fic: Five Times People Realized Brad and Nate Were Together
Five Times People Realized Brad and Nate Were Together
PG-13 || ~4500 words
beta'd by
why_me_why_not; remaining mistakes (including POV switches that I couldn't figure out how to fix and still convey all that I wanted to convey) are my own
Set in the same universe as Out of sync at the beginning, Steal (the rhythm) while you can, and this ficlet.
Based on the actors' portrayals and meant to imply absolutely nothing about real people.
1. Ray & Walt
It's not that Ray and Walt don't know that Brad and the LT ('cause the LT's the LT, no matter what paperwork gets filed) are bumpin' combat boots. They sat the LT down and gave him The Talk, and unless Brad is stupid (which, you know, in Ray's opinion Brad is many things, starting with emotionally repressed and going on from there, but mentally challenged is not one of them) there's no way he's going to turn down what he wants most.
("Stop poking me, Walt, Ray-Ray knows what the Iceman wants, and it's six feet of green-eyed, pouty-lipped, East Coast-educated sin in uniform. Or out, whichever. Maybe Brad doesn't have a uniform kink. But I doubt it, since--mmph." Sometimes Walt has to take matters into his own hands. Which, literally, in this case, means clapping one over Ray's mouth before he builds up too much steam.)
But there's a difference between knowing and knowing.
(Walt rolls his eyes when Ray says this. "It's the same word, you idjit. There's a difference between knowing and seeing," he explains.)
It's not like either one of them is into PDAs. But through all of their time at Oceanside, then Matilda, then during the invasion, then back at Pendleton, they never once saw Brad touch Nate. So when they sit on barstools next to each other at Dusty's during Friday's happy hour and their shoulders and knees bump companionably, Ray notices. Walt's the one to note that Poke and Lilley's round of pool against Garza and Chaffin ends before either moves away; Brad and Ray play the winners.
They are only touching at two points, and it's not even bare skin, but it might as well be making out, as far as Ray's concerned.
2. Mike Wynn
When the gunny finds out, it's in the stupidest way possible. They've come back from a morning trip up El Capitain - Nate had let Brad choose, and of course he'd picked a trail that would be difficult, even without factoring in record summer heat. But at least it'd been empty, and they'd had the trail to themselves.
Even though it's only a 14 mile hike, there's a lot of climbing involved, and they are disgustingly sweaty by the time they're done. They'd planned on going out, but when they get back to Brad's, they head to separate showers without discussing the matter.
Brad's in the kitchen, his hair still wet, with the newly purchased coffee grinder out (he figures he ought to make coffee that meets Nate's specifications) when the doorbell rings.
(None of his regular visitors ring the doorbell. That should have been enough reason to not answer it. Hindsight is 20/20.)
He opens the door without checking, to find Mike Wynn standing in the shade of his porch. When Brad waves him in, Mike enters, apologizing for the interruption. He's excited, though: he has Pappy's design for Captain Fick's paddle. It's fucking gorgeous, and he knows Brad's going to appreciate a preview. He's just pulling the folded pages from his back pocket, offering them to Brad when the shower turns off.
Brad knows what's going to happen. It's like life is suddenly in super slow motion, but he still can't move fast enough to prevent it. He half-turns toward hallway, and they hear Nate's voice before he appears.
"I don't smell coffee brewing. Don't think, Brad," Nate gripes as he enters the living room, a towel on his hips, one rubbing his hair, "that you're allowed to fall back on the buy-me-a-meal-and-I-put-out -- Mike!"
Brad can see Mike's eyes traveling from Nate to Brad and back to Nate, can see surprise and suspicion bloom in them. Mike's got a good poker face though, and as soon as the knowledge is absorbed, the expression is gone.
"Nate. I was just dropping some paperwork off for Brad." He faces Brad squarely. "We'll go over the details on Monday." That's an order, delivered in a tone Brad rarely hears from the gunny.
Fuck.
*
Nate knows better than to interfere when it comes to discipline and differences between NCOs. Even if he didn't, this is Mike, and it's Brad, and he plays a not-inconsiderable role in the reason for Mike's displeasure, so on Monday morning he fills his travel mug with coffee and heads to base while Brad's still in the shower, just like he would on any other day. They've been doing this for a couple of months now, and it's not the first time that Nate's been annoyed by the need for deception, but it is the first time he's been so acutely aware of both the necessity and his and Brad's vulnerability. Brad's especially.
*
"Gunnery Sergeant."
"Sergeant." Mike tries to be distant. He's a senior non-commissioned officer, for fuck's sake, and he knows how to deliver bad news, bad orders, and non-judicial punishment. But this... this has his stomach in knots. He spent the day trying not to worry about what this could mean, to Brad, to Nate, to the company, and he'd like to say that he's thinking about this rationally, but. No. He's pretty sure if he lets loose, a rant worthy of Sixta's most fucked-up diatribes will spew out.
"Brad. I'm not asking. I'm not telling. I'm just going to say that you've got the rest of your career to think about, and the Captain's. Think about what you're doing and how it looks."
"Gunny, I'm not sure what you're worried about. The captain will be gone, and I'll be deploying to England. There's nothing to see here."
Mike would like to believe that it's that simple, that Brad and Nate are friends, and he misunderstood a joke. Or maybe they're just that easy with each other, and it's not a big deal, so he lets it go. He watches, in the days before Nate's paperwork goes through, and yeah, Brad and Nate do their talking without words thing, but that's nothing new, so maybe he misunderstood.
Except. At Nate's paddle party, it's hard to look at the gorgeous woodwork and not remember Brad's face the afternoon Mike dropped by unexpectedly to share its plans. And when it's his turn to tell a story over the paddle, Brad makes a joke about LSA and kissing Nate. Mike almost chokes on his beer, but then he realizes that Ray and Walt and Trombley are all laughing, and Nate puckers up and blows Brad a kiss from across the room. Brad pretending to catch it and plaster it to his cheek has the rest of the guys howling and shouting obscenities, and the moment is gone.
Then Captain Morel is there and Brad's not, and Mike's got other things to worry about, like keeping his company going, despite death and despair in Fallujah.
Fast forward a year, and Mike hears from Nate, who is going over details for his book, sending people copies of his manuscript and asking if there's anything they think he's got wrong.
It's a well-written book, clear and concise, telling the story like Nate saw it without casting blame. It's honest in its story-telling and in Nate's affection for his men and their foibles. Still, Mike sees things that he knows Brad said or did, things Nate deliberately doesn't attribute, significant things he leaves out, and the only reason he can imagine that Nate isn't pointing them out is that he doesn't want attention - any more attention than Reporter's already focused on them, that is - on his relationship with Brad over his relationship with the other men in his platoon. Which wouldn't be an issue if nothing were there. This is when Mike realizes that he didn't misunderstand things at all.
3. Nate's mom
Brad and Nate have been doing their thing - it's not dating, and it's not just fucking, but neither of them really wants to give it a name, or even knows what name to use for this thing they do - for over a year. It's not that Nate's keeping it a secret, or anything, he's just... okay, he's keeping it a secret. At first it was because Brad's still subject to UCMJ, and the fact that Nate was his commanding officer complicates matters even further, even if he's out now. But somehow the secret becomes something he treasures, this thing that only he and Brad know about them; the knowledge that they are a unit is theirs, not something he wants to share with the world.
That doesn't stop his mom from worrying about him, when he moves from DC to Boston. Or his sisters from speculating.
Brad has leave from the Royal Marines from late December through the first week of January, and it's been several months since they've seen each other, so Nate bails on the family holiday two days after Christmas and returns to Boston. He uses the excuse that he's got a meeting with a prospective agent, and it's not really an excuse, he has a meeting about his book. It's just that he also has plans meet Brad's plane at Logan, get back to his apartment, and christen every horizontal surface. And some not-horizontal surfaces.
United and British Airways apparently want Nate to be happy, because there are no delays; Brad's waiting at his gate when Nate arrives. Normally Nate would take the subway home, but he's too impatient for line changes and lugging baggage, so they catch a cab. He feels like his entire body is vibrating in anticipation, to the point that it's in harmony with the taxi, and it only stops when Brad's hand settles heavily on his knee.
They manage to restrain themselves until Nate's apartment door slams closed behind them, and then it's pretty much, "Hey, hi, NAKED NOW," and they don't answer the door or the phone for the next forty-eight hours. Which, in retrospect, might've been a mistake. Nate should at least have called his mom to let her know he made it back to Boston safely.
Nate really does have that meeting with a prospective agent, though, so by the third day, he forces himself to shower - Brad's all for shower games, but Nate's bathroom is tiny, there's no way they're playing in there without serious physical damage to parts he's quite fond of - dress, and head downtown.
Brad lazes a while longer, then decides that he can be a good guest - he'll get cleaned up, straighten Nate's bed - he must have another set of linens somewhere, and the least Brad can do is re-settle the mattress properly on the box-spring instead of letting it slide further off. He's got fresh sheets on the bed, the old in the washer, and he's shaved and just out of the shower when there's a knock at the door.
He's got a towel wrapped around his hips, another one rubbing his hair dry, but he answers, expecting it to be Nate, who'd come back twice already, once for his forgotten travel-mug of coffee, and once to leave Brad his key, in case Brad wanted to go out while he was gone.
"Forget something, Fick?"
"I beg your pardon?"
And that... is not Nate. Although the woman at the door has Nate's green eyes and pale skin.
"Mrs. Fick?"
"Yes. And you are?"
"Brad Colbert, ma'am." Brad lets the towel in his hand fall to his shoulder and reaches to take her hand. He suppresses the urge to check that one at his hip is firmly anchored.
"Will Nate be out long?"
"He had a meeting with a publishing agent. I suppose it depends on their initial reception of his manuscript." A manuscript that Nate hadn't let Brad read yet.
Mrs. Fick's eyebrows arch, delicately curious, and she murmurs, "So that wasn't just an excuse to escape his smothering family?"
"Ma'am?"
"Nothing." She sighs. "Well, I came all this way, I'd like to actually see my son, who couldn't be bothered to let us know that he'd arrived safely."
Now it's Brad's turn to suppress a sigh.
"Yes, I know. He made it back from Afghanistan and from Iraq, I should trust that he can get from Baltimore to Boston without any trouble. Tell me, Sergeant - you are that Brad Colbert, yes? - did your mother stop worrying about you when you joined the Marines?"
He acknowledges her point with a smile and shake of his head. Stepping back, he waves her in and tells her, "I'll just be a minute," before escaping to Nate's bedroom and grabbing a pair of jeans and the least wrinkled shirt he can find in his duffelbag.
Small talk is not Brad's thing. But this is Nate's mom, so he manages to discuss the Fick family Christmas - noisy, with the small kids - the differences between an East coast and West coast winter, and the oddities of driving on the wrong side of the road, which he's only just gotten used to, for all that he's been in the UK for over a year.
She's comfortable in Nate's kitchen, and brews a pot of coffee. Brad smirks when he sees the Torrefazione label on the beans, but it softens into a gentler smile when she also unearths a packet of gingerbread Brad sent from Harrod's, along with a bottle of Dalmore single malt and a tin of Taylor's loose tea. (He'd maybe like a shot of the scotch, but he can sac up and deal with Nate's family without alcohol as a crutch.)
When asked, he explains that his parents are on a 40th anniversary cruise, and his sisters are busy with in-laws this holiday season, and that he'll catch up with them on his next leave. This is true as far as it goes; he doesn't mention that Sarah's got plenty of room at her house, even with Rick's family in San Diego for the week, or that he didn't think twice when he was making his travel arrangements - Logan was the only airport he'd checked fares for.
Brad's just refilled their coffee and resettled on the chair across from Mrs. Fick - Call me Jane, dear; no way in hell, he thinks - when there's another knock at the door, followed by it immediately opening.
Nate's already shrugging off his messenger bag and hanging his coat on the rack before Brad can speak.
"Jesus Christ, Brad, why did I ever think it was a good idea to write a--Mom? What are you doing here?"
"Nathaniel."
Brad grins into his mug, taking a big swig before setting it down and heading to the kitchen alcove to fill another. He adds the creamer that he knows Nate likes and hands it off, answering Nate's absent thanks with a whispered, "You're welcome, Nathaniel."
Brad tries to make himself scarce, but Mrs. Fick insists that she doesn't want to interfere with their plans. Which, really, Brad didn't have plans beyond Nate and his bed, but he's not going tell Nate's mother that. He mentions a walking tour - it's fucking cold out, but nothing in comparison to the last deployment in the mountains of Afghanistan, so walking around historic homes for a few hours won't hurt him any - thinking that he'll leave them to whatever parental lecture Nate's in store for, but in the end, they all end up bundling up and heading to the MFA for a few hours.
Art museums are not Brad's thing, either; he'd chose a science museum if left to his own devices. But he has a good time, all the same. Brad loves his family, but he's not close to them, not like Nate is to his. He enjoys watching the way Nate holds his mom's elbow on the staircase, and the way Mrs. Fick knows when Nate's found a painting he wants to study more closely, just by the way he cocks his head. (When Nate pauses in front of Toulouse-Lautrec's In the Street (Gigolots and Gigolettes), she whispers to Brad, "His father does the same thing whenever we go to the Walters. He's seen the Rochester Bible on display there a hundred times, but each time he sees something new. And when they opened the collection of Roman artifacts back when Nate was in college, Nate spent an entire week of his summer break there.")
A day-long museum stroll followed by a debate between Thai and Italian for supper is not anything Brad expected to do on his vacation, but he has a good time.
He's not sure how they're going to work the logistics of her staying: Nate's sofa folds out, but he can't imagine the pair of them sleeping on it comfortably while Nate's mom's in his bedroom; they can't make her sleep on it, either. Beyond that, Brad's not a prude, but there is no way in hell he can manage to keep his hands off Nate in such a confined space, and he cannot fuck Nate with his mom in the next room.
She solves that problem when she hugs Nate tightly and then turns to Brad expectantly. He offers her his hand, and instead of shaking it, she uses it to pull him closer and brush dry kiss on his cheek.
"I have reservations at the Intercontinental for the evening, and my flight back to Baltimore leaves early, so I'll say goodbye now." She hugs Nate again. "Next time, Nathaniel, bring your sergeant home with you instead of running off without an explanation."
4. Tom Ricks
Tom really thinks his misunderstanding the situation was perfectly reasonable.
Dartmouth, 1998
Most of the students have drifted away by the time Tom shuts down his laptop - a total waste of time; he hadn't really used the slides much during his presentation - but there are a few waiting patiently for his attention.
One, a fresh-faced kid, steps forward the moment Tom's got his briefcase closed. He fingers the strap of worn messenger bag absently as he asks, "I enjoyed your seminar, Mr. Ricks. I was wondering, though, Making The Corps is about the process for the enlisted. Do you have any insights about the officer corps and OCS?"
Yes, yes he does. And he's happy to share them. Tom doesn't even realize how much time passes, because the kid - "Nate, Nate Fick, sir." - asks leading questions, and Tom keeps answering them.
They only stop when a pretty redhead interrupts, sliding her arm around Nate's waist and chiding him about not letting the other students speak. The tips of Nate's ears turn red when he's embarrassed, Tom notes, and the girl's elbow nudges his side gently, taking any sting out of her comment.
Tom's soon distracted by another student, and when he glances up, Nate and the girl are on their way out, their fingers entwined.
Washington, DC, 2004
The intern looks vaguely familiar, but Tom doesn't remember where they've met until Michelle tells him, "Sit down, Nate. You're not in the Corps any longer; you don't have to stand at attention until we're all seated."
Nate. Nate Fick, Nate--oh, yes. Dartmouth.
Well.
After the end of the review, when Nate gathers up all the leftover briefing materials, Tom asks, "Is it ego to ask if your stint in the Corps was my fault?"
Nate smiles wryly. "Well, you didn't dissuade me, let's put it that way."
Once the floodgates open, it's hard to close them. Tom's talked to plenty of officers about Afghanistan and Iraq, but most of them are colonels or higher rank, and it's refreshing to hear from someone who was boots on the ground, even if their feelings about the military experience in Iraq are mixed. Especially if their feelings are mixed, really.
Tom ends up squished in the chair in the corner of Nate's cubicle, which is filled with neat stacks of paperwork, a relatively new computer. The only personal items are two photos: one of Nate and another officer in their Class As, two women in formal gowns leaning into their sides, and one of a platoon of soldiers surrounding a statue of Saddam Hussein.
"Your platoon? And your girl?"
"Hm, yes. Before and after. That was the Marine Corps Birthday Ball in 2002. And those are my men." His finger rubs the glass, swiping over his own image and that of the grunt next to him, across the stars and stripes.
Cambridge, 2006
To: ncfick@gmail.com
From: tericks@wapo.com
Re: next Thursday
Nate,
I'm going to be in town for the day, if you want meet so we can discuss your thesis. I'm not a faculty member, but I'd be happy to give you my two cents about it.
Cheers,
Tom
To: tericks@wapo.com
From: ncfick@gmail.com
Re: Re: next Thursday
Out of office reply: I'm out of the office from 15-25June. When I return, I'll respond to messages in the order they're received. Mom, we've got my cell phone if Sandy goes into labor. Corporal Person, we really do not need any more suggestions for activities to fill our vacation time.
Washington, DC, 2008
Tom shouldn't be as amused as he is.
He and Nate were reviewing the final cut for the intern applications for 2009, the last thing on both of their agendas before taking some well-deserved vacation, when his cell phone rang, and he'd answered it with an apology to Tom.
Tom ignores it, mostly, letting Nate's tone tell him when the conversation draws to a close and they can get back to business.
"...thanks, Rachel, but--" there's a stream of words from Nate's cell phone that Tom can't quite parse, and Nate just rolls his eyes.
"Fine. I'll see you and the rest of your family at the airport. No. Oh my god, I'm at work, don't talk to me about condoms. I'm at work. Goodbye, Rachel. Give the phone to--"
He pauses.
"Hey, yeah. Love you too." Nate glances at Tom and then looks away. His cheeks are pale, but the tips of his ears are red.
"Sorry about that. I'm not sure how I got talked into a joint vacation. The entire family is incorrigible."
"In-laws are an acquired taste. In that you eventually acquire the taste for whiskey to help you deal with them if you love your wife or girlfriend."
Nate's ear redden further. "Yeah, well. Anyway. I like this applicant, Charlie, and maybe Dan. What about..."
Washington, DC, this morning
Nate makes awesome coffee. He always smiles and says he learned from the best when someone comments, and Tom laughs, thinking about Rudy Reyes giving his platoon lessons on grind consistency and proper water temperature in between calisthenics and target practice.
Tom's daily routine may or may not include waiting until Nate's been seen in the CNAS kitchen before heading down the hall to fill his mug. His is not the only mug waiting to be filled.
They usually set themselves up at the counter as they drink that first round, listening to the morning's headlines and discussing the day's agendas. John is mid-rant when Colin comes in and fumbles for the the TV remote, switching from CNN to Al Jazeera English.
"Marines in Musa Qala, Helmand Province, suffered the loss of three troops in a small arms attack--"
The others are glued to the TV, waiting for details, but Nate puts his mug down abruptly and walks away.
Now
Nate's thrown himself into work. He's been in his office for hours, and his desk is, quite literally, clear now. Tom's stopped by multiple times and tried to talk, but Nate's been unresponsive.
Tom's just about to try again, his knuckles inches from knocking on the open office door, on his way to convince Nate to at least come out for dinner before he goes back to brooding about the loss of Marines that he isn't there to control -- Tom gets that Nate's got some control issues, but being so attached to the Corps five years after leaving is unhealthy -- when the phone rings, and is immediately answered.
"Fick." The combination of worry and command in Nate's voice makes it brusque, short. Nate's facing away, but Tom can see by the way his shoulders tighten that Nate's tension has reached the breaking point.
"Nate." The line crackles, and the speakerphone distorts it, but Tom recognizes that voice.
Nate's shoulders slump and his breath rushes out in a combination of relief and affection. "Brad."
Oh. Oh.
Okay.
5. Brad's CO
Colonel Earl Donovan did not earn the right to lead a battalion of Recon Marines by being unobservant.
He doesn't give a shit who his men fuck as long as they're competent at their jobs, and Master Sergeant Brad Colbert is the best company sergeant he's ever had.
Donovan's heard Colbert's story; the grapevine has deep roots at Pendleton. Cheating girlfriend and best friend, inability to trust, long deployments overseas making establishing relationships difficult. Other NCOs say Colbert's married to the Corps, and that goes a long way. Look at General Mattis, for fuck's sake.
He almost believes it. He's never seen Colbert so much as look at another man. Colbert trash-talks with the other enlisted as much as is appropriate for his rank, and he's been known to share his wank material, including the Colbert tradition of an end-of-tour new mag for his team. But he's also never seen or heard rumor of Colbert accepting so much as a drink from a woman hitting on him at a bar, and Colbert always manages to use genderless pronouns when discussing his vacation adventures.
Still, Donovan's never so glad that Don't Ask, Don't Tell is a thing of the past as he is when he's out Christmas shopping with Kendra, and she tugs him to a halt with a, "Honey, isn't that--"
He looks where's she's pointing, and yes, Colbert's standing outside the Apple store. Someone else might think he's admiring the display of the latest upgrade to the iPad, but Donovan's heard the man's rants.
They're only a few meters away, on their way to a casual greeting, when Colbert straightens and turns toward a man exiting the store.
Donovan's estimate is that the unknown subject is in his mid-thirties. Tall, with light brown hair, and the upright posture that screams military experience. He approaches Colbert and smiles.
"Got it. Check one more item off the Colbert-Fick family gift list."
Colbert rolls his eyes and takes the bag without verbal comment as they turn toward the mall exit.
"Yes, yes, I know. It's terrible, the way I expose you to the ignominies of organized religion and family gatherings, on top of subjecting you to the whims of Steve Jobs' evil empire. You make so many sacrifices for my happiness."
Colbert lets his hip bump his companion's gently, deliberately, and Donovan can just barely hear his comment as they move out of earshot.
"Relationships are all about compromise, sir. But don't worry; I'll take it out in trade."
(Bonus: Evan Wright
"What? They weren't sneaking off behind berms together when we were in Iraq?")
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PG-13 || ~4500 words
beta'd by
why_me_why_not; remaining mistakes (including POV switches that I couldn't figure out how to fix and still convey all that I wanted to convey) are my own
Set in the same universe as Out of sync at the beginning, Steal (the rhythm) while you can, and this ficlet.
Based on the actors' portrayals and meant to imply absolutely nothing about real people.
1. Ray & Walt
It's not that Ray and Walt don't know that Brad and the LT ('cause the LT's the LT, no matter what paperwork gets filed) are bumpin' combat boots. They sat the LT down and gave him The Talk, and unless Brad is stupid (which, you know, in Ray's opinion Brad is many things, starting with emotionally repressed and going on from there, but mentally challenged is not one of them) there's no way he's going to turn down what he wants most.
("Stop poking me, Walt, Ray-Ray knows what the Iceman wants, and it's six feet of green-eyed, pouty-lipped, East Coast-educated sin in uniform. Or out, whichever. Maybe Brad doesn't have a uniform kink. But I doubt it, since--mmph." Sometimes Walt has to take matters into his own hands. Which, literally, in this case, means clapping one over Ray's mouth before he builds up too much steam.)
But there's a difference between knowing and knowing.
(Walt rolls his eyes when Ray says this. "It's the same word, you idjit. There's a difference between knowing and seeing," he explains.)
It's not like either one of them is into PDAs. But through all of their time at Oceanside, then Matilda, then during the invasion, then back at Pendleton, they never once saw Brad touch Nate. So when they sit on barstools next to each other at Dusty's during Friday's happy hour and their shoulders and knees bump companionably, Ray notices. Walt's the one to note that Poke and Lilley's round of pool against Garza and Chaffin ends before either moves away; Brad and Ray play the winners.
They are only touching at two points, and it's not even bare skin, but it might as well be making out, as far as Ray's concerned.
2. Mike Wynn
When the gunny finds out, it's in the stupidest way possible. They've come back from a morning trip up El Capitain - Nate had let Brad choose, and of course he'd picked a trail that would be difficult, even without factoring in record summer heat. But at least it'd been empty, and they'd had the trail to themselves.
Even though it's only a 14 mile hike, there's a lot of climbing involved, and they are disgustingly sweaty by the time they're done. They'd planned on going out, but when they get back to Brad's, they head to separate showers without discussing the matter.
Brad's in the kitchen, his hair still wet, with the newly purchased coffee grinder out (he figures he ought to make coffee that meets Nate's specifications) when the doorbell rings.
(None of his regular visitors ring the doorbell. That should have been enough reason to not answer it. Hindsight is 20/20.)
He opens the door without checking, to find Mike Wynn standing in the shade of his porch. When Brad waves him in, Mike enters, apologizing for the interruption. He's excited, though: he has Pappy's design for Captain Fick's paddle. It's fucking gorgeous, and he knows Brad's going to appreciate a preview. He's just pulling the folded pages from his back pocket, offering them to Brad when the shower turns off.
Brad knows what's going to happen. It's like life is suddenly in super slow motion, but he still can't move fast enough to prevent it. He half-turns toward hallway, and they hear Nate's voice before he appears.
"I don't smell coffee brewing. Don't think, Brad," Nate gripes as he enters the living room, a towel on his hips, one rubbing his hair, "that you're allowed to fall back on the buy-me-a-meal-and-I-put-out -- Mike!"
Brad can see Mike's eyes traveling from Nate to Brad and back to Nate, can see surprise and suspicion bloom in them. Mike's got a good poker face though, and as soon as the knowledge is absorbed, the expression is gone.
"Nate. I was just dropping some paperwork off for Brad." He faces Brad squarely. "We'll go over the details on Monday." That's an order, delivered in a tone Brad rarely hears from the gunny.
Fuck.
*
Nate knows better than to interfere when it comes to discipline and differences between NCOs. Even if he didn't, this is Mike, and it's Brad, and he plays a not-inconsiderable role in the reason for Mike's displeasure, so on Monday morning he fills his travel mug with coffee and heads to base while Brad's still in the shower, just like he would on any other day. They've been doing this for a couple of months now, and it's not the first time that Nate's been annoyed by the need for deception, but it is the first time he's been so acutely aware of both the necessity and his and Brad's vulnerability. Brad's especially.
*
"Gunnery Sergeant."
"Sergeant." Mike tries to be distant. He's a senior non-commissioned officer, for fuck's sake, and he knows how to deliver bad news, bad orders, and non-judicial punishment. But this... this has his stomach in knots. He spent the day trying not to worry about what this could mean, to Brad, to Nate, to the company, and he'd like to say that he's thinking about this rationally, but. No. He's pretty sure if he lets loose, a rant worthy of Sixta's most fucked-up diatribes will spew out.
"Brad. I'm not asking. I'm not telling. I'm just going to say that you've got the rest of your career to think about, and the Captain's. Think about what you're doing and how it looks."
"Gunny, I'm not sure what you're worried about. The captain will be gone, and I'll be deploying to England. There's nothing to see here."
Mike would like to believe that it's that simple, that Brad and Nate are friends, and he misunderstood a joke. Or maybe they're just that easy with each other, and it's not a big deal, so he lets it go. He watches, in the days before Nate's paperwork goes through, and yeah, Brad and Nate do their talking without words thing, but that's nothing new, so maybe he misunderstood.
Except. At Nate's paddle party, it's hard to look at the gorgeous woodwork and not remember Brad's face the afternoon Mike dropped by unexpectedly to share its plans. And when it's his turn to tell a story over the paddle, Brad makes a joke about LSA and kissing Nate. Mike almost chokes on his beer, but then he realizes that Ray and Walt and Trombley are all laughing, and Nate puckers up and blows Brad a kiss from across the room. Brad pretending to catch it and plaster it to his cheek has the rest of the guys howling and shouting obscenities, and the moment is gone.
Then Captain Morel is there and Brad's not, and Mike's got other things to worry about, like keeping his company going, despite death and despair in Fallujah.
Fast forward a year, and Mike hears from Nate, who is going over details for his book, sending people copies of his manuscript and asking if there's anything they think he's got wrong.
It's a well-written book, clear and concise, telling the story like Nate saw it without casting blame. It's honest in its story-telling and in Nate's affection for his men and their foibles. Still, Mike sees things that he knows Brad said or did, things Nate deliberately doesn't attribute, significant things he leaves out, and the only reason he can imagine that Nate isn't pointing them out is that he doesn't want attention - any more attention than Reporter's already focused on them, that is - on his relationship with Brad over his relationship with the other men in his platoon. Which wouldn't be an issue if nothing were there. This is when Mike realizes that he didn't misunderstand things at all.
3. Nate's mom
Brad and Nate have been doing their thing - it's not dating, and it's not just fucking, but neither of them really wants to give it a name, or even knows what name to use for this thing they do - for over a year. It's not that Nate's keeping it a secret, or anything, he's just... okay, he's keeping it a secret. At first it was because Brad's still subject to UCMJ, and the fact that Nate was his commanding officer complicates matters even further, even if he's out now. But somehow the secret becomes something he treasures, this thing that only he and Brad know about them; the knowledge that they are a unit is theirs, not something he wants to share with the world.
That doesn't stop his mom from worrying about him, when he moves from DC to Boston. Or his sisters from speculating.
Brad has leave from the Royal Marines from late December through the first week of January, and it's been several months since they've seen each other, so Nate bails on the family holiday two days after Christmas and returns to Boston. He uses the excuse that he's got a meeting with a prospective agent, and it's not really an excuse, he has a meeting about his book. It's just that he also has plans meet Brad's plane at Logan, get back to his apartment, and christen every horizontal surface. And some not-horizontal surfaces.
United and British Airways apparently want Nate to be happy, because there are no delays; Brad's waiting at his gate when Nate arrives. Normally Nate would take the subway home, but he's too impatient for line changes and lugging baggage, so they catch a cab. He feels like his entire body is vibrating in anticipation, to the point that it's in harmony with the taxi, and it only stops when Brad's hand settles heavily on his knee.
They manage to restrain themselves until Nate's apartment door slams closed behind them, and then it's pretty much, "Hey, hi, NAKED NOW," and they don't answer the door or the phone for the next forty-eight hours. Which, in retrospect, might've been a mistake. Nate should at least have called his mom to let her know he made it back to Boston safely.
Nate really does have that meeting with a prospective agent, though, so by the third day, he forces himself to shower - Brad's all for shower games, but Nate's bathroom is tiny, there's no way they're playing in there without serious physical damage to parts he's quite fond of - dress, and head downtown.
Brad lazes a while longer, then decides that he can be a good guest - he'll get cleaned up, straighten Nate's bed - he must have another set of linens somewhere, and the least Brad can do is re-settle the mattress properly on the box-spring instead of letting it slide further off. He's got fresh sheets on the bed, the old in the washer, and he's shaved and just out of the shower when there's a knock at the door.
He's got a towel wrapped around his hips, another one rubbing his hair dry, but he answers, expecting it to be Nate, who'd come back twice already, once for his forgotten travel-mug of coffee, and once to leave Brad his key, in case Brad wanted to go out while he was gone.
"Forget something, Fick?"
"I beg your pardon?"
And that... is not Nate. Although the woman at the door has Nate's green eyes and pale skin.
"Mrs. Fick?"
"Yes. And you are?"
"Brad Colbert, ma'am." Brad lets the towel in his hand fall to his shoulder and reaches to take her hand. He suppresses the urge to check that one at his hip is firmly anchored.
"Will Nate be out long?"
"He had a meeting with a publishing agent. I suppose it depends on their initial reception of his manuscript." A manuscript that Nate hadn't let Brad read yet.
Mrs. Fick's eyebrows arch, delicately curious, and she murmurs, "So that wasn't just an excuse to escape his smothering family?"
"Ma'am?"
"Nothing." She sighs. "Well, I came all this way, I'd like to actually see my son, who couldn't be bothered to let us know that he'd arrived safely."
Now it's Brad's turn to suppress a sigh.
"Yes, I know. He made it back from Afghanistan and from Iraq, I should trust that he can get from Baltimore to Boston without any trouble. Tell me, Sergeant - you are that Brad Colbert, yes? - did your mother stop worrying about you when you joined the Marines?"
He acknowledges her point with a smile and shake of his head. Stepping back, he waves her in and tells her, "I'll just be a minute," before escaping to Nate's bedroom and grabbing a pair of jeans and the least wrinkled shirt he can find in his duffelbag.
Small talk is not Brad's thing. But this is Nate's mom, so he manages to discuss the Fick family Christmas - noisy, with the small kids - the differences between an East coast and West coast winter, and the oddities of driving on the wrong side of the road, which he's only just gotten used to, for all that he's been in the UK for over a year.
She's comfortable in Nate's kitchen, and brews a pot of coffee. Brad smirks when he sees the Torrefazione label on the beans, but it softens into a gentler smile when she also unearths a packet of gingerbread Brad sent from Harrod's, along with a bottle of Dalmore single malt and a tin of Taylor's loose tea. (He'd maybe like a shot of the scotch, but he can sac up and deal with Nate's family without alcohol as a crutch.)
When asked, he explains that his parents are on a 40th anniversary cruise, and his sisters are busy with in-laws this holiday season, and that he'll catch up with them on his next leave. This is true as far as it goes; he doesn't mention that Sarah's got plenty of room at her house, even with Rick's family in San Diego for the week, or that he didn't think twice when he was making his travel arrangements - Logan was the only airport he'd checked fares for.
Brad's just refilled their coffee and resettled on the chair across from Mrs. Fick - Call me Jane, dear; no way in hell, he thinks - when there's another knock at the door, followed by it immediately opening.
Nate's already shrugging off his messenger bag and hanging his coat on the rack before Brad can speak.
"Jesus Christ, Brad, why did I ever think it was a good idea to write a--Mom? What are you doing here?"
"Nathaniel."
Brad grins into his mug, taking a big swig before setting it down and heading to the kitchen alcove to fill another. He adds the creamer that he knows Nate likes and hands it off, answering Nate's absent thanks with a whispered, "You're welcome, Nathaniel."
Brad tries to make himself scarce, but Mrs. Fick insists that she doesn't want to interfere with their plans. Which, really, Brad didn't have plans beyond Nate and his bed, but he's not going tell Nate's mother that. He mentions a walking tour - it's fucking cold out, but nothing in comparison to the last deployment in the mountains of Afghanistan, so walking around historic homes for a few hours won't hurt him any - thinking that he'll leave them to whatever parental lecture Nate's in store for, but in the end, they all end up bundling up and heading to the MFA for a few hours.
Art museums are not Brad's thing, either; he'd chose a science museum if left to his own devices. But he has a good time, all the same. Brad loves his family, but he's not close to them, not like Nate is to his. He enjoys watching the way Nate holds his mom's elbow on the staircase, and the way Mrs. Fick knows when Nate's found a painting he wants to study more closely, just by the way he cocks his head. (When Nate pauses in front of Toulouse-Lautrec's In the Street (Gigolots and Gigolettes), she whispers to Brad, "His father does the same thing whenever we go to the Walters. He's seen the Rochester Bible on display there a hundred times, but each time he sees something new. And when they opened the collection of Roman artifacts back when Nate was in college, Nate spent an entire week of his summer break there.")
A day-long museum stroll followed by a debate between Thai and Italian for supper is not anything Brad expected to do on his vacation, but he has a good time.
He's not sure how they're going to work the logistics of her staying: Nate's sofa folds out, but he can't imagine the pair of them sleeping on it comfortably while Nate's mom's in his bedroom; they can't make her sleep on it, either. Beyond that, Brad's not a prude, but there is no way in hell he can manage to keep his hands off Nate in such a confined space, and he cannot fuck Nate with his mom in the next room.
She solves that problem when she hugs Nate tightly and then turns to Brad expectantly. He offers her his hand, and instead of shaking it, she uses it to pull him closer and brush dry kiss on his cheek.
"I have reservations at the Intercontinental for the evening, and my flight back to Baltimore leaves early, so I'll say goodbye now." She hugs Nate again. "Next time, Nathaniel, bring your sergeant home with you instead of running off without an explanation."
4. Tom Ricks
Tom really thinks his misunderstanding the situation was perfectly reasonable.
Dartmouth, 1998
Most of the students have drifted away by the time Tom shuts down his laptop - a total waste of time; he hadn't really used the slides much during his presentation - but there are a few waiting patiently for his attention.
One, a fresh-faced kid, steps forward the moment Tom's got his briefcase closed. He fingers the strap of worn messenger bag absently as he asks, "I enjoyed your seminar, Mr. Ricks. I was wondering, though, Making The Corps is about the process for the enlisted. Do you have any insights about the officer corps and OCS?"
Yes, yes he does. And he's happy to share them. Tom doesn't even realize how much time passes, because the kid - "Nate, Nate Fick, sir." - asks leading questions, and Tom keeps answering them.
They only stop when a pretty redhead interrupts, sliding her arm around Nate's waist and chiding him about not letting the other students speak. The tips of Nate's ears turn red when he's embarrassed, Tom notes, and the girl's elbow nudges his side gently, taking any sting out of her comment.
Tom's soon distracted by another student, and when he glances up, Nate and the girl are on their way out, their fingers entwined.
Washington, DC, 2004
The intern looks vaguely familiar, but Tom doesn't remember where they've met until Michelle tells him, "Sit down, Nate. You're not in the Corps any longer; you don't have to stand at attention until we're all seated."
Nate. Nate Fick, Nate--oh, yes. Dartmouth.
Well.
After the end of the review, when Nate gathers up all the leftover briefing materials, Tom asks, "Is it ego to ask if your stint in the Corps was my fault?"
Nate smiles wryly. "Well, you didn't dissuade me, let's put it that way."
Once the floodgates open, it's hard to close them. Tom's talked to plenty of officers about Afghanistan and Iraq, but most of them are colonels or higher rank, and it's refreshing to hear from someone who was boots on the ground, even if their feelings about the military experience in Iraq are mixed. Especially if their feelings are mixed, really.
Tom ends up squished in the chair in the corner of Nate's cubicle, which is filled with neat stacks of paperwork, a relatively new computer. The only personal items are two photos: one of Nate and another officer in their Class As, two women in formal gowns leaning into their sides, and one of a platoon of soldiers surrounding a statue of Saddam Hussein.
"Your platoon? And your girl?"
"Hm, yes. Before and after. That was the Marine Corps Birthday Ball in 2002. And those are my men." His finger rubs the glass, swiping over his own image and that of the grunt next to him, across the stars and stripes.
Cambridge, 2006
To: ncfick@gmail.com
From: tericks@wapo.com
Re: next Thursday
Nate,
I'm going to be in town for the day, if you want meet so we can discuss your thesis. I'm not a faculty member, but I'd be happy to give you my two cents about it.
Cheers,
Tom
To: tericks@wapo.com
From: ncfick@gmail.com
Re: Re: next Thursday
Out of office reply: I'm out of the office from 15-25June. When I return, I'll respond to messages in the order they're received. Mom, we've got my cell phone if Sandy goes into labor. Corporal Person, we really do not need any more suggestions for activities to fill our vacation time.
Washington, DC, 2008
Tom shouldn't be as amused as he is.
He and Nate were reviewing the final cut for the intern applications for 2009, the last thing on both of their agendas before taking some well-deserved vacation, when his cell phone rang, and he'd answered it with an apology to Tom.
Tom ignores it, mostly, letting Nate's tone tell him when the conversation draws to a close and they can get back to business.
"...thanks, Rachel, but--" there's a stream of words from Nate's cell phone that Tom can't quite parse, and Nate just rolls his eyes.
"Fine. I'll see you and the rest of your family at the airport. No. Oh my god, I'm at work, don't talk to me about condoms. I'm at work. Goodbye, Rachel. Give the phone to--"
He pauses.
"Hey, yeah. Love you too." Nate glances at Tom and then looks away. His cheeks are pale, but the tips of his ears are red.
"Sorry about that. I'm not sure how I got talked into a joint vacation. The entire family is incorrigible."
"In-laws are an acquired taste. In that you eventually acquire the taste for whiskey to help you deal with them if you love your wife or girlfriend."
Nate's ear redden further. "Yeah, well. Anyway. I like this applicant, Charlie, and maybe Dan. What about..."
Washington, DC, this morning
Nate makes awesome coffee. He always smiles and says he learned from the best when someone comments, and Tom laughs, thinking about Rudy Reyes giving his platoon lessons on grind consistency and proper water temperature in between calisthenics and target practice.
Tom's daily routine may or may not include waiting until Nate's been seen in the CNAS kitchen before heading down the hall to fill his mug. His is not the only mug waiting to be filled.
They usually set themselves up at the counter as they drink that first round, listening to the morning's headlines and discussing the day's agendas. John is mid-rant when Colin comes in and fumbles for the the TV remote, switching from CNN to Al Jazeera English.
"Marines in Musa Qala, Helmand Province, suffered the loss of three troops in a small arms attack--"
The others are glued to the TV, waiting for details, but Nate puts his mug down abruptly and walks away.
Now
Nate's thrown himself into work. He's been in his office for hours, and his desk is, quite literally, clear now. Tom's stopped by multiple times and tried to talk, but Nate's been unresponsive.
Tom's just about to try again, his knuckles inches from knocking on the open office door, on his way to convince Nate to at least come out for dinner before he goes back to brooding about the loss of Marines that he isn't there to control -- Tom gets that Nate's got some control issues, but being so attached to the Corps five years after leaving is unhealthy -- when the phone rings, and is immediately answered.
"Fick." The combination of worry and command in Nate's voice makes it brusque, short. Nate's facing away, but Tom can see by the way his shoulders tighten that Nate's tension has reached the breaking point.
"Nate." The line crackles, and the speakerphone distorts it, but Tom recognizes that voice.
Nate's shoulders slump and his breath rushes out in a combination of relief and affection. "Brad."
Oh. Oh.
Okay.
5. Brad's CO
Colonel Earl Donovan did not earn the right to lead a battalion of Recon Marines by being unobservant.
He doesn't give a shit who his men fuck as long as they're competent at their jobs, and Master Sergeant Brad Colbert is the best company sergeant he's ever had.
Donovan's heard Colbert's story; the grapevine has deep roots at Pendleton. Cheating girlfriend and best friend, inability to trust, long deployments overseas making establishing relationships difficult. Other NCOs say Colbert's married to the Corps, and that goes a long way. Look at General Mattis, for fuck's sake.
He almost believes it. He's never seen Colbert so much as look at another man. Colbert trash-talks with the other enlisted as much as is appropriate for his rank, and he's been known to share his wank material, including the Colbert tradition of an end-of-tour new mag for his team. But he's also never seen or heard rumor of Colbert accepting so much as a drink from a woman hitting on him at a bar, and Colbert always manages to use genderless pronouns when discussing his vacation adventures.
Still, Donovan's never so glad that Don't Ask, Don't Tell is a thing of the past as he is when he's out Christmas shopping with Kendra, and she tugs him to a halt with a, "Honey, isn't that--"
He looks where's she's pointing, and yes, Colbert's standing outside the Apple store. Someone else might think he's admiring the display of the latest upgrade to the iPad, but Donovan's heard the man's rants.
They're only a few meters away, on their way to a casual greeting, when Colbert straightens and turns toward a man exiting the store.
Donovan's estimate is that the unknown subject is in his mid-thirties. Tall, with light brown hair, and the upright posture that screams military experience. He approaches Colbert and smiles.
"Got it. Check one more item off the Colbert-Fick family gift list."
Colbert rolls his eyes and takes the bag without verbal comment as they turn toward the mall exit.
"Yes, yes, I know. It's terrible, the way I expose you to the ignominies of organized religion and family gatherings, on top of subjecting you to the whims of Steve Jobs' evil empire. You make so many sacrifices for my happiness."
Colbert lets his hip bump his companion's gently, deliberately, and Donovan can just barely hear his comment as they move out of earshot.
"Relationships are all about compromise, sir. But don't worry; I'll take it out in trade."
(Bonus: Evan Wright
"What? They weren't sneaking off behind berms together when we were in Iraq?")
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