Carob #3, Vanilla Custard #23, with Chopped Nuts, Cherry, and Brownie - Jarhead
Title: Jarhead
Summary: Angie’s enlistment, basic training, and graduation.
Timeline: October 2003 to October 2005 - Angie and Rayne are 16 to 18, Sarah is 14 to 16.
Challenge: Carob #3 (superiority), Vanilla Custard #25 (25. Are you going to deny the savior in front of your eyes? - The Night by Disturbed)
Toppings/Extras: Chopped Nuts, Brownie, Cherry (present tense)
Word Count: 5,017
Rating: R
Notes: I take full responsibility if there is anything in here that isn’t correct. Everything about basic training is written with internet research and remembered stories from a friend’s time at Parris Island.
Just because she was out of her parent’s house and in foster care, it didn’t mean Angie’s life was suddenly amazing. Two times a week, she had to go to some therapist and talk about her feelings, and her life, and that was sort of really bullshit. For a while, everyone thinks she might have bipolar disorder, but then the doctors decide that she doesn’t. She’s just pissed all the time.
That’s just fine with her.
After a while, she starts pushing. She pushes her foster parents, she pushes her teachers, and she pushes the kids at school. She’s angry at what seems like everything, because life isn’t fair, and she isn’t scared of anything or anyone. What are they going to do? Hit her? Been there, done that, got the crappy life story and scars.
Eventually, they get tired of her. They all do. She bounces from home to home, from trouble to trouble, until she turns eighteen and the state seems happy to throw her out on her ass.
~~~
The day after she turns eighteen, Angie turns up on a doorstep that’s only vaguely familiar to her. She had only been here for a few weeks, but she knows the address and the phone number by heart, because Sarah never left. The foster parents don’t let her in. They’ve kept up with her ‘wrong doings’. But Angie refuses to leave, and sits just past their property line so they can’t call the cops on her. She stays there until Sarah comes out.
Their conversation is short, because there isn’t much to say. Sarah says she’s happy, and Angie knows she’s telling the truth. Angie says she doesn’t know where she’s going. It just depends on how far a little over a hundred dollars can get her. Sarah goes back inside with that, and comes back out with a wad of bills. She refuses to take them back, and Angie grudgingly says thank you.
They hug, and for a brief moment Angie wishes she could stay. Sarah is pretty much the only thing she has left, but she won’t be her anchor. Her sister has potential, and she won’t drag her down.
~~~
It turns out that her money and Sarah’s money combined can get her to Iowa, which is really fucking bullshit. It’s a million acres of corn, and Angie doesn’t even fucking like corn. So she does what she can to start saving up money again, just to get out of there. She takes odd jobs, because she can’t seem to hold down an actual one, and it goes alright for a while.
But then she gets kicked out of her cheap and shitty motel, and has to live at the not so cheap and shitty motel, and all of her money starts to go down the drain. So she does something stupid to try and make a quick buck, so she can do that eating thing that everyone seems so crazy about. Then it goes wrong, and she ends up arrested, and the judge she gets put in front of gives her a decision.
Enlist, or go to jail. It’s an easy choice.
~~~
The night before she ships off to Parris Island, Angie isn’t surprised to find she can’t sleep. She’ll sleep on the bus, which is fine with her. From what’s she heard, she’ll be up for an entire day and a half after she arrives, so she’ll need all the sleep she can get. The last few weeks have been nothing but memorizing drills and ranks, the core values and history of the Marines, the characteristics of the M16A2 rifle, and whatever else Sarah felt was important.
Angie thought it was just as important, but for different reasons. Sarah wanted to make sure Angie would know whatever the D.I.s asked her. Angie just wanted to make sure she didn’t fuck up, because she was certain this was her absolute last chance to not become like her parents. So here she was, reciting the Marine Rifle Creed to herself, and giving up on sleep. Eventually, she gives up on reciting, and decides to go for a walk that may or may not lead to trouble.
~~~
It definitely leads to trouble. Angie knows that at soon as she turns a corner along the beach, and spots her. Angie stops in her tracks and just stares for a moment, feeling as if her skin is three sizes too small and her stomach has dropped somewhere down into her toes. The feeling only intensifies as the woman that stands just a few yards away turns to look at her with a look of natural confidence that Angie immediately envies.
They stand in silence, staring at each other; Angie dumbstruck, and her with a lazy smirk and raised eyebrow. Eventually, Angie is able to move, and resumes her walk. It seems completely natural as the redhead falls into step beside her.
She speaks first. “It’s a bit late to be out walking, isn’t it?”
Angie shrugs, trying to speak with a tongue that feels far too large for her mouth. “Can’t sleep. Nothing else to do. Thought I might as well see the beach one last time before I head off tomorrow.”
“Vacation?” She asks, sending a coy glance over.
Angie feels a blush rise at the back of her neck, and wonders where the hell it’s even coming from. “Basic training.”
She seems impressed, though it takes her a moment to answer. Instead, she gathers her mass of red curls in her hands, and ties them back behind her neck. “NAVY?”
Angie has to resist the urge to lift her hair up and kiss the nape of her neck, before she forces herself back into the conversation. “I should be insulted. Marines.”
She smiles then, blue eyes sparkling with mischief, and Angie feels her toes curl inside her shoes. “Ah. Jarhead.”
“Hopefully.” Angie answers, voice unconsciously husky.
Her smile widens, and Angie watches in envy as her teeth played with her bottom lip. They continue to walk in electrified silence, before she speaks up again. “Do me a favor?”
“Anything.” And Angie means it.
“Don’t get the Jarhead haircut. You’ll look like an asshole.”
Angie surprises the both of them by laughing.
~~~
She doesn’t sleep on the bus ride. Instead, she spends the entire bus ride writing letters, amazed that she has more than one person to write letters to.
“Since you asked me for a favor, I think I have to right to do the same.”
“Alright.”
“Mind if I write you while I’m gone? Otherwise, it’ll just be me writing my sister, and that’s sort of really fucking pathetic.”
She regrets not sleeping, once the first day and a half is finished. Immediately, she was lined up and told how to address the drill instructors (Loudly and clearly, and always ‘Sir’ or ‘Ma’am’.), and she wasn’t even into the building before she learned her first lesson; the absolute, non-breakable laws that they would live by for the next thirteen weeks. After that, it was paperwork, getting her hair cut (Not into the Jarhead look, but she does decide to go for G.I. Jane.), turning in every bit of civilian clothing and articles she owns, and getting her initial uniforms and field gear.
She learns fast that everything in Marine BT is done by the numbers. She learns ever faster that the D.I.s don’t play, but she didn’t expect them to. Within the first hour of constant yelling, two of the other girls have fallen into tears. Angie barely notices. She’s been screamed at her entire life.
~~~
When they’re told they’ll be doing the IST next, Angie nearly smiles. This is the part she’s been looking forward to, because if there’s one thing she’s certain of, it’s her ability to pass this. She’s fine with the yelling and the demeaning and only being known as ‘recruit’ for the next thirteen weeks, but she can’t wait for the challenge of physical training.
The run and crunches are fine. A mile and a half in fifteen minutes was child’s play, and she meets the crunch number in half the time she’s given. It’s dumb luck, and sheer will, and a certain redhead in mind that helps her pass the flex arm hang. Afterward, her arms feel like they’re on fire and might fall off, but at least she doesn’t have to go to conditional training.
~~~
Slowly, it all starts to sink in. It’s not ‘I’ or ‘me’, it’s ‘this recruit’. She answers the drill instructors as loud as possible. The correct lingo sets in, and she’ll use it for the rest of her life. Its physical training, and twenty minutes exactly to eat each meal, and exactly one hour of free time put in somewhere. Angie uses that hour the same way, every day. Shower, shave, write letters, read letters, talk to the other recruits if the conversation interests her.
She learns what not to do faster when she makes mistakes, but that possibly counts for everyone. The tongue lashing and verbal dressing down don’t even make her blink, but quarter-decking sticks with her.
At the end of the day, she falls into her bed and immediately falls asleep. The day wears her out too much to try and stay awake and think things over. That’s what their free time is for.
Rayne is always the last thing she thinks of before she climbs into bed. She’s the first thing on her mind when the drill instructors jerk them back into the land of the living.
~~~
Somewhere around week eight, Angie gets called to the D.I. House during free time. She has no idea why, but she’d be lying if she said that there weren’t nervous tremors going up her spine. Still, she puts on her mask and looks calm and badass, and heads on over.
She’s told that her father has died, and she’s been given emergency leave to attend the funeral and take care of whatever she needed to take care of. Her mask fell, though Angie was certain that the drill instructor was a bit shocked to see an ice cold expression fall into place. Other than an eye twitch, there wasn’t an outside show of the anger that raged through her veins.
“Sir, this recruit would only go to her father’s funeral if she got to spit into the coffin, sir. This recruit feels as if her parents can rot in hell for all eternity, sir! Sir, may this recruit return to free time, sir?”
The drill instructor dismisses her, and that is that. Sarah doesn’t mention it in her next letter, and Angie only mentions something to Rayne in passing. It is never brought up again.
~~~
One day, she’s running late with her schedule during her hour of free time, because the gods hate her. She’s in the shower when she hears that the drill instructors will be doing an inspection in less than five minutes, and she knows she’s really screwed. In the end, she manages to make it out and dry off, but doesn’t even have time to put on her clothes before she hears the barrack doors slam open.
Sighing, Angie runs a hand over her cropped head, and does the only thing she can think of. She reverts into smartass mode. By the time the instructor doing inspection makes it to her rack, she’s standing in position; feet spread shoulder width apart, back straight, arms folded behind her back, and without a stitch of clothing on.
She stares straight ahead as deafening silence falls, and she can sense the other recruits around her begin to tense up as they await the punishment that is sure to fall to all of them. Time slows as the instructor in front of her narrows her eyes, and Angie feels her heart stop once she begins to bark out her next words.
“Recruit! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Ma’am, this recruit found herself unprepared for the surprise inspection, ma’am! This recruit thought that it would be better to stay in formation and break dress code than choose any other option, ma’am!”
Silence falls again, and Angie is positive that she’s going to drop dead right then and there if her heart doesn’t start working again. The next words shouted at her, before the instructor moved on, nearly finish the job.
“Put on some fucking clothes, recruit!”
~~~
Angie knows she has to be extremely careful throughout boot camp. She doesn’t know where she and Rayne stand, but there is no denying the fact that she knows she is one hundred percent gay. Keeping anyone else from finding out is nerve wracking. There’s no hiding the fact that she’s more masculine than any other recruit in her barracks, but she doesn’t go out of her way to make it more obvious than it is.
She avoids conversations about significant others with simple answers like she never has time for a boyfriend, or she just avoids all together. Her letters to and from Rayne are kept carefully platonic and friendly, something that drives Angie insane. Never before would she think herself a liar, but something about not telling the other woman how she feels certainly seems like lying, somehow. Eventually, she remembers something from her sixth grade notes, and the next letter she sends tells Rayne to ask Sarah about that. Waiting for Rayne’s answering letter to arrive is pure torture.
When she gets it, Angie hides her disappointment at seeing how thin the envelope is, and her confusion at how oddly the letter is written.
Angie,
I’ll let you to guess where my new job is. Have you guessed it yet? If your answer is a bar, then I am pleased to tell you that you’re right. No remarks from the peanut gallery, please? I know you have a few prepared, but I don’t want to hear them. I grew up in bars, as sad as it is, and I have a love for them that nearly nothing can match. I hope to hear from you soon.
Rayne
She’s ashamed at how long it takes her to remember what she said in her last letter. Smoothing the paper out with trembling hands, she runs a finger along the right edge of the paper, looking at the words at the end of each line.
‘I love you.’
Angie doesn’t know how she manages to keep from jumping around in joy, and proclaiming that someone as wonderful as Rayne loves her.
~~~
The night before the Crucible, she's unable to sleep. It's asking for disaster, but even with how exhausted she is from the day's activities, sleep eludes her. Excitement runs through her veins so much that she's amazed that her body doesn't spontaneously combust while she stares at the ceiling from her rack. After the Crucible, she'll move from recruit to Marine. After the Crucible, she'll see Rayne and Sarah for the Emblem Ceremony. After the Crucible, she'll be allowed a ten day leave.
Angie had no idea how she'll be able to treat Rayne like just a friend, when it’s so much more than that. She only prayed that somehow, she'd be able to, with Rayne and Sarah's help. Otherwise, she'd probably have a dishonorable discharge slapped on her so hard she saw stars... if she got to the point where such a thing was eligible. Somehow, she’s able to fall into a light doze, but it barely makes a difference once they’re woken and told to prepare.
The next fifty-four hours are pure hell. It’s forty-eight miles of marching and obstacle courses, with barely eight hours of sleep over the entire process, and only three MREs. Angie is positive that she’s going to simply collapse from exhaustion and die three separate times, but two people flash through her mind and help her keep going. The last night before the Reaper, she’s trembling so bad from exhaustion that she manages to shake herself awake before finally falling into a troubled sleep.
~~~
Angie barely remembers the nine mile hike back to base. She knows that by the time they pass the gas chambers, her BDUs are soaked with sweat, and her legs and lungs feel like they’re on fire. When they reach the Parade deck, only two things flash through her mind with each footstep. Rayne, smiling, barefoot on the beach. Sarah, pulling her to a hug before she went and bought a bus ticket to Iowa.
Finally, they get the order to halt. It’s over, and she somehow survived. If she didn’t feel like she was about to vomit from sheer exhaustion, she’d smile. Instead, she follows the rest of the recruits, grounds her pack, and stacks her weapon. After nearly three days of wearing a Kevlar helmet, the soft cap is almost heavenly.
~~~
The next morning, pain wakes her up better than any coffee could have, hours before they’re meant to be awake. Her muscles scream at her in protest every time she moves, but Angie does her best to ignore it. Instead, she lies in bed and flexes every muscle as best as she can until the pain starts to dissipate. By the time the agony has gone down from a ten to a four, the ordeal has tired her out enough to nearly drift off back to sleep.
And then she remembers what day it is, and she’s awake all over again. Lying in her rack and staring at the ceiling for the next few hours are possibly worse than the Crucible ever could have been, because the Crucible distracted her from the thought that Rayne and Sarah would be here soon. Sooner than soon. They were going to arrive at Parris Island that evening, and then... Then, the day after was Family Day. They would have their last run at 0700 hours, and the Liberty Ceremony would start at 0950. After that, she’d have five hours to show them around base.
Angie is suddenly filled with self-doubt.
~~~
The next morning, she waits on the Parade deck with the rest of her platoon, in the required stance. Hands behind her back, her fingers jerk and twitch with nervous energy as her eyes scan the crowd. Any hint of red hair has her heart leaping into her throat before her eyes can scan the face. Every time, her heart falls, because it isn’t Rayne. Then, finally, moments before they’re set to start their run, she sees her.
Sarah is standing next to her, barely visible with her short height and the crowd, but Angie hardly notices. All she can see is Rayne’s curly mass of red hair, and blue eyes, and proud, adoring smile. Angie suddenly feels as if she could do the Crucible in one day. Tearing her eyes away from the crowd, she faces the front as the commanding officers start the run. A few more seconds and she’s running behind them, feeling as if her feet aren’t even touching the ground.
~~~
1000 hours doesn’t come fast enough. By the time it rolls around, and the new Marines can personally meet their guests, Angie feels like she’s about to explode out of her skin. As soon as she can move, she’s darting through the crowd, looking for any sign of red curls and curves. The way it happens is horribly clichéd and something out of a movie, but Angie will be damned if she says she wishes it had gone some other way. She turns around, and the crowd parts, and there they are.
Time freezes, and she can’t move. It’s the beach all over again. But where she’s rooted to her spot, Rayne and Sarah can obviously move fine. Before she knows what’s happening, Sarah has her arms wrapped around her, and Angie is returning the hug with as much force as she can manage and not break one of her little sister’s ribs. Once they let go, Angie looks at Rayne, and has no idea what to do when she steps forward to receive her own hug.
As much as they try to make it seem platonic, they both know the truth of it. A shudder goes through Angie as Rayne wraps her arms around her and runs a hand up her spine, and she’s suddenly very aware that she hasn’t been laid in three months. There’s just enough time for Angie to press her nose into Rayne’s hair, and for Rayne to brush a kiss over the shell of her ear before they have to pull apart, and Angie feels like every nerve ending in her body is filled with electricity.
They could leave immediately after the graduation ceremony, and then they had ten days. They had lasted this long so far. Another day would be nothing.
~~~
The Emblem Ceremony is the next day. As much as Angie wants to keep her eyes on Rayne at all times, she knows she can’t. Instead, she faces forward, feet shoulder width apart, hands behind her back as the chaplain and first sergeant go through their speeches. The color guard raises the flag, and the drill instructor starts to pass out the eagle, globe and anchor, and Angie feels apprehension run up and down her spine by the time it’s her turn.
She’s passed the emblem, and her hand is shaken. The next words spoken are enough to send a lump into her throat and make tears start to burn behind her eyes.
“Good work, Marine.”
~~~
They leave as soon as the graduation ends. Sarah gladly chills in the back seat of what Angie can only assume is Rayne’s car, while Rayne drives and Angie takes shotgun. As soon as they’re off of Parris Island and on the way to their hotel, Angie reaches over to grab Rayne’s free hand, and link their fingers together. Smiling, Rayne runs a thumb over the back of her knuckles, and Angie never before knew that her hand had nerves that connected directly to the base of her spine.
She hasn’t been laid in three months. Glancing over to the driver’s seat, Angie’s catches a smirk and a wink from Rayne, and she knows then that Rayne somehow just read her mind.
Three months, and hopefully not a day longer.
~~~
There are a lot of things she wants to say, but the fact that her little sister is in the back seat keeps most of it in. Angie may love to torture Sarah sometimes, but not even she is that evil. Still, the banter and teasing goes back and forth, and it doesn’t take long at all for Rayne to make a comment about how muscular Angie has gotten.
Sending a glance towards the back seat, Angie is unable to hold back a wicked smile. “Babe, I’ve got muscles you’ve never even dreamed of.”
The tortured scream from the back seat sends her into peals of laughter.
~~~
It’s dark by the time they arrive at the hotel, and Angie can’t help but stare at Rayne’s choice of accommodations. It’s fancier than anywhere she’s been before, but Angie is proud to say that she can afford it. It isn’t like her pay from BT is being used for other things. They check in, and the elevator ride up is torturous. The sexual tension between Angie and Rayne is nearly palpable, and Sarah bolts from the elevator as soon as the door opens.
Glancing around the hallway as they make their way to their room, Angie is glad to see that the rooms are far apart, the walls are thick. She doubts that there is anyone here that could report her back to base, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t worried about risking it. By the time they reach the room, Angie feels like her skin is too small and her blood is on fire. The door closes, she drops her bags, and immediately turns to Sarah.
“Sis... Go for a walk.”
Sarah opens her mouth to argue, before she glances between Rayne and Angie with a disgusted grimace. “Whatever. I’ll be back in two hours, so try to be decent by then.”
“Three hours.” Angie argues.
“Two and a half!” With that, Sarah slams the door behind her, and it’s like the spark to a fuse.
Angie turns to look at Rayne, and there’s a moment of tense silence before they rush for each other. Rayne’s legs are wrapping around her waist, her fingernails are scraping at the back of Angie’s neck, and Angie doesn’t remember the last time she’s been this turned on.
~~~
They fuck with the knowledge that Angie has ten days to heal. It’s hard and rough, with teeth and fingernails, and bruising grips and pulled hair. Angie doesn’t break the skin, though she leaves plenty of bite shaped bruises along Rayne’s neck and shoulders, and the insides of her thighs to make her mark. Rayne has no qualms against breaking skin, and the bleeding scratch marks down Angie’s back, and ass, and thighs can attest to that.
Somewhere along the way, they stop being so rough. It’s all soothing kisses and tongue, and slow movement and thrusts, and whispered promises. They switch between hard and slow, rough and tender, until they’re too exhausted to do anything other than lay there and trace designs on the other’s skin, and talk. Angie isn’t sure how many times she says she loves her, but she feels like it isn’t enough. Every time Rayne responds with the same, Angie hates that she feels a moment of disbelief before warmth that sex could never give her spreads through her blood.
Eventually, they notice the time and climb out of bed. They pick up their clothes, they take separate showers, and they bandage their wounds. Fallen furniture is picked up and slid back into place, but there’s no denying that the room smells completely of sex and sweat.
To Sarah’s credit, she doesn’t say a thing when she comes back into the room. When Rayne isn’t looking, she raises an eyebrow in Angie’s direction. The devilish smile she gets in return causes her to laugh through a blush.
~~~
Angie wakes up around midnight by the sound of the balcony door opening. Weeks of having to wake up at the snap of a finger has her instantly alert, and a glance over her shoulder shows her Sarah walking out onto the balcony and lean against the railing. For a moment, she simply watches before she makes a decision to move. Carefully, she untangles herself from around Rayne and walks towards the sliding door with a quietness she wouldn’t have had three months ago.
Sarah doesn’t look up as Angie joins her and slides the door shut. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’m used to having to wake up at the drop of a hat. Everything is going to wake me up from now on.” Yawning, Angie rubs a hand over what’s left of her hair as she takes in the view. “What’s up, sis?”
“Nothing’s up.”
“Bullshit.”
Sarah doesn’t answer that, and only stares at the ground below. Angie makes no move to talk again, waiting for Sarah to take the first step.
“I just - It’s weird.” She finally speaks, and pauses again. In the low light, Angie can see her worrying her bottom lip with her teeth before she shrugs. “You’re... happy. I don’t remember seeing that, Sissy. Ever. But now you are happy, and - God, this is going to sound stupid.”
“As stupid as when we tried to make up our own language when we were kids?”
“Probably. I don’t know. I just - I don’t know how to deal with you happy. I can deal with you pissed off, and sad, and just - neutral to everything. Especially you pissed off. But I don’t know what to do with happy, and it... sort of bothers me that I didn’t help with that at all.”
They fall into silence again, as Angie thinks that over and Sarah tries to think of any way to take it back.
“No offense, sis, but... you’re sort of a dumbass, you know that? And I say that lovingly.”
Sarah only snorts, but Angie can tell she’s listening.
“All of this that’s happened over the last few years? Us going into the system, and me bouncing around so much, and you finding that awesome family that actually gives you the attention you deserve? And the fact that it got me into therapy, and I got over a fuckton of my problems in there? You remember all that?”
“Yeah...”
“None of that would have happened if it weren’t for you. I’d probably still be rotting in jail, but instead I - well, I became a fuck up. But becoming a fuck up led to the two best things that have ever happened to me. The Corps and...” Angie trails off, waving a hand towards the sliding glass door and the woman still asleep on the other side. “And her. None of it would have happened without you. Not the system, not the foster houses, not Iowa... Definitely not Rayne. So don’t you ever say you’ve never made me happy again, or I will drag your short midget ass back to Parris Island, and make you do the Reaper.”
“Watch who you call midget, you fucking Jarhead!”
“You’re goddamn right, I’m a Jarhead! Hoo-fucking-rah, midget.”
“...Swear to God, I will tackle you off this balcony.”
Angie can only smile. “Try me.”
By the time they make it back inside, Rayne is partially awake and staring at the both of them like they’re insane. It only makes them laugh more, though how they have the breath to do so, Angie doesn’t know. By the time they calm down, Rayne’s fully awake and they decide to tell sleep to fuck off. Angie has ten days to catch up on sleep.
She has ten days to do whatever she wants.
Summary: Angie’s enlistment, basic training, and graduation.
Timeline: October 2003 to October 2005 - Angie and Rayne are 16 to 18, Sarah is 14 to 16.
Challenge: Carob #3 (superiority), Vanilla Custard #25 (25. Are you going to deny the savior in front of your eyes? - The Night by Disturbed)
Toppings/Extras: Chopped Nuts, Brownie, Cherry (present tense)
Word Count: 5,017
Rating: R
Notes: I take full responsibility if there is anything in here that isn’t correct. Everything about basic training is written with internet research and remembered stories from a friend’s time at Parris Island.
Just because she was out of her parent’s house and in foster care, it didn’t mean Angie’s life was suddenly amazing. Two times a week, she had to go to some therapist and talk about her feelings, and her life, and that was sort of really bullshit. For a while, everyone thinks she might have bipolar disorder, but then the doctors decide that she doesn’t. She’s just pissed all the time.
That’s just fine with her.
After a while, she starts pushing. She pushes her foster parents, she pushes her teachers, and she pushes the kids at school. She’s angry at what seems like everything, because life isn’t fair, and she isn’t scared of anything or anyone. What are they going to do? Hit her? Been there, done that, got the crappy life story and scars.
Eventually, they get tired of her. They all do. She bounces from home to home, from trouble to trouble, until she turns eighteen and the state seems happy to throw her out on her ass.
~~~
The day after she turns eighteen, Angie turns up on a doorstep that’s only vaguely familiar to her. She had only been here for a few weeks, but she knows the address and the phone number by heart, because Sarah never left. The foster parents don’t let her in. They’ve kept up with her ‘wrong doings’. But Angie refuses to leave, and sits just past their property line so they can’t call the cops on her. She stays there until Sarah comes out.
Their conversation is short, because there isn’t much to say. Sarah says she’s happy, and Angie knows she’s telling the truth. Angie says she doesn’t know where she’s going. It just depends on how far a little over a hundred dollars can get her. Sarah goes back inside with that, and comes back out with a wad of bills. She refuses to take them back, and Angie grudgingly says thank you.
They hug, and for a brief moment Angie wishes she could stay. Sarah is pretty much the only thing she has left, but she won’t be her anchor. Her sister has potential, and she won’t drag her down.
~~~
It turns out that her money and Sarah’s money combined can get her to Iowa, which is really fucking bullshit. It’s a million acres of corn, and Angie doesn’t even fucking like corn. So she does what she can to start saving up money again, just to get out of there. She takes odd jobs, because she can’t seem to hold down an actual one, and it goes alright for a while.
But then she gets kicked out of her cheap and shitty motel, and has to live at the not so cheap and shitty motel, and all of her money starts to go down the drain. So she does something stupid to try and make a quick buck, so she can do that eating thing that everyone seems so crazy about. Then it goes wrong, and she ends up arrested, and the judge she gets put in front of gives her a decision.
Enlist, or go to jail. It’s an easy choice.
~~~
The night before she ships off to Parris Island, Angie isn’t surprised to find she can’t sleep. She’ll sleep on the bus, which is fine with her. From what’s she heard, she’ll be up for an entire day and a half after she arrives, so she’ll need all the sleep she can get. The last few weeks have been nothing but memorizing drills and ranks, the core values and history of the Marines, the characteristics of the M16A2 rifle, and whatever else Sarah felt was important.
Angie thought it was just as important, but for different reasons. Sarah wanted to make sure Angie would know whatever the D.I.s asked her. Angie just wanted to make sure she didn’t fuck up, because she was certain this was her absolute last chance to not become like her parents. So here she was, reciting the Marine Rifle Creed to herself, and giving up on sleep. Eventually, she gives up on reciting, and decides to go for a walk that may or may not lead to trouble.
~~~
It definitely leads to trouble. Angie knows that at soon as she turns a corner along the beach, and spots her. Angie stops in her tracks and just stares for a moment, feeling as if her skin is three sizes too small and her stomach has dropped somewhere down into her toes. The feeling only intensifies as the woman that stands just a few yards away turns to look at her with a look of natural confidence that Angie immediately envies.
They stand in silence, staring at each other; Angie dumbstruck, and her with a lazy smirk and raised eyebrow. Eventually, Angie is able to move, and resumes her walk. It seems completely natural as the redhead falls into step beside her.
She speaks first. “It’s a bit late to be out walking, isn’t it?”
Angie shrugs, trying to speak with a tongue that feels far too large for her mouth. “Can’t sleep. Nothing else to do. Thought I might as well see the beach one last time before I head off tomorrow.”
“Vacation?” She asks, sending a coy glance over.
Angie feels a blush rise at the back of her neck, and wonders where the hell it’s even coming from. “Basic training.”
She seems impressed, though it takes her a moment to answer. Instead, she gathers her mass of red curls in her hands, and ties them back behind her neck. “NAVY?”
Angie has to resist the urge to lift her hair up and kiss the nape of her neck, before she forces herself back into the conversation. “I should be insulted. Marines.”
She smiles then, blue eyes sparkling with mischief, and Angie feels her toes curl inside her shoes. “Ah. Jarhead.”
“Hopefully.” Angie answers, voice unconsciously husky.
Her smile widens, and Angie watches in envy as her teeth played with her bottom lip. They continue to walk in electrified silence, before she speaks up again. “Do me a favor?”
“Anything.” And Angie means it.
“Don’t get the Jarhead haircut. You’ll look like an asshole.”
Angie surprises the both of them by laughing.
~~~
She doesn’t sleep on the bus ride. Instead, she spends the entire bus ride writing letters, amazed that she has more than one person to write letters to.
“Since you asked me for a favor, I think I have to right to do the same.”
“Alright.”
“Mind if I write you while I’m gone? Otherwise, it’ll just be me writing my sister, and that’s sort of really fucking pathetic.”
She regrets not sleeping, once the first day and a half is finished. Immediately, she was lined up and told how to address the drill instructors (Loudly and clearly, and always ‘Sir’ or ‘Ma’am’.), and she wasn’t even into the building before she learned her first lesson; the absolute, non-breakable laws that they would live by for the next thirteen weeks. After that, it was paperwork, getting her hair cut (Not into the Jarhead look, but she does decide to go for G.I. Jane.), turning in every bit of civilian clothing and articles she owns, and getting her initial uniforms and field gear.
She learns fast that everything in Marine BT is done by the numbers. She learns ever faster that the D.I.s don’t play, but she didn’t expect them to. Within the first hour of constant yelling, two of the other girls have fallen into tears. Angie barely notices. She’s been screamed at her entire life.
~~~
When they’re told they’ll be doing the IST next, Angie nearly smiles. This is the part she’s been looking forward to, because if there’s one thing she’s certain of, it’s her ability to pass this. She’s fine with the yelling and the demeaning and only being known as ‘recruit’ for the next thirteen weeks, but she can’t wait for the challenge of physical training.
The run and crunches are fine. A mile and a half in fifteen minutes was child’s play, and she meets the crunch number in half the time she’s given. It’s dumb luck, and sheer will, and a certain redhead in mind that helps her pass the flex arm hang. Afterward, her arms feel like they’re on fire and might fall off, but at least she doesn’t have to go to conditional training.
~~~
Slowly, it all starts to sink in. It’s not ‘I’ or ‘me’, it’s ‘this recruit’. She answers the drill instructors as loud as possible. The correct lingo sets in, and she’ll use it for the rest of her life. Its physical training, and twenty minutes exactly to eat each meal, and exactly one hour of free time put in somewhere. Angie uses that hour the same way, every day. Shower, shave, write letters, read letters, talk to the other recruits if the conversation interests her.
She learns what not to do faster when she makes mistakes, but that possibly counts for everyone. The tongue lashing and verbal dressing down don’t even make her blink, but quarter-decking sticks with her.
At the end of the day, she falls into her bed and immediately falls asleep. The day wears her out too much to try and stay awake and think things over. That’s what their free time is for.
Rayne is always the last thing she thinks of before she climbs into bed. She’s the first thing on her mind when the drill instructors jerk them back into the land of the living.
~~~
Somewhere around week eight, Angie gets called to the D.I. House during free time. She has no idea why, but she’d be lying if she said that there weren’t nervous tremors going up her spine. Still, she puts on her mask and looks calm and badass, and heads on over.
She’s told that her father has died, and she’s been given emergency leave to attend the funeral and take care of whatever she needed to take care of. Her mask fell, though Angie was certain that the drill instructor was a bit shocked to see an ice cold expression fall into place. Other than an eye twitch, there wasn’t an outside show of the anger that raged through her veins.
“Sir, this recruit would only go to her father’s funeral if she got to spit into the coffin, sir. This recruit feels as if her parents can rot in hell for all eternity, sir! Sir, may this recruit return to free time, sir?”
The drill instructor dismisses her, and that is that. Sarah doesn’t mention it in her next letter, and Angie only mentions something to Rayne in passing. It is never brought up again.
~~~
One day, she’s running late with her schedule during her hour of free time, because the gods hate her. She’s in the shower when she hears that the drill instructors will be doing an inspection in less than five minutes, and she knows she’s really screwed. In the end, she manages to make it out and dry off, but doesn’t even have time to put on her clothes before she hears the barrack doors slam open.
Sighing, Angie runs a hand over her cropped head, and does the only thing she can think of. She reverts into smartass mode. By the time the instructor doing inspection makes it to her rack, she’s standing in position; feet spread shoulder width apart, back straight, arms folded behind her back, and without a stitch of clothing on.
She stares straight ahead as deafening silence falls, and she can sense the other recruits around her begin to tense up as they await the punishment that is sure to fall to all of them. Time slows as the instructor in front of her narrows her eyes, and Angie feels her heart stop once she begins to bark out her next words.
“Recruit! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Ma’am, this recruit found herself unprepared for the surprise inspection, ma’am! This recruit thought that it would be better to stay in formation and break dress code than choose any other option, ma’am!”
Silence falls again, and Angie is positive that she’s going to drop dead right then and there if her heart doesn’t start working again. The next words shouted at her, before the instructor moved on, nearly finish the job.
“Put on some fucking clothes, recruit!”
~~~
Angie knows she has to be extremely careful throughout boot camp. She doesn’t know where she and Rayne stand, but there is no denying the fact that she knows she is one hundred percent gay. Keeping anyone else from finding out is nerve wracking. There’s no hiding the fact that she’s more masculine than any other recruit in her barracks, but she doesn’t go out of her way to make it more obvious than it is.
She avoids conversations about significant others with simple answers like she never has time for a boyfriend, or she just avoids all together. Her letters to and from Rayne are kept carefully platonic and friendly, something that drives Angie insane. Never before would she think herself a liar, but something about not telling the other woman how she feels certainly seems like lying, somehow. Eventually, she remembers something from her sixth grade notes, and the next letter she sends tells Rayne to ask Sarah about that. Waiting for Rayne’s answering letter to arrive is pure torture.
When she gets it, Angie hides her disappointment at seeing how thin the envelope is, and her confusion at how oddly the letter is written.
Angie,
I’ll let you to guess where my new job is. Have you guessed it yet? If your answer is a bar, then I am pleased to tell you that you’re right. No remarks from the peanut gallery, please? I know you have a few prepared, but I don’t want to hear them. I grew up in bars, as sad as it is, and I have a love for them that nearly nothing can match. I hope to hear from you soon.
Rayne
She’s ashamed at how long it takes her to remember what she said in her last letter. Smoothing the paper out with trembling hands, she runs a finger along the right edge of the paper, looking at the words at the end of each line.
‘I love you.’
Angie doesn’t know how she manages to keep from jumping around in joy, and proclaiming that someone as wonderful as Rayne loves her.
~~~
The night before the Crucible, she's unable to sleep. It's asking for disaster, but even with how exhausted she is from the day's activities, sleep eludes her. Excitement runs through her veins so much that she's amazed that her body doesn't spontaneously combust while she stares at the ceiling from her rack. After the Crucible, she'll move from recruit to Marine. After the Crucible, she'll see Rayne and Sarah for the Emblem Ceremony. After the Crucible, she'll be allowed a ten day leave.
Angie had no idea how she'll be able to treat Rayne like just a friend, when it’s so much more than that. She only prayed that somehow, she'd be able to, with Rayne and Sarah's help. Otherwise, she'd probably have a dishonorable discharge slapped on her so hard she saw stars... if she got to the point where such a thing was eligible. Somehow, she’s able to fall into a light doze, but it barely makes a difference once they’re woken and told to prepare.
The next fifty-four hours are pure hell. It’s forty-eight miles of marching and obstacle courses, with barely eight hours of sleep over the entire process, and only three MREs. Angie is positive that she’s going to simply collapse from exhaustion and die three separate times, but two people flash through her mind and help her keep going. The last night before the Reaper, she’s trembling so bad from exhaustion that she manages to shake herself awake before finally falling into a troubled sleep.
~~~
Angie barely remembers the nine mile hike back to base. She knows that by the time they pass the gas chambers, her BDUs are soaked with sweat, and her legs and lungs feel like they’re on fire. When they reach the Parade deck, only two things flash through her mind with each footstep. Rayne, smiling, barefoot on the beach. Sarah, pulling her to a hug before she went and bought a bus ticket to Iowa.
Finally, they get the order to halt. It’s over, and she somehow survived. If she didn’t feel like she was about to vomit from sheer exhaustion, she’d smile. Instead, she follows the rest of the recruits, grounds her pack, and stacks her weapon. After nearly three days of wearing a Kevlar helmet, the soft cap is almost heavenly.
~~~
The next morning, pain wakes her up better than any coffee could have, hours before they’re meant to be awake. Her muscles scream at her in protest every time she moves, but Angie does her best to ignore it. Instead, she lies in bed and flexes every muscle as best as she can until the pain starts to dissipate. By the time the agony has gone down from a ten to a four, the ordeal has tired her out enough to nearly drift off back to sleep.
And then she remembers what day it is, and she’s awake all over again. Lying in her rack and staring at the ceiling for the next few hours are possibly worse than the Crucible ever could have been, because the Crucible distracted her from the thought that Rayne and Sarah would be here soon. Sooner than soon. They were going to arrive at Parris Island that evening, and then... Then, the day after was Family Day. They would have their last run at 0700 hours, and the Liberty Ceremony would start at 0950. After that, she’d have five hours to show them around base.
Angie is suddenly filled with self-doubt.
~~~
The next morning, she waits on the Parade deck with the rest of her platoon, in the required stance. Hands behind her back, her fingers jerk and twitch with nervous energy as her eyes scan the crowd. Any hint of red hair has her heart leaping into her throat before her eyes can scan the face. Every time, her heart falls, because it isn’t Rayne. Then, finally, moments before they’re set to start their run, she sees her.
Sarah is standing next to her, barely visible with her short height and the crowd, but Angie hardly notices. All she can see is Rayne’s curly mass of red hair, and blue eyes, and proud, adoring smile. Angie suddenly feels as if she could do the Crucible in one day. Tearing her eyes away from the crowd, she faces the front as the commanding officers start the run. A few more seconds and she’s running behind them, feeling as if her feet aren’t even touching the ground.
~~~
1000 hours doesn’t come fast enough. By the time it rolls around, and the new Marines can personally meet their guests, Angie feels like she’s about to explode out of her skin. As soon as she can move, she’s darting through the crowd, looking for any sign of red curls and curves. The way it happens is horribly clichéd and something out of a movie, but Angie will be damned if she says she wishes it had gone some other way. She turns around, and the crowd parts, and there they are.
Time freezes, and she can’t move. It’s the beach all over again. But where she’s rooted to her spot, Rayne and Sarah can obviously move fine. Before she knows what’s happening, Sarah has her arms wrapped around her, and Angie is returning the hug with as much force as she can manage and not break one of her little sister’s ribs. Once they let go, Angie looks at Rayne, and has no idea what to do when she steps forward to receive her own hug.
As much as they try to make it seem platonic, they both know the truth of it. A shudder goes through Angie as Rayne wraps her arms around her and runs a hand up her spine, and she’s suddenly very aware that she hasn’t been laid in three months. There’s just enough time for Angie to press her nose into Rayne’s hair, and for Rayne to brush a kiss over the shell of her ear before they have to pull apart, and Angie feels like every nerve ending in her body is filled with electricity.
They could leave immediately after the graduation ceremony, and then they had ten days. They had lasted this long so far. Another day would be nothing.
~~~
The Emblem Ceremony is the next day. As much as Angie wants to keep her eyes on Rayne at all times, she knows she can’t. Instead, she faces forward, feet shoulder width apart, hands behind her back as the chaplain and first sergeant go through their speeches. The color guard raises the flag, and the drill instructor starts to pass out the eagle, globe and anchor, and Angie feels apprehension run up and down her spine by the time it’s her turn.
She’s passed the emblem, and her hand is shaken. The next words spoken are enough to send a lump into her throat and make tears start to burn behind her eyes.
“Good work, Marine.”
~~~
They leave as soon as the graduation ends. Sarah gladly chills in the back seat of what Angie can only assume is Rayne’s car, while Rayne drives and Angie takes shotgun. As soon as they’re off of Parris Island and on the way to their hotel, Angie reaches over to grab Rayne’s free hand, and link their fingers together. Smiling, Rayne runs a thumb over the back of her knuckles, and Angie never before knew that her hand had nerves that connected directly to the base of her spine.
She hasn’t been laid in three months. Glancing over to the driver’s seat, Angie’s catches a smirk and a wink from Rayne, and she knows then that Rayne somehow just read her mind.
Three months, and hopefully not a day longer.
~~~
There are a lot of things she wants to say, but the fact that her little sister is in the back seat keeps most of it in. Angie may love to torture Sarah sometimes, but not even she is that evil. Still, the banter and teasing goes back and forth, and it doesn’t take long at all for Rayne to make a comment about how muscular Angie has gotten.
Sending a glance towards the back seat, Angie is unable to hold back a wicked smile. “Babe, I’ve got muscles you’ve never even dreamed of.”
The tortured scream from the back seat sends her into peals of laughter.
~~~
It’s dark by the time they arrive at the hotel, and Angie can’t help but stare at Rayne’s choice of accommodations. It’s fancier than anywhere she’s been before, but Angie is proud to say that she can afford it. It isn’t like her pay from BT is being used for other things. They check in, and the elevator ride up is torturous. The sexual tension between Angie and Rayne is nearly palpable, and Sarah bolts from the elevator as soon as the door opens.
Glancing around the hallway as they make their way to their room, Angie is glad to see that the rooms are far apart, the walls are thick. She doubts that there is anyone here that could report her back to base, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t worried about risking it. By the time they reach the room, Angie feels like her skin is too small and her blood is on fire. The door closes, she drops her bags, and immediately turns to Sarah.
“Sis... Go for a walk.”
Sarah opens her mouth to argue, before she glances between Rayne and Angie with a disgusted grimace. “Whatever. I’ll be back in two hours, so try to be decent by then.”
“Three hours.” Angie argues.
“Two and a half!” With that, Sarah slams the door behind her, and it’s like the spark to a fuse.
Angie turns to look at Rayne, and there’s a moment of tense silence before they rush for each other. Rayne’s legs are wrapping around her waist, her fingernails are scraping at the back of Angie’s neck, and Angie doesn’t remember the last time she’s been this turned on.
~~~
They fuck with the knowledge that Angie has ten days to heal. It’s hard and rough, with teeth and fingernails, and bruising grips and pulled hair. Angie doesn’t break the skin, though she leaves plenty of bite shaped bruises along Rayne’s neck and shoulders, and the insides of her thighs to make her mark. Rayne has no qualms against breaking skin, and the bleeding scratch marks down Angie’s back, and ass, and thighs can attest to that.
Somewhere along the way, they stop being so rough. It’s all soothing kisses and tongue, and slow movement and thrusts, and whispered promises. They switch between hard and slow, rough and tender, until they’re too exhausted to do anything other than lay there and trace designs on the other’s skin, and talk. Angie isn’t sure how many times she says she loves her, but she feels like it isn’t enough. Every time Rayne responds with the same, Angie hates that she feels a moment of disbelief before warmth that sex could never give her spreads through her blood.
Eventually, they notice the time and climb out of bed. They pick up their clothes, they take separate showers, and they bandage their wounds. Fallen furniture is picked up and slid back into place, but there’s no denying that the room smells completely of sex and sweat.
To Sarah’s credit, she doesn’t say a thing when she comes back into the room. When Rayne isn’t looking, she raises an eyebrow in Angie’s direction. The devilish smile she gets in return causes her to laugh through a blush.
~~~
Angie wakes up around midnight by the sound of the balcony door opening. Weeks of having to wake up at the snap of a finger has her instantly alert, and a glance over her shoulder shows her Sarah walking out onto the balcony and lean against the railing. For a moment, she simply watches before she makes a decision to move. Carefully, she untangles herself from around Rayne and walks towards the sliding door with a quietness she wouldn’t have had three months ago.
Sarah doesn’t look up as Angie joins her and slides the door shut. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’m used to having to wake up at the drop of a hat. Everything is going to wake me up from now on.” Yawning, Angie rubs a hand over what’s left of her hair as she takes in the view. “What’s up, sis?”
“Nothing’s up.”
“Bullshit.”
Sarah doesn’t answer that, and only stares at the ground below. Angie makes no move to talk again, waiting for Sarah to take the first step.
“I just - It’s weird.” She finally speaks, and pauses again. In the low light, Angie can see her worrying her bottom lip with her teeth before she shrugs. “You’re... happy. I don’t remember seeing that, Sissy. Ever. But now you are happy, and - God, this is going to sound stupid.”
“As stupid as when we tried to make up our own language when we were kids?”
“Probably. I don’t know. I just - I don’t know how to deal with you happy. I can deal with you pissed off, and sad, and just - neutral to everything. Especially you pissed off. But I don’t know what to do with happy, and it... sort of bothers me that I didn’t help with that at all.”
They fall into silence again, as Angie thinks that over and Sarah tries to think of any way to take it back.
“No offense, sis, but... you’re sort of a dumbass, you know that? And I say that lovingly.”
Sarah only snorts, but Angie can tell she’s listening.
“All of this that’s happened over the last few years? Us going into the system, and me bouncing around so much, and you finding that awesome family that actually gives you the attention you deserve? And the fact that it got me into therapy, and I got over a fuckton of my problems in there? You remember all that?”
“Yeah...”
“None of that would have happened if it weren’t for you. I’d probably still be rotting in jail, but instead I - well, I became a fuck up. But becoming a fuck up led to the two best things that have ever happened to me. The Corps and...” Angie trails off, waving a hand towards the sliding glass door and the woman still asleep on the other side. “And her. None of it would have happened without you. Not the system, not the foster houses, not Iowa... Definitely not Rayne. So don’t you ever say you’ve never made me happy again, or I will drag your short midget ass back to Parris Island, and make you do the Reaper.”
“Watch who you call midget, you fucking Jarhead!”
“You’re goddamn right, I’m a Jarhead! Hoo-fucking-rah, midget.”
“...Swear to God, I will tackle you off this balcony.”
Angie can only smile. “Try me.”
By the time they make it back inside, Rayne is partially awake and staring at the both of them like they’re insane. It only makes them laugh more, though how they have the breath to do so, Angie doesn’t know. By the time they calm down, Rayne’s fully awake and they decide to tell sleep to fuck off. Angie has ten days to catch up on sleep.
She has ten days to do whatever she wants.