The rubber ends of Drew Boutan's crutches thumped softly on the linoleum floor as he made his way down the deserted hall of the school. His backpack, slung over one shoulder in haste, bumped him awkwardly with every step, but he was already late and didn't want to stop to adjust it. Taking long, precarious strides with his crutches, he rounded a corner with too much torque. His bag swung outwards. The strap fell from his shoulder to his elbow, the weight tipped him off balance, and with a crash he fell to the floor.

And on top of someone.

"Oww..." groaned David, sprawled out on the floor under the bigger teenager.

"That's my line," said Drew. He had fallen sideways, and half lay on the other boy. "Are you okay?"

"No," David said. "You're heavy. I'm dying."

"Where did you come from?" Drew said, shifting over. "I didn't see you at all."

"I saw you falling," David said, rolling to his side.

Drew paused. David, he realized, had tried to stop him from tipping over. "You went down like a twig," he said. "Didn't even break my fall."

"Thanks," David said, coughing slightly. "Always glad to help."

Drew reached for his crutches, but with is leg in a cast he could not stand. Not alone, at least. He was still struggling when a hand gripped under his arm, black nails on a pale hand stark against his white sweater. Looking up, he met dark eyes under dark hair.

"Think of me as a third crutch," David said, lifting Drew's arm to duck under. "Twig that I am."

Drew gave an exhalation that might have been a chuckle. With David's support, he leveraged himself up, then transferred his weight back to his crutches. "Thanks," he said, in that way you do when you don't know what else to say.

David reached down for his bag, slung it over his shoulder, then reached for Drew's. The other teenager moved to take it, but David held on to it. "It's almost as heavy as you are," he said, holding it with both hands in front of him like a small child. "But I can manage."

Drew did a little hop to regain his balance. "Thanks," he said again. They turned and moved down the hall together, David slowing his pace to match Drew's. Drew glanced at him sideways, taking in the familiar all black clothes. "Back to normal, huh?"

"Yeah," David said, with the faintest of smiles. "Almost."

Drew frowned. "I take it back," he said. "You're still being weird."

That only made David's smile more visible. Drew hobbled a few inches away from him with another sideway glance.

"I thought you'd left already," Drew said. "Bailey's class ended an hour ago."

"You're here, too," David said.

"I was waiting for a ride home," Drew said. "Hurley said he'd take me, but then he got detention. Stewart said he could do it if I just wait until after practice."

"I don't know who those people are, but okay." David glanced at him. "Your parents couldn't come for you?"

"Busy." A pause. "It's fine."

David knew that it's fine. He had used it often enough, and it never was. Drew's parents had noticeably dropped out of all school activities since their son's injury. No more carpools, no snacks for the team, no stopping by everyday to watch practice. Now they didn't have time to come get him when his leg was in a cast. "Since you can't play anymore..." he said, unknowingly speaking his thoughts aloud.

Drew's brows furrowed quickly and deeply. "What's that supposed to mean?"

David pulled away, gaze and head dropping. "Nothing," he said.

Drew came to a stop a few paces behind. "I know what you're thinking," he said. "It's what everyone's thinking." He frowned, looking down, and didn't say that it's what he's been thinking, too.

David turned to look back at him, seeing an expression on the other teen he'd worn often enough as well. He had nothing to say to make the other boy feel better, so he said nothing. Drew stood with his own thoughts for a moment, all showing on his expressive face. Then he shook his head, cleared his frown, took a breath, and caught up with David and the two continued towards the exit in silence.

Outside, no one was waiting. Five hours later Drew would get a text from Stewart saying he forgot, but at that moment, there was no one to take him home. With a sigh that said he half expected this to happen, he took his bag from David.

"See ya," he said.

David watched him shrug both straps onto his shoulders. "Mind passing cars."

"Shut up." Drew moved ten feet ahead, before stopping and turning. "Are you really going to let me walk home alone?" he called. "On crutches? I'll be roadkill!"

"It seemed important to let you make the effort first."

"This is why people don't talk to you."

"Guess that doesn't make you 'people' then."

David's amusement only made Drew more vexed. Screwing up his face at David, he twisted back around and took a handful of quick steps before a sudden drag on his backpack pulled him up short. Turning, he saw David holding on to the strap at the top of the bag.

"What, are you trying to kill me now?" Drew said, yanking away.

"It'll take more than a fall to kill you," David said, making the other teenager give him a startled look. "Come with me. I can get us a ride home."

Drew's blue eyes narrowed. David smiled. "Not like that," he said. "I don't do that." He walked ahead, and over his shoulder— "Anymore."

"You're kidding, right?" Drew asked. "Hey," he called, hurrying to catch up to the other teen. "You are kidding, right?"

His reply was a noncommittal shrug and a half hidden smile.

**

At that same time and three floors up, Major Jason Travis sat in the principal's office of the high school. With him were Ms. David, her hair straightened and curled at the bottom, and his supervisor, Colonel Hank Hornswoggle, in full military dress. They had already moved past the description of the incident and were deep in discussion about who it centered around—David.

"He's a boy," Ms. Davis was saying. "Your influence can only confuse him."

"He's almost eighteen," Jason replied.

"Old enough to enlist," added the colonel, a trim man in his sixties with a full head of grey hair, brushed back from a high patrician forehead, "and therefore old enough to know his own mind."

"I happen to disagree with that stance," said the woman sharply. "Eighteen is still too young—for many things," she added, with a significant look at Jason.

The Colonel, who sat on the edge of the chair with his back perfectly straight and his hat balanced on one knee, gave a slight frown of his iron grey brows at this. "Are you insinuating something, Ms. Davis?" he asked, his voice calm and low.

She sat up slightly, carefully clasping her hands on the desk. "Another of David's teachers have voiced concerns about the nature of his relationship with the Major," she said. "They've been seen together multiple times, often leaving the school together."

"Once," Jason said. "We left together once—to buy a get well card for his classmate who was in the hospital."

"You were also seen leaving a diner out on the highway together."

Jason frowned; how could she know about that? He didn't voice it, but said instead, "I had dinner there, and gave him a ride home when they closed."

"Well, you just have an answer for everything."

"And you're trying to make this something it isn't."

"Am I? What about Monday?"

Jason opened his mouth but shut it. "What about Monday?" he asked.

She gave an oh, so you're going to play it like that? look. Sitting back in her chair, she said, "David came to school in the morning, and not five minutes later was seen running out—without his sweater. Then, you spent the whole day asking about his whereabouts. What are we supposed to make of that?"

Jason inhaled deeply. He glanced at his commanding office, but the man only raised an eyebrow, indicating he should answer. He chose his words carefully. "David came to school dressed...differently than usually. I, and some other of his classmates, commented on it, which made him self conscious and that made him take off the sweater. I went to talk to him, but I...wasn't able to help, and the whole situation left him feeling rejected. I later found him, talked to him again, and managed to put the whole thing behind him. You'll notice, he's back to his old self today."

The principle narrowed her eyes at him. "That's all very vague. What exactly was the issue?"

"That's David's business. If you want to know, ask him."

"You're not bound to any confidentiality clauses."

"I am to the one of friendship."

"It's a strange friendship, to have with a teenage boy."

"It's my job to have friendships with teenagers."

"Only to enlist them. David is hardly a candidate."

"I don't turn my back on troubled kids."

"How dare you?" she burst out. "I never—It's our job to protect him."

"Like you've protected him up to now? Cause you're doing a bang up job."

"Major Travis," the colonel said, his voice never rising, but his tone stern, and without room for argument.

Jason sat up in his chair. "Sir. Sorry, sir."

"Ms. Davis," the colonel said. "Major Travis stepped in to stop one of your teachers from manhandling a student. I won't punishment him for that. And as far as the other thing—"

"You mean having an inappropriate relationship with a minor?"

"As far as I've heard no lines have been crossed. Do you have any proof that their relationship is anything but friendly?"

She looked at him, her jaw working, before giving a reluctant: "No."

"Then we're done here."

**

Once outside the building, standing in the cold on the front walk, the colonel turned to Jason. "Jason, what are you doing, getting mixed up with a teenage boy?"

"We're not mixed up. I told him I'd wait until he's eighteen."

The colonel gave an unbelieving chuckle. "Will he wait, though?" the man asked. "From what I've heard, he seems like the kind of boy who can get a man into trouble."

"I'm sure he could, for someone looking for trouble. But David's not like that. I'm just looking out for him. Like you did for me."

Hank sighed and shook his head as he put on his hat. "Don't make me a liar, Jason."

"I won't, sir."

"I hope this boy—apologizes—I hope this young man of yours is worth all this."

"He is, sir. More than anyone else I know." Jason held out his hand. "Thanks for coming out, Hank."

"Someone has to look out for your sorry ass," the colonel said, shaking the proffered hand.

The colonel walked off. Jason let him get ahead, and then followed, walking two blocks away from the school in the opposite direction, to a candy and comic bookstore where he met two teenagers waiting for him outside: one in all black, and one on crutches who needed a ride home.