The Vets

This is a slow-burn romance between one troubled veteran and a petite t-girl. Their relationship is gentle, but there are some dramatic events in the background and rather violent fight scenes throughout the plot. Also, the story can be quite depressing at some points as it touches on the subject of PTSD and mental health problems, even though it has a message of hope and HFN.

Enjoy reading!

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Face to face, out in the heat

Hanging tough, stayin' hungry

The stack the odds still we take to the street

For the kill with the skill to survive

Every city was similar. There were beautiful neighborhoods, bad neighborhoods, and absolutely filthy slums. It was the same with the people; there were good, bad, and worthless scum that only wasted the air.

Jack had always known this far too well, and Nashville was no exception. He had been to so many cities in the last few years that he had lost track. But the general vibe was exactly the same in each of them. A nice, shiny wrapper and rotten decay on the inside.

Right now, he was in one of the worst neighborhoods in Nashville, tailing three scumbags who were chasing a girl. He discovered the whole situation quite by accident when he was coming back from his shift. This sight triggered the drilled reactions in him, and all his instincts kicked in.

Jack was sure that the girl was really scared because her body language clearly indicated that, even if she tried to keep her composure. It was obvious that she would try to shake them off at the first opportunity. Jack could only wish that she would do so in a smart way.

But the thugs were persistent; they behaved brazenly and didn't even try to hide their intentions. They laughed and harassed the girl in an obnoxious manner. They were probably drunk or under the influence of drugs. This was so common among all the lowlifes and human garbage in the whole country - to stand up in a group against the smaller and weaker ones.

Their crucial mistake, however, was that they were so focused on chasing a defenseless girl - they didn't realize they were being followed as well, by the six-foot-four, two-hundred fifty pounds, well-trained ex-military guy.

Jack didn't let himself feel overly confident, though. It would still be three against one, and they might have knives or guns. But the familiar feeling of adrenaline rush was paradoxically a calming factor for him. Combat was his environment. His bread and butter.

Don't panic, girl, Jack thought as he watched her approach the corner. He knew that as soon as she turned the corner, she would run. Jack would have done the same in her place. But the girl did not stay cool. Obviously frightened, she made a mistake and sped up considerably before she actually reached the corner.

The thugs noticed this and immediately took up pursuit. Jack did the same. As he approached the corner, he heard her scream. They got her.

"Yo, grab her phone!" Jack heard one of the thugs as he turned into the next alley.

He saw them cornering the girl a few yards away from him. One man held her by the arm and pushed her against a wall, the second and third stood nearby. They were so focused on the robbery that they didn't notice Jack charging in their direction.

"Hey, guys! This bitch is fine! I'm going to have fun with her! Hold-" One of them couldn't finish speaking because the blow on the back of his head interrupted him.

Jack punched with all his might as if he were hitting a boxer arcade machine. He felt his knuckles hit the thug's skull hard. The guy immediately collapsed unconscious, lying face-first on the sidewalk, dropping heavily like the garbage bag he was.

Jack wasted no time - he immediately lunged at the second closest thug before he could even react. He knew that he had to take out one after another as quickly as possible.

He hit him with a quick jab to the jaw and immediately after with the following cross. Those were the most effective punches on the street, not some wide haymakers. Very few people knew how to defend against straight punches, especially scums with no martial arts experience who like to assault women.

The guy who got hit by Jack was the perfect example. He hadn't seen it coming and made a strange sound, a mixture of surprise and pain. His head bounced back like a speedball. Jack used his momentum, ran at him, and hit him with his elbow. Something cracked terribly: his nose or jaw.

As the second guy went limp to the ground, the last finally reacted. He attacked Jack with swinging blows. Jack took a few punches but managed to hide behind the double guard and block the following blows. The scum had no idea about fighting, but what he lacked in technique he made up for in aggression. The latter was fueled by fear, as he just saw his comrades go down within seconds.

Then Jack noticed the guy had something in his hand; a lighter or maybe brass knuckles. He was hitting surprisingly hard for his roly-poly posture and skills. Instinctively, Jack jumped forward and shoved him. The thug's back bounced hard against the wall.

Jack put his hands on the man's throat and pushed him against the wall again, nearly throwing him into the air. The adrenaline rush made him feel so much stronger than the thug, and on top of that, he had the height and weight advantage.

It would be so easy to kill him, a thought crossed Jack's mind. For a split second, he was tempted to do it, to at least cleanse society of one horrible human garbage. To simply get rid of a weed and once again fill the role Jack had been used to all his life. But he knew he would be taking out the trash, but going to jail for a human being. And freedom was one of the last values that really meant anything to Jack.

He decided, however, that the scumbag deserved a different kind of punishment than just being knocked out. So he kicked him in the groin. It was a truly devastating blow - Jack felt his shin dig deep into the soft flesh there. One might have said that was a dirty move, but Jack didn't care at all. It wasn't like these guys were looking for a fair fight. If that were the case, they wouldn't be attacking a girl.

The thug let out a muffled scream and doubled over, writhing in pain, then Jack smashed his head with his knee. Seconds later, his opponent lay limp on the sidewalk.

This all happened within a minute, maybe two. Jack took a few steps back to make sure they were on the ground and there was no further danger from them. Then he took a few deep breaths to steady his heartbeat and he turned to the girl.

She flinched and took a step back, almost plastering her back to the wall, looking at Jack with a shocked expression. He only hoped she wasn't afraid of him.

"Are you all right, miss? Did they harm you?" Jack asked, unaware that he was adopting his professional military tone. But it seemed helpful in this situation. It put him in a position of authority and showed her that she was safe from him. He didn't want to present himself as just a bigger shark, casually eating smaller predators and stealing their prey.

The girl nodded at first, then shook her head as if to answer both questions. She calmed down a bit and took another step, this time toward Jack. Her wide open eyes were still fixed on him, still unsure if she was completely safe with him.

Jack nodded as well, trying to relax his posture to present himself as less threatening, which wasn't easy with his imposing stature.

He eyed her discreetly and had to agree with one of those thugs - the girl was really fine. Asian, with shoulder-length, raven-black hair. Her face was pretty, even if it was pale and a bit elongated from the shock. Cute little nose, full lips, and dark, almond-shaped eyes. She was much smaller than him, at most 5'8", but very willowy in posture. She was wearing a white shirt, short denim jacket and black leggings.

"Did they take anything from you?" he asked.

"Yes," she rasped out with a hoarse voice, then cleared her throat and added louder. "My phone."

"Who took it?"

"This one." The girl pointed to the guy Jack had knocked out last.

He squatted down next to him and checked his pulse first, just to be sure. The guy was completely limp, but alive. His face was a total mess and his crotch was probably no better.Play with fire and you get burned, Jack thought, not without a certain mean satisfaction

As he searched, he also found that the guy actually had brass knuckles on his hand. Jack checked his pockets and found two smartphones: a black one with a damaged screen and a second one in a pink case with a butterfly drawing on it. He took out only the latter and handed it to the girl. He was sure that the pink smartphone was hers.

"Thank you," she said quietly, hiding the phone in her jacket.

"No problem," Jack replied shortly, glancing around again. Then he grabbed one of the thugs, who was partially lying in the street, and dragged him to his friends. It was the most humanitarian gesture he could do for him. Totally undeserved, but at least the son of a bitch wouldn't get hit by a car. In Jack's eyes, however, it was more of a favor to this potential unlucky driver.

Jack looked at the girl and saw that she was still standing stiffly watching him in silence. She was obviously shocked. He knew that blank stare all too well.

"Are you sure you're okay? Do you live nearby?" he asked, carefully stepping closer to her so as not to frighten her even more.

"Yeah, I live right across the street. That's... that's why I ran away. I thought I could get away from them... and then..." she mumbled in a shaky voice, looking up into Jack's face. Then her expression changed. "Oh! You're bleeding!"

Jack touched his face and found that blood was trickling down from his left eyebrow ridge. It didn't surprise him at all. Both of his eyebrows had been cut open so many times in the past that the scars tended to open up after just a little bump.

"Don't worry, that's nothing. I'll be fine." He dismissively waved his hand.

"It looks pretty bad! I think it should be cleaned and stitched," she said firmly, but then hesitated. After a while, she looked him in the eye and added, "I have a first-aid kit at my house. You can come with me..."

"Are you sure? You don't have to bother, I'm really fine." Again, Jack tried to dismiss it.

"Yes, I know how to do it. It's the least I can do for you," she insisted.

"All right," he shrugged and finally agreed.

They crossed the street and walked a couple of yards to the entrance of a block housing. The girl keyed in an access code, and they entered. Jack tried to keep a respectful distance, not wanting to startle her. But she managed to relax a little, and his presence no longer seemed to bother her. They entered the elevator.

"I'm Anh. What is your name?" she asked quietly, looking at him from under her long eyelashes.

"Jack," he replied, smiling gently at her.

Anh smiled back, and her stressed face changed as if lit by an inner light. She nodded and said, "I know the circumstances were pretty awful, but it's nice to meet you."

"Likewise, Anh."

They exited the elevator on the last, eleventh floor. Anh took the keys out of her purse and opened the door. She walked to her apartment, and Jack followed. Anh took off her jacket, wearing only a white tank top underneath. It exposed her slender arms. Jack noticed a tattoo on her shoulder blade, but couldn't make out exactly what it was.

"Sit on the couch please, I'll bring my things," she said and disappeared into the bathroom.

Jack walked up to the couch and looked around curiously. It was a small but fine apartment. Furnished in a cozy style, with many decorations of Asian origin, figurines and posters. There was a larger room with a kitchenette and a door leading to a bedroom. Jack could see a bed with seemingly countless pillows.

He sat down and waited. After a moment, he felt like he was being watched - he looked around and spotted a pair of big yellow eyes staring at him from the kitchen counter. A gray, puffy cat, probably a Persian, eyed Jack. He grinned and said, "kitty, kitty," but the cat ignored him, turned and hid somewhere.

Anh returned after a few minutes carrying a paper towel, a bowl of water, a bottle of hydrogen dioxide, and a small first aid kit. She put the items on a table and pulled up a chair. Then she looked at Jack with a somewhat shy expression on her face.

"Um... I think you should take off your hoodie. It's already stained with blood. I should wash it or it won't come off."

Jack did as she asked and handed her his hoodie. She went back into the bathroom. Jack also took off his T-shirt, as blood was beginning to run down it. He took a piece of paper towel and put it to his eyebrow to stop the bleeding at least temporarily.

Anh came back and her eyes widened when she saw Jack's naked torso. Her eyes quickly roamed over his muscular chest and bulging arms, then moved down to his sculpted abdomen. The blush crept onto her cheeks and she lowered her gaze tentatively, but with a soft smile.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't want my T-shirt to get dirty," Jack explained, smirking under his breath. He was aware of how women usually reacted at the sight of his body. Even though he was deeply convinced that his life was miserable overall, such situations always made it a little better.

"That makes a lot of sense," she commented ambiguously, glancing at his abs again. She sighed softly, as if trying to collect herself again.

"Okay, keep the paper towel on your cheek, I'll clean the wound first," she informed him, rinsing a gauze in the water.

Anh cleaned his eyebrow, and Jack was surprised how delicate, yet effective were her moves. She clearly knew what she was doing. After sterilizing the wound, she opened the med kit and retrieved a professional ligature needle.

"Where did you learn that?" he asked.

"I'm a vet," Anh answered and leaned closer to examine the wound. Jack for a split moment wondered if she could have a military background too, but then everything got clear when she elaborated. "You know, there is no difference between stitching a wound on a human and a cat or dog. We're animals too after all, maybe a bit less hairy."

"Yeah, that's true," he answered, and looked at the girl with a new measure of respect. He had always thought that being a veterinarian required a set of particular features, such as selflessness or simply a kind heart.

She warned him that it would hurt a bit, but Jack had been stitched so many times in his life that he didn't flinch at all when she pierced his skin with the needle. Jack just observed her face, as she was focused on the work. He admired how perfect her complexion was, even though there was no trail of makeup. Her skin was fair and smooth, and her lips had a natural red color.

"And what do you do for a living? Besides saving people from thugs, of course," Anh asked with a smile. It seemed she had already shaken off her shock and was able to find some humor in the situation.

Jack smiled back, but he wasn't really amused. He didn't feel comfortable talking about himself, because he didn't feel comfortable with himself in general. He cleared his throat and said, "Not much. I mean, right now, I'm working in a warehouse, but it's nothing permanent. I move around a lot."

Anh looked at him intently. "You served, didn't you?" she asked in a serious tone.

"Yes, I was in the Marine Corps. Is that so obvious?" He smirked slightly.

"Well, that was my second guess, after I suspected you were some kind of vigilante." She smiled warmly. "The way you took those guys apart was very revealing. Also your posture, the way you talk and so on. You resemble my uncle Steve."

"Where did he serve?" Normally Jack would have asked just out of politeness, since the military issues were no longer that important to him, but for some reason he was quite interested.

"He was in the Air Force, in a helicopter unit in Vietnam. He wasn't my real uncle, although he had eventually become one. Steve had taken my mom with him when the US troops left Saigon. She was four years old at the time, my grandma had handed her over to him over the fence at the embassy," Anh's voice trembled a bit.

Knowing the history of the Vietnam War fairly well, Jack knew of many human tragedies that had occurred during the withdrawal of US troops. Apparently, Anh's family was one of those examples.

"So you're Vietnamese?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered shortly.

"I understand," he said simply.

There was silence for a moment as Anh finished stitching. Then she examined Jack's eyebrow closely for a few seconds. He could detect her pleasant jasmine scent. When she finished, she leaned back in the chair and said, "It looks fine. Unfortunately, these are regular sutures, not those fancy, self-dissolving ones. You'll have to remove them in a few days."

"Sure. It's not the first time, you know," he replied lightly, putting his T-shirt back on.

"Yeah, I figured it out," Anh said with an expression that was hard to read.

"Thanks for patching me up. I'm gonna go now." Jack stood up

Anh leaped on her feet as well. She had an expression on her face as if she wanted to say a lot at once but didn't know where to start.

"I'll just get you your hoodie real quick," she said and ran into the bathroom.

Meanwhile, the gray cat reappeared and ran across the room, very close to Jack's legs. He crouched down and tried to stroke its back, but the cat avoided his hand and bent its body down in one smooth motion. Then it calmly walked a bit further, sat down and looked at Jack, almost as if it wanted to challenge him.

"Wow, you almost petted him," Anh saw the whole situation and giggled, then made a gesture with her index finger and thumb. "So close!"

"Little son of the gun," Jack laughed. "I get the impression he's mocking me."

"Yeah, Phuc does that. He's very proud and tries to prove everyone wrong," Anh said vaguely and Jack raised his eyebrows, whereupon she went on to explain, "He was the smallest and weakest of the litter. The owners, cat breeders, didn't want him back because he was unfit for a show cat. In fact, his tail is too short. But for me he was... perfect, so I took him."

"Damn, people have issues. His tail looks perfectly fine," Jack said, chuckling. "But what's his name again? It sounded a bit familiar." He had an amused look on his face, because what Anh had said earlier resembled the word... 'fuck'. At least, that was what first came to Jack's mind.

"It's called Phuc," Anh replied with a broad smile. "It means good luck or bliss in Vietnamese."

"I see." Jack moved closer to the door, but he was still curious about one thing. "And what about your name, Anh? Does it have a meaning, too?"

Anh blushed slightly and smiled a little shyly. "Yeah, it means a petal. Or, if we look at the Chinese version, it means peace."

Jack just nodded and Anh handed him his hoodie. She looked at him with an apologetic look. "It's still a little wet, I mean I could dry it with a hair dryer if you want."

"It's really fine, thanks," Jack said politely, pulling on his hoodie.

She bit her lip. "Jack, wait. Please... I want to thank you for saving me from those... those thugs! I could have been raped by now... beaten up and maybe worse. That was really... heroic! Oh, God! I feel so stupid for not saying that before, but I was just so shocked and..." she fidgeted hopelessly, touching his forearm, but then immediately taking her hand away, as if sensing she had crossed the line.

"It's okay Anh, don't worry about it," he said soothingly. He really didn't want her to be so nervous, but he thought her behavior was just cute.

"No, it's not okay! I should... I'll figure out how to repay you, though I'll never be able to do it fully, to be honest. But at least let me help you remove the stitches. Can you... give me your number so we can meet whenever you have time?" she stammered, obviously a bit nervous about her suggestion.