Fic: Things Worth Trying For, Brad/Ray
Title: Things Worth Trying For
Author: anamie_me
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brad/Ray
Word Count: 3000
Summary: You have to be willing to make a family out of whatever you have.
Disclaimer: This is a piece of fiction based on the HBO miniseries Generation Kill as portrayed by Alexander Skarsgard and PJ Ransone. No profit is being made on this, nor harm meant.
For queeniegalore who once upon a time forever ago requested a Brad/Ray kidfic, for meeks00 and jones6 for their sexy whipping, tender loving, and hotass groping when it looked like I was going to drown my computer and then myself.
Brad Colbert was fucking Ray Person into the mattress when he first learned he is a father.
She was one of those girls Brad had dated for a month stateside, before his next deployment. Her name was Stella, Brad’s sister’s colleague. Her eyes were green and bright, her smile brighter, and when Brad came inside her, the look in her eyes, and the way she breathed his name (into his neck) made him think of picket fences, a garden, and forever. He thinks he could have loved her, could have fallen in love with her, had forever with her. But 911 happened and Brad watched the collapse of the towers, and felt the anger and hurt of a nation, and when the Corps came calling, he put forevers, and picket fences, and gardens aside to invade another country, where gardens had bombs instead of flowers and forever was the way the sky merged into the sand.
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The first time Brad fucked Ray, it was fast and hot, sweaty and dirty, hard angles instead of soft curves, and Ray did not breathe his name, (there was no mistaking those grunts as coming from anyone but a man), and Brad did not think of anything, every thought in his mind driven out except yesgodfucksotight.
The fifth time Brad fucked Ray, (both of them on their hands and knees, Brad’s hands tight on Ray’s hips, grip slip-slide sweaty, and Ray pushing back like his life depended on it), they were interrupted by the door-bell. By the time Stella left, leaving behind reasons and explanations, tears and sorries, together with a bag half filled with doll-sized clothes, a single bottle (still half full of tepid milk) and a little bundle wrapped up in blankets, orgasms couldn’t be further away from their minds.
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When the news trickled through the grapevine (Doc was the first person Brad called, when she started wailing and didn’t stop for three hours straight and her face was all red and splotchy, and Brad thought she was going to die), Poke and his wife visited them with Lila and Jess’s old toys, baby clothes and advice: get a baby cot, get a stroller, use formula, don’t give her a pacifier.
Doc checked in on them a week before his next deployment. He held her close, and murmured softly to her and seeing how she leaned into him made Brad feel for the first time like this wasn’t the worst clusterfuck since OIF, like there’s a chance that this could actually work.
Walt had no advice for them, nor hand-me-downs, and he wouldn’t touch The Baby with a ten-foot-pole (she’s so tiny), but he brought beer and hot wings and Full Metal Jacket, and for the first time in a month, Brad and Ray felt like they could breathe again.
Nate was busy changing the world, and tried but failed to visit. He called to offer his congratulations (Brad put him on speaker, so both she and Ray could hear as well) He didn’t say it, but they both understood that he meant “You are my men, and will always be. I will do anything, and risk everything for you, and this now includes her”
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They did not name her for the first month, referring to her simply as she, and her, and it.
They also didn’t think to give name to whatever it was they had between them, (buddies, a team leader and his RTO, lovers, roommates) Whatever it was that they had, there were no agreements, just heated looks, drunken fumblings, hotel rooms and orgasms.
They both still saw, and fucked and dated other people, (mostly girls wanting to get into Marine fatigues, and show in bed their appreciation for the sacrifices they have made for their country.) They talk about the ones they bed, comparing size and perkiness of tits, the exact shade of nipples, and pussy-tightness and wetness, and they sometimes act as wingman, sometimes competition. They brag endlessly about their conquests, and neither felt anything as special- Olympic- homosexually- gay as jealousy, but for some reason, Ray never mentions that one time, at Camp Pendleton, with another Marine, an officer, a man.
By the time they had ‘her’ for a month, there were so few other ‘her’s and ‘she’s in their lives that neither ever need ask who, when they say ‘she’.
Nevertheless, practicality (and birth registration) demanded that they name her. Brad did his research meticulously, (Emma: origin, German, meaning all consuming, Sophia: origin, Greek, meaning wisdom, Abigail: Hebrew, meaning rejoicing) as is his way, and Ray laughed at and ridiculed all of them (too stripper like, too dyke like, too prudish, too princess like, too bratty, too slutty, too snobbish) as is his way.
One day when she was a month three weeks and five days old, Brad woke up to find Ray standing over her cot, and murmuring softly to her, his hand brushing gently over her tiny fist and when she grabbed on to his index finger (her fingers too small to hold on to more than one of his) and held on as if she would never let go, Brad felt his breath catch in his throat. He came up behind Ray, and looping his arms around his waist, pulled him to his chest. Ray gave no indication that he was startled by his approach (he is a Recon Marine after all) and relaxed into Brad’s arms. He doesn’t turn to Brad, so he almost misses it when Ray says softly, “Elizabeth” and she gurgles up at them like that’s the funniest thing she has heard in a month.
Brad did not ask Ray whether he would be sticking around with him and his baby daughter or ask how long till Ray decides that fuck this, he’s not ready to raise a baby, and if he was, it certainly wouldn’t be with another man, with a Marine, with Brad. Brad did not ask Ray to stay, (with them) but when Ray said “Elizabeth”, and meant “yes, yes, a thousand times, yes”, Brad heard it loud and clear anyway. So it came that they named her Elizabeth, and call her Eli, but whatever it was between them still remained unnamed.
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Poke gets Eli all sorts of books, (You gotta give her a leg up, dog. White man’s world, white man’s rules) Skip, Leap, Jump, Make Way For Ducklings, Where’s My Cow, the entire anthology of Dr Suess. For some reason, she never fails to laugh at Sam’s categorical and vehement renunciation of certain breakfast items, and precisely where, when, and how he will not consume them. By the time Eli was six months old, Ray can quote Green Eggs and Ham in his sleep.
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Brad fucked Ray for the first time in two months when Eli was two months and three weeks old. Between changing Eli (every 3 hours), feeding her (every 2 hours), bathing her (twice a day) and carrying her everywhere just so she would stop crying, all they could find time for anymore was quick blowjobs, against the kitchen counter, in the showers, hurried and frantic, before Eli woke up and demanded her next bottle, or diaper change. When they found Becky, their fifteen year old babysitter, they couldn’t drive fast enough to the nearest motel. The sex was rougher than usual, both on edge and tense. They end up leaving more bruises and marks than they normally do. But when Brad slid into Ray, it feels like home.
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When Eli was six months old, Brad came home one day to find Becky with Eli, and Ray nowhere to be found. When Brad finally found him in an alley beside a bar, he was brawling with a man almost twice his size. Civilian, probably blue collar, judging from the muscles on him. Ray might be a scrawny motherfucker, but Brad has seen him take on men twice his size and won. So he wasn’t particularly worried that Ray would get himself hurt worse than a bruise or maybe a broken nose. Both of them had endured worse.
But Ray was staggering on his feet, dazed and out of it, and it looked like it could get a lot worse than bruises when the man somehow managed to get hold of a beer bottle, smashing it against the wall, the shard of glass in his hand glittering and threatening and pointed at Ray. Brad sprang into action. By the time Brad was done with him, he couldn’t hurt a fly with a Mark 19 at his disposal.
Ray actually burst out laughing.
It took just one look at him for Brad to know half of what happened. The fucker was completely trashed. “Fuck Brad, you’re attractive right? I mean, you’re one hot motherfucker. People want to....they want to marry that right?,” Ray slurs, swaying on his feet. “Women?”
“What the fuck, Ray?”
“Shit, you’re a single dad, with a baby girl. And Eli is gorgeous. Women totally go for that right? Also, you’re Marine, and women dig that right? Think you’re brave and patriotic and shit?”
“Ray,” Brad said, stopping Ray from falling flat on his face with both hands gripped tight around his arms. “I need you to calm down and tell me what’s going on.” Brad said, as calmly as he could manage. When Ray remained silent, Brad tilted his head slightly, tried to catch his eyes. “Ray, look at me.” He said, a little more gently. Ray could be one stubborn motherfucker when he got his sulk on.
Brad was too surprised to stop him when he slid down against the wall of the alley, three feet away from where the guy was still laying sprawled out, unconscious, but not really in any danger. Brad watched as Ray buried his face in his hands, his legs drawn up and elbows resting against his knees. Brad sat beside him. He remained silent and still for so long Brad thought he had fallen asleep or passed out when he said suddenly, “Did you know that leggings are not supposed to be worn on its own?” No, Brad had never found the need to acquire that particular bit of knowledge.
“Fuck homes, we can’t do this. I can’t do this. How are we going to raise her? I know jack fucking squat about dressing a girl right. I can’t even dress a boy right. Fuck, I can barely dress myself right. It actually explains a fourth of why I became a Marine, they tell me what to wear every day. And we’re going to screw this up, we’re going to screw her life up. She needs a mother. Girls need mothers who go shopping with them, and buy them the exact shade of dress that will bring their eyes out, and the exact cut of neckline so that they look like you know, hot but not slutty? And to make sure their hair doesn’t go all spastic. And now she’s going to grow up and be that kid that looks all longingly at other kids who have parents who buy them the exact right pair of shoes and new backpack.”
“Fuck Ray, we’re Marines. All we ever do is make fucking do. Have you forgotten that? And the first guy to find her hot had better watch his fucking six. An entire platoon of Recon Marines are going to have their rifles trained on him. One hand where it doesn’t belong and nobody will ever figure out where that sniper shot came from. And Eli won’t need shoes or backpacks, or dresses to be beautiful, you know that. She will be okay, you just wait and see.”
The sound of silence roars in Brad’s ear as he waits, patient and quiet, not quite sure if he has reached Ray.
“Besides, there’s always Rudy.” Brad tries.
Ray’s laughter rang out loud and clear in the night.
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One night when Eli was eight months old, she woke up in the middle of the night, and wailed at the top of her lungs. It was nothing unusual for her to wake up in the middle of the night crying. But Brad and Ray have gotten good at knowing what she wants, and she usually quiets down after she gets fed, or has her diaper changed, or has whatever is discomforting her removed. Brad has found that nothing soothes her faster than being held close and telling her how he first met her Daddy. Apparently, Eli likes to hear about BRC. But that night, nothing they tried managed to calm her down.
All the clinics in the vicinity has been closed for hours and they were so alarmed by the vehemence of her wailing that by the time Ray thinks to take her temperature, she has been crying for an hour straight. When the thermometer blinks 104 angrily and accusingly at them, Ray’s heart stopped in his chest.
Brad called Doc Bryan while Ray cradled her carefully in his arms, making vague shushing sounds at her to no effect. Doc instructs them to bathe her in lukewarm water, and hold an icepack wrapped with cloth to her head. Ray stood over Brad and rocked Eli gently in his arms as he watched Brad fill the bathtub with lukewarm water.
After they have bathed her, Ray held her in his arms, and when she still wouldn’t stop crying, sang to her the first thing that came to mind, which was for some reason, Skater Boi, (perhaps that was the song he associates with mortal terror, sang in a loop in the dark, as they sit out ambush after ambush in their Humvee) Miraculously, Eli’s wails subsided to little sniffles and she turned her face into Ray’s chest.
Neither of them slept that night. By the time her temperature subsides to 98, Ray has exhausted all the Avril songs he knows.
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When Eli was a year old, Nate received a call in the middle of the night.
“That motherfucker kidnapped Eli.”
Nate’s heart leapt to his throat, imagining the worst, mind already racing with all the contacts he has, experts in child syndication and international kidnapping syndicates.
By the time Ray calmed down enough to explain that Brad has taken Eli and all her stuff and disappeared to fuck knows where, Nate has already had the chief of International Affairs, FBI, on hold in a conference call.
Nate flew in on the next flight and listened as Ray ranted on the questionable legitimacy of Brad’s birth. When he managed to track Brad down, he booked Ray and himself on the next flight to Kao Hsiung, Taiwan. Ray does not say a single word on the flight.
Of all the things Nate has done for them in the entire debacle, Ray is most grateful for him holding Eli as Ray beat the living crap out of Brad. Eli, startled by the sudden commotion starts to cry. Nate cradled Eli against his chest, turning her away from her Daddy punching the lights out of Dad, murmuring softly and soothingly to her in an effort to drown out the sounds of fists landing on flesh.
“Fuck you.” Ray spat.
“Ray, I... Fuck, you have any idea what it is going to take from you, to do this? You can have something else, anyone else, you don’t have to do this. We’re not even... Fuck, what are we? What is this?” Brad gestures to the space between the two of them.
“No, fuck you, Brad, if you think you can take my daughter away from me.”
Brad never again takes Eli anywhere without leaving a note to Ray.
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When Eli was one and a half years old, she starts to wobble uncertainly on her feet, as likely to fall and land on her heavily padded bottom as not. On one of those occasions when she falls, she has tried one time too many.
This time, instead of laughing and getting up again, her tiny hand gripping on to the closest surface to lever herself up as she usually does, she sits where she has fallen and starts crying. Brad picks her up, and rocks her, swinging her up and down in the air the way she likes.
The ripple of Brad’s muscle, the sunlight in her hair and her laughter tinkling in the autumn air causes something to flutter through Ray’s stomach, and he turns away, needing a moment to compose himself. Brad greets him with a smile as he walks towards them, and as Brad leans down to capture Ray’s mouth in a kiss, Eli laughs as if it’s the funniest thing she has seen. Brad’s mouth is sun-lit warm, and a little dry in the dry autumn air, but the kiss is deep and thorough, and as Brad pulls away, Ray knows this is forever.
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They have to be good for Eli, they have to be so much better than they ever thought they could be. They will have to sacrifice things they never even knew they wanted. It won’t be easy, but they will do it, and against all odds, they will get to have their happy ending.
And for those of you wondering what happens to Eli? We don’t know that yet.
She might be popular, head cheerleader and student president, perfect grades and an even more perfect smile. Or she might wear horn-rimmed glasses, and vegan footwear, and Goth makeup, play the cello and read McSweeney’s and want to be children’s librarian when she grows up.
Maybe she will find someone to have picket fences, and gardens and forevers with. Or she might decide that she doesn’t want picket fences, or gardens, but electric guitars, and a screaming audience. Limp Bizkit might open for her.
She could have a completely extraordinary life, and change the world, stuff that only happens in the movies. She could also have a less extraordinary life, and change not the whole world, but just one person’s life, and the only people telling stories about her are Brad, Ray and the people she loves, and who love her back.
We don’t know all that. What we do know?
She will be okay, you just wait and see.
FIN