Page 96 of Men of Fort Dale: The Complete Series

“Good ol’ Port Dale,” he murmured, unsure if it was out of exasperation or affection.

Probably both.

He was a small-town boy who’d moved far away from home a long time ago.

After spending years in a college town, he’d moved a few hundred miles to Port Dale.

If he’d thought living in a Greenford had been a massive change from the small town where he’d spent his childhood, then moving to the city had been an even bigger upheaval.

The inner city was a sprawling example of urban growth, with sparkling skyscrapers at its core, surrounded by restaurants, bars, clubs, and shops. After living in Port Dale for a few years, the northern end was his favorite, where the city dwindled, and the beach melted into dense forest.

It reminded him of home.

Buzzing in his pocket pulled him from his thoughts, and he dug for his phone. There weren’t many people he talked to, and he guessed it might be his parents. However, when he saw his friend’s name on the screen, he smiled as he accepted the call.

“Hey, Dean,” he began, grunting as his foot caught a crack in the sidewalk, almost sending him sprawling. Thankfully, no one was around to slam into. “Sorry, hey, Dean.”

Dean chuckled, though Marco could imagine his raised brow just from his tone. “Doing alright over there, Marco?”

“Oh, you know me, I can dance with the best of them, but walking is still challenging,” Marco told him wryly.

“Ah, yes. I’ll never forget you falling over to ask me out,” Dean said.

Marco snorted. “That isn’t quite how it happened.”

When he and Dean had dated briefly, it started because Marco had seen Dean at the edge of the crowd in a club.

Marco immediately felt drawn to him. Of course, any smooth opening had been ruined when Marco’s feet caught on the carpet, sending him sprawling.

A thump on the head later, he found himself having his small wound treated by an amused Dean.

“I remember it that way.”

“Being with Sloane has not done good things to your ego, Dean,” Marco teased.

Dean laughed. “I’ll tell him that whenever he emerges from The Pile.”

The stack of boxes in Dean and Sloane’s new dining room was what Dean referred to as The Pile.

Marco’s brief stint dating Dean hadn’t worked out, but Dean's relationship with Sloane had been going strong for nearly three years.

After sitting on a waitlist for what felt like ages to the two men, they were finally allowed to move out of their apartment and into a house on base together.

That had been a week ago, and they were still unpacking.

“I did tell you to throw some of that stuff out,” Marco told him as he stepped around a few people talking on the sidewalk.

“And I agreed,” Dean said in an amused voice. “ Someone disagreed.”

“And it didn’t need to be pulled out of storage.”

“I remember telling him the same thing, but you know how Sloane is.”

“Stubborn?”

“Hardheaded, more like,” Dean said, though Marco didn’t miss the affection in his friend’s voice.

Although it had once stung like hell to step away from Dean, who had been so sweet yet equally determined, Marco had never regretted it.

Back then, he’d seen the potential between Dean and Sloane, and although Sloane might have been slow to realize it, Marco had noticed how much the two of them wanted it.

When they’d finally taken the step toward being together, their relationship had become something Marco rarely saw.

It reminded him of his parents when his mom was alive—two people who operated together intuitively.

While his parents had been no fairy tale romance, they’d always found a way to make it work.

Losing her had been hard on both him and his dad, and Marco had never heard of another woman in his father’s life since.

There was a thump from the call, followed by Dean sighing. “Sloane, you won’t make The Pile any smaller if you start throwing things around.”

“Now, that’s just far too logical,” Marco chided playfully as he waited at an intersection for the crosswalk light to change.

“From the growling and swearing I’m hearing, I think he agrees. Well, or he stubbed his toe...again.”

“I’m sure if anyone can get inanimate objects to cooperate through sheer intimidation, Sloane can,” Marco said, thinking of the big, burly, grumpy-looking man who was probably currently buried under boxes.

“He’s certainly making a good attempt,” Dean said, voice muffled as though glancing over his shoulder.

Marco glanced both ways before crossing the road. “So, what can I do for you, Dean?”

Dean hummed. “How are your weekends looking over the next couple of weeks?”

Marco shrugged even though the gesture went unseen. “Got them off unless some disaster strikes the company servers. I’m pretty much free unless I want overtime.”

“You say that as if it’s never happened before.”

“Okay, that was one time in all the years you’ve known me,” Marco protested. “Oh God, is this you asking me to do something…something special? Because if it is, and you’re bringing up the network crash from two years ago, I’m still sorry about missing your birthday party.”

Dean laughed. “And you know damn well I’m not serious when I give you shit about that. I just want to make sure you’re free, is all.”

“Well, barring another disaster, I’m free and clear. Why, what’s going on?”

“Well, I’m hoping that one weekend, I’ll be able to have a real housewarming.”

Marco chuckled. “You know it’s already the weekend, right?”

“It’s Friday.”

“And I just got off work, so it’s the weekend.”

Dean grunted. “Well, I was thinking next weekend, hopefully. If not, the one after that. I never realized how much work it would be to settle into a new place.”

“And you’d love to unwind from all that stressful packing, moving, and unpacking by organizing a party,” Marco said.

Laughter. “Well, when you put it like that, I sound like a glutton for punishment.”

There was a distinct but indecipherable murmuring, which Marco recognized as Sloane talking.

Dean huffed. “Don’t you have a bunch of stuff to go curse at?”

There was another rumble, followed by a deep, quiet laugh.

“Oh God,” Dean muttered. “Go away. Troublemaker.”

“Do I want to know?” Marco asked.

“Probably not, apparently someone ,” the last word was said loudly. “Thinks they’re so funny.”

Marco chuckled. “So, housewarming party? Is this a grand affair, or are you keeping it small?”

“I mean, I’m not throwing a rager. Figured we could invite you. I still have to ask Troy, but I’m sure he’ll show up, dragging Oscar along,” Dean said, laughing.

Troy was Dean’s other friend. They both still worked at Fort Dale’s clinic, though Dean had been placed in charge the year before.

The two had been friends before Marco had met Dean, and the friendship had endured.

At some point, after Dean and Sloane had got together, Troy found himself in a relationship of his own.

Marco wasn’t sure what the story was, though he knew Troy and Oscar had a history long before Dean had known Troy.

Marco didn’t know much about Oscar. Oscar and Sloane had a vague similarity: tall, dark, and strong.

Oscar could scowl with the best of them, but for the most part, his was an aura of quiet thought, giving off none of the air of intimidation that clung to Sloane.

He had also lost part of an arm serving on the frontline.

Still, his other hand never seemed too far from where Troy was, as if afraid he might disappear when he wasn’t looking.

“Well, it wouldn’t be a party without your partner in crime,” Marco teased.

“Damn right, it wouldn’t,” Dean told him smartly. “And we’re probably going to invite Johns and his boyfriend too. Jesus, do I have any straight friends?”

“You did,” Marco reminded him. “But then you seduced him to the gay side, and now you have him being all homey and grumpy with you.”

“That true?” Dean asked Sloane. “Did I seduce you to the dark side?”

Sloane’s voice was unmistakable. “I was helpless before your power of seduction.”

“Seduction?” Dean asked, sounding affronted. “And here I was hoping for something sweet, like my laugh, maybe the light I bring into your life.”

“There’s that,” Sloane agreed. “But your ass is pretty great too.”

“What a romantic,” Dean muttered into the phone.

“It is a pretty decent ass,” Marco admitted.

“I heard that ,” Sloane called.

“I swear to…” Marco grumbled. “I told you to warn me before you put me on speakerphone.”

Dean chuckled. “Sorry. But he knows you don’t mean anything by it. He just likes sounding big and scary.”

“He is big and scary,” Marco affirmed.

Dean snorted derisively. “I can promise you, he’s anything but.”

“Hey!” Sloane protested angrily from the background. “You be careful, or I’ll show you how big and scary I can be.”

“Hmm,” Dean hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know about you, Marco, but it sounds like he’s trying to threaten me with a good time right now.”

“Do not pull me into your strange courtship rituals,” Marco groaned as he reached his apartment building.

He also knew better than to ask if anyone else was showing up. Neither Sloane nor Dean’s family lived anywhere close to Port Dale. Not that Dean’s family would bother showing up, though Marco suspected Sloane’s family would. Dean’s family had always been strangely distant.

Strange only because Marco had, much like Dean, grown up as an only child.

Unlike Dean, however, Marco had grown up with parents who had doted on him, guided him, and loved him without reservation.

Poor Dean had to deal with parents who treated him more as something they could chat about over dinner, at least before he joined the military and settled down with another man.

While talking about gay rights was perfectly acceptable for Dean’s parents, having a gay son was altogether different, and his parents’ dreams that he might one day find a nice girl and settle down from his ‘phase’ had been slowly dying and so too had their interest in his life.

Marco’s parents, by comparison, had barely batted an eye when he’d come out to them.

There was worry on his mother’s part about how the world would treat him once he stepped out as a gay man.

His father wondered if he might be a little hasty, as Marco had only been fifteen.

Yet they’d been happy for him, with his father proclaiming he’d never seen Marco as happy and content as he’d been after finally coming out.

“You can feel free to invite anyone,” Dean told him. “I know damn well you’re not going to bring trouble to my doorstep.”

“I don’t know,” Marco said as he reached his apartment door and unlocked it. “I did have pretty colorful friends back in college. I might ring a couple and see what kind of trouble we can stir up, for old time’s sake.”

Dean groaned. “I know you’re kidding, but I remember the stories you told me. There is no way in hell my house can survive whatever you bring to it if you call your old buddies.”

Marco laughed. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You set a bar on fire.”

“No. We got drunk, really drunk. And the bar burned down at some point when we weren’t there.”

“And you don’t remember if you were the cause or not. Which might as well be the same thing.”

Marco snorted, tossing his bag onto the living room couch. “Your logic is beyond argument.”

“Normally, I’d agree, but that sounds like sarcasm,” Dean said slowly.

“Me? Never, I would never privately think you were being ridiculous and intentionally trying to get a rise out of me,” Marco told him.

“Oh yes,” Dean said. “That was incredibly convincing. Please, do go on.”

“I would,” Marco said, listening to the call's background noise. But it sounds like Sloane has hit a particularly nasty snag in his attempts to organize your communal disaster. So you might want to go and help before he breaks something.”

“I’m trying to avoid it,” Dean informed him quickly. “But I’m guessing that means you’re home and want to unwind.”

“It’s almost like you know me,” Marco proclaimed, loosening his tie and tossing it over the armchair.

“Weird how that works, huh? So, you’re good to come if we actually get our shit together?”

“I’m sure I can make it.”

“Awesome. I guess I’ll go help my boyfriend before he loses his mind. Talk to you later, Marco.”

He ended the call and flopped down on the couch with a weary sigh.

Marco loved what he did. It engaged his mind, at least when it required his brain to fixate on codes and malfunctions rather than people.

He liked people just fine, loved them even, but that didn’t change the fact that when it came to their work-related problems, they were exhausting.

As much as he loved what he did, he looked forward to Friday evenings.

Marco stared at his reflection in the dark TV, frowning.

He couldn’t quite make out the dark eyes and bronze skin he’d inherited from his mother, but he could see the weariness of his face.

His hair, which against all odds was his father’s copper instead of his mother’s muddy brown, stuck up in every direction.

He didn’t remember swiping his hands through it enough to cause that.

He looked like a disheveled mess, albeit one with a nice shirt, slacks, and a tie thrown over a nearby chair. He wondered when he’d last gone out and enjoyed himself. It had been weeks, perhaps even months, and the thought pulled at him, dragging his mood down a notch.

He wasn’t the party boy he’d once been, but sometimes he missed those days. It mixed strangely with the ache of loneliness that found him when he thought about his life. Oh sure, he had a great job and an income that would keep him going comfortably, but something was missing.

Someone was missing.

That settled it. As soon as the loneliness rose and threatened to curl comfortably around his chest, Marco knew what he had to do.

Going out for the night wouldn’t solve his loneliness, but it would stave it off for a while.

And if he should happen to find someone to spend the night with, well, that would stave it off for a bit longer.

Grunting, he pushed off the couch and began unbuttoning his shirt. There was still plenty of time to get some good food in him before getting ready for the night.