the pitcher cries for water to carry...
Title: The Nine Irregular Adjectives (part 1 of 2--it's not that long, really, and part 2 is finished, but LJ is being weird about cut lengths)
Fandom: Generation Kill (AU)
Characters: Nate, Ray, some Brad
Ratings: PG-15 (Brad/Nate established relationship)
Notes: More High school AU. This falls between How to Take a Test and Commencement Means Beginning. It has a sort of piece-meal structure, like Test. The epigraph is by Rita Mae Brown, and the cut-tag is from yet another poem.
Don't trade the stuff of your life, time, for nothing more than money. That's a rotten bargain.
++alius, alia, aliud, other, another (of several)++Nate could add Teach for America to his resume and apply to the Kennedy School of Government. Nate could schedule an interview with that charter school in Burbank: they’re looking for someone to coach debate. Nate could move back home, get licensed to teach in Maryland, which has an excellent public school system as long as you’re not in Baltimore. Nate could call upon some of those famed Ivy League connections and work for a brokerage house or a think tank. Nate could accept Principal Mattis’s offer and become the first Latin teacher in the history of Mathilda Memorial High School.
++ neuter, neutra, neutrum, neither (of two) ++It is called a Letter of Intent, and in the California Public Schools, it serves as a contract before the actual, binding employment agreement. Teachers have to indicate by April whether they are planning to return for the next school year, so the school system knows how many positions they’ll have to fill and what their applicant pool will look like. Nate’s never had to sign one before, but his two years with Teach for America are over. He is a free agent now.
The whole system drives Brad up the wall and across the ceiling.
“What kind of double-dealing, bait-and-switch, weasel bullshit is that?” he demands, the first time Nate brings it up. “Christ. Everywhere else, you either sign or you don’t, and nobody gets to know until you tell them. Now Mathilda wants to know who else might be interested-scratch that, they want to know what unfortunate bastards have no better options-and then, maybe, they decide who gets the job offer. Last I heard, insider trading was fucking illegal.”
Nate is halfway through listening to this outburst when he realizes that he’s frozen in astonishment, one running shoe untied and his fingers still in the laces of the other. It’s just-it’s not like Brad to get so worked up about…well, Nate hasn’t even made up his mind yet. He was just making conversation of the “so, how was your day, honey?” variety. Or at least, he thought he was. He’s not sure he likes his employer being compared to the Galleon Group.
“Relax, Brad,” Nate says automatically, even though Brad is relaxed. His voice is tight with annoyance, but the rest of him is leisurely slung out on the bench next to the front door as he rolls the kinks out of the ankle he broke on Mount Shasta. It’s eerie, how he can separate his emotions from his physical presence. Nate had mentioned the letter of intent just as they turned the corner of Brad’s street on the final stretch of eight miles. Brad’s shirt is patchy with sweat, but he’s not even breathing that hard, so Nate can’t tell if he’s flushed from exertion or irritation. He doesn’t look upset…but then, Brad never looks upset: he just develops an icy rime of determination.
“Think of it like, I don’t know….” Nate fishes for a military metaphor, “some sort of reenlistment package.”
“Yeah, okay, so what are they offering in exchange for your freedom: more staff meetings, more detention duty, and a copy machine that’s broken so often Kinko’s should be charging you rent? When the hiring practices of the US military make more sense than those of your employer….” Brad shakes his head.
“I know, I know,” Nate says, because the bizarre induction rituals of the Marines are something Brad’s complained about before. “No applications, just commitments.” He supposes there’s a similarity: whether you’re signing a letter of intent or a Marine Corps commitment, you’re still laying yourself open to rejection without any reciprocity. But that’s the way a lot of things start: Nate had kissed Brad midway through watching the Thanksgiving football highlights and for a solid 30 seconds afterwards, he hadn’t been sure whether he was about to get fucked into the floor or punched in the teeth.
Brad looks at him, like he suspects Nate’s making fun of him. Nate blinks innocently, even though he is, a little (sometimes, it’s fun to wind Brad up and the Marine commitment rant once veered off into a discussion of some television commercial with dragons?).
“Yeah, well,” Brad hauls himself off the bench. “You can get committed to a mental hospital, too, if you’re crazy enough.”
++nūllus, -a, -um, none, no++Brad has seen this before, and it never ends well. Bright, naïve people convince themselves that they can change the system from inside. They are young and idealistic, they will slay the dragons. They work for years, put off other opportunities-other relationships-because they imagine there will be plenty of time later, after the mission is accomplished. They follow orders, even when those orders don’t make sense, because they believe that the ends will justify everything. Honorable men don’t think, even for an instant, that their leaders might be dishonorable. And so they are deceived. He’s seen this before; hell, he's done this before. Fuck, he once tried to import secular democracy to an impoverished desert nation at gunpoint because the wisdom of the day demanded it. What was any of that for, if Nate’s going to make the same goddamn mistake? Fool me once…
++tōtus, -a, -um, all, whole, entire++Nate’s sister Katie is in LA for a conference and when Nate asks her where they should meet her, she suggests the Huntington Library. They are having an exhibit of Greek and Roman artwork, on loan from the Walters Art Gallery (Nate’s second favorite gallery in Baltimore; and of course, Nate would have multiple favorite galleries in the same city, of course he would rank them.)
“She wants to meet up at an exhibit about ancient pottery?” Brad asks, straight-faced. “Are you sure you two are related?”
“I have been assured of this,” Nate replies, “She said something about taking the girl out of art history, but not being able to-”
Brad leans over their mauled breakfast plates and kisses the rest of the sentence out of his mouth.
“I think you were about to utter a cliché,” he explains solemnly when he pulls away, his own mouth looking so delicious that Nate wants to reach out and touch it. So he does, and Brad gives his thumb a playful nip.
“And you saved me. My hero,” Nate rolls his eyes. Later, Nate will remember it all, the whole ordinary exchange. The entire thing will impress itself on his memory in vivid, Technicolor detail: the way Brad’s mouth tasted like coffee, the rasp of his unshaven jaw. The last kiss.
++ uter, utra, utrum, which? (of two) ++Nate is not used to having to consult anyone about his plans. He’s independent and self-sufficient by nature. His parents believed in letting children make their own decisions-plus, Nate suspects he scared them a little when he was considering military service. After he opted for Dartmouth instead, they probably didn’t feel they could ever ask for more.
Also, he’s never been someone to put off making a decision; soliciting other opinions can just be a delaying tactic, putting off the inevitable. He considers his options. He is privileged, he’s had a lot of opportunities, he should make them count for something. Many options, but really only two that matter: he could teach, or he could do something else. The world does not need another think-tank analyst as badly as Heather and Syed need to pass the California Standards Test, as badly as Anthony and his classmates need to learn how to write a persuasive essay. He signs the Letter of Intent: his intent is to teach Latin and test prep and sophomore English Composition for the 2004-2005 school year.
Part 2
Fandom: Generation Kill (AU)
Characters: Nate, Ray, some Brad
Ratings: PG-15 (Brad/Nate established relationship)
Notes: More High school AU. This falls between How to Take a Test and Commencement Means Beginning. It has a sort of piece-meal structure, like Test. The epigraph is by Rita Mae Brown, and the cut-tag is from yet another poem.
Don't trade the stuff of your life, time, for nothing more than money. That's a rotten bargain.
++alius, alia, aliud, other, another (of several)++Nate could add Teach for America to his resume and apply to the Kennedy School of Government. Nate could schedule an interview with that charter school in Burbank: they’re looking for someone to coach debate. Nate could move back home, get licensed to teach in Maryland, which has an excellent public school system as long as you’re not in Baltimore. Nate could call upon some of those famed Ivy League connections and work for a brokerage house or a think tank. Nate could accept Principal Mattis’s offer and become the first Latin teacher in the history of Mathilda Memorial High School.
++ neuter, neutra, neutrum, neither (of two) ++It is called a Letter of Intent, and in the California Public Schools, it serves as a contract before the actual, binding employment agreement. Teachers have to indicate by April whether they are planning to return for the next school year, so the school system knows how many positions they’ll have to fill and what their applicant pool will look like. Nate’s never had to sign one before, but his two years with Teach for America are over. He is a free agent now.
The whole system drives Brad up the wall and across the ceiling.
“What kind of double-dealing, bait-and-switch, weasel bullshit is that?” he demands, the first time Nate brings it up. “Christ. Everywhere else, you either sign or you don’t, and nobody gets to know until you tell them. Now Mathilda wants to know who else might be interested-scratch that, they want to know what unfortunate bastards have no better options-and then, maybe, they decide who gets the job offer. Last I heard, insider trading was fucking illegal.”
Nate is halfway through listening to this outburst when he realizes that he’s frozen in astonishment, one running shoe untied and his fingers still in the laces of the other. It’s just-it’s not like Brad to get so worked up about…well, Nate hasn’t even made up his mind yet. He was just making conversation of the “so, how was your day, honey?” variety. Or at least, he thought he was. He’s not sure he likes his employer being compared to the Galleon Group.
“Relax, Brad,” Nate says automatically, even though Brad is relaxed. His voice is tight with annoyance, but the rest of him is leisurely slung out on the bench next to the front door as he rolls the kinks out of the ankle he broke on Mount Shasta. It’s eerie, how he can separate his emotions from his physical presence. Nate had mentioned the letter of intent just as they turned the corner of Brad’s street on the final stretch of eight miles. Brad’s shirt is patchy with sweat, but he’s not even breathing that hard, so Nate can’t tell if he’s flushed from exertion or irritation. He doesn’t look upset…but then, Brad never looks upset: he just develops an icy rime of determination.
“Think of it like, I don’t know….” Nate fishes for a military metaphor, “some sort of reenlistment package.”
“Yeah, okay, so what are they offering in exchange for your freedom: more staff meetings, more detention duty, and a copy machine that’s broken so often Kinko’s should be charging you rent? When the hiring practices of the US military make more sense than those of your employer….” Brad shakes his head.
“I know, I know,” Nate says, because the bizarre induction rituals of the Marines are something Brad’s complained about before. “No applications, just commitments.” He supposes there’s a similarity: whether you’re signing a letter of intent or a Marine Corps commitment, you’re still laying yourself open to rejection without any reciprocity. But that’s the way a lot of things start: Nate had kissed Brad midway through watching the Thanksgiving football highlights and for a solid 30 seconds afterwards, he hadn’t been sure whether he was about to get fucked into the floor or punched in the teeth.
Brad looks at him, like he suspects Nate’s making fun of him. Nate blinks innocently, even though he is, a little (sometimes, it’s fun to wind Brad up and the Marine commitment rant once veered off into a discussion of some television commercial with dragons?).
“Yeah, well,” Brad hauls himself off the bench. “You can get committed to a mental hospital, too, if you’re crazy enough.”
++nūllus, -a, -um, none, no++Brad has seen this before, and it never ends well. Bright, naïve people convince themselves that they can change the system from inside. They are young and idealistic, they will slay the dragons. They work for years, put off other opportunities-other relationships-because they imagine there will be plenty of time later, after the mission is accomplished. They follow orders, even when those orders don’t make sense, because they believe that the ends will justify everything. Honorable men don’t think, even for an instant, that their leaders might be dishonorable. And so they are deceived. He’s seen this before; hell, he's done this before. Fuck, he once tried to import secular democracy to an impoverished desert nation at gunpoint because the wisdom of the day demanded it. What was any of that for, if Nate’s going to make the same goddamn mistake? Fool me once…
++tōtus, -a, -um, all, whole, entire++Nate’s sister Katie is in LA for a conference and when Nate asks her where they should meet her, she suggests the Huntington Library. They are having an exhibit of Greek and Roman artwork, on loan from the Walters Art Gallery (Nate’s second favorite gallery in Baltimore; and of course, Nate would have multiple favorite galleries in the same city, of course he would rank them.)
“She wants to meet up at an exhibit about ancient pottery?” Brad asks, straight-faced. “Are you sure you two are related?”
“I have been assured of this,” Nate replies, “She said something about taking the girl out of art history, but not being able to-”
Brad leans over their mauled breakfast plates and kisses the rest of the sentence out of his mouth.
“I think you were about to utter a cliché,” he explains solemnly when he pulls away, his own mouth looking so delicious that Nate wants to reach out and touch it. So he does, and Brad gives his thumb a playful nip.
“And you saved me. My hero,” Nate rolls his eyes. Later, Nate will remember it all, the whole ordinary exchange. The entire thing will impress itself on his memory in vivid, Technicolor detail: the way Brad’s mouth tasted like coffee, the rasp of his unshaven jaw. The last kiss.
++ uter, utra, utrum, which? (of two) ++Nate is not used to having to consult anyone about his plans. He’s independent and self-sufficient by nature. His parents believed in letting children make their own decisions-plus, Nate suspects he scared them a little when he was considering military service. After he opted for Dartmouth instead, they probably didn’t feel they could ever ask for more.
Also, he’s never been someone to put off making a decision; soliciting other opinions can just be a delaying tactic, putting off the inevitable. He considers his options. He is privileged, he’s had a lot of opportunities, he should make them count for something. Many options, but really only two that matter: he could teach, or he could do something else. The world does not need another think-tank analyst as badly as Heather and Syed need to pass the California Standards Test, as badly as Anthony and his classmates need to learn how to write a persuasive essay. He signs the Letter of Intent: his intent is to teach Latin and test prep and sophomore English Composition for the 2004-2005 school year.
Part 2