Free Deliverance - Hooch and Matt's Story by TA Brown, Marquesate Page B

never said who. And might I say that we are very glad to find out who it is.”
    The ghost of a smile crossed Hooch’s face again. The similarity in speech and manners was striking, and oddly comforting, too. “Thank you, but you don’t know who I really am, what I’ve done, what I’ve seen.”
    She tilted her head. “I don’t have to. In any case, I am fairly sure you’re not allowed to tell me.” She reached out a hand and put it on his forearm. “You and Matt found each other, and you let him bring you here. That’s all that matters, here and now.”
    A minute twitch of his arm, an automatic reaction he could not control, before he relaxed into the touch. “I just…” he trailed off, studying the hand on his arm. He finally looked back up. “Tell me, Anne, do you think Matt would ever feel sorry for anyone?”
    “Of course,” the answer was immediate, “but that’s not the question you’re really asking, is it?”
    Those steady, penetrating eyes, just like Matt’s, bore into him.
    “No, it’s not. Of course not.” A rueful smile flitted across his face. “I should have asked if he’d ever pity anyone.” Again this almost-there smile, and then a shake of his head. “No, wrong again.” He met her gaze straight on, with a fearless one of his own. “Do you believe he would ever pity me if he knew I am perhaps not as tough as thinks?”
    Her eyebrows went up. “First, I think your particular starting point of toughness is rather off the far end of any normal scale. Second…” she hesitated, “forgive me if I pry, but Matt’s already nursed you through a very bad illness or injury?”
    “Yes,” Hooch nodded once, no more than a curt jerk of his chin. “Almost a year ago now. I came out of my last mission with a broken pelvis.” The art of understatement one he’d learned too well.
    She didn’t pry further into the injury. “I thought so. I think if he was going to pity you, it would have been then. But no, I don’t believe he did, because that’s simply not how the two of you work, is it?”
    “No, but there’s something he doesn’t know. Something that isn’t physical.” Unspoken that for Hooch physical injuries were acceptable. Others…not.
    Clarity, then, and understanding in her eyes. “Matt is very perceptive, you know,” another pause, “and a much lighter sleeper than you might suppose.”
    A deep furrow appeared between Hooch’s eyes, as he pondered her words. “But if he knows, why does he pretend he doesn’t?”
    “Ah, well,” Anne’s fingers curled around her mug, “probably for the same reason we never said anything to my dad about his sleepless nights.” She took a sip, “pride is a touchy thing, isn’t it?”
    “Yes.” Hooch took a sip, then studied the green tinged contents of his mug. “Matt…” he finally looked up, “I don’t want to…” he shrugged and his face contorted for a moment in an expression of helplessness and frustration. “I don’t know.”
    “We always do want to keep them from knowing the horrible things in the world, as though if they didn’t know about it, somehow it would mean that the world wasn’t all that bad.” After a pause, that seemed to stretch out forever, “true enough that even most Marines won’t have seen or gone through the things you have  but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know very well.” She sipped her tea. “Dad never really did do anything about his sleepless nights. There wasn’t much that could be done, back then, even if he had sought help. They all wanted to simply forget, but that’s not possible for anyone, even if they wish it.”
    “Yeah,” Hooch’s voice was soft, “that’s it. If I pretend he doesn’t know then it didn’t really happen. It’s bullshit, though.”
    The length of his silence matched her earlier one. Time for thoughts and understanding, perhaps even the beginnings of some realizations.
    “I respect your opinion, Anne. What would you do?”
    “Let him