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Title: Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow
Author: Jenn (JD/Stealthlamb)
Warnings: Graphic sex between two men.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Zev Braun. The title courtesy of the works of Mr. Willie Shakespeare. I make no money off of my work.

He made his way cautiously through the darkened hallway; the room ahead still cloaked from view by the sheer panels of red chiffon draped casually from the ledge of the door jam. They were mesmerizing, waving fluidly toward him occasionally shimmering, illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight from within. The sight was utterly beautiful-ironic given what he was here to do.

Stopping just short of the entryway Myron could just make out the figure of a woman--a girl really. The outline of her slight figure slowly making its way toward the canopy-draped platform in the center of the room.

An unbidden image of McKay flashed through his mind, eyes closed, skin burning for her touch. Her fingers brushing across his bare chest, breath catching as she lowers her head. Slowly, her mouth closes over one exposed nipple. Delicately, as her tongue trails over the sensitive and stiffened peak, his hands tangle through her hair holding her firm, the soft strands weaving around his large digits as he arches to her touch. Myron's face flushed.

"I make you feel good," she whispered confidently breaking Myron from his reverie. The broken English came wafting over the rattling of an old and insignificant fan accomplishing nothing more than circulating the overwhelming heat of the Vietnam night about the room.

His first instinct was to walk away, let him have this moment. The scene seemed almost too perfect to spoil with the business at hand, but it had to be done. McKay brought this upon himself. But something held him in place; a sudden need to hear that familiar voice swept through him. Why? Why wait for the presumptuous remark, the smooth answer in that husky tone that normally grated on his very last nerve?

Why indeed...

************************

He'd left the base without so much as a word. 'A family emergency', the Major had said, but Myron didn't buy it for a minute. Johnny was up to something, he always was. He had spoken to his mother the night before and knew that everything was fine. He had told Myron, himself.

He didn't even know why it had gotten to him so much, the fact that he'd taken off. It wasn't like it was the first time. Even before he had been told the news it had nagged away at him for days on end as he paced around the empty hootch, finding new flaws with the pilot even in his absence.

And now this...It made him angry, reinforcing his original summation of the flyboy's character, careless, dangerous and unreliable.

************************

"Why don't you see if you can make him feel good." The sultry tone was aimed at the girl but Myron cringed from the underlying arrogance that seemed especially reserved for him... "God knows *he* needs it," Johnny added, the smile in his voice almost tangible.

Slowly, the shadowy figure turned toward him. Though he still couldn't see past the seas of silk and mosquito netting, he could almost feel that insolent gaze. McKay was staring at him.

*Let it go, * he told himself. Now wasn't the time to go blowing up. In a few minutes that cockiness would be knocked right out of him... *probably for good. Then, it'll be over and you can take off. Just tell him what you gotta' and you can disappear; go back to your dark little corner of the war with a good bottle of booze and forget. * Getting this over with and getting away though, had little to do with McKay.

It was times like these that Myron's true cowardice reared its ugly head. Emotions. He couldn't deal with his own much less anyone else's. Once again his anger surged. * If McKay wasn't such a fuck up, I wouldn't be here! *

Dutifully, the girl approached Myron, pushing aside the thin barriers of fabric between them. With a giggle she urged him forward and into the room. As her hands delicately traced over his shoulders and down his arms, Myron stiffened, and Johnny smiled sensing the young Lieutenant's discomfort.

*Only Myron...* His grin widened.

"I don't think so." Myron answered as gently as he could, taking her hands in his own and holding her at arms' length.

Johnny laughed in amazement, though he'd expected as much. "Only you, Myron. What's the matter, isn't she your type?"

Unfazed despite his obvious protest, the girl skillfully smoothed her body against his and brushed her lips slowly across his uniformed chest. "You don't like, GI?" She pouted theatrically.

"No, I like just fine," Myron acknowledged kindly, though his eyes cast a disapproving glance toward Johnny. "McKay, we've got to talk."

As usual, Johnny smiled mischievously unable to resist a chance to push the young officer. "Come on, Goldman, loosen up for once. I think she likes you."

He stretched his arms out across the rows of pillows behind his bare back rather enjoying himself, the royal blue of the raw silk cases combined with the incandescent candlelight, played off of his sparkling green eyes making them twinkle more than usual. He looked so proud of himself and it brought Myron back to why he was here.

Detangling himself from his adversary's concubine, he stepped toward the bed barely keeping his anger in check. "She's paid to like us. Don't you have any scruples, McKay? She's just a kid."

As if on cue, the young girl loosened her robes allowing the sheer fabric to fall to the floor at her feet. Myron groaned in disgust as Johnny's eyes traversed her figure appreciatively. "*That*, Myron, is no kid."

She smiled coyly sensing the pilot's approval and turned her attention to back to Myron, peeling back the top of his uniform and placing her hands against his bare chest. To her credit, he hadn't even noticed her unbutton his shirt. Child or no, she was well versed in the tricks of her trade.

"Mmmm, you so pretty, I almos' do you fo' free, GI. You and you friend."

"No." He gristled at her. "NO," a bit more insistently. "Not now. Go!" Agitatedly, he picked her clothing up from the floor and pushed them into the girl's hands along with some money. "Out."

Quickly sitting up in bed, Johnny's brow furrowed as the girl scurried out. "Fuck Goldman, I already paid her! What the fuck..."

"What the hell are you doing here, McKay?"

Johnny fell back onto the pillows. "I *was* trying to have some fun. You should try it sometime, Goldman."

"What was your emergency? Unplanned pregnancy? Black market run, what?"

Johnny was genuinely offended by the remarks but covered it well with a customary retort, adding a flashy hand gesture for good measure; placing his hand over his heart. "You wound me, Goldman, really, but since when is what I do any of your business?"

"You're a fuckin piece of work, McKay," he grit through clenched teeth. "Does the word responsibility mean anything to you?"

"Responsibility," he huffed. "And end up like you? I think not. You, my friend, need to live a little!"

"Tell that to Smitty!"

It just slipped out. He truly hadn't meant it to; steeled himself before he'd gone in knowing what to expect from McKay, but Johnny just had that effect on him. Always knew what buttons to push.

Johnny sat up quickly, his face gone ashen white in the matter of an instant. "What? What about Smitty?"

*Fuck. * Myron cursed his lack of restraint.

Smitty wasn't just McKay's co-pilot. He was also his friend, but Myron had been wired to begin with, lost too many kids lately due to lack of training, and McKay's recklessness was pushing him over the edge. Though he knew it wasn't truly the pilot's fault, he lay the blame squarely on McKay's shoulders for taking off again.

"He was shot down, McKay. This morning, while you were out getting your jollies."

Myron took a deep breath assuming his monotone lecture voice. "You knew you had a recon mission today..."

"I had Wilson fill in for me," Johnny interrupted. "He's good... Not nearly as good as me, but it was a simple monitoring run. They said that the intel hadn't even been confirmed yet, that's why they were sending us instead of the big boys. They said that the mission would most likely be a scrub, anyway." Johnny was obviously already denying what was coming, and probably really needed a friend right now, but the officer in Myron was unable to withstand Johnny's self-imposed ignorance of basic military protocol.

"Its called stand-by, McKay. Stand-by means *STAND-BY*. It's not a green light for you to steal a jeep and run off to Saigon to get laid!"

"I didn't steal it," he mumbled getting to his feet quickly. Searching the room for his uniform, Myron could see that his movements were clumsy and out of sort. "Where did he go down? Did they find the wreck yet?"

Myron winced from the absence of emotion in Johnny's voice. It was a sure sign of shock. "McKay..."

"Call command and tell them to get my chopper ready. Ask for Spencer too. Guy's got eyes like a hawk..."

"McKay..." His tone was softer now realizing that his friend was falling apart, and as Johnny sat down to put his boots on Myron closed the distance between them.

"If he's down there, we'll find him. Smitty's a survivor, and a damn good shot." He laughed lightly recalling a recent memory. "I ever tell you about the time some of the guys bet him that he couldn't knock a coconut out of one of the trees on the other side of the perimeter wire?"

"John."

Johnny was fighting his own emotions, his breathing deep and labored as he attempted to swallow the emptiness filling his chest. "He just gave me the biggest smile and took the shot without even looking..." He struggled to pull on his boot; his eyes gleaming with unshed tears.

"They've already found the body, McKay. He's gone."

Johnny's foot dropped to the floor, boot laces forgotten. "No!"

"They said that he was killed instantly." Myron knew it was little consolation.

"No," he protested weakly. "He wasn't supposed to..." His voice caught in his throat. "He's not..."

Myron didn't know how to respond. Hell, he should have written a letter, those he was getting better at. "I'm sorry, John. Really."

"He was my best friend," he whispered quietly. "He wasn't supposed to die without me."

Unable to think of anything to say, Myron watched in silence as Johnny hurried out of the room, knowing that if it were him... If it were Zeke that had died he'd want some space.

***********************

The knock on the door could only be one person. Johnny never knocked. Besides, he'd rarely been around over the last few days, coming in extremely late and leaving first thing in the morning. Myron didn't know where he had been going since he hadn't been on the flight line since Smitty.

"Come in, Sergeant." As was customary for Zeke, he respectfully removed his hat, clutching it against his chest he took a look around the hootch before actually placing his foot inside.

*One day I'm really going to have to ask him about that, * thought Myron absently before going back to scrawling at his desk.

"Evenin', L-T, everything okay?"

"Depends on what you mean by everything, Sergeant." Looking up form the dimness of the desk lamp, Myron noticed Zeke's focus on McKay's bed. "No, he hasn't come back all day, and I don't expect him anytime soon."

"Yeah, I heard, that's rough..."

"Did you give the men the news?" Myron asked changing the subject as he pulled out a fresh piece of paper. 'Dear Mrs. Flemming, I regret to inform you...'

"Sure did, L-T, a week off, huh? They're thrilled. They're already showered, shaved and packed, waiting for the bus into Saigon."

Comfortable with these visits, Zeke grabbed the bottle of scotch from Myron's desk and refilled his C.O.'s empty glass before pouring one for himself. "Got any plans?"

Myron laughed. "Me? I'm just catching up on some over due paper work, then I'm going to sleep for five glorious days."

"I hear that, sir." Myron smiled genuinely at his Sergeant both of them acutely aware of how rare a break in the war was.

The mood however was short lived. "He's hurtin' you know."

Myron dropped his pen and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "I know that, Zeke. But who isn't, here? The war doesn't stop just because McKay's having a rough time of it."

Zeke nodded. "True, but he feels responsible for what happened to Smitty. To hear Johnson tell it, you came down pretty hard on him."

"He shouldn't have taken off, Anderson. You know it and so does everyone else. Who knows what could have happened, what would have gone differently if he had gone on the mission."

"Yep. He could be dead too."

Myron tensed then grew defensive. "McKay's the one whose always boasting about what a hot shot pilot he is... and what does Johnson know about it anyway? He wasn't even there."

"No sir, but apparently McKay was over at the officer's club getting' mighty lit last night. Started out toastin' t' Smitty's memory with some of the guys and before long he was on a tangent. Babbled for over an hour to Taylor and Johnson about how he let Smitty down. Said somethin' 'bout 'Goldman bein' right about him...' Sound familiar?"

"He is careless, Zeke. He's a loose canon. He doesn't follow regulations..."

"No sir, he doesn't." Zeke tossed back a swig and refilled his own glass. "No disrespect meant, L-T, but McKay's always more than willin' ta' put his ass on th' line for us. Pulled us out a' more hairy situations that I can count. I mean, sure the guy's a little flaky, but he gets the job done when it really counts."

Myron was silent. Zeke was right. He knew it then and he knew it now, but Johnny pushed those buttons on purpose.

He had wanted to help him, wanted to have handle it differently, lord knew...but Johnny seemed to want him to fly off the handle. Craved it even. And this time, it was no joke. This time, it cost a life.

"But it did count, Zeke. And where was he?"

**************

Myron sneered as yet another overindulged soldier stumbled toward the exit, the sound of retching not far behind. "Why am I here again?"

Laughing, Zeke gestured to the bartender for another round. "Awe come on L-T, could be worse. Besides, you looked like you could use the rest."

"What do you call sleep, Anderson?" Myron practically choked with laughter on his last bit of whisky. "Because that's what I was doing when you shanghaied me from my bed and brought me to this...this hole in the wall."

Stumbling, a drunken marine fell back toppling into Myron, his drink spilling on the lieutenant's uniform. Spinning around, the inebriated soldier immediately went on the defensive.

"Shit... Why don't ya' watch it, buddy." The man slurred, his massive hand rolling into a fist. "You made me spill my drink. Now you're gonna' hafta' buy me another one."

Zeke stiffened. He was almost to his feet ready to defend his C.O., but relaxed as soon as he saw the recognition crease across the boy's face, his eyes widening as they settled on Myron's collar.

"Well, apologize to the Lieutenant, boy," Zeke prompted. "Go on."

Snapping to attention and offering a stiff salute, the boy barked loudly. "Sorry Sir, I wasn't looking where I was going, Sir."

Myron held up his hand in weary acceptance of the apology as he blotted himself down with a napkin. Sending the soldier on his way, he slowly turned to his snickering Sergeant. A slight shift of his brow enough to send Zeke into torrents of laughter that he quickly drowned out with another swig of beer.

"One more time. *Why* am I here?" Zeke grinned trying to avoid looking at the wet spot his commander's pants to parry another laughing fit and possible court martial at the hands of one very disgruntled officer.

Zeke was about to inform his commander that he was apparently there for comic relief when, out of the corner of his ever-watchful eye he spotted Johnson in the doorway of the bar frantically studying the sea of faces'. As soon as their eyes met, he instantly made a b-line toward them.

"Well now, wonder what this is about?"

Myron followed Zeke's gaze. "What now," he sighed heavily. Marvin looked nervous and both Zeke and Myron knew it couldn't be good.

"Sirs', I think you'd better come with me..." Johnson paused. "It's Lieutenant McKay..."

*********************

The lobby was in shambles and the hotel manager absolutely livid. "You leave! You go now!" he screamed when Johnson walked in.

Turning to Zeke and Myron, familiar enough with the markings of rank from years of military presence in his country, he raised a stern finger. "You nothing but trouble! American GI's make boo coo damage! Always cause trouble."

Zeke motioned to Myron to move away with Johnson while he handled the irate man, throwing an arm around his shoulders and handing him a stack of bills. "American green backs, Poppa San. It'll cover th' damage an' then some." He continued on smoothing things over knowing the elderly man understood little of what he was saying but by the look on his face, knew that the money translated well enough.

After flipping through the wad, the manager relaxed slightly. "You go now. No come back."

"All right, Poppa San. Ain't gonna' be no more trouble..." He watched as the man went behind the bar and started counting out the money. "Tonight," he added under his breath as walked away.

As he approached Johnson and Myron, Zeke got his first good look at the bar. All around the room were broken tables and chairs, splintered wood and shards of glass. Waiters were escorting the last of the riffraff out onto the street but there was no sign of third platoon or McKay.

"So, where'd everybody go?"

Johnson shook his head. "Don't know, Sarge. They were here when I left. Doc and Ruiz were holdin' Lieutenant McKay back while Marcus was trying to sweet talk two chopper jocks out of crackin' his head in."

Myron was stunned. "Why were they going after McKay." Flyboys usually stuck together. It was like some unwritten code.

"McKay.... He was cursin' a blue streak, L-T...and sayin' stuff about Smitty."

"What kind of stuff? "

"He was saying...things..." Johnson hedged. "Things you just shouldn't be sayin' in the army."

"Spit it out, boy," Zeke ordered wanting to get to the bottom of this.

"Sarge, I don't want to get Lieutenant McKay into any trouble. He's having a tough time with this and all...and he was really drunk, ya' know. It was just bullshit anyway. He couldn't have been thinking straight."

"Johnson. Now, ya' know me an' th' L-T ain't gonna' do nothin' that'd get Lt. McKay into any hot water, but it looks ta' me like he's doin' a damn fine job a' that on his own. So spill."

Marvin took a deep breath. "He was in bad shape, Sarge, mouthin' off somethin' fierce. Said that Smitty wasn't the greatest co-pilot to begin with and shouldn't have been flyin' alone. That he... " He brought his voice down a notch. "Sucked cock better than he flew birds, anyway and that he'd told him so on a number of occasions. That's when all hell broke loose. The two gorillas that Taylor had been talking to just lost it, yelling faggot and shit. They got through Marcus, but Danny was able to knock one of them on their ass before yelling to me to go find you and the L-T."

Zeke could see a hundred different emotions streaking across his L-T's face, anger being the most prominent. He couldn't help but wonder how a sheltered little General's son was going to respond to all of this. Figured absently that he'd have to take some time and maybe explain a few things about the military that didn't come written up in one of his army manuals, but he wasn't going to have a chance now. Like a bat outta' hell, Ruiz came barreling through the front door.

"Ya' found 'em." All three men turned to see Alberto bent over, hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. "Got him... McKay...over at his apartment..." he gasped. "Wasn't easy, man. Dude's smashed!"

"He alone?" Zeke asked quickly giving Myron a second to pull himself together.

"Doc and Danny are with him. Taylor must still be out looking for you two. He left just after Johnson did."

"Good." Zeke relaxed slightly knowing that McKay was at least in good hands as he watched Myron come back to him. "L-T, how do you want to handle this?" He knew that having to make a command decision would snap Myron out of his funk quicker than anything. He was right.

Myron took a deep breath. "Did you recognize anyone from base in the bar?"

Johnson and Ruiz exchanged glances. "No Sir, just us and I didn't recognize the pilots. By the way they were addressing Lieutenant McKay, I don't think they knew him either."

"All right, Johnson, you and Ruiz wait here for Taylor. Zeke and I will head over to Lieutenant McKay's place and send Doc and Percell back here. We'll take care of this. And I don't want anyone talking about it, understand? If this gets out, it could really affect McKay's future. We need to do some serious damage control."

"Yes Sir," the two specialists answered in unison. Without further discussion, Myron stormed out the door.

"And boys," Zeke added eyeing the manager. "Better wait outside," he grinned as he followed the

L-T.

"Uh, Sarge, wait! What do you want us to do after we re-group?" Johnson asked curiously. He had seen the shape that McKay was in and knew that it wasn't going to be easy going on any of them.

Zeke looked around the room. "Well, for starters, you can find yourselves a new place to hang out. This one's a dump," he winked. "Enjoy your time off," he added. "L-T and I'll take care of McKay."

**********************

PART 4

Myron rapped lightly on the door listening as soft footsteps approached. "Who is it?" The voice was firm but suspicious.

Zeke turned toward Myron smiling proudly at Danny's caution. "Boy's smart," he commented.

"He's one of yours, Anderson. I'd expect nothing less," he grinned back. "It's Goldman and Anderson, Percell. Open up."

An audible sigh of relief was evident over the clanking of the dead bolts, Danny cracking the door and peering out first before opening it all the way. "Thank God," he breathed. "I thought for sure that those guys had followed us up here."

Zeke clapped him on the back. "No. Lobby's clear. Ya' done good."

Once inside, Myron's eyes quickly traversed the room taking in the sparse yet tasteful décor. Embroidered silks and woven cane mats lay on the raw wood floors, while bamboo screens and Asian inspired watercolors adorned a few of the walls. Yet, other than the prominent tape player sitting atop an antique, black painted bureau next to a decanter of scotch, there seemed to be very few of the pilot's personal items. All in all the apartment spoke of refinement and class and not what Myron would have expected from Johnny McKay.

*But then again* the L-T sighed to himself, *if I've learned anything today it's that there's more to McKay than meets the eye. * Bringing himself back to the present, his eyes came to rest on one very drunk and very belligerent looking pilot. *Then again…*

Sitting on the bed, next to the leather recliner that McKay currently occupied; Doc sat looking flustered, exhausted and utterly relieved to see the two of them. "Boy, am I glad to see you."

"What," Johnny smiled brightly taking a large swig of whisky straight out of the bottle as he slapped Doc on the back. "You don't like my company? Why, Francis, I'll have you know that all over the country, men and women alike volley for the attentions of one John J. McKay."

"We've heard," Myron remarked dryly turning to his men. "Guys, If you don't mind..." He gestured toward the door.

"Don't have to ask me twice." Doc wasted no time in grabbing his jacket sensing by the tone in Goldman's voice that the L-T had already been filled in and was none to pleased with the developments. "Come on Danny, we better didi on outta' here." Tugging Percell's arm he began to direct him toward the exit.

Groaning, Danny pressed his hand to a growing bruise on his face. "Would you keep it down, Doc, everything's spinning and my heads killin' me!"

Hockenberry chuckled. "Well then, we definitely better go 'cause I got a sneakin' suspicion its going to be gettin' mighty loud in here in a few minutes."

Danny saw the look on his Lieutenant's face and nodded in agreement. "I hear that," he said quickly as he followed Hockenberry out the door.

Once the door closed, Myron gestured to Anderson. "Sergeant, I think I need to speak to McKay alone."

"Alone?" Johnny smirked wickedly. "I didn't peg ya' for the type, Goldman."

Myron took a step toward Johnny, a thousand insults burning on his tongue. "Don't push me, McKay. You've already caused enough trouble for one night." Zeke knew that this was going to turn physical if he didn't intercede so he hooked his hand around Myron's arm and gently tugged him back.

"Take it easy, L-T, jus' slow down now." Glancing up at McKay, Zeke pulled Myron further out of earshot to avoid any more unnecessary confrontations. "I don't think that leavin' you two alone is such a smart idea right now. You're way too wired to deal with this as it is and it's obvious the boy's just itchin' to rile you."

Myron opened his mouth to interject, but Zeke stopped him. "Now, I don't pretend to know what's going on in your head right now but I've dealt with this sort of thing before, L-T…"

Myron instantly knew what Zeke was referring to and found himself not only insulted, but on the defensive. At some point he was really going to have to have a little talk with the Sergeant about his preferred version of the birds and the bees… Or birds and the birds as the case may be.

"Wait, I don't..." he said loudly, then lowered his voice. "I don't have a problem with his sexuality, Zeke. I might have been a bit sheltered growing up, but I'm not prejudice." Only when he was sure he had McKay's attention, did he raise his voice. "If I'm having a problem with anything right now, *it's his mouth. *"

"Oh, now you're just baiting me Myron," Johnny laughed drunkenly and quite amused. "You don't want to know about what I can do with my mouth..."

Zeke's lips pursed and he quickly he turned to face Johnny. " I'd watch it if I were you, McKay, 'cause I ain't Myron and I ain't in the mood to play with you. So before you go opening that mouth a' yer's again and make another smart assed remark, let me just warn you that *I* might be inclined to take you up on the offer."

Myron was flabbergasted, but Johnny seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Swaying slightly, he stood up, arms held open. "Who's stopping you, Sergeant?" he mused.

"Zeke!" Myron squeaked as a smile spread across Anderson's face. "What the hell are you doing?"

"He wants to behave like a spoiled brat, I'm gonna' treat 'm like one."

Zeke could see the confusion plainly across Myron's face but held up a halting hand to him as he approached Johnny. "Now, I understand that yer hurtin', but shootin' yer mouth off the way you are is just askin fer trouble."

Johnny's voice deadened. "Maybe, but I don't recall asking either one of you for anything, Anderson. And for the record, I can take care of myself."

Zeke matched him in tone, his demeanor growing steadily more serious. "Really now. How much weight have you lost in the last few days, huh, McKay? When was the last time you slept? You ask me, yer doin' a piss poor job of it, boy. You need help."

"And just how are you going to help me, Sergeant? Huh? I KILLED a man!" he growled, his voice angry and numb and lilted with a sick, self-depreciating little laugh. "It's my fault!" Johnny swallowed hard and shut his eyes tightly as he repeated it back to himself quietly. "It's my fault he's dead."

"No it ain't, kid. It's war and people die. That's jus' the way it is." Zeke stated flatly, still able to see the denial on Johnny's face. "It won't hurt forever."

Eyes trembling and filling with tears, Johnny shook his head taking a step back as Anderson moved forward. "I promise ya'." Zeke said keeping his voice low and unthreatening. "Come'ere," he drawled as he sat on the bed and pat the space beside him.

Johnny hesitated. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to run over and collapse into Zeke's arms but he was much too angry and confused to allow himself that comfort. "No. I want you to leave, Sergeant, and take Myron with you. Just get out!" Abruptly, he threw the bottle across the room, the shattering glass just missing Myron's head. "Get out!"

Acting quickly, Zeke jumped up and grabbed Johnny, his arms locking firmly around his chest from behind. As Johnny struggled, the tears spilling freely now, Zeke's hold tightened. "You ain't gonna' hide from this, boy," he muttered squeezing as hard as he dared until, with a pain filled gasp most of the air left Johnny's lungs and unable to breathe, he slumped down in the Sergeant's strong embrace.

"You didn't kill Smitty." Myron piped in from across the room. "I shouldn't have blamed you. I was angry, not at you but at this damned war. Please Johnny, believe me, it wasn't your fault!"

Johnny stopped struggling. His voice was hushed now, defeated and empty and Myron and Zeke couldn't help but find it endearing. "I wished he was dead," he said softly, eyes half lidded and swollen from crying. "I told him that I wished that he would die." His body started shaking. "He said he didn't love me and I told him to go to hell."

Zeke closed his eyes and swallowed hard understanding the full impact of what had happened. Slowly, he led Johnny to the bed; the fight completely gone from him after a week of sleepless nights and emotional strain.

He sat down behind Johnny, one leg curled around him closely. "Me and the L-T, we understand what yer goin' through. We lose men every day. And every time we're left wonderin' what we did wrong and what we coulda' done different, but there ain't nothin'. If it was meant to be, it was meant to be."

"But the things I said to him," Johnny whimpered.

Myron was hesitant about closing the distance between them. He wanted almost desperately to put his arms around Johnny, but something was holding him back; the same feeling that he had pushed away back at the whore house, a feeling that was now becoming infinitely more difficult to deny.

As those sparkling green eyes turned on him hopefully though, Myron found himself immediately drawn to the bed. Tentatively, he settled a hand on Johnny's thigh. "I understand that more than you realize, Johnny. I know that I can be difficult sometimes, but it's only because I worry about you."

As the words left his lips, Myron realized just how true they were. "Every time you take off, I wonder if it's going to be the last time that I'm going to see you and I can't help going over the things that we've said to each other. It scares me. That's why I'm so hard on you all of time. You don't take care of yourself."

"Well, if that ain't the pot callin' the kettle…"

"Sergeant," Myron hissed in annoyance and Zeke turned a smile on him that took him by surprise. He could swear he recognized it from somewhere, that cocky smirk, but he couldn't quite place it. Suddenly it dawned on him and with a shake of his head he berated himself for not noticing it sooner. The similarities between his burly Sergeant's sly demeanor and Johnny McKay's were almost uncanny. Maybe that's why he felt so drawn to both of them right now.

Johnny shifted slightly, but not actually pulling away. "Let go of me, Zeke," he slurred half-heartedly.

Zeke just smiled running his hands through Johnny's hair. With the other arm he pulled Johnny back to lean against his chest, grip loosening but staying close as the boy remained resistant and tense.

"People fight all th' time, McKay. Shit happens, you say things, don't mean you meant it."

"I can't ever take it back," he whispered quickly unable to swallow his sobs. "Fuck, I feel like an idiot…"

"You are an idiot, McKay," Myron smiled, his hand absently stroking Johnny's thigh. Johnny laughed lightly taking hold of Zeke's hand.

Zeke squeezed it gently. He'd always seen more in Johnny than most people; knew how lonely he was and more to the point, that he'd never admit it. He had always wanted to push through those barriers and see the real him; hold him, love him, but he didn't know how being a subordinate and a soldier. It seemed that now he was finally going to have his chance.

"Can I ask ya' somethin', McKay?" Johnny turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder. "Why Smitty. I mean, not that he was a bad lookin' guy, ya' understand, but why him?" Zeke had always thought the guy to be a little on the shallow side.

Johnny shrugged. "It's not like it's easy to find yourself a guy over here, Zeke. What was I supposed to do, take out an add in the paper?"

"Guess you're right there." Zeke quieted about to let the subject drop but Johnny surprised him by continuing.

"Because he was willing and because he wanted me." It hurt Johnny to admit that aloud. That he wanted affection so bad that he'd take it wherever he could get it. Smitty had used him; fucked him hard and treated him like shit; told him what he knew Johnny wanted to hear knowing that McKay was falling in love with him and then dropped him hard a few days before he'd been killed. He'd told him in no uncertain terms that, while it had been fun it was over. He'd found someone he could truly love. Johnny's heart split in two.

Johnny shook off the painful ache that overwhelmed his body and smiled at Zeke. "Why," he added laughingly, wet streaks still cascading down his cheeks, "did you have someone else in mind?".

Zeke's eyes flickered briefly to Myron and back to the boy on his lap before deciding that he wanted this enough to risk the inevitable backlash. His voice dropped, becoming low and husky. "And what if I did?"

From the lack of sleep and large amount of alcohol in his system, it took a minute for what Zeke had said to sink in. "You, Anderson?" Johnny's first instinct after receiving an affirmative nod was to glance at Myron ready to see the disgust in his eyes. Zeke remained looking at Johnny but every other sense he had was also aimed toward his young commanding officer.

It seemed to be a night full of surprises. "Why do find that so hard to believe, McKay?" Myron asked simply. "Anyone would be lucky to have a chance with you."

"Oh come on, Goldman…"

Seeing that Myron's face stayed stone serious, Johnny challenged him. "Okay, so tell me, hot shot. What is it about me that's got you--" he turned his head back to Anderson, "and you for that matter, hot for me."

Myron and Zeke's eyes met, the same devious smile playing in both. "Well," Zeke started, "you've got a great sense of humor, an incredibly sexy voice."

While he spoke Zeke began running his fingers over the pilot's face, across his eyes and tear dampened lashes. Delicately he stroked along the lids gathering the salty dampness then trailed his finger across Johnny's mouth. "And you have beautiful lips." Johnny's eyes closed under the soothing ministrations.

Extending his tongue, he flicked it along Zeke's fingertip, the Sergeant emitting a sharp gasp as he watched the digit disappear, encompassed by the slick moist heat of Johnny's eager mouth. The boy moaned, his tongue blanketing the salt flavored droplets as they exploded across his tongue.

Unconsciously, Myron squeezed Johnny's thigh, and McKay's legs fell open. Looking down, he swallowed hard and considered his next move.

Meanwhile, Anderson's other hand was already busy opening the last of the button's on Johnny's uniform, aching to get his hands on that smooth tanned chest. He trailed his palm down the hard flat surface, grazing over a stiffened nipple and pinching it softly before working his way down past the waistband of Johnny's pants.

Johnny's head began to bob, saliva now trickling from the corner of his mouth and over Zeke's palm. Johnny's hips started to gyrate and the suction picked up. He shivered as the thick battle callused fingers of Zeke's other hand raked through his pubic hair and cupped his swelling shaft.

Instantly, Johnny was off the bed, his body bowed, rigid with lust. He grasped Zeke's hand with both of his own driving the finger deeper into his mouth and further down his throat.

His brain wasn't quick in processing the fact that while both of Zeke's hands were occupied, his pants were quickly being unbuttoned and surprisingly warm air blew against his erection. As he brought his head forward to see just how Zeke had managed to grow a third arm, he was met by Myron's familiar lopsided grin hovering over his pelvis.

Zeke's hand moved away coming to rest on Johnny's hip leaving Myron an unobstructed view of Johnny's cock laying painfully erect across his abdomen. With only enough hesitation to burn the sight to memory, Myron explored Johnny's exposed cock from balls to tip, running his lips over the leaking slit, coating his lips with the salty cream. Johnny's body shivered from head to toe as Myron continued up his stomach until he reached McKay's belly button, their eyes locking as Myron's tongue danced along the shallow ridge.

"Myron!" Johnny hissed quietly watching his friend lave his torso with his talented tongue. Myron's lips curled into half grin as he pulled and nibbled possessively marking the hollow of one slim hip.

"You're mine now, McKay," he said thickly, that same grin turning on Zeke now as he traced the outline of the Sergeant's closest finger with his tongue.

PART 5

"You're gonna hafta fight me pretty hard fer him, boy." Anderson smiled teasingly. "I don't like ta share. And Johnny here, he's worth fighting a whole battalion for."

Myron's eyes were fierce and possessive. Zeke likened them to the face the LT would put on before going into battle, determined and dangerous. It was a side of Myron that he'd never expected to see under such intimate circumstances. Imagined him to be shy and unassertive. His body trembled as Myron bit down gently on his fingers.

"I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be, sergeant. You of all people should know that" Myron grinned slyly. "Think you can handle me?"

"Gonna love ya'til ya' can't see straight." He cupped Johnny's cheek tenderly. "Gonna love both a’ you," Zeke whispered softly.

Johnny sat up suddenly, his stomach lurching. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, propelled by an abrupt urge to throw up. His head was spinning. His heartbeat was erratic and he was finding it hard to breathe.

Reaching out, Zeke gently clasped Johnny's shoulder. "Hey, you all right?" Johnny shrugged him off. Pressing his fingers to his temples, he took a few steadying breaths. "I can't… I can't do this."

He exhaled shakily, his eyes scanning around for his misplaced bottle. Remembering that he'd tossed it across the room, he redirected his gaze to the bar, relieved to see that his crystal decanter still contained a plentiful amount of scotch. Getting up quickly, he poured himself another drink.

Zeke could tell that something had spooked Johnny. "That's okay," he answered carefully before Myron could say anything. "You're not comfortable with this, then ain't nothing gotta happen here. Why don't ya jus' come back to bed though, an' let me hold ya. You look like yer about to fall over." Johnny forced a large swallow of liquor down his throat, the slow familiar burn temporarily easing some of his nervous discomfort.

The tension in the room had been rapidly building into something far beyond sex. Zeke's words and actions were steadily becoming too intimate, too overwhelming. The hurt was still raw in his chest and the pain and rejection too fresh in his mind to let anyone back in. Johnny took another shot, trying to stop the Sergeant's voice from echoing in his head.

Love. Zeke mentioned love. Hadn't said it to him, but it was there, simmering just under the surface. Why the fuck did he have to go and do that? He would have welcomed the release that some empty sex could give him right now, but love?

Fucking, he could do. He needed Myron's voice in his head, familiar and harsh, Zeke's powerful arms wrapped around him. Didn't want the lies, didn't want to label it. Just sex.

He didn't know how to do love. Smitty didn't have to tell him that either, though that never stopped him from working it into a conversation anytime an opportunity presented itself.

'Some people are built for forever, McKay, and some for fucking. You, Johnny boy, are one of the best damn lays I've ever had the pleasure of bedding, but marriage material you ain't.'

Blunt. To the point, and worst of all, true. Johnny had never had relationship last longer than a week in his life and he wasn't about to risk losing two of the most important people he had left in the world on a false promise. Myron seemed to know exactly what was going through his head.

"Tonight isn't going change anything, McKay," Myron sighed, a little frustrated.

"No, it's not," Johnny agreed, swirling the golden liquid around in his glass, trying to disguise his trembling. Zeke was staring at him, his blue eyes heavily laden with concern. Johnny’s chest tightened. "Smitty was right," he reminded himself quietly.

"Right about what?"

"Hmmm?" He hadn't realized that he'd spoke that aloud. "He was smart to call it off when he did." Johnny held up his glass as though he were toasting the words. "Said, life's too short to waste it on dead ends, Johnny boy."

The decanter was liberated of another glass and Johnny glanced at Zeke. The sergeant's eyes had narrowed. Seemed like It was a good thing that Smitty had gone and got himself killed. By the look on Zeke's face, if Smitty were around right now, Zeke looked like he would have torn him to pieces. "You know what I think, McKay? I think you give Smitty too much credit. Why believe him? You said yourself that he didn't love you."

"And you do, right?" Johnny huffed humorlessly. "Well, let me let you two in on a little secret, Sergeant. Love? It's not worth it." Sadly, the decanter was empty and he set it back on the dresser. "Neither am I."

He cursed himself for letting that last part slip out. That kind of talk would only drag this out. Looking up, he could already see Zeke's fiercely protective side taking over.

"Because he told you that," Myron suddenly spat, angrily flopping onto his back. "You're not worthless, McKay. Just stupid." Leave it to Myron, Johnny thought sentimentally. I knew I could count on you.

Myron couldn't handle anymore of Johnny's self-pity tonight. It wasn't what he wanted. "And another thing? No one here said they loved you either."

Johnny was taken aback by the forwardness and surprised by the sting prickling over his heart. Granted he wanted nothing to do with love right now, but fuck, there was something to be said for tact.

"Fuck you, Myron. Like you'd know anything about love anyway. Your own father didn't love you." He regretted it as soon as he had said it. It was one thing for him to be miserable, but he'd never intentionally hurt Myron.

Jumping out of bed, Myron stalked over to McKay, the sparks shooting from his eyes assuring that Anderson wouldn't be far behind. "Hey, I came here to help you out of the goodness of my heart, asshole, a friend doing another friend a favor." Myron's finger poked him hard in the chest. Getting to fuck you? That was just going to be a bonus, and that's all it would have been, McKay, fucking, so quit your bleeding heart bullshit about love because I'm not interested."

Myron was spun around. Crumpling the front of Goldman's shirt into his fist, Zeke pulled Myron up until they were nose to nose and gave him a little shake. "What the hell’s the matter with you?" he hissed. "Boy's hurtin' here. Ya know he didn't mean what he said."

"What's the matter with me?" Myron pushed back from Zeke. "He's feeling sorry for himself because some son of bitch, and mind you, Smitty was a son of a bitch, fed him a line and he fell for it hook, line and sinker? Poor fuckin' baby."

He turned back toward the pilot, his eyes darkening tremendously. Myron deliberately ignored the slow bob of McKay's adams apple as Johnny seemed to be trying to choke back his emotions.

"I've got news for you, McKay, It happens everyday. As a matter of fact, just think of all the women that you fed that same line, only to leave *them* before the sun came up. What goes around comes around, isn't that how that saying goes?" He turned away patting down his pockets.

Myron was shaking all over and knew he had to calm down. "And to think I came here on my down time," he mumbled around the filter of a cigarette. Taking a seat by the bed, he grabbed a book of matches off the nightstand. "Like I don't have anything better to do. And what do I get for my trouble? Insults and a raging fucking hard-on. Thanks, McKay. Like I need this aggravation."

"Jesus Christ, you're a cold one," Zeke snapped.

"Hey, I'm not the one bringing family into this. It's not my fault he's not discriminating enough about who he falls out of his clothes for. Until now, that is," he added rolling his eyes.

"I really didn't mean that, Goldman. I'm sorry. I'm just worked up, you know?" Johnny sat down on the edge of the bed.

Myron nodded, accepting the apology, but his body language remained tense. "Yeah, you and me both." Reaching down, he tried to adjust his swelling cock, his tightening boxers beginning to pinch, adding to his already foul mood. He fluffed a pillow up behind his head and lay back.

"So you just wanted to fuck? No strings?"

Myron rubbed his crotch, cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. "What does this tell you?"

Johnny grinned. Myron's combativeness was cheering him up as usual. "That your nasty attitude is due to an inferiority complex?"

Zeke bit his lip to keep from laughing as Myron's face dropped. Reaching out, Myron grabbed Johnny and threw him down on his back. As he watched the scene, it dawned on the sergeant, albeit a bit shamefully, that Myron seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

"Was that a remark about my size, McKay?"

"Size?" Johnny's eyes shot to the appendage in question. His eyebrows raised. "Or lack there of."

"I've never had any complaints." Standing on his knees, one on either side of Johnny's hips, Myron unbuttoned his pants. "But maybe you should have closer look to be sure."

TBC…

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Jennifer Rosen 2002