No warnings. Drew & Rick, hurt/comfort. It follows This Time Around (my other story) but can be a stand alone. Enjoy!

Passing Storms

"Where the hell is the air support?" He shouted, trying to be heard over the chaos.

It had started with an RPG that hit their Humvee. No one had been in it, thankfully, since his unit was bunking down in the small base for the night. They were on the return trip from a patrol, a day away from their main base. Everyone had been in high spirits considering, but now it was just chaos.

The first blast had woken them and they'd spurred into action, evacuating to the rear and taking what defense positions they could. Almost everyone had made it too before the second RPG hit the main structure. Three of his men, his boys, hadn't made it out. He couldn't think of them as dead yet though, he had bullets flying overhead and six other men to protect.

They were dug in, returning fire and holding ground as best they could. They'd sent their SOS and he'd called for helicopters. His comms man had said they had a fifteen-minute ETA. He didn't think they could last fifteen minutes.

Another RPG over shot and hit behind them. The flash was near blinding in the night, despite the fires that raged. His men returned fire, one at a time in a sort of count off so he could tell that at least the six who made it out were still alive.

"En route Captain! That's all they said!" His comms called back.

He didn't like that answer. "Charlie! Do you see any movement from our guys? Anything inside?" He called over to the unit's medic.

"Nothing yet," was the answer. He hated that.

Another RPG overshot their location, but it was closer. The bastard's aim was getting better. There was weapons fire now too. Everything was going to hell.

He heard a whistle, sharp, like a tea kettle. His brain hadn't even fully recognized the sound before he was shouting, "hit the dirt!" There was a flash and a crack of thunder, except this wasn't a thunder storm and the shockwaves washed over him as sand and rock pelted his flak jacket. His ears were ringing, but he could hear the tea kettle sound again and someone far off calling his name…

-line-

"Rick? Come on, follow me back. Listen to my voice and follow me back," Drew said, voice steady and calm despite his tension.

He had woken up to Scout licking his face and the sound of the tea kettle whistling as a storm raged outside. He had laid in bed for a confused moment trying to figure out what was happening. His sleep frazzled mind registered that Rick was not in bed and that got him up.

He had found his husband in the kitchen. He was on the floor, back pressed to the island and curled in on himself. His crutch was tossed to the side and he stared wide eyed at nothing. His breathing was labored, body trembling, skin pale and diaphoretic, and there were tear tracks on his face. He looked like he was in shock but Drew couldn't see any injuries.

A loud clap of thunder rattled the window and a flash of lightning illuminated the kitchen. Rick jerked and called out "down! Get down!" And that was when Drew understood what was happening.

Kneeling down, he began speaking to Rick in low and soft tones, hoping he could draw him back from the flashback. Scout was trying to help too by licking his other dad's tears, but there was no reaction. "Rick, come on, just listen to me. You're safe and at home in San Antonio. Come back to me Rick. Just focus on my voice…"

He didn't know how long exactly he rambled on, but it wasn't terribly long. Rick began to snap out of the nightmare in his head, eyes focusing on the worried face of his husband. He gave several long blinks, looking around confused and out of sorts as he tried to figure out what just happened. He seemed to come fully aware when Scout leaned into him and he hugged the dog close. Drew watched him a moment, assessing his mental state, before saying, "ya back with me, blue eyes?"

Rick looked at him, still wide eyed, dazed, and hugging the dog. "Drew?" He said, voice choked, "what...oh God…" he buried his face in Scout as another flash of lighting and clap of thunder rattled the house.

"Hey… you're alright," Drew said softly, enveloping the other in an attempt to protect him.

"It was so real…" Rick whispered, "I was really back there. I was back at Tel Keya…"

"I know…" Drew sighed softly, kissing the back of Rick's neck. "I know, but it's over. It was the past. It's okay."

Rick took a shuddering breath and shifted, pulling away from Drew and rubbing his hands through Scout's fur. The dog wagged his tail and licked Rick's face, trying to clean the tears. Drew stood, moving over to the stove. He turned off the burner and picked up the kettle. Seeing the mug that Rick had set on the counter, he went ahead and made the tea for him. Returning to the other, he sat next to him handing over the mug.

Rick took it with shaky hands, and seemed to huddle around it, Scout now lying by his side. He was clearly still recovering from the flashback, teetering on the edge of awareness and memory. Another flash of lightning and clap of thunder made him jump and he inhaled sharply. "Damn it," he snapped, shutting his eyes tightly.

"Stay with me Rick," Drew said, voice even. "Talk me through it. What's happening?"

"I can't exactly talk through the storm," Rick snapped, lashing out in his triggered state.

Drew didn't mind. Rick didn't often have flashbacks, at least not like this one, but when he did he tended to have the whole gamut of emotions. It wasn't unusual at all for him to have mood swings when coming out of one and if anyone could understand what that was like, it was Drew.

"Hey, deep breaths. The storm was the trigger, walk me through the memories, okay?" He said soothingly.

Rick sighed, frustrated and angry, "I don't want to. I don't want to go back there."

"I know. So stay with me, just tell me what happened. You got up to make tea…" Drew prompted.

"I didn't get up to make tea, there was a fucking RPG hit outside the fucking post," Rick growled.

Drew sighed, leaning his head back against the counter. The other was sliding back into the flashback and could easily have another episode. With the storm he wasn't exactly sure he could prevent that. He was still going to try. "Rick, you're in San Antonio, in your house sitting in the kitchen. It's August eighth, 2016, 03:32 hours. You were asleep, woke up, and were making tea. Walk me through what happened next."

"I...I'm in San Antonio?" Rick asked, sounding unsure as another flash of lightning illuminated the room. He jumped and Scout shifted so he was leaning more weight on Rick.

"Yeah. It's August eighth, 2016," Drew repeated.

"I… I heard the storm and I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to wake you. I just… I wasn't going to sleep so I thought I'd come to do some work," he started.

"I appreciate you not waking me," Drew said, "but it's always alright if you do."

"I know, but you just got back from training and I just wanted to make sure you got sleep before work…" Rick sighed, rolling his head back.

"Thank you," Drew said smiling at his husband. "So, you came to the kitchen to make tea before you started working?"

"Yeah."

"What happened next?" Drew prompted.

"I was watching the storm and then the kettle whistled and the thunder… it sounded like the RPGs and as soon as I thought it, I couldn't stop…" Rick took a shuddering breath, releasing it slowly. He looked over to Drew, eyes no longer wield and frightened. He was back off the edge now, mostly lucid. "I was back there. It was that night all over again," he said.

"I know. But you're not there now. You're safe," Drew said wishing there was more he could do. He would love to be able to erase the memories of that night from Rick's mind, unfortunately all he could do was help him deal with trauma.

"Joey Mills, Private First Class. Greg Williams, Sergeant. David Lucas, Private Second Class," Rick listed off the names, his voice choked. They were the three men he had lost that night, the first men to ever die under his command. That night, of all his tours, was the worst he had ever had in Afghanistan.

"You didn't kill them. It's not your fault," Drew said softly.

"That's what I tell you about Shay, and Thomas, and Zack, and every other death you feel responsible for. Does it ever make a difference?" Rick said, harsher than he intended.

"Sometimes yes, sometimes no," was the quiet answer, "what does always make the difference, is that it reminds me someone doesn't hold me responsible. Someone doesn't think I'm a fuck up. Some days that makes all the difference."

"I… what I remember most about that night was knowing I was going to die. There was no way we were going to last long enough for the Navy to get there. But I didn't want to die. I don't even know how to explain the feeling."

"You don't have to. I get it," Drew stated and he did. It was that weird stillness that came in the chaos; certainty in the confusion. It was the moment in all your terror where time slowed to a stop and the world was crystal clear in its frantic motion. The calm of the storm.

Rick sighed and sagged, leaning into his husband exhausted. "I know you do," he said and he really did. Rick may have had four tours to Drew's three, but Drew had, had it rougher. Not that it was a competition, it was just a fact. "I should have waited. I should have made sure everyone got out," he said, fresh tears falling. "That's what a real CO would have done. A real Ranger."

"You were being bombed and you took point on the evac. You put yourself between your men and the enemy to cover them while they got to cover. That's what a commander does. That's what a Ranger does," Drew countered, "besides, and I'm being selfish, but I'm really glad you didn't wait. My world's a hell of a lot better with you in it."

Rick gave a choked laugh, "even when I'm crazy?"

Drew wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer to his side, kissing the top of his head. "You're always crazy," he teased, "it's part of your charm."

Rick laughed and another bolt of lightning filled the room. A thunder clap followed seconds later, indicating it was now miles away. The storm was moving out. He'd made it through the worst of it.