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Henry fiddles with the hem of his shirt where the seam is coming unraveled, remembering a time when he could bring his ripped clothing to their tent and have it mended by morning.
He’s grown accustomed to the weight of lures and tackle tucked into the pockets of his fishing vest. Without it to ground him, he feels as though a strong gust of wind might carry him away.
Dread filled his gut the day the letter came. United States Army Official Correspondence, it had proclaimed. He didn’t want to open it. Didn’t want to see what could be waiting for him inside. He opened it anyway.
A mixture of relief and apprehension slowly replaced the dread in Henry’s stomach when he recognized the handwriting.
Colonel Blake,
I hope you are well. I am getting discharged. Finally! Before you ask, no—none of my crazy schemes worked. In the end, it was just my time to leave. Old Uncle Sam decided I’ve put in enough work and it’s time to go home to my real uncles!
I hate to bother you, but I really need a favor. I can get as far as Chicago, but none of my family is able to come pick me up at the airport. You’re the only person I know in Illinois… do you think you could help me get home?
The rest of the letter had explained flight details and given the final destination—an address in Toledo, Ohio. It was signed,
Yours,
Sargent Maxwell Klinger
Sargent. Sargent. Klinger must’ve really done a number on Henry’s replacement if it meant they got a promotion. Henry had smiled, remembering all the schemes they used to pull. Those were easily the highlight of his time in Korea.
But seeing Klinger again? The thought made him queasy. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to… but. What would they say? Would it be like old times? Would they pretend nothing had ever happened? Had they moved on? Forgotten about how things… used to be?
(Lorraine had caught him worrying and made him explain. She listened with a thoughtful expression to his anxious rambling.
When he paused for breath, Lorraine said, “Are you done?”
Henry gulped, nodded.
“Good.” She smiled. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”
That was all the encouragement he needed.)
Standing at the arrivals now, scanning the crowd for any sign of Klinger, the apprehension is back. What if they don’t recognize him? Don’t like what they see? Think he’s gotten too old and too soft and too fat?
His eyes dart from person to person, a sea of drab khaki. He’s looking for tule, a colorful scarf, some scrap of fabric that belongs on a runway or broadway stage, not terminal 3 of O’Hare International.
He doesn’t find it.
More time than he can count passes. Could’ve been minutes or hours—gun to his head and he still couldn’t tell you. Someone taps him on the shoulder and he wheels around, ready to—
He’s met with the sight he’s been longing for: Klinger, dark, handsome, a wide smile showing all their white teeth. Eyes bright and dark curls tucked neatly into their uniform cap.
They spread their arms wide and pull Henry into a big hug.
“Didn’t you see me waving?” They’re laughing though, happy to be here.
“No, I didn’t see you.” Henry holds onto Klinger’s arms and pushes them back. “Let me get a good look at you,” he says, inspecting them.
Klinger is wearing their Class A’s, buttons done up smartly, medals pinned to their chest… just like every other new arrival coming home from the war.
They turn their face to the side, not meeting Henry’s gaze, bashful. “Oh, c’mon. There’s nothing to look at, just me. Let’s get outta here, huh?”
Sweat beads on Henry’s forehead, a drop making its way down his temple every few minutes. Even driving with the top down isn’t enough to cool him off. Not a cloud in the sky. The sun beating down on the exposed skin of his arms. He can feel it starting to burn.
“Isn’t it just beautiful out today?” Klinger asks, voice full of awe. “So warm for Spring…”
“Hot,” Henry corrects.
“Is it?” they ask absentmindedly. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Either it’s the thrill of the day, or Klinger was being serious when they told him they had “desert blood.”
The sun has set by the time they pull into the motel parking lot. He really doesn’t want to drive through the night and Klinger had said they wouldn't mind getting home tomorrow instead of today.
“I’m damp,” Henry says, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “You mind if I shower?”
“I don’t mind anything today,” Klinger replies, plopping their duffel on the bed.
When Henry emerges, wrapped in a towel and still dripping, Klinger has changed out of their Class A’s and into a pair of olive drab pants and a clean white undershirt.
Henry’s surprise must be evident because Klinger asks, “What’s wrong?”
Henry shakes his head. “Nothing! Nothing I just…” He’s not sure how to say it. He thought Klinger would still wear fancy dresses and elaborate costumes once they made it home? He thought they would continue to wear women’s clothes forever, even after there was no reason to do so?
“Wasn’t expecting…” he gestures lamely at Klinger.
“What?”
“Well, I thought… I guess I thought you’d be wearing something different.”
Klinger quirks an eyebrow at him. “Well, I can take this off if you’d prefer.”
Henry’s mouth goes dry.
Klinger is on him in seconds, one hand on his chest, the other around the back of his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. Henry lets go of his towel and wraps both arms around them, pulls their bodies tight together.
Klinger lays them both down on the bed and climbs on top of Henry, shucking off their pants and shirt and underwear as fast as possible. Henry’s body is still warm from his shower and it’s even hotter where Klinger touches him, feeling all over his chest and arms and belly. They kiss him again, deep and slow as they grind down against him, their hardness against Henry’s flaccid dick.
“Just give it a minute maybe?” Henry tries.
He wants this so bad. He feels the soft dusting of hair all down Klinger’s back and shoulders, the texture beneath his fingers nothing like Lorraine’s smooth skin. He loves them both but god has he missed this.
Klinger is already leaking, wet against his thigh as they work Henry’s cock in their hand. It feels nice, but nothing happens. Klinger pauses to lick their palm and tries again. Long, hard strokes, then short, quick ones. Twisting, squeezing, stroking softly—nothing works.
Henry feels his chest begin to deflate, shame and embarrassment clouding his eyes.
“Maybe if… if it were like old times?”
“You want me on my back?” Klinger gets ready to climb off, but Henry stops them, holds onto their arm.
“Wait, no, that’s not what I meant. I uh, I actually got you something?” Henry sits up and reaches down to his overnight bag. He pulls out a pair of fishnet stockings and fiddles with them—an impulse buy on his way to the airport. He feels ridiculous now. What was he thinking?
“Oh…” Klinger’s eyes shine with something sorrowful. “I don’t really wear that kind of stuff anymore. Henry—”
“I’m sorry, that was—” Henry interrupts, speaking quickly, “I don’t know what I was thinking, I just thought—”
“Hey—slow down there, old man.” Klinger holds their hands over Henry’s, the fishnets crumpled between his fingers. The gentle teasing and Klinger’s hands on his own puts Henry at ease.
“I am, aren’t I? Old?” Henry says, looking up at them.
Klinger eyes him, shrugs. “Older maybe… but so am I.”
They kiss him again, long and slow once more. Henry reaches down and strokes Klinger until they’re breathing hard into his neck. They arch their back and come, almost silently, into his hand. The only sound that escapes is a strangled whimper into his ear. Years of practice getting off quick and quiet in the army… they used to let go more with him.
Henry reaches down the side of the bed and finds the towel, cleans his hand and Klinger’s belly, then tosses it back on the floor.
“Got any cigars?” Klinger asks, putting their underwear and white t-shirt back on.
Henry puts his boxers on and tosses them a pack of smokes.
“Lorraine doesn’t like ‘em, but help yourself to these.”
Klinger lights up, takes a few drags, coughs. Cigarettes have always felt much harsher to them, so they pass it back to Henry. They sit up against the headboard, silent.
After several smokey exhales, Henry can’t hold it in anymore. “What did they do to you over there?” he whispers.
“What do you mean?” They give a short laugh. “I’m all in one piece.”
Henry shakes his head. “No, you’re not. I hardly recognize you.”
How could they ever begin to tell him? “…Maybe my piece just looks different now.”
Henry nods, slowly. “Is that what you want? Sargent?”
Hearing the rank makes them wince. “I had to survive.”
“What changed?” Henry turns to face them, cups Klinger’s cheek, their five o’clock shadow brushing against his palm.
“I don’t know. I did, I guess.”
“I never figured that was possible. You were the best of us, Klinger. You found a way to be yourself out there in a war zone. What did they do to you?”
Klinger looks away, pushes Henry’s hand off their face. “Wore me down. Broke me. Whatever you wanna call it.”
“Was it the new CO? Did—?”
“Who, Potter?” Klinger cuts him off. “No, he was fine. He put up with a lot less shit than you did though. It was just… everything. Once Radar went home, they needed me. And that felt good. But I couldn’t do a good job dressed up like a French maid. It made me feel silly.” Klinger picks at a hangnail. “I dealt with a lot more people from outside our camp and they didn’t treat me the same as the double-oh-seven. Trying to be taken seriously with a feather boa was damn near impossible. I never cared about anything before and then suddenly I had this huge responsibility and I actually wanted to be good at it and that meant… conforming. And wearing a uniform. And everything that comes with it.”
“You’re home now,” Henry says. “Do you still want to be… in uniform?”
“You don’t like seeing me this way, do you?” Klinger asks, changing the subject. “You’ve been uncomfortable since the moment you picked me up. I thought it was only jitters at first but…”
“No, Klinger, listen. I do want to see you. And I do want to be with you. I’m just… worried that this isn’t you.”
“Well how would you know?” Klinger demands, suddenly hot with anger. “It’s been years and you never even called. No telegram. Didn’t write me one lousy letter. I was half worried you were dead!”
“I didn’t think—”
“Of course you didn’t!” Their voice breaks, tears welling up. “Because you’re home now and you get to be with your beautiful wife and your kids and you never have to think about the goddamn army or the people you left in Korea again!”
Klinger takes a few calming breaths. They didn’t mean to lash out like that.
“I didn't think you’d want to hear from me,” Henry says, quiet.
“What on earth gave you that impression?”
“I guess I just thought… I don’t know. You’d move on to someone else. I was only a distraction from the war and once I wasn’t in proximity…”
“Is that how you thought of me?”
“No! Of course not. I thought about you every day. Every time I’d see a pretty dress or someone with a big nose…” Henry brushes their nose lightly with his thumb and they smile slightly. “I missed you like crazy… I just thought… I didn’t think what we had could ever continue—out here.”
Klinger nods. They know what he means.
Scooching closer, Klinger lies back, their head on Henry’s chest. They listen to his heartbeat—steady and hard and pure.
“I don’t want to dress in uniform,” they say finally. “I never did. I just got tired of not getting any respect and…” they swallow. “I can't go home like that.”
“I thought your family approved? Didn’t one of your uncles—”
“They approved while I was in Korea. When it was a ploy, a trick. They’d never accept me if they knew what I really am.”
Henry stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table. He wraps his arms around Klinger, hopes his affection can somehow travel through his hands and soak into Klinger’s skin.
“I don’t have to take you home.”
Klinger sighs. “I gotta go home, Henry.”
“Do you have to go right away?”
Henry waits, but Klinger says nothing.
“We could stay here a while, if you want. Spend the weekend,” Henry offers.
“In this motel?” Klinger asks, bemused.
“Why not?” says Henry. “Or we could go somewhere else?”
Klinger smiles, thinking about their old friend. “How far away is Iowa?”