Chapter Text
Running.
Eliot ran for a long time, farther than he’d ever run before. He knew, in an abstract sort of way, that he should be tired. Exhausted. Between working on the farm and being the star quarterback for his high school, Eliot had an intimate knowledge of the limits of his body. This far surpassed them.
He was barely out of breath.
As he ran, he tried to process the last few hours in his head.
He’d met with the recruiter for the third time in as many weeks. It was what he wanted. He just hadn’t gotten up the courage to sign the papers yet. They’d put him through his paces again because he asked, trying to get a feel of what to expect at the end of the road. (He thought they agreed because they were trying to convince him based on his physical merits.) When he was done, they provided him with a bottle of metallic-tasting water and a power bar. They seemed disappointed when he still hedged and hesitated. Eliot was conflicted.
It was what he wanted.
He had his family to consider.
That night, he’d brought the idea up to his parents. Ideally, it was to have been a calm, rational discussion of the available facts. An adult discussion (he was turning eighteen in a week). What had happened was something less than ideal.
His father was furious. Never mind that he hadn’t agreed, hadn’t signed anything binding behind the family’s back. The very thought that he’d considered leaving was far more than his father could understand.
“We are your family, Eliot! Ain’t nothing you need that you can’t get right here.”
“It’s not about needing anything; I want to serve my country!”
“Well you can serve it from here, where you belong. Hell if I’m gonna let them steal my boy and use him for target practice!”
There was more of the same. Eliot did his best to argue his case, and his father got angrier and angrier. It was only a matter of time until he lost control. It was only for a second, but that was all that was necessary.
He slapped Eliot across the face.
It was the first and only time Eliot had seen his father raise a hand on anyone. The contact shocked him into stillness, anger and hurt flaring in his belly. He clenched his fists.
Eliot struck back.
It wasn’t meant to be a hard blow -- he hadn’t even used that much force -- but it sent his father across the room. His mother screamed. Eliot stared in horror at his hands. You did that. Guilt crushed him. You hurt your own father.
He ran.
Eliot kept running until he reached the recruiter’s office, and it was a good thing he arrived when he did because his strength gave out as he arrived. Stumbling, using nearly all of his effort to stay upright, he made it through the door. “I’m in,” he gasped to the surprised men who stood up as he arrived. “Sign me up.”
The men exchanged a glance and brought him papers and a pen and a glass of the metallic-tasting water. His fatigue lessened after a few sips, a dull fire burning in the pit of his belly. With a barely steady hand, Eliot signed away the rights to his life for what he thought was four years but would end up being closer to lifetimes. The shaking had nothing to do with his exhaustion.
It’s to protect your family, he insisted, silencing the part of him that felt guilty for leaving. You’ll only hurt them if you stay.