#The hurt locker2008

[potatodog]

Auto Pilot(Staff Sergeant William James

an: since no one else will write for him, I will :] word count: 1,241

You had just been transferred as part of the Delta Company. One year to go. This wasn't torture, just another way of fleeing from feeling. Your life had been on auto pilot now for some time. 

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*flashback*

Your mother  has just gotten the call. The call that your older brother, Mathew, had been killed in a school shooting while protecting three other people. 

Your father was absent from the time you were born but he decided that it was time to come back. Your Mom had fallen into a deep hole of depression and couldn't care for you. Your father was a drunken fool, and your mom finally had enough and sent him away. You had to care for her and the house, forced to live the life of an adult and just 13.

*end of flashback*

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There were 110 days left of your rotation, but you would probably stay on because you had nowhere else to go.  While in the camp, you had grown close to SSG William James. The two of you have had a little bit of light in the dark to share together. 

Your thoughts had been chasing you throughout the mission and you had to deal with them sooner or later. Later is what you decided, unfortunately your head didn't agree. 

'9 o'clock. Finally bed time,' you thought, exiting the bathroom trailer and turning to go to yours, across for James's. The dread in your chest that had been marinating suddenly swelled enough to fill the ocean. You felt your legs start shaking, pins and needles poking at your skin. Rapidly tapping your chest, you sank down by your front door, unable to breathe properly. Tears were falling freely now. 

"I can't- not now," you whispered like a mantra barely above a wisp of air leaving your lips. You had started shaking your hands in an attempt to calm down. It made the pins poking at your skin lessen, but it didn't help your breathing. Your chest felt like it was on fire. 

James had taken that moment to leave and go wash up. Seeing you having an attack, he ran over.

" hey love, it's alright I'm here now. Let's go inside, yeah?"

You shook your head and allowed him to grasp your hand, leading you inside. He closed the door as you sat down, trying to breathe again. Tears were still streaming. Your throat was dry and itchy.

He got the water bottle from beside your bed and handed it to you. After drinking well over half of it you said thank you. He sat next to you on the bed

"S'no problem," he said rubbing your shoulders, easing the tension.

The crying had lessened now, and your legs didn't feel as much like jello as they did 10 minutes ago. 

"D'you wanna talk," He asked quietly. 

"Only if you want to hear about my life from 13 to current."

"Of course."

"Well, when I was 13 years old, my older brother, Mathew, was shot in a school shooting at his college. He died a hero, protecting 3 other people, including his boyfriend's little sister. After that my mom got so depressed that I had to take care her and my younger sister. At 13 i was forced to assume the identity of both parents for her. Which meant that I couldn't process my feelings. When I was 14 my dad showed up demanding me and my sister. My mom pulled herself out of her hole and told him to go fuck himself. So that was nice. Then my mom got better, we thought she was fine. After school a few months later, I came home and..." You stopped, a few tears falling at the memory of her lying there. James reassuringly grabbed your hand.

"It's ok. You don't have to tell me."

"No-I... you deserve to know. She had been suicidal and I tried to get rid of all the guns and pills, but one gun i kept. My father's pistol that he gave to me when mom told him to leave. He said to me 'keep this safe, it might come in handy someday' and so I kept it. And. And my mom, she found it."

"Oh god. I'm sorry, love I'm so sorry, he said opening his arms asking for a hug. You accepted his arms. Leaning in, you grasped him tightly as if he would leave if you let go. He wrapped an arm around your waist and stroked your hair softly. 

Over an hour later, you had fallen asleep in his arms. You woke up and saw him still holding you.

"James did you really stay the whole time I was out? You could have left."

"I know. I wanted to stay. You're like a heater," he said, chuckling.

"What time is it," you inquired, getting up to put on a sweatshirt.

"10:34."

"D'you wanna stay over tonight," you asked, secretly hoping he would.

"If that's alright with you. I have to run over and get some pyjamas." And then he left. You felt foolish for falling for him so hard, but he was solid and there. He had never given you reason to doubt him, even if he was reckless and it was a war, you felt you could trust him to come back. He had told you about Connie, his ex wife who had his son and he had told you about how glad he was that she knew that it wasn't going to work out between them, and how it had been a clean divorce leaving the two of them on good terms before their son was born. They were still good friends. 

The sound of knocking woke you from your trance. Opening the door, James was there of course, hotter than ever in a tight white tee-shirt and gray sweats.

“I brought my dvds. I have Dodgeball and Hellboy,” he said, brandishing them.

“I love hellboy!”

After setting the movie up, you got some snacks out and settled in. You both got under the covers and James wrapped and arm around you.

Almost completely through the movie, you abruptly asked him a question. Since you had met, he asked to be called James, his last name. His first name was William, but for some reason he didn’t like it. The thought had been nagging at you for months now and what better time than the present?

“James?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I’m sorry if this is random, but why don’t you go by your first name, William?”

“My father was a deadbeat dick head, and he forced my mom to name me after him. He was quite abusive towards us.  One day after drinking with his sluggard pals, he decided it was a great idea to drive intoxicated. On the highway a trucker ran into him, killing him. I was 10. After that I introduced myself as James because I wanted his memory gone. 

“Damn. He got what he deserved,” you said into his chest whilst hugging him tightly.

“Now whaddaya say we sleep,” James said while the end credits rolled. 

Stifling a yawn, you got up and turned the light off. While climbing back into bed, you turned away from him to sleep. He grabbed you and pulled you close, spooning he and burying his face in your neck.

“Much better,” he mumbled.

That night you got the best sleep of your life.