Page 115 of Men of Fort Dale: The Complete Series

I’m sorry

He spent his days lost in thought. Fear tore at him, ripping him away from his work, the TV, and anything he did to try and distract himself.

What if something had happened to Carter?

What if he was dead or dying somewhere through some accident?

What if Carter had finally decided he couldn’t do it anymore?

What if it had all been a farce, a lie, while Carter enjoyed the ride and dropped Marco when he was done?

What if?—

When Thursday rolled around, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He had made a promise to Dean, and it was time he followed through on it. Praying Dean wasn’t on shift, he dialed his number and paced his apartment.

“Hey,” Dean said as the line clicked open.

“Dean, I think I’m losing my mind,” Marco told him in a rush.

There was a pause, and Dean’s voice grew thick with concern. “What’s going on?”

“You’d tell me if Carter had come in, right? Like, injured or...worse, right?” Marco asked, wincing at the desperation in his voice.

“Carter?” Dean asked. “Uh, he was in here the other day. But he was fine, just bringing a private in for a basic check-up.”

There was a strange note to Dean’s voice. “What? What, Dean?”

“It’s not about Carter,” Dean hurried to say. “I was just thinking about the private. It was just a weird check-up, is all. Don’t worry about it. What’s this about Carter?”

“I haven’t talked to him in days, and that’s not like him. He’s talked to me almost every day. I mean, hell, he showed up randomly a few times last week. All I got was a text Monday morning telling me he was sorry, and now he’s gone dark,” Marco babbled, feeling his throat constrict.

“That’s…” Dean trailed off, murmuring to someone else.

“Is that Sloane?” Marco asked.

“Yeah, he doesn’t go in till later.”

Remembering his position, Marco winced. “Has he heard anything?”

Dean murmured again. There was a pause. Then it grew and grew, becoming thick.

“Dean?” Marco asked, voice quivering.

“Hey,” Dean came back on the line. “I’m coming over...oh, scratch that, we’re coming over.”

“You and Sloane?” Marco asked faintly.

“Yeah. Sit tight, okay? Don’t panic.”

“That’s the worst thing to say to someone about to panic!”

“I know. We’ll be there in, like, thirty minutes, okay?”

“Dean!”

“I know,” Dean said softly. “I know. See you soon.”

The line went dead, and Marco stared at the phone as if he’d never seen it before and put it down.

The fear he’d been staving off for days clawed at his throat desperately.

He swallowed hard, walked over to the couch, and sat down gently.

Marco forced himself to take a deep breath, bowing forward to put his head between his legs and just breathe.

He hadn’t realized how long he’d stayed there until he heard a key in the lock. Marco straightened as the door swung open. Dean, worried and tight-faced, walked in beside Sloane. His face was as grave as Marco had ever seen it.

“Oh, God,” Marco whispered. “What? What happened?”

Even as he felt the terror clawing at his throat, Marco was struck by the way the two of them moved. Almost as one, they stepped into the living space, with Sloane seamlessly slipping around Dean to sit opposite the couch while Dean carefully slid beside Marco.

Sloane took a deep breath. “I need to get something out of the way before I say why we’re here.”

“Jesus,” Marco muttered. “Don’t draw this out, Sloane.”

“I’m not,” Sloane said firmly. “I’m not going to bullshit you or sugarcoat things. You know better than that.”

He did, but that didn’t make the waiting any more bearable. Marco said nothing, instead choosing to nod to show he understood.

“I’m going to tell you what happened, but I need you to understand that until very recently, my hands were tied on the matter.

Orders came from General Winter to keep quiet until.

..well, until he said so. I didn’t even tell Dean until he asked me, and honestly?

I shouldn’t be telling either of you now. ”

“So why are you telling me?” Marco asked.

Sloane grimaced. “Because Dean told me how you’ve been or what he could figure out from the brief call anyway. Hell, if I’d known how rough things were for you before, I would have said something.”

“I should have spoken up sooner,” Marco muttered, glancing at Dean.

“Later is better than never,” Dean told him softly.

“Marco,” Sloane said, voice grave.

Marco looked up, afraid of what he would hear but needing to all the same. “Tell me.”

“He was arrested,” Sloane said simply. “He’s been in a holding cell since Monday morning. They’re keeping him there until his hearing, which?—”

“Why?” Marco asked, feeling lightheaded. “What’d he do?”

“Did he ever mention a Sergeant Reynolds?”

“He did. Not a big fan.”

“Clearly,” Sloane said, then winced. “Sorry. Monday morning, he assaulted him. Actually, he got him pretty good, basically beat his ass. Broke the man’s nose and fractured a couple of bones in his face.”

Marco looked at Dean, who shook his head. “He wasn’t brought to the medbay, and neither was Carter. Because I suspect Carter needed treatment too.”

Sloane snorted. “Man’s hands are as hard as his head. He didn’t have shit wrong. Reynolds, though, Carter did a number on him.”

Marco looked at his lap, shaking his head. “Why?”

Sloane sighed. “Said he had a good reason. That Reynolds was attacking someone else, and he stepped in. But since he doesn’t have a name, and no one’s come forward, it’s coming off as an excuse.

It was no secret that Carter hated Reynolds, and it’s definitely no secret that he’s got a temper and isn’t afraid of a fight. ”

“No,” Marco whispered, shaking his head. “He wouldn’t do that. Not for no good reason. If he said it was for a reason, then it was.”

“Marco,” Sloane said, far more gently than usual. I know you’ve got feelings for the guy, and you’ve been spending time together. But he’s got a history, a colorful one. Before he even landed at Fort Dale, I got a heads-up about him, and it was a mile long.”

Marco’s head snapped up. “I don’t care! That’s not who he is!”

Sloane’s tone was patient, which just made Marco even more furious. “I know you think you know him?—”

“And you do?” Marco demanded, standing up. “All you know is what a bunch of people have put on paper. All you know is what other people say. You haven’t even spoken to him except to be a complete bastard.”

“Marco,” Sloane tried.

Marco cut him off. “No! You don’t know him. You don’t know how the man he is. I get it, Sloane. You were given a file and told to do your job. But I’ve seen how he is. I know what he’s like. He wouldn’t just attack someone, not without cause. And even if he had , he wouldn’t lie about why.”

That wonderful, foolhardy man who would defend someone in the blink of an eye without considering what might happen to him? Without a demand for thanks or gratitude?

No, not him.

“Marco?” Dean asked softly, watching him. “I have to ask why you think that’s the case? Don’t give me that look because it sounds like you have a reason, and not just because he’s probably been different with you than anyone else.”

And so, he told them.

How he’d first run into Carter, battered and bruised on the sidewalk of a shabby street.

Of the women, of the victim he had helped, and of the men who had driven away, looking just as bad as Carter.

Of Terry, his persistence to the point of getting grabby, and how quick, how sure Carter had been when he’d leaped to Marco’s defense.

He even told of the people who’d given them ugly looks on the boardwalk and how sharp Carter had been, even going so far as to pretend nothing had happened.

Protecting, always protecting.

When he was done, he sat down, feeling completely drained. Marco simply couldn’t believe that Carter was the person others made him out to be or believed him to be.

It was Sloane who spoke first. “The incident that had him shipped back stateside. That was in one of the reports I was given.”

Marco glowered at him. “I’m not telling that story. That one...isn’t mine to tell.”

Sloane shook his head, frowning. “I don’t expect you to. It was vague, giving the barest details and summarizing it as gross insubordination. I thought it was peculiar at the time, but I brushed it off.”

“Peculiar, how?” Dean asked.

“It...the other reports had more details. Names, places, stuff like that. And I know that whatever first got him booted over here was a military action, and it’s going to lack some details, but even so, it was oddly sparse.

I didn’t give it much thought at the time, but now, hearing Marco’s stories, I’m beginning to wonder,” Sloane said slowly, as though rolling the thoughts through his head carefully.

“You think it’s connected?”

“I think there’s a chance there’s more to the story. If Marco’s right about everything, which, I’ll admit, I’m kind of inclined to agree might be the case.”

Marco laughed, the sound brittle and bitter. “Why? Why believe me now?”

Sloane’s eyes darted to Dean and then back to Marco. “Because maybe I know a little something about being one way and the world seeing me differently. Because maybe I know what it’s like to be more me with one person who could vouch for me more than anyone else.”

Marco relented, unable to find a retort to the bald truth Sloane laid out before him. “He can’t just...he deserves better than this. Like, he gets a trial, a hearing, right? Like, I can tell them that, right? I can...help, right?”

Sloane grimaced again, and Marco’s heart sank. “The problem is one character witness, an especially biased one, against a slew of reports of violence and anger problems, plus Reynolds’ report is not going to do much. If we had proof, the police report of the incident, we might stand a chance.”

“Or the person Carter defended against this Reynolds asshole,” Marco muttered.

Dean stiffened beside him as Sloane grunted. “That too. But we don’t have a single clue who it was. He won’t name them, for whatever reason.”