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The first time it happens, Telford views it as something of a novelty. Everett shows up at his door, hangdog and pathetic, and Telford sets the man up on his couch without any teasing. Everett's not particularly cut up about it, but he's still bummed in the way any guy's going to be when his girl dumps him, so Telford grabs some beers and distracts his friend from the problem.
There's a good gap between the first time and the second, so Telford doesn't think anything of opening his door again. They're close, him and Everett; Telford feels comfortable around him in a way he doesn't with any of the other men. He presumes Everett must feel similarly, as he continues to spend the bulk of his downtime with Telford despite finding it very easy to make other friends. They get drunk on gin and shit talk the football game on TV.
The third and fourth times occur in quick succession and Telford begins to feel nervous about the whole situation. Maybe nervous isn't the right word. It's just that he looks at Everett and the way he interacts with the world and there's a certain... disconnect there, between what Everett actually wants and what he feels is right and proper to want. It's of concern to him that he is who Everett turns to, always, when this happens. He doesn't want people to talk.
Despite his fears, he continues to put Everett up whenever the man requires it, though he definitely gives him shit when it's Everett's own apartment he's been kicked out of. That has to take a certain degree of spinelessness or a big boatload of guilt. The latter is a guarantee with the inevitable way Everett's eyes tend to wander - a constant the-grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side outlook about him even if he'll vehemently deny it to his dying breath - but the former is dicier. Everett's never had a problem with their work - or Telford would take much more issue with his behaviour in his personal life - but the strength it takes to kill someone is a far cry from facing down people you aren't permitted to use violence against.
Everett has shared some of his more violent thoughts and impulses with Telford, usually when he's too drunk to resist Telford's probing charm, but always has an empty, defeated air about him whenever Telford asks if he thinks about hurting the women he beds. Telford believes the disinclination. Everett's always been a terrible liar, hence why his girlfriends repeatedly find out that he's been sniffing about elsewhere.
Eventually Telford loses count of Everett's mishaps. It's kind of sad that this repetitiveness appears to be something that 's going to stick around, attaching itself to Everett like a bad smell. Telford's suggestions of taking a break from the dating scene are shot down every time, Everett firmly stating that he wants to find 'the one'; he wants to be happy; he wants a future.
Telford doesn't share his hopes for his own future. He will either assert himself into the military structure so thoroughly and so highly that he will never again be dealt an ounce of disrespect, or he will end up in a body bag. Both options are equally acceptable. He will either be secure or he won't possess the ability to care anymore. Either way he will be safe.
Everett can't understand why Telford doesn't date. He nods along when Telford tries to explain that the American dream of a wife and two kids and white picket fence repulses him, but appears to connect easier when the same disgust is aimed towards desk jobs, agreeing he could never do it either. This is why they're friends, Telford thinks; they're both built to be in the thick of the action.
Emily is the worst thing to ever happen to them. Telford meets her and immediately thinks Ah when she looks at him and he can see that certain look in her eyes that means she's thinking Oh. There's something wrong with you isn't there as they're shaking hands. He gets that a lot.
He tries his best to convince Everett that marrying this woman he's known for all of six months is a bad idea. It's rare that Everett can withstand Telford's manipulation tactics; they've spent so much time together over the years that it's almost as natural as breathing to nudge the man in the desired direction. On Emily, however, he refuses to budge.
Telford understands most of everything about Everett. The man is not complex. But this... he's at a maddening loss. He can't parse why someone would want this, though he must be the one missing a vital piece of the puzzle because everyone else seems to get it - the package of houses and families and pets. Telford supposes he could get a cat if he had to, though people might draw unwanted conclusions about it not being a dog.
This kind of interpersonal bullshit makes him tired and cranky. Thank god it's not as bad as it was back in his Uncle's day, when you couldn't get promoted past Captain without a ring on your finger. These days a good soldier can make Colonel and that's as far as Telford ever wants to go. Accepting that promotion is the worst mistake O'Neill's made in his life, in Telford's opinion.
If one morning he's unceremoniously greeted by the urge to languish forever behind a desk he'd simply get closer to one of the myriad of lesbians in the various military branches and offer them safety and security in exchange for his own. It wouldn't be a tough sell; he's already friends with more than a few of them.
He throws a bachelor party and stands up for Everett at his wedding and gently extricates himself from the bridesmaid's clutches. Normally he would sleep with her, simply because it's the expected thing for him to do, but it happens to be Emily's sister and he wants none of that, thank you very much.
Everett finds him after a couple of hours, where he's secreted himself away in a corner of the room. The newly married man has clearly had too much to drink and is way too handsy with Telford. It's dangerous, but a wedding is surely enough cover, Telford reasons with a sudden unexpected burst of desperation. Everett's girlfriends have never taken him away, have never come first, but a wife is another matter, isn't it? Telford doesn't want to lose Everett.
So he pretends to be as drunk as his friend, allowing himself to be roped into dancing with the other man to a backdrop of catcalls, a cacophony of noise that he somehow manages to drown out. Everett smells of booze and an aftershave that Emily bought for him. Telford has never told him the smell reminds him of the time he was six on a school trip to a zoo and got to hug a penguin.
The dance is over too soon and he's forced to relinquish Everett lest the catcalls turn to whispers. Everett's sister approaches him then and attempts to ply him with scotch as she often does to give up some details of the work he and Everett do. When she first started he found the experience rather uncomfortable, but it's become such a repeated event now that it's just sort of cute. He makes up a story about the Bermuda Triangle and she slugs him on the arm, then demands a dance for her troubles. He acquiesces, always pleased that Everett has never thought twice before trusting him with his little sister. Telford is safe and reliable. He and Everett are brothers.
The first time Everett's head is turned post-wedding, it's a Friday night and they're relaxing in a bar after a long week. Telford keeps Everett distracted, even though he knew this is what would happen. It always happens. Everett needs to consider casual or even open relationships, but he won't. Telford knows the man believes there's something wrong with himself, but in Telford's opinion the only thing to be ashamed of is the lack of control Everett displays on a regular basis. If he could just fix that, Telford thinks, things would get better.
He intercedes between Everett and a handful more women before calling it quits. Some things are just inevitable and only a stupid man would continue to exert effort against the tide. Without having been asked he becomes Everett's go-to alibi, fielding teary sounding phone calls from Emily on a regular basis. It's not difficult to keep her eating out of the palm of his hand, but it isn't a fulfilling way to spend his time. What's clear is that she loves Everett, which is why she remains so easy to fool. Telford feels sorry for her.
Now when Everett shows up at his door Telford finds himself less enthusiastic about the whole endeavour. They're not twenty years old anymore, when he could understand a little of why Everett played the field. Why get married if he isn't intending to settle?
"Yeah," he says down the phone line to Emily, Everett sprawled on the couch next to him. "He's passed out in my spare room. Sorry, we had a few too many." He pauses a moment, barely hearing her words but knowing the dance all too well by now regardless. "Nah, Ricky was designated driver. Y'know how the cops are about us off base. We wouldn't drive drunk." That's exactly what Everett must have done, because Telford had not been out with him. "Yeah." He doesn't even hold a particular interest as to where his friend had been. "Yeah, course. First thing, promise."
He hangs up the phone, resting it against his chest. He's tired of this, he realises.
"Should slur some," Everett advises him, without a hint of regret in his voice. "Authentic that way."
"You're an asshole, you know that?"
Everett pouts at him, reaching out to tweak his shoulder clumsily. "M'sorry. Y'know how I am."
Telford can see the train coming. He could move out of the way. That decision is within his power. He chooses not to. "Why don't you change?"
Everett lets out an uncomprehending grunt. "Change?"
"Clean up your act. Stop cheating. Or divorce her. Whatever."
Everett's hand falls away. "Don't 'member asking for your advice. What d'you know 'bout relationships anyhow?"
Telford observes the anger bubbling up inside him. He could still withdraw to his bedroom. Everett will apologise in the morning. He'll even mean it. He always means it. "Feels like I'm the one in your relationship instead of you. You're awake - you could've taken that call. Hell, I picked out what jewellery to get her for your anniversary."
"Y'know more 'bout that stuff than I do. And I don't wanna listen to her whine at me 'bout drinking. S'boring."
Telford stands, needing to move his body in some way.
"Heyyyy," Everett whines, making an uncoordinated grab for him, completely missing, and almost faceplanting into the coffee table. "Don't be mad at me."
Telford is doing his best not to be, but it's a battle he's losing. "I can't do this anymore."
Everett snorts dismissively. "Y'sound like a girl."
There's a statement in there somewhere about the irony of such a thing being lost on Everett, but Telford just doesn't have the energy to dig it out. "You can't come by here to hide anymore."
Everett pulls himself together with suspicious speed, hauling himself up off the couch and ambling closer. "What're y'talking 'bout? Course I can."
Telford shoves the mobile phone at him. "We're in our forties. I'm done covering your ass."
"Hey hey hey. Calm down, 'kay." Everett puts an arm around Telford's shoulders, friendly and warm. "What's going on here, huh?"
Telford does not look at him, even though it's clear that's what Everett wants. "You need to stop."
When Everett replies, his tone is slightly harder, an edge of ice surfacing between the words. "What? Stop what? I'm not doing anything."
Telford can't help himself, turning to meet Everett's gaze head on, angry at the graceless attempt at manipulation. "Learn some fucking self-control." He pushes Everett's arm off its perch.
They stare at each other. For a few moments Telford is sure Everett is about to throw a punch. Maybe that would be for the best. They could get this out of their systems and then pretend it never happened. Telford regrets saying anything.
"Fine," Everett snaps out, shoving his way past Telford to sit on the couch and begin to wrestle his boots onto his feet.
Telford rolls his jaw aggressively at Everett's hunched back. "You obviously stay here tonight. You're too drunk to drive."
Everett pays him no mind, finishing on his laces and inelegantly scrambling into his jacket. "Sure thing, Emily."
Telford watches Everett leave, silent. He brushes his teeth and goes to bed. At three-twenty-five his phone rings. For the first time in two decades, he ignores it.