TITLE: What's Love Got to Do With It?

CHAPTER: 1, The Touch of Your Hand

What is this thing called falling in love? It's funny when you think about it. If you asked ten people, you would get ten different answers. Does anyone know what it is? Is it just some metaphor for making other people happy or something more? Is it real or a marketing technique to sell products?

My first experience at falling in love happened the night I met my wife at a college mixer. We danced a few dances. She laughed at my idiotic attempts at humor, and I managed not to spill something on her. Instead of dropping her off at the dorm, with a request to see her again, we took a walk. We walked around the campus for hours. We talked and laughed. I told her about my family and my plans to join the Army. She described her parents and their plans for her to marry well and give them grandchildren. By sunrise, I knew I was the man the man for the job.

I bought her some coffee, and we sipped from paper cups watching the last of night give way to morning. We walked her back to her dorm while I experienced a growing impatience, almost anxiety to make love to her. To make babies with her, take care of her and make her happy. Beside a stand of trees that ended in a forest behind the dorms, the sun cast pale yellow rays through the trees setting her blond hair glowing. It was behind one of those trees that I kissed her for the first time. She was beautiful, funny, and smart. Then, you know how it goes we were in love.

I bought her the most expensive engagement ring I could afford (with just a little help from my parents.) Our parents gave us their blessing. I earned a commission in the Army. After Officer Training School, we got married. Me in my pretty new uniform with my second lieutenant bars glinting in the dim light of the church and her in a flowing white gown. In that world, a white symbolized virginity. And she was a virgin when we got married. In those days, you did the right thing, and that was our definition of love and a guarantee of eternal happiness.

Then came the bombs and the world I grew up in died, and it's never coming back.

The second time was on my hands and knees, on a rocky shore with irradiated seawater soaking my leathers, puking up Mirelurk cake, cherry Nuka Cola, and blood. I kept watching the mess pooling under my face for my eyes because I was certain I would puke them up too. When my whole body jerked into one painful arch of muscle spasm, I nearly fell into the mess. I spat and tried to sit up. My head pounded with the beat of my heart. Everything hurt, I kept my eyes closed and waited for the scolding.

Instead of a lecture, surprisingly gentle hands pulled me away from the water. The thing about these hands was that I had watched him break a man's neck with a deft twist. He could pick up a Raider as if they weighed nothing, toss them down on their back, and put a bullet between their eyes before they could blink. Although, now that I think about it, his favorite way to kill was turning them into glowing goo with a plasma weapon.

Robert Joseph McCready, hired gun, one-time mayor of Little Lamplight and a tough son of a bitch. I met him in the Third Rail Bar, we drank the night away, traded stories and struck up a friendship. Off and on, he followed me across the Commonwealth. Okay, maybe he was a little needy. A life of grief and isolation left him with little hope of happiness. For RJ, I'm not sure happiness was an expectation. Grief is something we have in common. The friendship deepened during our adventures. He's a good friend, and we fight well together. And you've heard that old saying, about having each other's backs? We do. Occasionally, when a mission calls for muscle, I'll ask Paladin Danse. We watch over each other during the long dark nights. We've pulled each other back from more than a few bad dreams.

Does he carry around a shit-load of anger? You bet he does. I see it when he forgets to hide the blaze of anger in his eyes or the way he spent hours cleaning his weapons without speaking. Whenever I hear him shout you picked the wrong day to piss me off, I know he's killing three to my one. Then wash the blood and gore off as best we could. Find a place to sit down, catch our breath, and divide the loot. I could carry more than he could because of the Power Armor. He insisted on sharing the load. If that made him happy, I was all right with it. Then I would hand him some food, and he'd look at me with those lost blue eyes as if he wondered what I was still doing here.

Occasionally, he wouldn't just kill those Raiders. On bad days, he would take his time and calmly separate their heads from their bodies. Sure, the way we had to fight to stay alive, it happened sometimes. I've seen and done some shit I don't even have words for just to survive another day. But you've never seen anything like the horrific action of RJ removing a head from a body. And the ghouls? He toyed with them. First the arms, legs, then the head.

The military training helped me endure this crazy world, but you couldn't argue with the kind of learn-to-survive-or-die style training he'd received. I can brag about that training, but if it weren't for men like Preston, Danse, and RJ, I'd a been dead a long time ago.

On this dirty, rainy morning, he's saving my life again. I didn't resist when he pulled me back against an outcropping of granite. Out of sight and shielded from the wind and anyone looking around for us, he pulled me against his chest and loosened my collar. How could his hands be so warm when I'm shivering with cold? My Power Armor stood a few a few feet away, broken and stained with blood. I'd overdone it with the drugs again. Fatigue and sickness left me weakened and just for a moment, I allowed myself to lean against his strength.

The sting of a needle made me jerk away. "Just some Radaway. Be still."

"I need a stimpak." Geez, was that my voice? I had to let my head fall back before it rolled off my shoulders.

"Goddammit, James—Uh, sorry—No more stimpaks. Don't you understand what this shit does to you? How many times do I have to say it? Just because you have the caps." He gave me a little shake. "No more."

"I'm not addicted," I managed to croak over a raw throat. More than raw, I had a throat full of sharp rocks. "You need it, too…"

"Shut up," he said and wiped the blood away from my face. "Here, rinse."

He leaned me over so I could clean out my mouth. "Rinse and spit," I said. Thinking how funny that sounded in this world. This world is still spinning, and I'm in real danger of puking again.

I fell back, not caring where I landed. RJ caught me as he always does and slipped his arms around my torso. One hand slid inside my shirt and came to rest over my ribs, and the other pressed me back against him.

"Rinse and spit. That's what the dentist says when he's done working on your teeth." For some reason, I find this funny.

"That's the idea. What's a den-tist?"

"A doctor who works on your teeth. RJ...I think I'm gonna puke again. Let me up."

I made it as far as my hands and knees. Then it started all over again. Except this time, it was dry heaves, and I really hate dry heaves. I haven't been hung over like this since the army. Truthfully and I'm sure RJ would agree this is more than a hangover. This is a growing dependence on stimpaks. I make sure I never run out of Psycho. What's my alternative? I keep my power armor in shape, but what else can I do? I will not allow those Raider freaks get me and hang me on one of their poles. The Mutants chop us up for breakfast, or the Ghouls shred the skin off our bones.

It's a fucking nightmare, and I can't wake up. Some days are so bad I think about overdosing on some of that home-cooked poison for sale everywhere just to see what's on the other side. Whatever it is must be better than this. The one constant, the one thing I can hang on to and depend on is helping me to my feet and handing me a canteen.

"RJ, I can't..." Now I feel like a coward for admitting defeat. I was an officer in the army. I led men into battle. Officers never show weakness. But, I feel weak and very done with life. We'd just killed thirty human beings. Thirty men and women just trying to survive. If they turned on you, if they caught you in their territory they would kill you. No questions or second chances. Dead and maybe, if you were lucky they wouldn't torture you first. That kind of luck didn't exist here.

"RJ?"

He didn't say anything, just looked at me sideways, and opened his arms. I didn't hesitate. RJ wrapped his arms around me, holding me close and comforting me by his smoothing his hand over my back. If anyone can protect me, he can. Only RJ can stop the nightmares, and for a little while hold back the horrors. I'm lucky to have such a companion.

A long breath escaped when he slipped my helmet off. Long fingers tangled into my hair to push my head down on his shoulder. I didn't fight it. Closer. I needed to be closer to him. His moved over my cheek, and he whispered against my cheek, "James, I'm here. I've got you."

All I could do was nod my head. How long can I rest here before it gets weird? Maybe it's already weird only I'm too sick to notice. I'm pretty sure that was a kiss or something damn near to it. God, it's been so long since anyone touched me. Some nights my body ached with the need to turn over and hold my wife. A simple act of affection and it's gone. She was there a moment ago. I still hear her singing to Sean. I loved watching them sit together on the patio. All that is gone. Gone forever. My beautiful wife, my son, and our comfortable home.

When I can, I raised my head to those blue eyes that mirror his every emotion. I think he knows it, too. That's why he rarely looked people in the eyes. I see more than just concern. I see fear and he's not bothering to hide it from me. Before I can stop myself, I pressed my lips against the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you." Then because that felt damn good, I kissed the other side.

In a world where you use toothpaste for other things besides brushing your teeth, I remembered how my wife used to bathe before we made love and always afterward. Here I am exhaling into RJ's face with the scent of vomit on my breath. He doesn't seem to mind. And it's not just vomit-breath. I smell like a man who hasn't taken a shower in a month. What shower, right? You could get some purified water. If you had some to spare. Heat it up and take a swipe at your smelly parts, but that was about it.

And laundry? I remember my drawer full of bright white t-shirts and boxer shorts. Another drawer is full of socks and the rows of polished shoes in my closet. It doesn't do me any good to think of those things, anymore. Right here, right now a man is taking care of me. He puts up with my stupidity about stimpaks and reliance on my power armor.

The warmth of his body seeped into my leathers and calmed my shivering. I have a man in my arms, and that's somewhat weird. But it feels good, and he means more to me than any of that meaningless crap.

And yes, in my world he smelled like a homeless man in the middle of Indian summer. His teeth are bad, and he's not particular about clean clothes. Funny how in this time things take on different meanings. To me, he smells like RJ. Like safety and friendship. The ages-old smell of the tattered duster he wore and that old Marine cap. The Minutemen uniform he wore underneath because I asked him to join us. His too-thin body pressed along the length of mine. The realization that I have no plans to let him go walloped me.

What would he think about the two of us in a shower with hot water running off our skin and soap…God. There'd be a mud puddle on the shower floor. Once that drained away, I'd soap up my hands again, and watch his eyes, and… What the am I thinking?

Then his hands are on my face. "Are you okay? You sound like you're in pain."

I released a quick laugh of relief and pressed my forehead against his. I don't even know what kind of sound I made. Then because he's obviously braver than I am, he started talking.

"Don't know what karma I cashed, but I definitely don't deserve someone as good as you."

And that one sentence spoken from his heart and without guile sent me reeling. As good as me? I was a failure in so many ways I couldn't count them all. My knees gave way, and he steadied me. I sank my fingers into the back of his neck, and he didn't flinch. When I found the courage to raise my eyes to his, I found acceptance and surprise. Yeah, I thought. I'm surprised too.

The dangerous world around us fell away while we decided what to do next. I pressed forward, and he backed away. For a moment he chased me, but I turned my head.

My name came out in a breathless rush of air. He twisted his fingers into my hair and dragged me to him. I caught his mouth with a kiss. A moment later he pulled away hard enough to break my hold on his neck.

"I…"

"Shut up."

I guess that was all the encouragement he needed because he has one hand on my ass pressing the hard fact of our rather obvious need for each other together. The other, wrapped tight in my hair. I don't even know what to do with my hands. I mean, I've never done this before, right. This isn't a women I have to be careful about hurting. This isn't soft curves pressed against me with the tease of something more. This was hard, immediate, and distinct. This was more. This was better. This was RJ.

My hands figured out what to do when I pushed him against the granite rocks. When I let my hips crash against his, he groaned my name into our kiss. Then he started pushing his hips against me, and I'm lost. All my senses awaken to a driving need to inhale him, taste every inch of his body and make his eyes roll back in his head when I touch him.

The other thing and it's distracting. This isn't the kind of place where getting naked outside is safe. Well, nothing is safe, but naked without a weapon is crazy. I mean a group of Raiders might stop to watch, and then they'd kill us and steal our stuff. Wait. First, they'd cut our dicks off, stuff them in our mouths, and then take our stuff. Well, there goes the romance.

"RJ…" I'm panting as if I just ran a mile. "We can't…"

"I know."

He sounded so sad.

Wait. I know where we can go. I grabbed him by the hand and took off for The Cabot House. You see, I know Imogene never did go home, and Jack spent his time wandering around the Asylum. Everyone else is dead. Brilliant. In less than a mile, we turned the corner into Beacon Hill and for once, no one is shooting at us. That damn Sentry Bot startled me just as it always does. When I opened the front door of Cabot House, RJ balked.

He looked around, "Nice digs."

"It's empty. I'll show you." I turned my back on him and tugged on his hand. The next thing I know, there's massive pain on the back of my head, and the floor is rushing up to meet my face. That bastard hit me! I guess I can do pain… I mean, sure. Damn, I thought we might take our time and work up to it, right.

Stars were still swimming in my vision when he picked me up off the floor and dropped me over his shoulder. He is down the stairs, and I'm flat on my back in Edward Deegan's bed. I tried to grab him, but he stepped away.

"You need to rest, James."

He pulled off the leather armor I wear under my Power Amor. I didn't fight him when he yanked off my boots and shirt. My weapons, he set carefully on the desk. When he sat down next to me, I noticed the fear had returned to his eyes.

"I'll be fine."

"No, you won't be fine. Not if you continue the way you are." He looked away. "Things are the best they've ever been between us. Don't make me lose you, too."

"What about what happened out there? I never saw that coming."

First, there's a smile. Then he looked me at me full on. My head hurts and I'm exhausted, but I can't look away. His fingers card my hair back from my face.

"RJ, I promise to sleep if you promise that wasn't some drug induced hallucination."

His kiss was gentle at first as if he meant to pull away. I managed to catch the lapels of his Minutemen uniform and hold him still. But, once again, he's faster than me and escaped.

"You taste like puke." Then he's gone, and the door closed with a click.

Isn't he romantic? Filthy cold and wet sleep managed to claim me, and I wondered how bad it'd be without stimpaks.

~o0o~

When I woke up, it's dark outside. That's another funny thing about this world. You stop worrying about the time. It's either dark and dangerous or light and dangerous. I carefully rolled to a sitting position ready to race to the bathroom. So far, I'm steady. There's a plate of food on the desk, clean clothes and a towel and bar of soap. Is there clean water coming out of these taps? The last time I was here, I thought so, but I wasn't sure. If so, I'm never leaving.

I made it to the bathroom without passing out. Good sign. Inside there's a toothbrush and toothpaste on the counter above the sink. Clean water came out of the tap. I brushed my teeth. I'm actually brushing my teeth! A look at the shower lured me over. Hot water? I turned the faucets as if this were my old world and out came hot water. I stepped under the spray and almost shouted with joy. Such simple routine things were now a luxury, and I intended to luxuriate a while. I hoped RJ found a bathroom for himself.

When the mud puddle I predicted floated away, I just stood under the spray and let it hit me. I felt better. I really did. Where is RJ? I'll give myself a minute more, then I'll go find him.

My answer came when a pair of lean arms slid around my waist and a hard masculine body pressed against my back. It looks like my shower fantasy might come true.

He soaped up his hands. I watched him do it. He's going to touch me. Then his hands are on me, sliding over my abs, up my back, and over my shoulders. The sheer delight of his hands on me almost takes me to my knees. The hot water, the soap and the man behind me, is nothing less than decadent. I had to flatten my palms on the tile just to stay on my feet. He stroked my body, kneading the muscles and smoothing my skin. It didn't take me long to get hard. Him either, by the feel of something sliding along the cheeks of my ass.

I felt his hand move. Is he touching himself? My thoughts went wild with ideas about what he might be doing. Everything became real when he slid himself very deliberately inside. The more he pushed the closer he came to a place where no one had ever touched me. When he did, when he grated himself against me I came up on my toes with a gasp.

"Fuck! RJ!"

"Do you want me to touch you?"

Is he kidding? I'm so turned on I'm about to explode. Strike that. I've never been this turned on. Ever.

He stopped moving. Why? When I opened my eyes, I felt him smile against my ear. Then he sucked on my earlobe and bit down. With those long fingers, he grasped me with soapy hands. Every callous, every scar scratched my skin. Forget a woman's hand, even my own hand didn't feel this good. This insanely good. The rhythm of his hips matched the rhythm of his hand, and I'm helpless between these two sensations. We don't know what we're doing, but it feels incredible. I'm pumping like crazy into his hand, and he has his arm around my waist with this dick I cannot wait to meet scouring my ass.

As I said, we really don't know what we're doing. Between the soap and me arching my back, he unexpectedly breached my ass. Pain blinded me for a moment, and I pounded my fist against the tile. Then pain turned to pleasure when he kept moving until he's buried inside me and stroking me with his other hand. We are out of control. But it's RJ, and it's a ride like I've never known. Before I could register that RJ was coming he sank his teeth into my shoulder and something exploded inside me,

Surprised at what just happened the orgasm I'd been chasing faded for a moment. Until I joined my hand with his. He pushed my hand away, and his voice, dark and harsh growled into my ear. "Come. Come right now."

He scratched his nails across my balls and squeezed me from base to tip. My vision turned white, and every nerve added fire to the promise racing down my spine. The orgasm ripped through me. I shouted his name while I watched myself spray the tile.

We stayed locked together panting and holding on with my hands on the tile and RJ with his arms firmly around my waist. Finally, the water turned cool, and I think that broke the spell. I let him take his time pulling out of me, and I was glad he did because well, it hurt. Probably won't hurt all the time, right? Because there is sure as hell going to be a next time.

I shut off the water before I turned and took him into my arms.

"RJ," I said and wanted to say more, but this was still new and fragile. But I could force my lips against his to kiss him with the hunger I felt growing inside me. The hunger that had nothing to do with purity, babies, or new love. He let me push him back to the wall and opened his mouth to invite me in. Our tongues met, sliding together, tasting, and sucking. Belly to belly, hip to hip I loved that we were the same height.

In spite of the intensity of what just happened, our kiss is still tentative. It went on and on while we learned and grew comfortable about this new addition to our friendship. His grip loosened and I do not understand why. I reached for him, but he backed away from me.

"RJ?" Time stopped when I realized he had tears in his eyes. Real tears. "Hey, it's just me," I said, cupping his cheek in my hand.

"I know."

Here's a man who'd never known kindness or affection. Yes, he'd been married and so had I, but this was different. We just shared something devastating and so totally right I was stunned into silence. As my mind cleared, the pieces began to fall into place. I'd known comfort, health, love and good times. Things he'd never experienced. Sad times are over RJ.

Here come those eyes again. He is as innocent as he is jaded and as guileless as he is deadly. The kind of friend a man can count on every day, every time.

"I plan on walking this earth with you until the day I die," he said with his palm flat on my bare chest and love shining in his eyes.

There go my knees again. I took his hand and placed it along my jaw. "Good," I murmured. "That's good because I love you, too."

I pulled him to me and kissed him slow and gentle. I have no memory of how much time passed until finally we came up for air. A month could have come and gone. I did not know, and I did not care. All I cared about was this man. Both of us lost and grieving for so long. His promise shored me up and lifted the sorrow.

With our foreheads together, I managed a smile. "Well, now that we have that settled. Sleep with me?"

He blushed crimson, "We sleep together all the time."

"Yeah, but I think we'll need a bigger bedroll now. When he glanced at the bed, surprised him by taking his arms and flipping onto the sheets. I dove in after him.

Once we were settled. It took a minute while we worked out a few body positions. He fell asleep with his head on my shoulder, and his arm firmly attached to my stomach. I listened to him breathe until sleep claimed me again.

Did I forget to lock the front door?

"What's Love Got To Do With It"

You must understand
Though the touch of your hand
Makes my pulse react
That it's only the thrill
Of boy meeting girl
Opposites attract

It's physical
Only logical
You must try to ignore
That it means more than that

[Chorus:]
Oh what's love got to do, got to do with it
What's love but a second hand emotion
What's love got to do, got to do with it
Who needs a heart
When a heart can be broken

It may seem to you
That I'm acting confused
When you're close to me
If I tend to look dazed
I've read it someplace
I've got cause to be

There's a name for it
There's a phrase that fits
But whatever the reason
You do it for me

I've been taking on a new direction
But I have to say
I've been thinking about my own protection
It scares me to feel this way

What's love got to do, got to do with it
What's love but a sweet old fashioned notion
What's love got to do, got to do with it
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken