Page 4 of Capturing Perfection

He made sure that Logan began to undress and pulled back the covers of the bed before leaving the room.

In the bathroom, Clay looked in the cabinet for Logan’s medication. The small compartment was filled with brown prescription bottles all in Logan’s name. There were drugs for depression, drugs for anxiety, drugs to make him sleep, drugs to keep him awake. It seemed like every time he took Logan to the clinic for a visit he came home with a new brown bottle.

Clay could make a mint on the street with the inventory in his bathroom. He knew Logan hated the meds, but depended on them to function. Clay loathed enabling the dependency, but he knew they helped Logan calm down and rest easier.

He carried the pills Logan had labeled his ‘oh shit, I need something now’ drugs into the bedroom with a glass of water and found Logan lying on his side with his back to the door. Clay walked to the other side of the bed and saw that Logan’s eyes were wide open. He handed him the medicine, then turned to leave the room but stopped when a barely perceptible voice from the bed called out.

“Stay?”

Clay turned and saw that Logan watched him, the look in his eyes beseeching. For what, he didn’t know. Help? Comfort? Whatever it was, there was no ignoring the plea. Clay lay atop of the covers facing Logan. Soft black hair, growing out fromthe military buzz cut Logan had come home with, begged for Clay’s fingers to run through it. Clay resisted the temptation and focused on the blue eyes silently watching him.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Logan shook his head.

“Okay. For now, I want you to sleep. We’ll talk later, and wewilltalk, Logan. It’s time to stop the ghosting around and avoidance shit. I think what happened today makes that obvious.”

Logan’s blue eyes turned sad again, and it broke Clay’s heart to see how much pain the man he loved but could never have was in. At the moment those eyes closed and Logan’s breathing evened out, Clay vowed he would do whatever it took to break through Logan’s shell. Clay always heard you had to hit bottom before you could bounce back. Hopefully, today was the end of Logan’s downfall.

He scooted to the edge of the bed and stood. Going to the other side, he adjusted the sheet and light blanket covering Logan’s bare back. His fingers burned as they skimmed across the smooth, supple skin. The fires of hell be damned. He couldn’t resist placing a soft kiss on Logan’s shoulder before escaping the room.

Chapter Three

Logan rolled over and blinked several times, trying to get his eyes focused. Three months later, waking in near silence still disoriented him. Silence replaced bird songs and the hum of the air conditioner. He could no longer detect the splash of running water or hear a TV playing. The first weeks after his discharge had been the hardest. Every time he’d woken, he’d tensed every muscle of his body until he made sure his immediate area was secure, using every other sense available.

The aspect that struck him as most odd, however, was that he could no longer perceive his own voice. In the hospital, he’d practiced often for hours, but all he’d noticed were the vibrations in his throat that told him he was vocalizing. He’d watched his lips in a mirror as he’d spoken, trying to find some connection between the vibrations and the letters he saw forming with his mouth.

The day Clayton had picked him up at Fort Benning, he’d been terrified Clay would look at Logan as if he were speakingin tongues. He'd endlessly practiced his words for Clay; yet, he barely managed to complete a short statement.

Logan knew Clay had concluded that Logan was avoiding him, and maybe he was. But not for the same reason, he suspected Clay thought.

His lifelong communication methods failing him proved unsettling. He didn’t want Clay to feel obligated to compensate for his problem. What were they supposed to do? Pass notes back and forth all day as if they were back in high school? The injury had taken not only his ability to hear the sounds but also his brain’s ability to process the words. The problem wasn’t his brain. His inner ear was the source. The fractures to his cochlea prevented the mechanics of his hearing to transmit the sounds to his auditory nerve. Even if someone yelled at him loud enough, all he heard was a garbled mess.

Clay wanted to talk, too. To talk about what had happened that morning. What the fuck had happened that morning? He’d been doing better over the last couple of weeks. Enough that he thought a trip to Chinatown was within his ability. He’d been craving some pineapple buns and egg custard tarts. One minute, he’d been standing in line, ready to gesture his order to the Chinese-speaking owners, and the next, he was watching Adams’ head explode. Oh God, Adams. He missed that bastard so goddamn much. Nobody in their unit had ever suspected, but he and Adams had been hooking up off and on for a couple of years. They weren’t each other’s soul mates, but they’d been the very best of friends. Logan had turned his back for only a few seconds, but that was all it had taken for the sniper to take out his teammate. Ultimately, Logan was responsible. They watched each other’s back, always. And when his was turned, Adams had paid the ultimate price.

And Clay wanted him to talk about it? Logan didn’t have to talk to remember what had happened, to know he’d fucked up. He relived it every night in his dreams.

The dirt was loose beneath his boots, dusty brown and arid. The mountains in the distance were hazy as the sun beat down. Something about the situation caught his awareness. He lifted his weapon at the ready, scanning the surrounding area. He heard Adams ask him what was wrong. Something at the crest of the hill, approximately three hundred meters from their position, caught his eye. The air was heavy with silence. Then all hell broke loose.

He turned to see Adams take the bullet to his head, seconds before he heard the report of the shot. He remembered screaming and running towards the fallen soldier, even though logic told him nothing could be done. Several other members from their unit took firing positions, but they couldn’t see where the shot had originated. Orders came through to fall back. He grabbed the back of Adams’ vest and dragged him toward the APC. The rest of the guys were yelling at him to move his ass as gunfire erupted all around their position. He was only fifteen feet away from cover when a rocket came screaming through the air, and the vehicle exploded. Next thing he knew, he was laying in a bed in the hospital with a busted head and broken ears.

Logan thought back to earlier, when his shields had been at their weakest and he’d asked Clay to stay with him. For a moment, he thought Clay would refuse his request, and he only had himself to blame for the heartrending pain the seconds of indecision caused. He hadn’t handled Clay’s coming out well. The irony was palpable. One reason he’d run from Clay was because Logan had some serious issues with the abuse in his past, and the reason he’d returned to Clay was because his male lover had been killed, with Logan getting injured in the process.

When Clay came out to Logan in college, there been so many emotions swirling around his brain he'd hadn't been able to grasp just one to form a response. He'd shut down completely. Clay saw Logan's reaction and concluded that Logan was disgusted by or couldn't tolerate being around a gay man after what happened. But it wasn't that. No. Nor was it the fact that Clay had kept his sexuality a secret from Logan for several years. Okay, maybe the secret thing pissed Logan off. Logan had sharedeverythingwith Clay, including why he got pumped into the foster system.

However, what really sent his world into a tailspin was when Clay had said one sentence.I love you Logan, but that’s something we could never have.How had Clay known Logan often fantasized about the two of them sharingeverything? How had Clay known that, despite his fears, Logan couldn’t prevent the youthful desires coursing through his body? Had he been so obvious? Had every brief touch over the years given him away?

For the average man, acknowledging a desire for other men presented one challenge; for a survivor of paternal incest, transcending his nightmares to crave another man's touch presented a far greater one.

Logan had spent their freshman and sophomore years at UMass. attempting to analyze the duality of his feelings, trying to separate his love for Clay as a brother in arms from the lust that often assailed his system. He’d denigrated himself for craving the very acts that consumed his nightmares. He had done everything in his power not to give Clay even a hint of his conflicted feelings, and when Clay had dropped that little bomb, all he could think about was running away. A string of individually innocuous words had pulverized his entire being. So he’d taken his exams early, moved out of their apartment and joined the Rangers. All he could think about was getting as far away as fast as possible.

The last time he’d seen Clay had been at Mr. Shelby’s funeral service. Logan spent the entire day covertly watching Clay from behind his sunglasses, but didn't have the guts to talk to the man. When Clay had tried to breach the gap, Logan made up lame excuses about needing to return to base right away. A base located nine states away, so naturally he couldn't make time for a coffee.

Logan knew Clay had every right to hate him, but every time he looked into those gray eyes, all he saw was love. The kind of love shared between two people who survived the hellish fires of their childhood together, and sympathetic love when Clay watched from the sidelines as Logan floundered in his new world. And it was love. Logan knew that. He wasn't so emotionally stunted and bitter that he confused Clay's support as pity. Logan had even detected a brief glimpse of what he’d expected passionate love to look like. However, that was most likely his fanciful imagination. He’d had a handful of lovers since fleeing Boston sixteen years ago, but not one of them had ever usurped Clay’s position in his heart.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched, wincing as he felt his shoulder crack. He searched the floor for the cargo shorts he’d had on earlier and swiped them up off the hardwood floor. As he straightened, the world spun violently, and before he knew it, he was kissing the floor. He hated it when the vertigo kicked in. One minute he'd be fine and the next Logan found himself in the eye of a tornado. Cold sweats, nausea and vomiting typically followed. The worst part was he could never predict how long an episode would last. So far, in the last three months, he'd experienced everything from two minutes of sheer hell to two days.

Vibrations on the floorboards alerted him that Clay was on his way, and he saw big bare feet slide to a halt in front of his face. Clay’s hand cupped his cheek, lifting his revolving gazeup. Since Logan couldn’t focus, he couldn’t read Clay’s lips. He disjointedly raised his arm and kinda slapped his hand across Clay’s mouth to keep him from speaking for a moment.

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