her forehead in the palm of her hand in frustration.

"So play legos in your own room."

"Well, the rule is the rule. If you go and mess up her books again, we're going to ground you and put a lock on her door. Understood?"

"Ok. Did you apologize?"

"That didn't sound like a real apology."

"Go give your sister a real apology. And I'm gonna ask Dad if it was a good one."

"I'll be back tomorrow night. Probably late."

"I miss you too, short man. Be good for dad. And stay out of your sister's room."

"Okay. Love you baby. Sleep tight."

Molly snapped her clam phone shut and hastily set it in the center console. "I'm so sorry. Mom stuff."

"It's really okay," Mark replied. "I think it's great."

"Great?" Molly smirked. "That's not the word I would use."

"I actually think you're pretty attractive when you're in mom-mode."

Molly's nose crinkled, flattered but incredulous. "Really?"

"Yeah. I think it's cool seeing you raise your little people. I mean, I'm sure it's not all fun, but they're great kids. Makes me see you as a woman that has her shit together, you know? It's… attractive."

"Well…can't say I've heard that before," Molly said, a little under her breath. "But…thank you."

They drove on in silence for a moment before pulling into the hotel parking lot. She put her car in park before she spoke up again.

"I'm sorry about calling you out in front of your friends. I feel stupid about that. I should have just talked to you."

"No, you were right. They didn't know I didn't tell you. I should have told you. I was thinking I'd tell you before we met up, but…you surprised me. But yeah. Secret's out. I got shot. Twice. But I'm okay."

Molly reached over the console and grasped his hand in hers. "Mark, this is new to me. I've never had a grown-up boyfriend before. So I'm kind of learning here. And like we keep saying, I don't know where this is going. But I want to be there for you. If I feel like you're shutting me out, or if I feel like I'm not enough for you, I get insecure. So…that's how I feel about that. I just want you to feel okay talking to me."

"I know." Mark answered. "I feel like it was easier to be open when we were on opposite sides of the world. But I'm glad we're talking. I'm learning about grown-up relationships too."

Molly stroked the back of his hand with hers. "Are you enjoying our time together?"

Mark nodded confidently. "Definitely. I wish I could've planned some stuff or something. But…I'm really, really glad you came. I needed this."

Molly smiled and lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it. "Is this how you imagined our first time together after your deployment?"

"No, but you don't hear me complaining," he laughed.

She kissed his hand again. "What did you picture?"

He shrugged, feeling his blood start to stir as she gently kissed him and touched his skin with her fingertips. "I don't know. A bunch of different stuff. Some of it you were flying naked through the window. You know. Random dream stuff."

Molly grinned. "Okay, the naked Supergirl fantasy is probably off the table, since we'll need a crane or something to make it work. But other than that…you said you had other fantasies. About me. Did you hope I would do something specific?"

"Honestly, Molly, I'm just happy we're together."

"I know. Me too. But…Like I said, I feel more secure when I know I'm doing what you need. So if you tell me what you want, I like that. It makes me feel confident."

"Oh, I get it. Okay, yeah, I could see that. I think I understand."

Molly dropped her eyes and lifted his hand up to kiss it, then his wrist, and finally gently kissed the scar on his forearm.

"I like that you dreamed about me. I dreamed about you."

"Yeah?" Mark's breath shortened slightly. He swallowed, regaining his composure. "Did you dream of me?"

"Mmmmhmmm."

"What happened in your dreams?"

"The sexy ones or the regular ones?"

"I think I should hear about the sexy ones first."

Molly continued to kiss around the underside of his forearm. "Well, Sergeant Rein…what happened in the sexy dreams was…whatever you wanted."

"Oh, come on Moll…" Mark laughed. "You gotta get more specific than that."

"But I am being specific." She brought her head back up, looking into his eyes under the dim dome light of her car. "My dreams were you telling me what to do. Like, exactly."

She leaned in and kissed his lips.

"And…whatever you wanted…I did it."

She kissed him again, slowly.

"All of it."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes full of uncertainty.

Mark didn't know what to say, but his cock was hardening noticeably. Eventually his voice nearly cracked as he clarified.

"All of it?"

Molly's eyes relaxed as she smiled and nodded slowly. She leaned in and kissed him again.

"Tell me your dreams, Mark."

She began kissing gently around his face as he cleared his throat.

"Well, I did have one fantasy that…um…helped me relieve stress on some nights?"

"Mmmm?"

"Okay. So I'm sitting in a comfy chair and I'm just reading or watching TV or something. Kinda casual. Just relaxing."

"Mmmkay…" She continued kissing, moving down his neck, then back up.

"So then you come into the room, and you're wearing cute jeans, but no top. It's like you were changing or something, but then you come in and see me. Also, you have your hair braided in those double pigtail braids that you had on the beach a couple times?"

Molly giggled. "Really?"

Mark chuckled back. "Yeah, that was actually pretty hot to me."

She giggled again and kept kissing. "Okay. Then what?"

"So then you just sort of kneel down in front of me and unzip my pants and start to go down on me. It's like, kinda casual. Then after a while I'm hard and pretty worked up, so I tell you to stand up and take your pants off, and then I bend you over the bed and just kind of take you. And I finish inside you. Hard."

Molly kissed him on the lips again. "I like it. Let's do it."

"What? Now?"

"Why not?" Molly pulled back and smiled at him. Give me ten minutes in the bathroom, I'll freshen up and fix my hair and we can do it."

"Really?"

Molly nodded brightly. "Now you've got me excited. I'm gonna make your fantasy come true…" she grinned.

Mark's eyes widened in excitement. "Okay…"

His eyes widened more as he realized what was about to happen. He reached for the car door handle.

"Okay! Let's get in there!"

* * *

Jordan held an uncertain tension in her facial muscles as she held her phone to her ear. The steady ringing tones on the other end of the call increased the odds that she could put off this conversation a little longer. Until the fourth tone, which cut off halfway through.

"Hello?" A man's voice.

"Hey Dad."

"Jojo!" He seemed genuinely pleased. "To what do I owe the honor?"

Jordan smiled into the phone. He had a way of brightening her mood. She kept forgetting that.

"How's the sermon coming?"

"You know I have the sermon locked and ready to go by Wednesday at dinner time, young lady. And what day is it?"

"It's Friday afternoon, Dad."

"Exactly. So how do you think the sermon is going?"

"You haven't started it yet, have you?"

"Not as such, no. But I've got some good ideas."

Jordan grinned at her father's buffoonish answer. "What's the topic?"

"Matthew's Gospel, chapter 21. Parable of the landowner."

"Oh, that's a provocative parable. A lesson on being satisfied with what God gives when God gives it? Hope the air conditioning doesn't break this time."

"You're not kidding there. No, actually I'm thinking of parlaying the parable into a lesson on the value of human diversity in the work of the church. But it's still…pretty nebulous. Haven't yet put pen to paper, as you so astutely observed."

"Well, I'm sure it will be awful."

"I'm sure you're right, Jo. So what's up?"

Jordan shifted uncomfortably. "I'm…in a kind of a weird place…with my dissertation. I just wanted to talk about it. Get some fresh ears, kick a couple ideas around. Do you have a few minutes?"

"Oh, Jo…that's so cool! I am nowhere near qualified to contribute to a fancy scholarly project like yours, and of course psychology isn't my vocation. But I can listen, and then you can answer the million stupid questions I'll probably have."

Jordan smiled to herself again. "Well, I haven't quite put pen to paper either. This apple didn't fall far from that tree with that particular habit."

"That's good to hear. So you'll finish your dissertation the night before it's due, and then it will be a work of unparalleled genius. Just like all my sermons."

Jordan snorted. "I hope not, but yeah…probably."

"Good. So…it sounds like your ideas are a little nebulous too. Why not let me into the cloud? What are you thinking about?"

"Well I actually wanted to talk to you about St. Anthony."

"St. Anthony?" He sounded surprised. "That's a little random. What about him?"

"Well, it's been a long time since we read Athanasius together, but I've found myself thinking about something from that book."

"Athanasius. You would have still been in pigtails and coveralls when we read that. You decided you wanted to read my whole library in…second grade, if I remember. Since you decided that alphabetically by the author was the proper way to eat a whole library's worth of knowledge, Athanasius would have been pretty close to the beginning. You still remember that?"

"I just remember that he lived in isolation in the desert, and that he talked to himself. I've been thinking about that a lot."

"Yes…St. Anthony. Founding figure in monasticism. He lived alone, actually shut himself in some kind of building by himself. I don't remember every detail, it's been years. Although it doesn't say he talked to himself. That's probably how wicked, secular psychologists such as yourself would describe it."

Jordan snorted again, laughing at the barb.

"Only kidding, sweetie. But no, the story goes that he wrestled with the devil, or devils or demons or whatever. He would speak to them, presumably they would speak back, and that exchange was pretty constant for him. Kind of defined his particular path to sainthood, I suppose. A lifelong wrestle with the devil in an empty room. There's more to his life, of course, but I'm guessing that's what you're interested in?"

"Yeah, that's it…" Jordan said. "I've been thinking about it a lot."

"So how would you account for someone like that? A patient with symptoms where he talks to devils. Paranoid schizophrenic?"

"Possibly," Jordan responded thoughtfully. "But for me, that's just too easy. Like saying St. Paul was epileptic. It only explains one thing, and when you look at the whole person, it doesn't explain it enough to really account for his whole personality. People are more than disorders."

"How do you mean? Don't schizophrenics hear voices?"

"They do, but there's a lot more to it, and it sounds like Anthony could be coherent and even pretty high functioning when he wanted to be. Schizophrenics have a lot of trouble with that. In fact, that's a big aspect of mental and personality disorders in general–we don't just define them by symptoms, we define them by how well they're able to function."

"I'm not sure I understand. So if someone hears voices but they can still balance their checkbook then they're not schizophrenic?"

"Not quite. It is more complicated than that, of course, but I think we can classify all sorts of people as hearing voices who are totally healthy. That trope about conscience–having an angel and devil on your shoulder…isn't that just voices in your head?"

"I suppose it is, in a way."

"I'd take it a little further, and I want you to actually answer this one, Reverend…" Jordan's voice began to pick up in intensity, the sign that she and her dad were beginning to have fun kicking ideas around. "Isn't the very concept of temptation a kind of voice in your head? Counterbalanced by the little, soft voice of the Holy Spirit? Or did I just shatter your whole theology?"

The Reverend Simms chuckled. "No, you didn't shatter it. But I'm going to have to write a sermon on schizophrenic spirituality now, see if I can get my head around it. No, I see your point, Jojo. There's a kind of line between a healthy inner monologue, which sometimes has more than one interior voice, and an unhealthy kind of clamor of voices. And you can draw the line between healthy and unhealthy by seeing how well someone can actually function in the real world. That makes sense from a psychological perspective. I think if we were to go back to ancient theology, they'd draw the diagnostic line in a similar way, but within a very different frame."

"Where would they draw the line?"

"They'd call it demonic possession."

Jordan swallowed. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Yeah. The story of the crazy guy in the New Testament, you know the one. Lives in a graveyard, cuts himself with sharp rocks, refers to himself as 'Legion?'"

"Oh yeah, I remember that story. I used to have nightmares about that story. Where Jesus sends all the demon spirits into pigs and they all run off a cliff or something?"

"Freaky, right?"

"So freaky."

"That's probably closer to full-on schizophrenia, don't you think?" The reverend answered.

"Yeah, I think so. So, if that's the line between normal people and the demonically possessed, what's on the other, more normal side of the line? What about the broader Christian concept of temptation, drawing people into sin?

"I'm not sure I follow. Are you asking if everyone is possessed by demons, but some are smaller? Like some inner voices are monsters while others are pets?"

Jordan laughed at the suggestion. "No, I don't mean that. I mean…well, you know what my dissertation is about, I'm trying to figure out how people form an identity, especially in young adulthood. So I'm trying to decide how to draw a distinction between a regular inner monologue that might be split between good and bad things, and the bigger, more pathological stuff. The louder voices that might seem ominous, demonic, out of control. How do you account for that more regular stuff?"

"How do I account for it, or how does the New Testament do it?"

"New Testament. I'm trying to approach my first chapter from a long historical perspective before I get into modern theory."

"Well, I think they viewed it in the framework of a war between spirit and flesh. The spirit gives you your divine impulses, the impulses of the flesh are…not as good."

"How do you know which is which?"

"That's not totally clear, but they're better at identifying the flesh stuff than they are the spirit stuff. Sex is a big one, obviously. Violence. The concept develops later into the seven deadly sins, but that's not Biblical, it's a later thing. But many of the seven deadly sins have pretty obvious physical aspects. Lust, gluttony, laziness. That kind of stuff. Indulging the body as an end in itself. That's how I'd draw a circle around the idea of the temptation of flesh."

"So pleasure is bad? The voice that says…hey, do this thing, it will make you feel good…that's always bad?"

"It depends on how you read the text. But some go that far, yes. Paul especially seems pretty hostile to the impulses of the body. The suspicion that the body is a source, maybe the source of evil…well that predates Christianity, you know that. So it's not a brand new idea, or unique to Christian thought. But short answer, yes. You're right. Body, bad, spirit, good."

"Okay, this is pretty close to what I thought, so I'll tell you my theory of voices in identity formation. I'm gonna just throw out my main idea, and you shoot it down if you think it's bad.

"Okay." The Reverend Simms made a show of settling in to listen by clearing his throat several times until she laughed again.

"Okay, Jo. For real this time. Shoot."

"Okay, here goes. I'm thinking that identity is formed when someone places themself in a moral scheme–a kind of worldview where they define good and bad. They associate their identity with the good, and the "voice" that talks to them from the "good" side kind of goes quiet. Since they already live in and identify with the "good" side of themselves, that voice doesn't have to be loud to be heard or have influence over them. But that voice that represents the bad stuff, the stuff they think is evil, that voice becomes louder. More apparent. So temptation is just a kind of corollary to a broader identity construct, where your mind reassures you that you're not bad by creating a voice that sounds like it isn't quite you. A little demon that tells you to be bad. That way it externalizes your desires for "bad" things in the form of a second voice. So in other words, you define who you are by hearing someone else telling you you're not bad, even if you kind of want to be. But that voice is still you."

"Hmmmm." Reverend Simms thought for a moment before answering.

"That is an interesting idea. I think it could still work within the scheme of the spirit/flesh war inside each of us that we find explored in the New Testament. So I don't have a knee jerk reaction to push back against it. So what you're saying is that St. Anthony just had a really powerful sense of identity, and so he had an intense, prolonged battle with himself to convince himself that he wasn't evil? No real conversations with the devil?"

"I don't know either way, dad. You're the theological guy. I'm just trying out ideas. But I do think his isolation is interesting data in the bigger picture of how that stuff happened to him. Same for other monks who lived in isolation. They seemed to have pretty intense battles with demons. If you are the only one in the room, you talk to the only one you can: yourself. And of course you're going to talk to the loudest voice. Your inner demon will always talk back to you, trying to get you to obey your worst impulses. So if my theory is correct, St. Anthony lived out an identity crisis for years, simply because he didn't really interact with anyone else."

"So isolation breeds a more intense identity crisis? Interesting."

"It's just an idea."

"A moral crisis or an identity crisis?"

Jordan thought for a moment. "I think that for me, in the theory I'm trying out here, that's a distinction without a difference. A moral crisis is a different frame for an identity crisis and vice versa."

"Hmmmm. Interesting. I like it. Turns out my daughter's a pretty smart cookie."

Jordan blushed into the phone.

"So dad, what do you think? The voice that tells you to do bad things? Is it the devil, your own body, or the dark side of your own identity talking louder so it can be heard? We're done with Biblical stuff. What do you think?"

"Oooh, a million dollar question for the pastor. Okay…I can't say I know for sure. But I have to give the devil some credence. But he's got some rich, fertile ground in weak human flesh. And as for your theory, Jojo…I have to say, after decades of pastoring, I will admit that the people with the most fragile egos are prone to do some of the most destructive things. To themselves and their loved ones. So personally…I wouldn't cut the devil out of the equation, although I know you probably have to in your academic work."

"So I haven't converted you with my wicked secular ways?"

He laughed out loud. "Nice try, sweetie. I know you go to church every week. You can't fool me."

Jordan blushed again. "Yeah, I do."

"No, I think there's still room for metaphysical evil in the world. I like your idea. I think you're on to something. But there's just…levels of evil that I don't think your identity model accounts for. Serial killers, child predators, that kind of stuff. I think church, therapy, good friends and family, and good work can be excellent remedies for most normal human evils. But some of those scarier things…they seem beyond us. They need bigger remedies. Exorcism, maybe. Certainly Jesus."

Jordan nodded, swallowing. "So, back to the earlier question. Where do we draw the line?"

"Between a normal troubled soul and a demonic pathology?" The Reverend Simms paused thoughtfully. "You drew the line at whether someone can function in society. I don't think that works theologically. At least not for me. I think I draw the line where someone's attitudes or behaviors cause real harm to innocent people. Or to themselves. As long as people can still love and be loved, serve and be served, I think we can work with that. Once the love goes, once hate, pain, distrust, and all of those terrible corrosive things come…once abuse comes into the mix…that's the line for me. Yeah. Now that I think about it, I think that's it. The line starts when the love leaves. If you have love, real love, and as long as that love has room to grow, then I think you're still on the right side of things."

"That's a good church answer," Jordan replied at length. "Not sure I can use it, but it's good to think about."

"Well, we all know how useless my sermons can be…" he joked.

Jordan laughed. "You know I don't think that, daddy."

He laughed back. "You haven't called me daddy since you were…eleven? What's the occasion?"

"I don't know, just glad to talk to you I guess. Glad you're here to help."

"Always. How's David's new job going?"

"Seems good. He's really busy. He's coming home for a week Sunday, so I'm excited to see him."

"I bet. Sounds like you're a little lonely yourself, kiddo."

"I'm alright. I'm busy too, so that helps. But yeah, I miss him."

"So you're stuck all by yourself. Not turning into St. Anthony, are you? Hearing any voices?"

Jordan's laugh had a touch of nervousness. "No more than usual."

"Good to hear. You and hubby…you two still in love?"

"Oh yeah. More than ever."

"That's great to hear, Jojo. You're on the right side then."

"Thanks, Dad…"

* * *

Sergeant Mark Rein had a noticeable spring in his step as he walked up to his barracks room early Monday morning.

His mind was leaping back and forth, processing enormous changes.

The deployment was now behind him. In terms of raw experience, it was a mixed bag. Some part excitement, some part boredom, some part terrible and tragic loss, some part victory and the glory and reputation that came with it.

Professionally, the deployment promised to jumpstart his career. He had started the deployment as the least experienced, lowest ranked platoon sergeant. Now the other marines with the same billet not only accepted him as an equal, they even appeared deferential when he was around. There was a rumor that the Marine Special Forces recruiters were interested in him. There was even talk of meritorious promotion. With a little luck, he could work his way up to be a company gunnery sergeant in a few years. He had to be smart about his next career move. He wanted to explore his options before re-enlisting in a few months.

But things were clearly looking up.

And the past weekend was life-changing. Molly had surprised him by clearing a whole weekend from her busy life and making time for him as soon as he got off the bus. As much as he didn't want to admit it, it was exactly what he needed. And the time spent was magical. It was not unlike their time at the beach: she was easy to talk to, and could be either fun and casual or somber and deep. She was instinctively empathetic and yet world-wise: open eyed about the world as it is. She clearly cared about him and wanted to watch out for him. And she rocked his world sexually. Saturday night, she had gone above and beyond his fantasies. She couldn't get enough of him, and he more than mirrored her enthusiasm. He had more than enough energy after nearly a year of abstinence to turn her body into jelly after a half-dozen or more whining, quivering climaxes that had her most intimate space squeezing his cock in a desperate, involuntary signal of intimate bond and deep satisfaction.

She had actually snored a little bit later on. Tucked into his arms as they slept together. It was cute.

Now, he felt relaxed and confident as he made his way into the barracks to change into his uniform for morning formation. He felt like he could take on the world.

It was a new feeling. He had had sex before, with a good number of willing women. This was different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he almost felt like she was with him, even when she wasn't. And having her at his side made him feel…

He wasn't sure. But it was good. He wanted that feeling to continue.

Shucking his weekend clothes, he pulled out a clean uniform from his closet. He arranged the camouflage clothes to fit the instructions for the uniform of the day, rolling the sleeves and setting the rank pin on his collars. Three chevrons over crossed rifles.

As he pulled his clothes on, he allowed himself to project his relationship with Molly into the future.

Things were going well. But the relationship status was fraught with ambiguity.

Identifying herself as his girlfriend started out as a cute, kinky joke, then taken on more serious dimensions as they corresponded throughout his deployment. The fact that she met him on base when he came home clearly meant something.

But she was married. And didn't show any signs or immediate intentions of leaving her husband. Mark hadn't asked and Molly hadn't brought it up over the weekend. But if they were going to be together, that had to be addressed.

He liked his chances. She was falling for him. She said exactly those words as they woke up together on Sunday morning and sleepily fell into more sex. They had romped on the bed, still weary and sore from the night before until he heard her sigh as he released into her body again.

She had looped her arms around his neck as he breathed heavily, not yet withdrawing from her body. Her eyes sparkled as she confessed it to him.

"I think I'm really falling for you, Mister Rein…"

But the husband situation remained unclear. He had some kind of pervy investment in their relationship, which clearly worked for Mark. For the moment, at least.

But if he was going to be with Molly…

Mark clipped his belt buckle and buttoned up his top, striding confidently outside to see the marines of Charlie Company gathering loosely before forming into a tight rectangle to receive orders.

Mark slipped quickly down the stairs and made his way through the crowd, finding Jared with the other squad leaders standing in a small circle.

"Morning gents. We up?"

"Morning, sergeant…" they all grumbled. Nobody wanted to be there, the first Monday morning back. And everyone but Jared seemed a little annoyed at how chipper Mark seemed. Jared just smirked.

"So…are we up? Anybody missing?"

"No, sergeant," Jared answered. "Everyone Is accounted for. We'll snap to at your order."

"Good. Thanks. We got a few minutes, though. Everyone have a good first weekend back?"

Three bleary-eyed, hung-over nods were all the answer he needed.

"You had a good time, I bet. That redhead…that's your girlfriend?" Corporal Arnold asked incredulously.

Mark grinned in spite of himself as he nodded. "Yep. That's my girlfriend."

"God…damn, man. Where did you find her?"

"Beach camping. You should see her in a bikini."

"Sweet holy Jesus…" Arnold laughed. "You lucky bastard."

Mark laughed. Jared looked knowingly at him and nodded approval.

From across the way, they saw the company commander and company gunnery sergeant walk toward the crowd.

"Showtime." Mark said, running out to his place. He called his platoon to form up and stand at attention, well ahead of the other platoons.

The orders for the day were simple, and the day was light. Weapons cleaning, attending to the barracks, things like that. There would be no training for a couple weeks while everyone caught their breath after deploying.

After instruction, Captain Wolfe dismissed the company, then beckoned for Mark to come speak to him privately. Mark jogged briskly over to his commander.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

"Rein. Hope you had a good weekend."

"Great sir, actually. Thanks for asking. What's up?"

"I'm afraid I've heard some disturbing news. I was only informed this morning, or I would have told you earlier."

Mark's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What's going on?"

Captain Wolfe sighed. "It looks like an investigation is going to be opened to determine some facts about the deployment. Specifically the conduct of your platoon."

Mark's head jerked back in shock. "What? Why? For what?"

Captain Wolfe clearly didn't want to say, but pressed on. "Allegations have been made that your platoon commander was put at deliberate and unnecessary risk of life and limb."

Mark was beside himself with confusion. "Deliberate and unnecessary…Lieutenant Macintosh…he barely left his room! What could they possibly be…Who are they saying put him at risk?"

Captain Wolfe's lips pursed in a grave reluctance to speak. "You, sergeant."

[nnjcpl2002]

Great chapter. Thanks Crushing. But WTF? Just like the military bureaucracy, give you a medal, and then investigate for wrongdoing. Been there!
And how could our hero not love Molly? But can he embrace a perfect cuckolding relationship? Not on a permanent basis, methinks.

We wait impatiently for the next installment.