Late like the evening sun, I sink to the ground
But I'll keep my promises, I won't let you down
Cause like a rabbit in your headlights
I am the beckon to your call
And like the early morning headlines
I am all too predictable

AN: This is a very dialogue heavy chapter, even for myself. I'm going back to the beginning of Chris and Piers' relationship, and I find that the best way to explore a relationship is through interpersonal interactions.

September 23, 2011.

"You feeling alright, Piers?" Chris asked. He'd noticed that in the two days since Piers had told Chris that his marriage was falling apart, the younger man had a sort of sickly look about him, bags under his eyes and pale skin. He was doing a pretty good job of hiding it, but Chris had been paying attention.

"Hm? Did you say something, Captain?"

Piers looked up quite suddenly, as if he was surprised.

Chris cleared his throat, shifted his weight back and forth on his boots.

"I said, uh, are you feeling alright?"

Piers snapped to attention.

"Captain, please don't think that my personal life will in any way interfere with my duties to the BSAA..."

Chris shook his head.

"No, no... that's not why I was asking. Look, uh, I'm sure things have been hard for you lately. If you want to get your mind off of stuff at home this weekend, we could..." Chris wasn't sure what the word he was looking for was. "...hang out," he finished weakly.

Hang out. What a sophomoric phrase. He was almost ashamed of himself. Piers was going to think he was some sort of nut.

"Oh, uh, sure. I'd appreciate it. I just spend my nights after work trying to look at a different wall than Natalie. I don't think I could stand a whole weekend of that."

Chris breathed a near silent sigh of relief. If Piers thought he was an idiot, he hadn't made any indication of it.

"So, what do you do for fun, kid?" Chris asked. He didn't even know what his intentions were when he invited Piers to... hang out with him, only that he felt bad for the guy.

Piers shrugged.

"I couldn't really tell you." Then he chuckled a bit. "That probably sounds a bit pathetic."

"Nah, I understand. This kind of job... it eats your life up, you know? Why don't you just come over; we can watch a game or something."

"Thanks, Captain. I appreciate it."

They pass a nod between the two of them.

Chris feels a knot in his stomach, something not entirely unfamiliar, like the sort of anxiety he'd get in the battlefield. But no one was gunning for him today. No, he was just spending some time with Piers tomorrow.

Nothing more than that.

So why did he feel a tightness in his chest?

Chris woke up at seven on Saturday morning, like he always did. Military habit, he couldn't stand to sleep in. His apartment, normally up to his standards, seemed somehow stuffy and dark today. He frowned. He didn't want to further depress newly single Piers: Welcome to my bachelor pad, enjoy the refrigerator full of Hungry Man frozen meals, the overflowing laundry basket, the embarrassingly large TV, and the dirty microwave. Look at all you have to anticipate!

In reality—unbiased by what Piers was going to think of him—his apartment was nicer than most, a one bedroom nestled alongside various political players who all assumed he was some sort of important mover or shaker himself. Improbably avoiding death a few times a year brought in a pretty substantial income. Chris lived there out of practicality rather than status however. It was close to BSAA headquarters, and that was all he cared about. The walls were paste white, the floors were a rickety hardwood that the real estate agent who sold him the place had been enamored with. He didn't have much in the way of decoration, or much of anything other than the bare essentials, plus a massive gun safe and his toys: the television, the game consoles, and the desktop computer.

He rolled out of bed and set to work making the place more presentable, cracking open the windows, shoving his laundry basket into the closet, turning on a few lights.

Why did he care so much?

Because Piers was a good soldier, he automatically answered, and he wanted to cheer him up.

He was lying to himself; he'd been lying to himself from the moment he'd met Piers. But, what the fuck else could he do? He wasn't coming to terms with it, wasn't going to tell him. God forbid.

There was a sick little part of him that wasn't too sad that Piers' wife had left him. And then he felt like a complete asshole.

Nothing was every going to happen between him and Piers.

He fished a pair of socks out of the couch cushions and threw them against the wall.

"Dammit," he muttered. Maybe this wasn't the best idea.

Chris attempted to push the thought from his mind by getting himself ready, as if that would work. He ran a brush through his hair a few times, scooped some gel out onto his palm and mussed it up.

You wanna look pretty for your boyfriend?

He willed his internal monologue to shut up. It did not; it was rude that way.

Piers was supposed to arrive at noon, but at ten there was a knock on the door. Chris put his television on mute and got up to open it.

Lo and behold it was Piers, standing in the doorway, looking almost sheepish.

"Hey, Captain. Sorry for being early... I just didn't feel like standing around at home, you know?"

"Uh yeah; that's fine."

Chris decided that he was incapable of speaking to Piers without sounding like a jackass.

"Come on in, kid," he said, ushering him inside the apartment. "So, uh, what are you in the mood for?"

Piers stood at a distance from Chris, hands stuffed into his pockets, studying the floor with intense concentration. The awkwardness between them was almost stifling.

"Do you want to see what's on TV?" Piers asked, voice hushed. "I just need some time... thanks so much for letting me come here, Captain. It means a lot to me."

"Yeah, of course."

Chris grabbed the remote and flipped the TV on.

"What's that? Football game? Isn't this outta season?" Piers asked, sitting down on the couch. He looked exhausted, dark circles under both eyes. Sleep deprivation—Chris knew it well.

"Oh yeah; I watch reruns sometimes. It's a channel I get."

"I bet you played football in school, didn't you?" Piers asked, a smile flashing across his tired features.

Chris sat down on the couch next to him, but keeping a distance.

"I didn't last too long in high school. Got my GED, joined the Air Force at seventeen. What about you?"

Piers nodded, as if he anticipated the story.

"Man, you've been serving your whole life, haven't you?" He chuckled a bit. "I really feel like a kid around you; I've seen shit compared to you. I was all into football and that in high school. College too, for a little bit, before I got scouted by the BSAA."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Chris said. "Getting an education—I'd like to say that I'd do it too if I got a second chance, but I was never too good with school and all. Loved reading and everything, I just always felt like they asked the stupidest questions." He grinned. "I was an asshole kid though."

"That's funny, I mean, you're such a good captain. I never saw you as the troublemaker type."

"Well, I guess it's because I've seen my fair share of bad leaders. I knew exactly the sort of man I didn't want to be."

They fell silent for a moment, Piers looking intently at Chris. It was making him feel a little nervous, the attention.

"You're the sort of man I want to be someday," Piers said, voice firm.

Chris almost snorted.

"Careful what you wish for, kid."

"What?" Piers snapped back. "Why wouldn't I want to be a leader like you? You're the best damn captain in the BSAA—you're a fucking legend. Just the fact that I'm here right now, sitting on your couch, I can't even believe it..."

Chris cut him off.

"Look, I really appreciate all this... just, don't put too much faith in me, alright? It makes me nervous." He attempted to chuckle to lighten up the mood, but it came out as a grim sort of cough.

The ensuing silence was punctuated only by the occasional shouts of the crowd onscreen. Piers had almost sunken in to his corner of the couch, frowning and tapping his fingers against his knee. Chris felt bad—all Piers wanted to do was be kind to him, and he had to go and punish him for it? It wasn't like Piers hadn't been suffering enough.

Chris cleared his throat. He was bad at these sort of things.

"Hey, uh, I didn't mean to tell you off or anything. I appreciate it, really, I do. Just, I'm not the best role model in everything, okay?"

Piers stirred at his end of the couch.

"Yeah, I get it. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

Chris shook his head.

"Shit, Piers, let's stop sitting around and apologizing to each other."

"Is than an order, sir?" Piers laughed.

"You better fucking believe it is." Chris grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. "Let's quit sulking around my apartment. You like Thai food?"

Piers shrugged.

"Can't say I've ever had it before."

Chris glanced over at the clock. It was almost eleven. Perfect.

"Well, now's your chance to find out. That's an order, by the way."

"Shit, this is so spicy," Piers snorted, gulping water down. A few noodles were still hanging off his fork.

"Can't handle the heat, kid?"

They were sitting in a corner table at a local place that Chris got take out from more often than he probably should have. The owners seemed almost impressed that he had brought someone else with him. The inside was a little dingy: the table wobbled on an uneven leg and the walls were covered in slowly peeling depictions of crane's frolicking.

"I haven't had spicy food in ages; Natalie hates this stuff..."

Piers got quiet with the mention of his wife. Chris bit down on his bottom lip, uncomfortable.

"I guess that doesn't matter now, does it?" He shook his head. "Fuck."

Chris played with his food, twisting a noodle around his fork over and over again.

"Uh... you wanna talk about it?"

Piers stuffed a piece of pork in his mouth and looked down at the table, shaking his head no.

"Okay, that's fine," Chris said, secretly relieved. He had no clue what to say to the guy—sure, he'd had his fair share of break ups and make ups, but he knew it wasn't the same.

Piers swallowed, his face contorted into a painful expression, and smacked his hand against the table.

"It just feels like such bullshit, you know? I wish... I wish she was cheating on me or something; that there was a reason, other than my failure to communicate; I don't even know what that means."

"Uh... have you tried talking to her about it?" Chris offered. It seemed like the correct thing to say. Piers frowned.

Evidently it was not.

"She said there's no point in trying to fix things now, because I'm just gonna go back to the way things are now in a few weeks, and the fucked up thing is that I'm pretty sure she's right."

Piers stabbed his fork into his plate, almost violent.

"Hey, it's going to be okay. She's mad right now... she'll come around."

Piers looked up at him with watery eyes.

"The food is really spicy, isn't it?" Chris asked, soft.

"She wants me out by next week. All my shit is boxed up." He wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Yeah, it's really hot. Clearing out my sinuses—I think I have allergies."

"So, uh, you know where you're going?"

Piers shook his head.

"Not a clue. My mom said I can come stay with her for awhile, but she lives outside of Baltimore, and that's a hell of a drive."

"You going to sublet a place or..."

Piers laughed, buried his face in his hands.

"Captain, I don't know what that means."

"Look, just...when you've got a break on Monday, we'll get it taken care of, okay? Go down to a real estate office or whatever. Get you sorted out."

Piers nodded.

"Yeah, sounds good...God, I can't thank you enough. Seriously."

"Don't mention it."

Chris was laying on his couch and thinking. Specifically, thinking about Piers, and the way he bit his bottom lip when he was frustrated, or how intensely he would look at you when he was really paying attention...

The fuck is wrong with me?

He closed his eyes, tried to think about the last woman he'd been with—shit, had it been that long? He'd gone back to Africa over the Summer for some follow up with Kijuju, ended up staying the night at Sheva's house—something had gone wrong between her and the current boyfriend—and when all was said and done, she spent the next morning on the phone caught between tearful apologies and yelling into the receiver.

So maybe his track record with women wasn't the best, but it existed, nonetheless.

Chris cracked open an eyelid, looked around the room.

Piers was coming back tomorrow, said he needed to get away from it all, said being at home was like walking on egg shells, and every time he looked at her, she just started crying.

And Chris wanted to offer up his couch or something, but he knew there was a line that he wasn't supposed to cross, and that was pushing it. Thai food and real estate advice was one thing, a place to stay was another, with the two of them living in such close proximity, sleeping, eating, bathing...

Stop it. Stop it right now.

Piers was a good soldier, and he was helping him out because it was the right thing to do, not out of any sort of weird ulterior motives.

Now, if he could just convince himself of that.

He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulder blades up to crack his back. He just needed to relax, take a breather, stop thinking about work so much; it was making him crazy. He was sick of this office shit, being cooped up with a bunch of pencil pushers and managers who didn't know a thing about bioterrorism, who disregarded Chris' advice when he had fucking been there himself. He needed out, before he started going even nuttier than forming a "crush," if that's what it was, on a subordinate.

Not that he wanted a bioterrorist attack, but a false alarm and a trip overseas was sounding pretty damn good right about now.

Chris closed his eyes, tried to get a nap in. Maybe he'd get up a little later, call Claire or something. He felt himself drifting off within a few minutes.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, jolting him awake.

The display read a text message from Piers, of course. Why wouldn't it have been Piers, just as he stopped thinking about him.

"Hey thanks again."

Chris shook his head. He couldn't get away from this, could he?

"You're welcome. See you tomorrow."

You're steady as I come undone, you
You're quietly bound
But I'll keep my promises
I won't let you down