Only If For a Night(MxM)

During.

Three years and six months earlier, Jet is six months into his deployment.
The next chapter will be in present time.

Warning: Mention of suicide

I fucking hate sand; Jet growled at himself as he stalked into his barracks, willing the grit to leave his body. He was lined with it. Every crease, every wrinkle, every single goddamn square inch of his body, was sand.

Jet loathed sand. He wanted to set in fire. He wanted it hauled onto a rocket ship and blasted to the sun. He wanted it gone.

The sun, sand, and the wind were relentless—all the time. Getting shit on by a pigeon in the Bronx didn't sound so bad when, out here in the desert, you could shake enough dirt out of your fatigues to make a considerable-sized sandcastle.

He only had six months left on his tour; it was one of the shorter ones he's had. But there was a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he didn't like. It was the same feeling that led him out here to this bombed up wasteland, to begin with. He was doing things, important things. He was helping, or at the very least, he was doing everything he could do to help. He didn't know any other way at this point. He was good at this. If you're good at something, why leave it?

His bunk was calling him, but so was the shower, and the mess hall's voice was gearing up to a crescendo, so he just stood there, deciding which was being the loudest.

"Juarez!" someone barked. Jet whirled. He didn't recognize the person; he was pale and wearing a tan outfit. That was pretty much every soldier he knew. The badge said 'Jones,' but he didn't bother to commit it to memory.

"Call for you in the rec hall,"

He would have to go through the sand again.

Great.

~0~

"Hello?"

The pause after was so long; he repeated the greeting. He had gotten a call from Carla three days before, maybe one of the kids found her phone and somehow got patched through.

Instead, it was a different voice. "Hi,"

"Zuko?"

"Yeah, it's me,"

Jet frowned, standing up from the chair in the tiny, curtained-off corner of the massive tent. "Is everythin' okay? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Um, how are you?"

"...good, I guess,"

"Good,"

This pause was long and definitely awkward.

"I hate to ask this because I appreciate the call, but why did you call?"

"Oh, um, I was wondering if you, um, knew if..." Jet could hear him scrambling across the room, obviously looking for something to talk about. "If you knew..." he heard a soft grunt, then the sniffling of a dog at the receiver. "When the last time Smellerbee and Longshot were vaccinated. I'm taking them in to be groomed, and I figured a vet check would be a good idea,"

"Zuko, look at a clock right now and tell me what time it is in New York,"

He sighed gently, "Three thirteen in the morning,"

"And you just happened to be awake?"

"I couldn't sleep," he mumbled.

"So you called me, from across the world, durin' a war, askin' my senior officers to speak to me because you couldn't sleep?" He asked incredulously.

"I guess," he replied meekly.

Jet started laughing, giant, messy belly laughs that was too loud to have so close to the phone, yet he couldn't help himself.

"I always used to bug you when I couldn't sleep," he defended, but Jet was still lost in his laughter to reply.

"You really are somethin'; you know that?"

Silence, then, "So do you know if they're all vaccinated?"

"They're good till next spring,"

"Okay,"

"Are you sure there isn't anythin' else?" This was the first time they had spoken for the entire time he was gone. They both pretended like they didn't miss each other for selfish reasons.

"I... had a nightmare," He waited for Jet to berate and scold him for calling him for something as trivial as a nightmare.

But Zuko didn't have just nightmares, he had night terrors, and Jet vividly remembered how violent and despicable they were.

"I didn't scream though; I had sleep paralysis, so I didn't thrash," he said conversationally. "Better than waking up on the floor with a fat lip again," he lied.

Jet didn't know what the dreams were about; he never asked. But the kid always collected himself up into as small of a ball as he could when they were over, up away from the floors and shadows. The only information he would give was that something was coming for him; they were going to get him. He said this while wildly flailing, yelping, and smacking at Jet while he tried to hold him down.

"Did they get you this time?" he asked quietly, barely above a whisper. Zuko could ignore the question if he wanted, pretending that he didn't hear it.

He cleared his clogged throat, and a dog whined somewhere in his room. Jet listened as Bee's heavy body leaped up on whatever piece of furniture Zuko was on and settling her nose by the phone, her maternal grunts calming them both.

"Uh, yeah. They got me," he laughed without humor, "I didn't think I would wake up this time,"

There was an unspoken agreement that neither of them mentions sleeping pills. Jet didn't think he was depressed or suicidal, at least not enough to try and swallow the whole bottle, but he couldn't make himself say it. No matter what guard he had right now, they weren't good enough to catch Zuko when he was slipping down under the water. Jet hardly trusted himself enough to see the signs in time. The sleeping pills would be blood in shark-infested waters. There was no need to tempt whatever lies below the surface.

"I'm not crazy, am I?" he whispered into the receiver.

"No, Zuko, you are not crazy. And if you can't fight it, outsmart it. Sleep out in the living room. Bring the dogs with you. Turn on the television. Get up and do somethin'," It was the closest he could say to ' run ', except that the thing he was outrunning would follow like a shadow.

"Okay,"

"Are you eating enough?" This wasn't his job anymore; the kid wasn't his responsibility right now. But here he was, clucking over him like a flustered hen.

"Yes,"

"Are you going outside enough?"

"Like, eight times a day with the dogs,"

"Good," he faltered. He had been expecting a fight, and when he didn't get one, he was at a loss. "I'll be back in a few months, and everythin' will go back to normal. We can go back to me watching 'Hell's Kitchen,' and you can go back to pretend watchin' it with me, alright?"

"And you'll teach me more fighting stuff, right?"

"Yes, only if you sleep, though. I don't train zombies."

"Deal," Zuko murmured.

"You can call whenever you want, okay?"

"I will. Good night, Jet,"

"Good night, Zuko,"

~0~

There were unforeseen things in the future, as is expected when one is alive. Neither knew that the war would kick up its devilish hooves and have Jet's full attention. Neither of them thought that Jet would decide to stay for three and a half more years and that Zuko would grow up during that time.

Everything would change, and neither would know what to do about it.