Mac Taylor drummed his hands on the steering wheel as he waited for the traffic to clear in the medium-sized mountain town a dozen miles away from the cabin. He'd agreed to make a food run before the snow started falling. It seemed West Virginians were all stocking up on necessities and supplies. The old beer, milk, bread, toilet paper, and battery runs were familiar to him.
His first stop had been Sears and Roebuck, where he got a couple more heavy blankets. The fireplace was great, but the heat never quite reached them and nights were cold. He got some heavy socks and slippers as well.
As he walked into the grocery store, he smiled and nodded at the people he now recognized after two weeks in town. Mac and Jet were heading out to Chicago soon to see his folks for Thanksgiving, but they had this weekend to hunker down and ride out the storm this weekend before making the drive.
Mac grabbed bread, milk, cold cuts, a few thick steaks and some salad fixings. Oatmeal, cereal and fruit went into the cart next and he collected some chips, pretzels, ice cream, beer, soda and chocolate.
As he scanned the aisles, a shelf of paperbacks grabbed his eye. Yeah, he could use a good book, or two, or a half dozen. He grabbed a couple of science fiction books and a bunch of James Bonds, a Playboy and a few other magazines and plopped them and the food on the counter to be rung up.
Mac hummed the song playing, something that'd been a hit when he was at Annapolis, by ... was it Smokey Robinson? The song perfectly described how he felt about Jethro Gibbs. Mac didn't care about anything else but being with him.
"You and your woman snuggling down?" the clerk asked.
"Yeah. We're going to ride the storm out with good food and some books for me."
The man nodded. "Hey, wouldya do me a favor? You know Leroy Gibbs? He's a Marine just like you. Got injured over there in Beirut."
"Yeah, we served together, got injured together."
"Could you check up on him? Kid is alone at his house, or maybe the family cabin." The clerk wrote out directions, but Mac didn't need 'em.
"Will do," Mac said, handing over the money and loading the paper bags into the cart. "Stay warm!"
"You too, bud."
Mac made the drive home and was gingerly carrying bags in just as the snow started falling. Neither of them could hack any wood down, so Mac had purchased a bunch when they'd first arrived. He unpacked and put the food away before looking for Jet. Sure enough, Jethro was snuggled up in bed where Mac had left him.
"Hey, Gibbs. Got food, a couple more blankets, some books for me. How is your carving going?" Jethro had been carving the Marine symbol for Mac's folks. The shapeless lump of wood they'd found had taken on depth and Mac knew Jet was damn good at this, even one handed.
"Want something to read? We've got Playboy, Omni, Scientific American, Popular Mechanics, Sports Illustrated, Newsweek ... Got a bunch of magazines and some books."
He leaned over, kissing Jet fully on the mouth.
"Hey babe, did you have fun in town?" Jethro had stopped by a couple of places to say hello to old family friends, but he had no desire to be in town every day or even every couple of days. He couldn't drive well one-armed anyway. But he knew that Mac was fascinated with the small town and how everyone seemed to know everyone else. It was certainly different from Chicago, which was really the only thing that his lover knew outside of the insular society of Lejeune.
"Yeah, the guy at the grocery store, Norm, right? He wanted me to come and check on you, so consider yourself checked out."
"Old friend of my parents, they all grew up here." Sometimes he missed the small town he grew up in, but then other times, like knowing that even though he was an adult, but no one else thought he could take care of himself, it got old. "I'm really surprised he hasn't been here. When I did our initial shopping, I told him I was fine, but really needed some quiet time. Small towns don't tend to honor your privacy. Guess I must have looked pretty rough and scared him off."