Deployment at Sea: A Marine Romance

The USS Meridian cut through the Pacific with the kind of relentless determination that matched the men aboard her. Six months at sea. That was what they had signed up for when they joined the Marine detachment assigned to this floating city of steel and sweat.

Sergeant Daniel Reyes had done two deployments before this one. He knew the rhythm. The monotony. The way days blurred into weeks and weeks into months until you forgot what grass smelled like or how it felt to walk more than two hundred feet in a straight line.

What he had not prepared for was Corporal James Whitfield.

The first time Daniel saw him was during morning PT on the flight deck. The sun was barely up, painting the ocean in shades of orange and pink, and there was Whitfield, doing pull-ups on a makeshift bar like gravity was just a suggestion. His shoulders were broad, his arms defined in that way that came from actual work rather than vanity lifting. When he dropped down and turned around, Daniel caught a glimpse of sharp blue eyes and a jaw that could have been carved from the same steel as the ship.

Daniel looked away fast. Too fast, probably.

"New guy?" asked Sergeant Miller, following Daniel's gaze with a smirk.

"Just noticing the fresh meat," Daniel said, keeping his voice flat. "He looks green."

"Whitfield? Nah, he has got two years in. Transferred from Pendleton. Heard he requested this deployment specifically."

Daniel filed that information away and did not think about it. Did not think about those blue eyes or the way Whitfield's shirt clung to his back with sweat. Did not think about any of it.

For about three days.

The thing about being stuck on a ship with fifteen hundred other people is that you cannot avoid anyone for long. The Marine berthing area was cramped, the racks stacked three high with barely enough room to turn over without hitting the ceiling. Daniel's rack was on the second level. Whitfield's, as fate would have it, was directly below his.

"Reyes, right?" Whitfield said the first night, looking up at Daniel as he climbed into his rack. "I have heard about you. They say you are the best they have got when it comes to close quarters."

"They talk too much," Daniel said.

Whitfield grinned. It was the kind of grin that made Daniel's chest do something uncomfortable. "Maybe. But I would not mind learning from you. If you are willing to teach."

There was nothing suggestive about the words. Nothing that anyone else would have read into. But something in Whitfield's eyes made Daniel's throat go dry.

"We will see," he managed, and then rolled over to face the wall.

He did not sleep well that night.

Weeks passed. The ship moved through international waters, conducting exercises, maintaining presence, doing all the things Navy ships did while Marines waited for something to happen. The routine was numbing. Wake up. PT. Chow. Training. Chow. More training. Maybe some downtime if you were lucky. Rack. Repeat.

Daniel found himself noticing Whitfield constantly. The way he laughed at someone's joke in the chow line. The focused intensity on his face during weapons cleaning. The small kindnesses he showed the younger Marines who were struggling with their first deployment. He was good with people in a way Daniel had never been.

And he kept seeking Daniel out.

"Teach me that disarm you did yesterday," Whitfield said one afternoon in the small gym the Marines had claimed as their own. The ship was rocking more than usual, swells from a distant storm making everything feel off balance.

"You watched that?"

"Hard not to. You move different than anyone I have trained with."

Daniel should have said no. Should have kept the distance he had been carefully maintaining. Instead, he heard himself say, "Alright. Come at me."

What followed was thirty minutes of close contact that Daniel would replay in his mind for days afterward. Whitfield was a quick learner, his body responding to instruction with an eagerness that bordered on intense. Every time Daniel adjusted his stance, repositioned his arms, demonstrated a technique, he was aware of the heat of Whitfield's skin, the smell of his sweat, the way his breathing quickened when they ended up pressed together.

"You are good at this," Daniel said when they finally broke apart, both of them breathing hard.

"I have a good teacher." Whitfield wiped his face with his shirt, lifting it high enough that Daniel caught a glimpse of his stomach, the trail of hair disappearing into his waistband. "Same time tomorrow?"

Daniel nodded before he could think better of it.

The sessions became regular. Every afternoon, when their duties allowed, they met in the gym. Daniel told himself it was just training. Just two Marines helping each other stay sharp during the long stretch of deployment. He almost believed it.

But then came the night of the storm.

The Pacific had been building for days, and when it finally hit, the Meridian rolled like she was trying to shake them all loose. Half the ship was seasick. The rest were bracing themselves against every surface, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy while the ocean reminded them who was really in charge.

Daniel was on his rack when the ship took a particularly violent roll. He heard a crash, a curse, and then Whitfield's voice from below.

"Damn it."

Daniel leaned over the edge. In the dim red lighting of nighttime berthing, he could see Whitfield sitting on the deck, holding his shoulder.

"You okay?"

"Fell out of my rack. Hit the support beam." Whitfield's voice was tight with pain. "I think I might have messed up my shoulder."

Daniel climbed down without thinking. The berthing area was mostly empty since half their unit was on watch and the other half was probably hugging toilets somewhere. He crouched next to Whitfield, close enough to see the grimace on his face.

"Let me look."

He helped Whitfield remove his shirt, trying not to notice how intimate the act felt in the near-darkness. The shoulder was already starting to bruise, but nothing felt broken when Daniel carefully probed the joint.

"Not dislocated," he said. "Probably just a bad contusion. You should go to medical."

"And tell them what? That I fell out of bed like a boot?" Whitfield laughed, then winced. "I will walk it off."

"You are an idiot."

"Maybe." Whitfield looked up at him, and even in the red light, Daniel could see something shifting in his expression. "Daniel."

It was the first time Whitfield had used his first name.

"James."

Neither of them moved. The ship continued to roll, but Daniel barely noticed. All he could see was James's face, close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss.

"I am not imagining this, am I?" James said quietly. "The way you look at me. The way I catch you staring when you think no one notices."

Daniel's heart was pounding so hard he was sure James could hear it. "We should not talk about this."

"Why? Because of the regs? Because of what people might think?" James shifted, and suddenly he was closer, his good hand reaching up to rest on Daniel's arm. "I have spent my whole life following rules, Daniel. Doing what I was supposed to do. Being who I was supposed to be. And I am so damn tired of it."

"James..."

"Tell me you do not feel this. Tell me I have been reading you wrong for weeks, and I will back off. I will pretend this conversation never happened." James's grip tightened on his arm. "But if you feel what I feel, then I need to know. I need to know I am not going crazy on this ship."

Daniel closed his eyes. Every instinct he had developed over years of service screamed at him to walk away. To protect himself. To protect both of them.

But when he opened his eyes and saw the vulnerability on James's face, all of that fell away.

"You are not imagining it," he whispered.

James exhaled like he had been holding his breath for weeks. Maybe he had.

"I do not know how to do this," Daniel admitted. "I have never... not with anyone in my unit. Not with anyone I actually..."

"Actually what?"

"Actually cared about."

The words hung in the air between them. James's hand moved from Daniel's arm to his face, fingers tracing his jaw with a tenderness that made Daniel ache.

"Then we figure it out together," James said. "Slow. Careful. Whatever you need."

"It is not safe. If anyone found out..."

"I know. I know the risks." James leaned closer, his forehead almost touching Daniel's. "But I would rather have something real and dangerous than nothing at all. Wouldn't you?"

Daniel answered by closing the distance between them.

The kiss was soft at first. Tentative. Two men learning each other in the darkness of a ship pitching through a storm. But then James's hand curled around the back of Daniel's neck and pulled him closer, and soft became something else entirely.

Daniel had kissed people before. He had done more than kiss. But nothing had ever felt like this. Like coming home and jumping off a cliff at the same time. Like every moment of his life had been leading to this specific point in this specific place with this specific person.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathing hard, James smiled.

"I have wanted to do that since the first time I saw you on the flight deck," he admitted.

"Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"Because I wasn't sure. Because I was scared." James's thumb traced circles on Daniel's neck. "Because you have this face that's impossible to read, and I kept convincing myself I was projecting my own feelings onto you."

"My face is not that hard to read."

"Your face is a fortress, Sergeant Reyes." But James was grinning as he said it, and Daniel found himself smiling back.

They stayed there, sitting on the floor of the berthing area, until the storm began to calm and the first hints of dawn started to filter through the ship. They talked about everything and nothing. How James had known since high school but buried it deep. How Daniel had had exactly two experiences before enlisting and then locked that part of himself away. How both of them had been so certain they would go through life alone rather than risk exposure.

"We should get some sleep," Daniel finally said, though he did not want to move.

"Probably." James did not move either. "Tonight, after lights out. Meet me in the forward storage compartment. The one that's supposedly locked but actually isn't if you know the trick."

"How do you know about that?"

James grinned. "A Marine never reveals his secrets."

Daniel shook his head but could not stop the warmth spreading through his chest. "Fine. Tonight."

What followed was the most intense six weeks of Daniel's life.

They were careful. Paranoidly careful. Never looking at each other too long in public. Never touching where anyone could see. Maintaining the professional distance expected of two Marines in the same unit.

But at night, in that forward storage compartment filled with spare parts and old equipment, they created their own world.

Sometimes they talked for hours, sharing pieces of themselves they had never told anyone. Daniel learned that James had grown up in a small town in Montana where being different meant being alone. That he had joined the Marines partly to prove something to a father who had died thinking his son was exactly what he appeared to be. That he still sent money home to his mother every month even though she did not know the real him.

James learned that Daniel's stoicism was a wall built from years of being the only one who could take care of himself. That he had not spoken to his family in five years. That under the serious exterior was a man who was terrified of being truly known and equally terrified of dying without ever having experienced it.

And sometimes they did not talk at all.

Daniel had thought he knew what intimacy felt like. He had been wrong. What he had experienced before was physical release, nothing more. What he had with James was something else entirely. It was his hands mapping territory he had thought he knew while discovering how wrong he had been. It was James's voice in his ear, telling him things no one had ever said to him before. It was the vulnerability of being completely exposed and completely accepted at the same time.

The first time James touched him, really touched him, Daniel nearly came apart. They were lying on a makeshift bed of old canvas tarps, James's hand sliding down Daniel's chest with agonizing slowness.

"Tell me what you want," James whispered.

"I don't know. I want everything." Daniel's voice came out strangled. "I want you."

James laughed softly, but it was not mocking. It was delighted. "You have me. You have had me since the flight deck."

He took his time, learning Daniel's body like he was studying for the most important exam of his life. Every reaction catalogued. Every gasp remembered. By the time his hand finally wrapped around Daniel, stroked with a confidence that should have been impossible for a first time, Daniel was already close to the edge.

"Look at me," James said.

Daniel opened eyes he had not realized he had closed. James was watching him with an intensity that made his breath catch.

"I want to see you. I want to see what I do to you."

Daniel lasted maybe thirty seconds after that. It was embarrassing and perfect and James just held him through it, kissing his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

"Your turn," Daniel managed once he could speak again.

"You do not have to..."

"I want to." He pushed James onto his back, reversing their positions. "Tell me if I do something wrong."

He did not do anything wrong. Or if he did, James was not complaining. The sounds James made as Daniel explored him were sounds Daniel wanted to record and keep forever. The way his back arched off the canvas, the way his hands fisted in Daniel's hair, the way he said Daniel's name like it was the only word he knew.

When they finally lay spent and tangled together, the ship humming around them, Daniel said something he had not said to anyone in years.

"I think I'm falling in love with you."

James went very still. For a terrifying moment, Daniel thought he had ruined everything. Then James rolled on top of him, pinning him down with his weight, and kissed him with a desperation that answered the question better than words could have.

"I fell weeks ago," James said against his lips. "I've just been waiting for you to catch up."

They should have known it could not last.

The end came not with discovery or disgrace, but with something far more mundane. Orders.

Three weeks before the deployment was scheduled to end, James was called in to see the commanding officer. Daniel watched him go with a knot in his stomach that had nothing to do with the ship's movement.

When James found him that night, his face told the story before his mouth could.

"Special assignment," James said flatly. "I am being transferred to a unit in the Philippines. I ship out day after tomorrow."

"What? Why?"

"Does it matter?" James laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Some general somewhere decided they needed bodies, and my name was on a list. That's how it works. You know that."

Daniel did know. He had been in the Marines long enough to know that plans meant nothing and attachment was a liability. But knowing did not make it hurt less.

"How long?"

"Eighteen months minimum. Could be extended." James sat down heavily on a crate, his head in his hands. "I just found you. I just..."

Daniel crouched in front of him, taking James's hands in his own. "Hey. Look at me."

James looked up. His eyes were wet.

"Eighteen months," Daniel said firmly. "That's nothing. We have done harder things than waiting."

"Have we?"

"Yes." Daniel was not sure that was true, but he said it anyway. "And when you get back, when both of us are out of this floating tin can, we will figure out the rest. Together. Like we said."

"You make it sound simple."

"It is simple. Not easy. But simple." Daniel squeezed his hands. "I love you. You love me. The rest is just logistics."

James stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smile broke through the grief on his face.

"Since when are you the optimist?"

"Since I met some idiot who fell out of his rack and made me feel things."

That earned him a real laugh, and something loosened in Daniel's chest.

They spent James's last night aboard the Meridian in their storage compartment, wrapped around each other like they could hold back time through sheer force of will. They did not sleep. They memorized each other instead, every scar and freckle and imperfection, storing up enough touch to last through the separation ahead.

"When this is over," James said as the first hints of dawn crept through the gaps in the hatch, "I want to take you to Montana. I want to show you where I grew up. The mountains, the sky, all of it."

"I'd like that."

"And then I want to find somewhere that's ours. A place where we do not have to hide. Where I can hold your hand in public without checking who might be watching."

"That exists?"

"It has to." James pulled him closer. "I refuse to believe we went through all this just to spend our lives in storage compartments and stolen moments."

Daniel pressed his forehead to James's. "We will find it. I promise."

Watching James walk off the ship two days later was one of the hardest things Daniel had ever done. They could not say goodbye properly. Could not touch or kiss or even look at each other too long. Just a handshake, a nod, and words that meant nothing to anyone else but everything to them.

"Stay safe, Corporal."

"You too, Sergeant."

And then James was gone, disappearing down the gangway with his pack on his shoulder and eighteen months of ocean between them.

Daniel finished the deployment on autopilot. The last three weeks passed in a blur of routine and responsibility and nights spent staring at the ceiling of his rack, trying to remember exactly how James's laugh sounded.

When the Meridian finally pulled into San Diego, Daniel walked down the gangway with no one waiting for him and nothing to go home to. He found a cheap motel near the base, lay down on a bed that felt too still after months at sea, and pulled out the letter James had slipped him before leaving.

It was three pages long, written in James's cramped handwriting, and Daniel read it so many times that first night he had it memorized by morning.

The letter ended with a line that Daniel would carry with him through the eighteen months ahead.

"This is not the end. This is the beginning of the part where we fight for something worth having. And I have never been more ready for a fight in my life. Wait for me. I will wait for you. And when this is over, we will build something they cannot take away."

Daniel folded the letter carefully and put it in his wallet, close to his heart.

Then he started counting the days.

Eighteen months. Five hundred and forty-seven days. Thirteen thousand hours.

It sounded impossible.

But for the first time in his life, Daniel believed in something impossible. Believed in someone impossible.

He would wait.

He would fight.

And when James came back, they would build that something together.

The beginning of the rest of their lives.