Fuck.

How long are the fucking memories going to plague me?

Waking up with the taste of copper in his mouth and the acrid smell of gunpowder in his nose, Gray shot up and sank back into the pillows with a tired sigh. He finally shifted around to sit on the edge of the bed. A few shakes of his head brought him out of the last of the haze of his nightmare.

Over ten years after his return from war, Gray still occasionally fought with the demons that haunted his memories. Old Sam would’ve called it shell shock. PTSD. That was what they called it now. All the experts recommended a different solution; he’d opted to throw his emotional upheaval into morning runs, cooking, and sex. It wouldn’t work for everyone, but it had for him.

With another tired sigh, Gray pushed himself to his feet and decided to run off the lingering remnants of the nightmare. He pulled on socks, shorts, and an old USMC T-shirt before shoving his feet into running shoes. The narrow, winding roads around his cottage always managed to sort through any thoughts weighing on his mind.

He stepped outside and glanced down in surprise to find Scottie sitting on the ground with his back against the wall near the door. “What the fuck are you doing? Why didn’t you knock? Come to think of it, how long have you been here?”

Scottie peered up at him with tired eyes that were reddened and slightly swollen. “Dunno.”

“Right.” Gray decided if a run helped him, it might help Scottie. He reached down to yank the man up to his feet. “Let’s go for a walk. Sitting on your ass isn’t going to help.”

“Arse.”

“Ass.” Gray locked his door and shoved Scottie forward toward the road. “Get your ass in gear.”

“Arse,” Scottie corrected with exaggerated enunciation

“You’re an arse.”

“Americans.” Scottie fell silent as they moved further down the road.

As Scottie seemed incapable of either running or speaking, Gray opted for a slow walk out of his little neighbourhood. They’d gone almost a mile onto the hiking path that went through the dense forest when the man at his side veered off toward a clump of trees. Scottie slammed his fist into one of the trunks before resting his forehead against the bark.

“I’ve found punching hard surfaces rarely does anything to help aside from possibly breaking bones.” Gray leaned against one of the other nearby trees. “Want to talk about it?”

Scottie collapsed onto a tree stump, shoulders slumping forward while he dragged his fingers roughly over his head. “Heard from my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

“I probably have more than one. I’d wager there’s a tonne of little Monk bastards running around the country. I’ve only ever known the one for certain. He’s a half-brother, actually. I tried to look out for him without actually fucking his life up with all my shit.” Scottie grabbed a branch from off the ground and began to absently strip it of leaves while he spoke. “He’s in his twenties. Smart. Nice. Nothing like me.”

“You have your moments.” Gray moved over to a second fallen tree to sit down. “What’d he have to say?”

“Dad’s dying.” Scottie snapped the branch in his hands in half. “Turns out he’s got both cirrhosis of the liver and cancer as well.”

“Fuck.”

“The bastard ignored all of the symptoms for months. His doctor suggested surgery and a transplant, but he refused to be put on the list. He apparently doesn’t want to have to quit drinking.” Scottie grabbed another branch off the ground and started the process of peeling it bare. “He’s trying to guilt Silus, my brother, into caring for him since he’ll be living in Cardiff soon. I won’t let him mess up another one of his kids’ lives while he’s at the tail end of his own.”

“Ahh.”

“Should just shove him into the bay and have done with it.” Scottie stared morosely down at the twig in his hands; he clenched it tightly enough his fingers whitened, and the wood crumbled. “I couldn’t give two shits about the bastard. He never did a thing for me, but….”

“But?”

“What if when he dies, I find myself with a million fucking regrets and no chance for closure?” He brushed his fingers off on his jeans and slumped forward to bury his face in his hands. “I talked to my counsellor about it yesterday when I found myself wanting to chug down a few bottles of whisky. This is what he does to me. I’ve no interest in stumbling into that trap again.”

Gray shifted forward until he could rest his hand on the back of Scottie’s neck, gently massaging the tense muscles. “Regrets are a son of a bitch.”

Only the slight shrug of his shoulder indicated that Scottie had heard him. Gray continued to stroke his neck soothingly, a small comfort but hopefully one to ground him until his thoughts settled. He could understand on several levels the conflicting emotions at play.

“What are you going to do?” Gray asked after ten minutes of silence.

“Try to care for him as best I can and hopefully not lose my mind in the process.” Scottie twisted his head to the side to face him. “What else can I do? Silus can’t afford to take time off from university—he’d lose his scholarship. I’d hire someone, but who knows what the old bastard would do to a nurse. The hazard pay might bankrupt me.”

Gray squeezed his neck firmly. “You’ve got friends. You’re not alone.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got me as well.” Gray had no intention of letting his newly found partner and sub collapse under the weight of what he preferred to call familial horseshit. “C’mon. We’ll finish hiking, and then I’ll make breakfast.”

“And fuck?” Scottie chuckled weakly when Gray swatted him on the back of the head. “Taking that as a yes.”

“Of course you are.” Gray got to his feet and dragged Scottie up with him. “We’ll see. Not sure I should indulge you in an emotionally compromised state of mind.”

“Fuck you.”

“Be a good boy, and I just might fuck you.” He grabbed Scottie firmly by the arse, squeezing hard and pushing him toward the path. “Keep walking.”