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Story: Men of Fort Dale

“I mean, it’s better than saying everyone else is wandering around with nothing more than peach fuzz,” Dean said.

Sloane held out one of the plates. “That’s pretty heavy criticism coming from you. Especially since I distinctly remember a certain drunk medic telling me how he got into the military because hereallyliked men in uniform.”

Dean hummed, curling his lip as he took the plate. “You’re not going to let me live that night down, are you?”

“Not so long as I still have a functioning memory and mouth,” Sloane said with a grin.

“Well, I guess I have no choice but to find a way to stop one or both of those things,” Dean said.

Despite his smaller frame, Dean had a surprisingly strong tolerance to alcohol. In the few years Sloane had known the man, he could count the number of times he’d seen Dean more than buzzed on both hands, and he’d only seen him wasted once. Sloane suspected it had only been the one time because that night had been so full of stories with which Sloane loved to regale him. Well, and some part of him wondered if perhaps Dean just hated the idea of Sloane seeming like that too.

“And then I asked you how you manage to get through a normal day if you like men in uniform so much,” Sloane continued.

Dean sighed, turning to walk away. “I hate you.”

“And you said?—”

“Hate, hate, hate!”

“Like a good little private, you stand at attention all day.”

“Hate.”

Sloane trailed behind Dean, still chuckling as they entered the living room. The apartment was the first place Sloane had ever been able to call his own. On most bases, he probably would have been out of luck finding a place on-site. There weretypically more soldiers than living spaces, and generally, those homes went to married servicemen. Fort Dale, however, wasn’t a densely populated base and possessed not just homes but apartments for its soldiers. There was enough space for Sloane to snatch one up with little problem, save for all the tedious paperwork.

The only downside for Sloane was that the place wasn’t all that large. Not that Sloane had a lot of things, but for someone his size, small spaces felt confining. Especially when he had to invest in a huge armchair and couch combo to be comfortable. His bedroom was no different, with most of the room taken up by a huge bed, for which he’d paid good money. Sloane hadn’t bothered with decorating much. A few pictures of his family lay scattered about, and a few posters of movies and sports teams he liked. The main focus in the living room was the huge TV and sound system, which he’d spent a great deal of money on so he could enjoy his time at home.

And, well, he thought it added to the movie and game nights he and Dean shared.

Dean flopped down on the couch, forced to scramble as his plate almost tipped up. Just as Dean was graceful and focused on the job, he was lurching and clumsy when he wasn't working. It was a strange dichotomy that most people didn’t get to see. Sloane wasn’t sure Dean was even aware of it, but his friend’s true personality didn’t show itself until he was comfortable and away from prying eyes.

“Please don’t spill shit on my cushions,” Sloane said, easing himself onto the couch with more grace.

Dean held the plate out. “Not a single crumb or drop of grease has left the plate, see?”

Sloane ignored him, powering up the TV. “You heard me.”

“I forgot to grab beer,” Dean told him.

Sloane shrugged, cycling through the movie list. “There’s a few in the fridge if you want some, but I’m not worried about it.”

He didn’t need alcohol to get through their nights. The two of them had always gotten along great, starting from the first conversation when they’d been put on watch together. Sloane had first spoken as they sat, staring out into the dark woods as the hours ticked away. Sloane could still remember the apprehensive look on Dean’s face as he eyed Sloane and the careful way he’d replied. Not the greatest start, but Sloane had pretended not to notice and continued chatting.

“Hello? Sloane?”

He blinked, turning to look at Dean. “What?”

Dean frowned. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I was...thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

Sloane smacked Dean’s leg with the remote. “I was remembering the first time we talked, asshole.”

Dean snorted, rubbing the spot where he’d been struck. “God, I thought you would end up being the world’s biggest asshole.”

“Everyone does. It’s just my wonderful personality showing through.”

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