Untouchable (LGBT - SciFi - Romance)

Chapter 15

Captain Almeida asked to see them both as soon as they were back on board the Qatar. He was very glad indeed to see his First Lieutenant cleared of all charges; he had never believed him guilty. Medic Banner, on the other hand, was more problematic. He still hadn't quite decided what he was going to do about him.

"Congratulations, if that's the right expression. I'll be going down to visit Private Lang tomorrow." He looked apologetically at Stewart. "Given his father's attitude to you, it's probably best if you don't see him personally for at least a few days. I'll pass on your best wishes, shall I?"

"Yes, thank you, sir," Stewart agreed. At the moment, he felt as if he never wanted to see Robin Lang again. He certainly didn't want to run into him by accident while visiting Max.

Almeida looked at the younger man. "Banner, I'd like to see you for a moment please, in private. You can go, Lieutenant. I'll keep you informed about Max Lang's progress."

Stewart left reluctantly, wanting to stay behind and protect Banner if he needed it, but he knew that wasn't an option.

"Have a seat," Almeida invited, seating himself behind his desk. He paused, gathering his thoughts, watching the young man opposite. Banner sat quiet and tense, waiting for his Captain's judgement. He knew he had given himself away in the courtroom, even though he had not actually spoken the words. Here it came then, the dismissal he had always feared.

"Exemption Rule 158A is very clear," Almeida chose his words carefully. "I won't act on rumours or speculation." He looked hard at Banner, seeing his eyes widen with hope, "But if someone came to me with solid evidence, I would have no choice but to act."

Banner's heart sank as he realised what Almeida was saying. He could keep his job, but only if he left Alan alone.

"I understand, sir," he said resignedly.

~~~

Robin Lang sat by his son's bedside. Max was asleep, but this time it was a natural, healing sleep, not the coma he had been in before.

Lang rubbed his forehead, trying to focus on the joy and gratitude he felt that Max was going to live. Dr. Patel had told him he expected Max to make a full recovery. Perhaps as little as another week in hospital and then he would be able to come home. Another fortnight and he could be back on the Qatar on light duties, no combat situations for at least a month.

Unfortunately, thinking of the Qatar brought his thoughts back to Alan Stewart and the mess of shame and remorse that filled his heart whenever he let it. He had fucked up. There was no polite way to put it. Taken out his own guilty fears on his best friend. He had seen the tall, masked man lead Max away and he had been honestly convinced it was Alan. But if only he had used his head and his heart, instead of his fear, he would have realised that if it had been Alan, he would never have hurt Max.

Gradually he became aware that Max was watching him.

"Dad?"

He cleared his throat. "I'm here, Max." He reached out for his hand under the bedclothes and smiled. "The doctor says you're going to be fine."

But Max didn't want to talk about himself.

"What was the story with Alan? Why did they think it was him who attacked me?"

Lang had thought he would have more time, more time before he had to talk about this with his son. He would have to tell the truth. It would come out soon enough, wouldn't it?

"He had scratches on his face, from you. His DNA was under your nails. And he had a black eye." And that wasn't a lie, just not the whole truth.

Max screwed up his face anxiously as he tried to remember what had happened. "I don't think I scratched him ... I know I hit him, when I didn't know who he was. But I don't remember‒"

Lang interrupted. "Captain Martinez thinks the man who knocked you out did that, after you were unconscious, to put suspicion on Alan."

"Oh, right."

It wasn't going to get any better with keeping. Lang gathered up his courage and tried to project rueful apology. "I'm afraid it was partly my fault as well."

Max looked at him in astonishment.

Lang took a deep breath. "I saw you in the Sahara. I saw you go off with a tall man wearing a scarf and I thought it was Alan." There. It was out.

"But afterwards, you must have known! You must have known Alan would never do anything like that!" His son was incredulous.

"I'm afraid my fear for you got the better of me. I couldn't think straight," he replied truthfully.

"And what were you doing in the Sahara in the first place?" Max zeroed in almost immediately on the weak point in his story. "Were you following me?"

Lang hesitated just an instant too long before replying.

"Oh my god! You were there already, weren't you?" Max leaped to the obvious conclusion. "Dad? What's going on? What were you doing there?"

"Nothing, nothing's going on," Lang protested unconvincingly. "I just didn't want to admit I followed you."

He knew Max didn't believe him, but there was no way in hell he was ever going to tell his son the truth. He thought he'd rather die.