“I’m afraid time will take me back,” Stanley said, admitting his biggest fear.
“It won’t,” said Devon. “You’ve done what you set out to do. You’ve completed your mission, so take off that uniform and have a hot shower. I’ll make you something to eat, though it’s only frozen pizza again, and we’re out of milk.”
Stanley smiled at the mundane concern about there being no milk to drink when they could easily go to the store and get more. He peeled off his jacket, now stiff with mud and blood. He’d forgotten about his wound until Devon made a sharp sound and was at his side.
“What the fuck, Stanley,” said Devon, his hands on the bandage that the medic had so carefully wrapped only hours ago. “Are you wounded? Is that blood on your arm?”
“It’s not bad,” said Stanley, his hand going to test the edges of the bandage, as he would have done in the trenches to make sure that no dirt was getting beneath the edge. “It’s only a little blood. The medic put iodine on before he wrapped it; a bit of shrapnel got me. It missed the radio, which still didn’t work, which was why I had to go—”
“Take everything off and get into the shower,” said Devon, makinga slicing motion with his hands. “I’ll unwrap your arm and after you shower, I’ll getrealantibiotic for that wound, and a clean bandage.”
Devon began to peel off Stanley’s shirt and was unwinding the bandage, though he was slowing down with every turn of the cloth, his eyes wide.
“This is a bandage from World War I,” Devon said, his voice low with awe.
“Yes,” said Stanley. He had to smile because Devon’s face was lit with excitement, and it was okay now that Stanley was here and in one piece. The wound was a mere scratch, something to share with Devon. Maybe Devon could add something about the bandage to his paper, although he’d already handed it in. Or maybe he wouldn’t add it, since it had nothing to do with the weather. “Rex checked that shrapnel hadn’t gone all the way through to the bone and then the medic wrapped it.”
“Rex was one of your army buddies, right?” asked Devon. His concentration was on the pile of muslin in his hand, which had little red lines from where the blood on Stanley’s arm had soaked through.
“You remember. He was one of the fellows I went through basic with,” said Stanley. “Him and Bertie and Isaac.”
“Isaac made it out?” asked Devon, though the answer was obvious; every man had made it out alive because of Stanley. Unspoken was the question that Devon had asked before, whether Stanley had been in love with Isaac, and whether Isaac was like Stanley and Devon in that way.
With his chin tucked low, Stanley looked up at Devon through his lashes and, for a moment, both of them were still.
“He couldn’t have loved me back,” said Stanley, gently. “He wasn’t afraid, he just didn’t want it. But he was kind to me, always.”
“He might have loved you in his own way,” said Devon.
“Yes,” said Stanley. “He was with me when I died, holding my hand.”
“Stanley,” said Devon in that soft way that told Stanley everything he needed to know. That Devon was glad he was there, was glad hemade it through, and that he never wanted Stanley to leave. It strengthened him to be so loved; with Devon at his side, he knew everything would be good.
Devon kissed him and brushed some of the mud from his face as he put the bandage on the table. Then he walked Stanley into the bathroom, and helped Stanley out of his uniform. He tossed each piece aside in a casual way, as though the uniform didn’t mean as much to him as Stanley did. Later, perhaps, he would examine the garments, though Stanley really didn’t want to see any of them again.
Devon turned on the shower, and as the hot water ran and Stanley stood naked on the bathroom rug, Devon checked him over.
“Look at the amount of mud that soaked through your uniform,” said Devon. “And the bits of shrapnel that made their way through the cloth. And where did you get all of these bruises?”
Stanley shook his head and let Devon fuss over him. He felt a little tired by the journey through time, but it was different, in a way. Devon felt more real, the cottage more familiar, and though he was worried about time changing its mind, he knew he had finally earned this time with Devon.
“Shower now,” said Devon, pointing to the water. “I’ll make food.”
While Stanley soaked in the shower, the warm water washed away the numb, cold feeling in his bones. As he was getting dressed in the t-shirt and baggy cloth pants that Devon had left for him, he opened the door to let the steam out. He could hear Devon on the phone talking in a loud voice to someone about papers for Stanley. Then came the sounds of Devon puttering around, the sounds of a frozen pizza box being opened.
In a moment, Devon came into the bathroom and pushed up the sleeve of the t-shirt. He bathed the slender wound in something that looked like jelly from a packet, but which quickly numbed the pain. Then Devon unpeeled the wrapper from something that looked like a pre-made bandage, and carefully laid it over the wound.
“We’ll check that in the morning,” he said. “If it’s infected, I’m taking you to a doctor, you got it?”
“I’m not arguing with you,” said Stanley. Although he was confused by the fuss, he could easily see that in this future time, first aid was taken very seriously. Plus, Devon kissed the edge of the bandage and smoothed it with his fingers, as though his love would surely be the healing of the cut, which Stanley, on the receiving end of all that care, was sure would be the result.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
When the air was warm with the smell of garlic and pepperoni, they sat at the table to eat. Dressed in soft, borrowed clothes and wrapped in a fluffy blue robe, Stanley ate a slice of pizza and drank the soda pop that Devon had poured over ice. It was a great combination of flavors, though he wasn’t very hungry. He just wanted to sleep in Devon’s arms forever. Wanted sleep to take him away from his thoughts about time taking him back to the war.
He felt Devon looking at him with dark eyes.
“What’s the matter, Stanley?” asked Devon. He leaned forward and took Stanley’s hand.
