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He's nervous, wondering if Eugene will be there. Even though he had more or less told him not to come, he can't help hoping that the man will be there waiting when his plane lands. They'd stayed in contact during Ron's deployment, brief emails where Eugene updated him on the condition of two house plants he had adopted in Ron's absence, and assurances he was keeping an eye on Ron's apartment. His emails were typically brief, two or three lines at the most. In return, Ron sent a couple of pictures he had taken of the sun setting in the desert; thinking Eugene might appreciate how the reds and oranges of the sky contrasted with the dark shadows of the earth. Occasionally, he sent a line or two about how awful the food was or how badly he needed a shower. He made absolutely no mention of where he was, or what he was doing. But the where and the what hung thickly in what neither one of them were saying in their emails.
Eugene's last email, in response to Ron's saying he would be stateside in a week, had simply asked 'Do you need a ride home from the airport?'
Ron had responded that his flight wasn't due in until 0100hrs; that he could get a cab. He'd copied and pasted his flight details into the bottom of the email, trying to convince himself it was so Eugene would know he wasn’t lying about his ETA.
He waits until most people are off the plane before he gets out of his seat. A woman struggles to usher two small children off, Ron smiles as the boy salutes him and returns the salute. He thinks of Robbie.
He makes sure his men are safely back in the care of their anxiously waiting families before he collects his own bags from the carousel and heads to the exit. Then he sees that familiar shock of messy black hair and those intense, blue eyes in the crowd. He exhales, feeling.... fuck, he doesn’t know what.
"Welcome home, Captain, " Eugene says, the corners of his lips quirking up into that almost smile. He takes one of Ron's bags and leads him to his truck.
They don't talk much as Eugene drives; partly because Ron is too exhausted and partly because he can't quite think of what to say. He studies Eugene out of the corner of his eye. He's still the same quiet man he's always been, but he seems less...burdened. The dark circles under his eyes have faded; not disappeared, Ron notes to himself, but they are certainly less prominent. He's gained a little weight. Ron can see he is still all wiry muscle, but his jeans aren't hanging off his hips the way they once were.
Eugene walks him to his apartment, unlocks the door with the key Ron gave him on the morning he left for Afghanistan. Eugene flicks the light switch and sets Ron’s bag down beside the sofa. Ron notes that the place isn’t coated in the usual post-deployment dust that usually welcomes him home and the typical stale smell is notably absent; like the windows were opened earlier in the day to allow fresh air to circulate.
"I got you milk," Eugene says with a nod towards the kitchen, "and bagels."
Ron gives him a small smile of thanks, also noting the cereal, coffee and other assorted goodies sitting on the counter. The essentials have been taken care of; and after he gets some sleep, Ron can go to the store and take care of the rest.
"I'll be around tomorrow, come up to mine and I'll make you lunch... or dinner," Eugene says, not looking at him, fiddling with the string of his hoodie.
"Okay," Ron replies, finding himself staring at Eugene's mouth as he bites his bottom lip.
“Whenever you wake up," Eugene says, looking up at him and giving him a shy smile that makes Ron's chest tighten with affection.
Ron huffs out a laugh, knowing how post-deployment sleep usually works out for him "I'll probably be wide awake in about three hours."
"Yeah, not that early; it's my day off," Eugene replies with a smile. They study each other quietly for a moment until Eugene looks away, cheeks flushing slightly, "get some sleep, Ron, I'll see you tomorrow.”
Ron knocks on Eugene's door shortly after four the next afternoon. As he predicted, he woke at five and paced around his apartment for a few hours, ate some cereal and pop tarts before falling back to sleep around ten. He slept until after three, leaving him enough time for time for a quick shower before he made his way upstairs to Eugene’s place.
Eugene feeds him a Cajun stew - hot enough to make his nose run but not so hot it makes him sweat. It's home cooked and easily the best thing he's eaten in months. Afterwards, Eugene makes coffee and produces a box of beignets. Ron realises they are from a pastry shop he had sought out over a year ago in an effort to bring the homesick Cajun man a little taste of home.
"Best I've found outside of my grandmère’s kitchen," Eugene says when he sees Ron looking at the label on the box, "I keep finding excuses to go back and buy more."
They don’t talk about much of any consequence until they are clearing their dishes away. "You're doing a lot better than you were, you're happier," Ron says. It's a statement more than a question and Ron hopes Eugene knows it needs no response.
But the man still gives a shrug and a rueful half smile, "Couldn't be doing any worse than I was before you left."
Ron can't argue with that. The last time Ron had seen Eugene, the morning he left for Afghanistan, he had wondered how Eugene had enough energy to hold himself upright. He had been far too thin and looked thoroughly miserable and utterly exhausted.
"I took some time off," Eugene begins, busying himself with stacking the dishwasher, not looking at Ron.
Ron stands completely still where he leans against the kitchen counter, watching Eugene.
"I spoke to someone," Eugene continues, "a therapist. Found him through the VA."
"Did it help?" Ron asks, careful to keep his tone neutral, not wanting to give Eugene any reason to imagine a judgement that isn't there.
"Yeah," Eugene replies softly. "Yeah, it did," he repeats, a little more certainly. "He gave me sleeping pills, said my biggest problem was lack of sleep so my brain wasn't getting the chance to file anything away properly, you know? I was living with everything that happened in Afghanistan front and centre in my head.” He looks at Ron for the first time, "I think I slept for about two weeks. I woke up to eat and I know I binge watched a few seasons of something on Netflix but I've no idea what I actually watched.” He's smiling as he says it. "Once i was rested the real work began. It was tough; talking about some of that stuff. You're the only person I've ever talked to about the crazy shit in my head, and even then I didn’t really tell you the half of it," he ducks his head, almost apologetically. "It's one of the hardest things I've ever done. But it helped, I really am doing better."
"I'm glad," Ron says softly, "any medication?" he asks, because he long suspected Eugene should have be on some description of medication, and it seems odd that Eugene hasn’t mentioned it.
“Yeah,” this time he actually blushes, “an SSRI. It took a while to find a dose that works and doesn’t leave me unable to function. That's a pretty recent thing."
"You back at work?"
Eugene nods, "Been back for about two months now. Still as crazy as ever but I'm not volunteering for every extra shift that's going."
"I'm glad to hear that, too," Ron says, "I've missed you," he adds quietly, taking a step closer, the first movement he has made since Eugene started talking. Eugene moves further back, almost as though on reflex, so that he is now pressed back against the counter.
"I miss you too," Eugene replies softly, not looking at Ron.
Ron doesn't miss his use of the present tense. I miss you. He steps into Eugene's space, a hand finding Eugene's hip. He reaches his other hand up to cup the back of Eugene's head with his hand, runs his thumb across Eugene's mouth.
Eugene whines softly as Ron presses his lips to Eugene's in a gentle kiss.
He pulls back and rests his forehead against Eugene's, watching him bite his lip. Ron can feel him trembling.
"Sshhh, relax," Ron says softly, stroking his hip with his thumb, "it’s just me."
“Kinda the point," Eugene says breathlessly as he reaches up to kiss Ron.
"You're freaking out," Ron says softly, as he watches Eugene grab his jeans and shirt off the floor and hastily struggle into them.
"I'm not freaking out, I have to -"
"Talk to me, Eugene," Ron says, following the smaller man out of the bedroom towards the kitchen.
"I don't know if... nothing's changed, Ron."
"What do you mean?" Ron says, sitting on one of the stools at the counter while Eugene positions himself in the far corner, braced against the countertop. The scene is familiar and it makes Ron's stomach clench for a moment, until he notices that, in his haste, Eugene has put his shirt on inside out and back to front. He looks fucking adorable.
"I want this," Eugene says, gesturing between them, "but you're still you."
"I don't follow."
"You're still gonna chase the thrill of combat and I can't stay behind worrying about you. I love you, but I can't do that."
Ron nods, trying not to let his face break out in a huge grin at Eugene's words, I love you. It's fair, what Eugene is saying. It's abundantly clear that he is doing a lot better than he was before Ron left, it's clear he's put the effort into whatever therapy he's been doing; and it's working. And it would be utterly unfair of Ron to ask Eugene to put himself in a situation that has the potential to undo all of his hard work. Maybe one day, years from now, it'd be okay. Maybe. But right now, it would be darn right cruel for Ron to even ask him to consider it. He takes a deep breath, "what if I didn't go back?"
Eugene shakes his head sadly, "no, it's who you are. I won’t ask you to give that up."
Ron exhales a long and shaky breath. He has barely allowed himself to have this conversation in his own head; he has barely given these thoughts, this idea, that has been brewing for months now, any head room at all. And now here he is, about to have this discussion with Eugene, before he has even had the chance to completely figure out what he wants. But he does know that he wants Eugene. That much is clear to him. "Sit down, Eugene," Ron says wearily.
Obediently, Eugene crosses the kitchen and sits on the stool next to Ron.
“Robbie,” Ron says, then stops, unsure how to continue, unsure how to explain this.
"Your son,” Eugene says, looking at Ron like he is slightly mad and like he has no idea where this conversation is going.
"I thought about him a lot while I was away and I realised I don’t want to be away from him like I have been. I’ve been offered a post training paratroopers. I can’t say for sure I'll never be in combat again, but I’ll be out of an elite unit so it's less likely. I want to be here. I want more time with Robbie.”
Eugene looks at him, biting his lip and looking like he’s holding his breath waiting for Ron to continue.
“And I want to be with you,” Ron adds softly.
Eugene leans in and kisses him tentatively on the mouth, “I want that too.”
“Thank god,” he growls into Eugene mouth, pulling the smaller man off the stool and into his arms. The force almost sends them both to the floor, but Ron steadies them both.
"I'm still messed up though,” Eugene says between kisses as they make their way back to the bedroom.
“That’s okay, you just have to trust me with it.”
“I do. I will.”