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When Bozz gets back from Vietnam, he hides in Mexico for five years. He makes contacts, gets a new identity — passport, Social Security number, the works — though it takes him three years to save up the money. He doesn't want to draw attention to himself, so he chooses carefully where and who to ask about his old platoon. Ryan came home from his first tour, then his second, and stayed home after that. Wilson made it over there, by several accounts tortured Vietnamese civilians, and was eventually killed in combat. Johnson got his right leg blown off and was sent home with a pension. He hears nothing of Miter or Cantwell, and just assumes they went home and are fine. He asks most about Jim, and hears rumours that he's on an Army base pushing pens. Bozz keeps checking the rumours again, even after the fighting's over and the tales of soldiers die down. Every now and then he'll hear something, and once he could have sworn he walked right past one of the privates from Fort Polk.
He makes his way back into the US once he figures it's safe. He'd have stayed longer in Mexico, but he isn't wanted any more, so it's time he left. He finds himself in a diner in Arizona and meets a waitress there; two days later, when they've come up for air, he bids her goodbye and drives on to California. He has a trailer and sets himself up in a park outside San Diego, finds a job as a janitor at a club. It's a nice life, but he's restless, so he moves on after six months.
A year later, he's living in New Orleans and Halloween's coming up. He knows the town will be alight, and he does want to see it, but he can't stop thinking about the Halloween he had in Louisiana seven years before. On the night of it, he drives out to Leesville, buys a bottle of whiskey, and drives straight to the field he and Jim once fell asleep in. He'd know the way blindfolded, he's walked it so often on the backs of his eyelids. He lies in the exact spot in the field where Jim said he loved him, drinking the whiskey and going over and over that night in his head. Hitting the bars with the boys. Fucking the pros, then getting fucked by Jim. Buying more alcohol, walking to the train tracks two miles from here, climbing up on a carriage, trying to jump. He asked Jim to come away with him, and then on the way home, right here, is Bozz's drunkest yet clearest memory. Jim's hand on his cock, pulling gorgeously, Jim's neck under his mouth, Jim's voice in his ear, "I love you, Bozz."
Bozz stopped denying himself feelings a long time ago, right around the first bullet whizzing past his ear, missing his brain by inches. Life is short. Grab it by the balls. He wakes up later in the field, cold as fuck and sober, and drives all the way home before sacking out.
He doesn't hear anything about Jim for another couple years. He thinks about trying to forget those two months, but he's already moved on with his life, so what would be the point? He's in a bar in New York, in the spring of '81, when he bumps into an old acquaintance from Mexico, one who'd got information for him before, and asks if he's heard anything of Jim Paxton.
"I kept my ear to the ground," Smithson says, "in case I ran into you. I hear he's living in Boston now."
"Thanks," Bozz says, handing him a ten-dollar note. Smithson waits pointedly until Bozz hands him another, then he inclines his head and leaves.
Suzanne, his girlfriend at the time, moves to Massachusetts that summer. He stays on with his job until the winter, then the contract runs out and he goes down to stay with her. She's met someone else, though she doesn't mind him staying in the apartment after they're done yelling at each other. For two months, he sidesteps conversations about — and being in the same room as — her new boyfriend, though Bozz cares less and less now he's not having sex with her, until finally she kicks him out.
"Go find a fucking job," is the last thing she says, slamming the door in his face.
He stays at a motel that night, and early in the morning sets out for where the phone book says James Paxton lives. A woman answers the door.
"Hi," Bozz brings out his most charming voice, "I'm looking for Jim Paxton. I'm an old friend of his."
She points her thumb behind her. "He's asleep. Come in."
"Thanks." He really, really hopes this is the right Jim Paxton's apartment. The woman passes two doors and goes into a kitchen, where bacon is frying. She puts bread in the toaster.
"D'you think you could finish making this? I gotta go to work," she says, indicating the breakfast.
"Sure." He takes the spatula from the counter and moves the bacon around the pan.
"Thanks. Tell him I'll call, okay?"
"Yes ma'am." She leaves, and he flips the bacon. He looks around in all the cabinets until he finds coffee, and makes a pot. Some of the bacon is done early, so he wraps it in a napkin and starts eating.
A door opens and someone stumbles past the kitchen doorway. Someone tall and groggy, with that same sandy hair, only longer. Bozz grins. This is definitely the right Jim Paxton's apartment.
The toilet flushes a minute later, and then Jim stumbles in. Bozz has a cup of coffee waiting, and he hands it to Jim, who grunts and sits at the table. He has his back to Bozz, clearly hasn't realised he's even there, and it's so funny Bozz cannot help laughing.
Jim turns around and hugs him, and it's like coming home. Bozz holds on to him for as long as possible, drinking in the new smell of him. Back in training, Jim always smelled like the Army-issue soap, and sweat, and sometimes alcohol. Now, this new Jim smells like hair product and ink and stale perfume. Bozz wants desperately to kiss him, feels like it's been more than just ten years. He's wondered for a while whether he's still in love with Jim, or just the memory of him, and here's his answer.
He spends most of that day grabbing his stuff from the motel and unpacking it back at Jim's apartment, as much as he immediately needs at least. Jim has a bookcase and a TV, a couch and two armchairs in his living room. Bozz piles some of his clothes in a corner next to the couch and looks around at the books. There's biographies of one or two soldiers, but mostly it's fiction and grammar shit.
Jim comes home looking so handsome Bozz has to joke off how awkward it makes him. They get talking about Jim's job, and then Jim tells him he wrote a book and Bozz feels this immense, quiet pride. He moves closer, he can't not try and kiss him right now, but he's spent the past decade convincing himself that Jim was probably married and never thought about him. He gives Jim plenty of time to pull out of this, to deflect, but he doesn't. He just closes his eyes and opens his mouth, breath hitching, and Bozz closes the last of the distance and kisses him.
Jim's shaking hard, so Bozz is as gentle as he can be. He kisses him slowly, sliding one hand into his hair, the fingertips of the other resting along his jaw. Jim's lips feel different, not so dry. It's nice. His tongue is just the same, and he still tastes of cigarettes and something Bozz could never place. Jim's arms are shaking on his back, and Bozz is starting to get worried when Jim breaks away and stares at him like he's a ghost.
Bozz figures Jim's just being kind to an old friend, after that. He gets that it's weird for him, Bozz suddenly turning up. He thought maybe Jim would've heard he was all right, didn't know there were rumours he'd died. Perhaps it's good that there are, perhaps that's why nobody from the Army ever tracked him down. So he does get why Jim's weird around him. He just wishes it didn't hurt quite so much.
The first day he wakes up there, an alarm is going off in the next room. Bozz forgets for a second where he is, and lands painfully on the floor. "You okay?" calls a sleepy voice.
"Yeah," Bozz calls back. Right. Jim. Kissed. Rejected. Right.
He goes out to look for work once Jim's left. After several hours of asking around and arranging two interviews, he heads back to the apartment and fixes lunch. Jim's left a book on the kitchen table, and when Bozz sees the title, he goes still.
The Way Things Are by Jim Paxton. "I'll be damned," Bozz mutters. He reads with one hand, eating a sandwich with the other, then takes the book to the couch and spends the rest of the afternoon with it. Jim comes home when he's three chapters from the end, and hovers around looking anxiously at him while he reads the rest.
"Well?" Jim asks, scratching the back of his neck and avoiding Bozz's eyes, once he's finished. "What do you think?"
The main character was a lawyer who said some things Bozz vaguely remembers saying, or approximations of them. The love interest had well-described brown eyes, which Bozz sort of hopes are based on his. One of the characters talked about the stupidity of war in just the way Bozz always did, another of them had his habit of counting trees as he drives past them. Other tiny details, like an old girlfriend Bozz told him about, the oak tree in his back yard growing up, the neighbour's dog when he was at college. It's like Jim remembered every stupid little thing Bozz ever told him. Maybe it's all coincidence, maybe Jim didn't realise he was writing it like that, but Bozz feels familiarity all through it.
"I wanna kiss you again," he says. Jim looks down.
"That's good, right? You liked it?"
"I liked it. You're a good writer. And I wanna kiss you again."
"Uhm," Jim says, shifting and avoiding his eyes.
"But I won't. You don't want me to, so." Bozz pats him on the shoulder as he passes, on his way to grab a beer.
They spend most evenings together. Sometimes Jim has plans with his friends, and he invites Bozz out with him but Bozz always declines. "I'll just do some reading," he says. Truth is, he doesn't want to spend time with Jim's friends, who'll talk all about a time in his life Bozz doesn't know. They all know this new civilian Jim, they weren't there when Wilson and Hicks beat him up, they weren't there when they had to talk their way out of being caught AWOL, they weren't there when Jim took endless notes on everyone and everything. They weren't there when Bozz shot his eye to get him out. If Bozz stays in the apartment, if he doesn't meet anyone from Jim's new life, he can keep on telling himself he knew Jim at the most important time in his life.
Feelings, Bozz thinks as he finishes another beer at the kitchen table, are stupid. Life was simpler when he didn't get attached to anyone, but of course, Jim Paxton had to walk into his life and screw that all up. He's made it a decade without any real ties, too, not even when he could have them. Not even when he should have had them. Now here he is, hiding from the people Jim knows now just because he resents that they've known him probably longer than Bozz did. Two months, that's all the time he knew him. Two months ten years ago, fuck, why would anyone still be fixating on that?
"Stupid fucking love," Bozz mutters. He's pretty drunk by this time, and crawls into Jim's bed to wallow. He wakes up a few hours later when Jim shakes his shoulder.
"You wanna sleep here?" he asks, and for a second Bozz thinks he means sleep with him, and his heart soars. "I can take the couch."
"No," Bozz struggles up, "no, I'll go."
He apologises in the morning, but Jim waves it away. "Don't worry," he says, "you have nothing to apologise for."
After Jim leaves for the day, Bozz shaves and puts his best shirt on and goes out looking for work again. He has to get out of Jim's apartment, maybe out of his life. If Jim doesn't want him there — okay, maybe he does, but shit, Bozz is so tired of feeling crappy about loving him. He finds a company that supplies crews in the area, and interviews for a job in Chelsea. It's far enough that he won't be living on Jim's couch any more, but not so far that he won't ever see him. He tells himself it's a good compromise when he gets the job, and heads over to Jim's work to tell him.
Jim takes it badly. Bozz ends up shoved against a wall in Jim's office, which is something he hasn't even thought to fantasise about, and he hadn't even realised what was going on with Jim until he practically shouts it in his face. Bozz keeps his voice soothing, stroking his sides, hoping he'll calm down. He knows now, though. Jim's mad at him because he thought he was dead, and it's all he can do not to laugh at how absurd everything is. Jim leans his forehead against Bozz's, and the last shred of doubt leaves. Jim still has feelings for him. Bozz kisses him, and this time Jim doesn't shake or pull away. It takes him a second, but Jim starts kissing back, easing his tongue into Bozz's mouth. Bozz feels a rush to his groin at that, and Jim whimpers and presses against him. Bozz has both hands in Jim's hair, his heart feeling as light as a bubble as they make out. It's intense, but they can't do anything, and after a long time — but too soon — Jim ends the kiss.
He leans their foreheads together. "I have to teach a class soon."
"Soon isn't now," Bozz points out, angling and kissing him again. It's another minute before Jim pulls away again.
"No — but — someone could walk in," he says. His hands are under Bozz's shirt, fingers reaching for the small of his back, palms curling over his sides. Bozz rolls his hips against Jim. "Bozz," Jim exhales, his eyes sliding closed. "Please."
That sound has always driven Bozz crazy. "Please what?" he whispers, nudging their noses together. Jim's breath hitches.
"Please don't get me fired," he whispers.
Bozz kisses him again, light, open-mouthed. "But I want to," he breathes, rolling his hips again.
"Later, okay? Please, Bozz." Jim sounds so desperate Bozz's cock throbs.
Bozz smiles. "I'm teasing, Pax." He kisses him, this time with less want. It's an effort. "I'd, um. I'd better go, huh?"
"Yeah, I'll — I'll see you later."
Bozz swings by the construction office once he's sat in a park for long enough that he won't embarrass himself. They get him an interview for a crew in the city for the next afternoon, he apologises for turning down the Chelsea job, and then he goes back to Jim's apartment.
He starts second-guessing things in the hours he waits for Jim to get home. He's pretty sure Jim wants him to stay, but it's not until he sees the way he smiles when Bozz tells him about the job here that he knows for certain. And it's not until after they've fucked — which is the best sex Bozz has had in three years — that he even knows Jim loves him.
He wakes up the next morning to an alarm clock. He's become used to it, but it's louder than it should be; he opens his eyes, he's in Jim's bed, and Jim is slamming his hand on the clock to get it to shut up.
"Morning," Bozz says, squinting in the light.
Jim rolls over and kisses him lightly. "Yeah," he says.
Bozz gets the job with the crew. He swings by the college to tell Jim, and they celebrate that night by going out for Italian food. Bozz wonders if it's a date — they can't hold hands or kiss or anything, of course, so there's no traditional markers, but maybe it is — so he just asks, when he's getting dressed.
"Oh," Jim says, tilting his head slightly. "I never thought of that. I guess it is."
"I'll dress up then," Bozz says, winking.
The restaurant is nice, the food is good, and Jim asks him about previous crews he's worked on. Bozz keeps remembering funny stories, and Jim starts writing things on a napkin during the main course. It's strange, for a moment, to see him scribbling notes down without that flashlight he had.
"So much stuff," Jim says, four bottles of beer later on the way home, "has happened to you in ten years, Bozz. We haven't covered half of it yet."
"I have a son," Bozz says, suddenly. "I just ... realised I hadn't told you."
Jim stops walking. "What? You — you have a kid?"
"Yeah. He's with his mom back in Mexico. He'll be six in June."
"Well, why aren't you there?" Jim gestures expansively.
"Oh, she kicked me out a long time ago. Nasty break-up, man, real nasty. She said I was a terrible father and didn't deserve a son."
"Ouch." Jim slaps a hand onto his shoulder and squeezes it. "Sorry, man."
They walk on for a minute, and then Bozz says, "Thanks."
"For what?"
"Not asking me if it was true." Jim starts making arguing noises, but Bozz cuts him off. "A lot of people would think it. I don't like responsibility, and I run. That's what I do. I'd have stayed for my boy, though."
"I didn't think it was true," Jim says, quiet.
"I know." Bozz smiles at him. "It's a little true, if I'm honest. I wasn't the best daddy around. She was a good momma, though."
"Well, good." Jim pauses. "What's his name?"
"Javier Diego," Bozz answers. "I don't have a middle name, thought it'd be nice to give him one."
"Oh."
They're almost back at the apartment. "I write him," Bozz says. "Always send him Christmas cards, birthday cards. Don't know if he gets them, but I send them." He turns away as Jim unlocks the door, looking down the hallway. "I don't talk about him much."
"You want me not to mention him?" Jim asks, opening the door. Bozz nods, and they go inside.
They go to the movies that weekend. "I guess this means we're dating," Bozz says when they get home. They shared popcorn and made fun of the acting all the way back, it's a better date than most.
"Yeah, I guess we are." Sometimes, when Jim smiles, Bozz forgets about everything else. Sometimes they even stare at each other like two lovesick puppies. It's a good thing they don't go out much.
"Okay, I am going to take a piss, you are going to get naked, and then I will fuck you," Bozz says.
"Clean your dick first," Jim answers, wrinkling his nose but unable to hide his grin.
The next morning, there's time to wake up slowly. Jim kisses Bozz until he complains about the state of his breath, so they both brush their teeth, jostling each other at the sink. They spend the whole morning and half the afternoon in bed, first jerking each other off, then talking, then grinding and sucking, then more talking. Bozz hasn't felt this happy since he was a kid and life was all about seeing how high you could climb or how far you could jump without hurting yourself. Bozz lies sprawled out in a comfortable bed, tracing his fingertips over Jim's hip, head on his chest, talking about Jim's new ideas.
"Why did you only write one book?" Bozz asks. He trails his fingers lazily over where Jim's hip meets his thigh.
Jim squirms, his cock stirring. "It didn't sell, so the publishers didn't want another one."
"Oh." He trails his fingers closer to Jim's cock, smiling as Jim angles toward them. "You thinking of trying again with this one?"
"Yeah, why not?" Jim says, sounding distracted. Bozz kisses his chest. "You're not gonna stop doing that, are you?" he adds, because Bozz's fingers have stilled.
He brushes them against the shaft of Jim's cock. "I don't plan to," he says, and wriggles until he can get his mouth onto it.