Generation Kill Wolf-verse AU Fic: When We Used to Sing
So, every once in a great while, I sit down to write something short, and it actually turns out to be short. It is never as fluffy as I think it is in my head, though. This short thing is a little tiny slice of life in Iraq, and it may or may not wind up reappearing in some form when I (finally) get to writing the long story about Iraq.
This story comes after Which in Your Case You Have Not Got chronologically. Thanks to
petra for beta!
Gen. 1300 words. PG.
Bo didn't hate her MOPP as much as most wolves did during the day.
When We Used to Sing
Bo didn't hate her MOPP as much as most wolves did during the day. She could tolerate an extra layer of insulation better than most. It was still irritating, potentially even dangerous if she had to stay in unrelieved heat for a long time, but she could bear up under it well enough to set a good example for her platoon.
At night, though--at night Bo loved it. Without a cold layer of sweat inside, a MOPP at night was as good as a parka, shutting out the desert cold. She trotted happily through the camp at the start of their night watch, catching the scent of each and every man and wolf in the platoon on the cold air--assuring herself that none of them smelled any worse than usual, in the case of the men, or in any way distressed, in the case of the wolves. She listened constantly to the distant shelling, keeping track of the different locations and the types of explosions--but it was all good guys' fire, and none of it even approached the line of danger close.
She circled around so that she ended her tour at Team One Alpha's Humvee, and she lingered at the edge of Evan's--hot broken plastic and an explosion of ink--grave. He was shivering in his sleep, and Bo ducked her head to breathe warmly against his cheek. He half-woke, blinked up at her and smiled, and Bo pressed her own name into his mind on her next exhale--a cool shadowed place in the midst of the hot sand. It was a wolf-mother's way of saying, I'm here, you're safe.
Evan understood, or had never really woken up. He nodded and closed his eyes again.
Bo raised her head and caught the scent of the wolf and man asleep in the next grave, a couple of meters away. She could go closer--they were her platoon as much as, more than, anyone--but her brother--
Bo jerked her head back toward her Humvee and pushed fresh ink on a sun-warmed page as hard as a slap.
Nate opened his eyes, pulling back into his own body.
He'd have interpreted Bo's next thought as a very exasperated Pup! if anyone asked, but it was more than that--the sight-and-smell image of a newborn pup, still wet and blind and helpless. Nate, bagged up with a day's worth of nearly-frozen sweat in his own MOPP, felt like the comparison was uncomfortably apt. His hand shook as he opened the Humvee's door to let Bo jump in, straight onto his lap.
You're freezing solid, Bo told him, and she didn't mean it as hyperbole; she meant he'd stopped shivering while he was riding along with her, enjoying the phantom warmth of her body.
He started to shake--from the idiotic near-miss, as well as the cold, while Bo huffed warm breath into the collar of his MOPP, turning her head aside to inhale fresher air each time, though he knew the inside of the Humvee barely smelled better to her than he did.
You're exhausted, Bo told him, and gave him that particular strain in the smell of himself. Nate nodded. He hadn't slept in a long time. But it was their watch now, and Nate could feel the others sleeping in the pack-sense--most of them at the habitual distance he always held the enlisted men of Second Platoon, but Mike, sleeping closest and always at his side, was a warm, open presence. Feeling the others sleep was almost as good as sleeping himself.
Like me being warm is as good as you being warm?
Nate smiled a little and pushed Bo down off his lap and into the footwell so he could lean forward and touch the radios, checking they were all still functioning. The magnets that closed the wolves' MOPPs sent them haywire periodically, to say nothing of the rate at which they died for no reason at all. But tonight's silence was only an ordinary quiet--apart from the shelling, and whatever was going on over on Third Platoon's turf that Bo could hear but studiously didn't listen to.
Sing something, Bo demanded, as she twisted around to get her teeth into Nate's cleanest t-shirt, tucked into the collar of her MOPP as a makeshift keffiyeh. She tugged it free, and Nate obediently shoved his hands into her open collar to keep warm, his fingers ruffling the short, silky fur over her shoulders. It's too quiet, you'll fall asleep, sing to me.
Nate folded down over his hands, putting his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes--watch was a misnomer anyway, it was really more about standing listen, and Bo would hear trouble coming before he would. And Navi, on watch fifteen meters away, would hear it before Bo.
Bo snapped her teeth amiably at that, even though she knew the special expertise of every wolf in the platoon better than Nate did. Sing.
Nate smiled and wiggled his fingers against her shoulders. He started to sing the tune almost under his breath, wordlessly because he had his teeth clenched to keep them from chattering. He sang the words in the bond, where she would hear them just as well. Hey, where did we go, days when the rains came--down in the hollow, playing a new game...
Bo gave him the impression of wagging her tail and dancing with pleasure while actually holding perfectly still so he could warm his hands on her, and Nate kept singing.
Mike joined in--only singing aloud at a volume the wolves could hear, but that meant Bo just as much as Ash, and the pack-sense between them was wide open anyway--on You're my brown-eyed girl. Nate grinned, and Bo magnanimously agreed to share her song even though her eyes, perfectly Crayola brown, qualified much more than Ash's amber ones did.
Nate nearly choked trying not to laugh when Ray came in on the sha la la la part, but he could feel dark-eyed Navi's delight at being also a part of the song, part of the pack-within-the-pack that the bitches of Second Platoon made up along with their brothers. Nate grinned and kept singing and didn't worry about anything at all except which version of the words to the last verse they were going to go with.
And then he heard--Navi heard, and gave to him, through Bo, through the wide open pack-sense of the pack-within-the-pack--Brad saying sleepily, tinged with his brother's shared amusement, You know that song is actually about fuck--
Ray and Mike both cut off to say Shut up, Brad, backed by the displeased growls of their sisters, but Nate was already shutting down all connection, closing himself off from the platoon until he knew nothing of them but that they were all around him, alive. The only wolf he could feel was Bo, still breathing his breath and warming his hands.
He raised his head and opened his eyes, and she stared back, brown eyes steady, in silent understanding. There was one pack-within-the-pack that Second Platoon could not afford. They had to be careful. They had shared that instant of wanting to answer Brad and Frost some other way, of knowing what the song actually meant and just exactly how it applied.
Bo blew out the sigh that Nate wouldn't allow himself, and shifted forward just enough to lay her head across Nate's thigh, her nose to his hip. Nate shivered and warmed his hands on his sister. He stared out at the desert, watching the distant flashes.
They were eclipsed, a second later, by Mike climbing into the driver's seat, and Ash leaping up onto his lap to sprawl across the space between them, resting her head on Nate's other thigh. Ash was a classic northern wolf, and her MOPP was half-unfastened; even through his own, Nate could feel her warmth against his leg.
"Couldn't sleep?" Nate said aloud, when he was sure he could get it out without his teeth chattering.
Mike nodded in his peripheral vision. "Too quiet."
This entry was originally posted at http://dira.dreamwidth.org/586264.html. There are currently
comments there.
This story comes after Which in Your Case You Have Not Got chronologically. Thanks to
petra for beta!
Gen. 1300 words. PG.
Bo didn't hate her MOPP as much as most wolves did during the day.
When We Used to Sing
Bo didn't hate her MOPP as much as most wolves did during the day. She could tolerate an extra layer of insulation better than most. It was still irritating, potentially even dangerous if she had to stay in unrelieved heat for a long time, but she could bear up under it well enough to set a good example for her platoon.
At night, though--at night Bo loved it. Without a cold layer of sweat inside, a MOPP at night was as good as a parka, shutting out the desert cold. She trotted happily through the camp at the start of their night watch, catching the scent of each and every man and wolf in the platoon on the cold air--assuring herself that none of them smelled any worse than usual, in the case of the men, or in any way distressed, in the case of the wolves. She listened constantly to the distant shelling, keeping track of the different locations and the types of explosions--but it was all good guys' fire, and none of it even approached the line of danger close.
She circled around so that she ended her tour at Team One Alpha's Humvee, and she lingered at the edge of Evan's--hot broken plastic and an explosion of ink--grave. He was shivering in his sleep, and Bo ducked her head to breathe warmly against his cheek. He half-woke, blinked up at her and smiled, and Bo pressed her own name into his mind on her next exhale--a cool shadowed place in the midst of the hot sand. It was a wolf-mother's way of saying, I'm here, you're safe.
Evan understood, or had never really woken up. He nodded and closed his eyes again.
Bo raised her head and caught the scent of the wolf and man asleep in the next grave, a couple of meters away. She could go closer--they were her platoon as much as, more than, anyone--but her brother--
Bo jerked her head back toward her Humvee and pushed fresh ink on a sun-warmed page as hard as a slap.
Nate opened his eyes, pulling back into his own body.
He'd have interpreted Bo's next thought as a very exasperated Pup! if anyone asked, but it was more than that--the sight-and-smell image of a newborn pup, still wet and blind and helpless. Nate, bagged up with a day's worth of nearly-frozen sweat in his own MOPP, felt like the comparison was uncomfortably apt. His hand shook as he opened the Humvee's door to let Bo jump in, straight onto his lap.
You're freezing solid, Bo told him, and she didn't mean it as hyperbole; she meant he'd stopped shivering while he was riding along with her, enjoying the phantom warmth of her body.
He started to shake--from the idiotic near-miss, as well as the cold, while Bo huffed warm breath into the collar of his MOPP, turning her head aside to inhale fresher air each time, though he knew the inside of the Humvee barely smelled better to her than he did.
You're exhausted, Bo told him, and gave him that particular strain in the smell of himself. Nate nodded. He hadn't slept in a long time. But it was their watch now, and Nate could feel the others sleeping in the pack-sense--most of them at the habitual distance he always held the enlisted men of Second Platoon, but Mike, sleeping closest and always at his side, was a warm, open presence. Feeling the others sleep was almost as good as sleeping himself.
Like me being warm is as good as you being warm?
Nate smiled a little and pushed Bo down off his lap and into the footwell so he could lean forward and touch the radios, checking they were all still functioning. The magnets that closed the wolves' MOPPs sent them haywire periodically, to say nothing of the rate at which they died for no reason at all. But tonight's silence was only an ordinary quiet--apart from the shelling, and whatever was going on over on Third Platoon's turf that Bo could hear but studiously didn't listen to.
Sing something, Bo demanded, as she twisted around to get her teeth into Nate's cleanest t-shirt, tucked into the collar of her MOPP as a makeshift keffiyeh. She tugged it free, and Nate obediently shoved his hands into her open collar to keep warm, his fingers ruffling the short, silky fur over her shoulders. It's too quiet, you'll fall asleep, sing to me.
Nate folded down over his hands, putting his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes--watch was a misnomer anyway, it was really more about standing listen, and Bo would hear trouble coming before he would. And Navi, on watch fifteen meters away, would hear it before Bo.
Bo snapped her teeth amiably at that, even though she knew the special expertise of every wolf in the platoon better than Nate did. Sing.
Nate smiled and wiggled his fingers against her shoulders. He started to sing the tune almost under his breath, wordlessly because he had his teeth clenched to keep them from chattering. He sang the words in the bond, where she would hear them just as well. Hey, where did we go, days when the rains came--down in the hollow, playing a new game...
Bo gave him the impression of wagging her tail and dancing with pleasure while actually holding perfectly still so he could warm his hands on her, and Nate kept singing.
Mike joined in--only singing aloud at a volume the wolves could hear, but that meant Bo just as much as Ash, and the pack-sense between them was wide open anyway--on You're my brown-eyed girl. Nate grinned, and Bo magnanimously agreed to share her song even though her eyes, perfectly Crayola brown, qualified much more than Ash's amber ones did.
Nate nearly choked trying not to laugh when Ray came in on the sha la la la part, but he could feel dark-eyed Navi's delight at being also a part of the song, part of the pack-within-the-pack that the bitches of Second Platoon made up along with their brothers. Nate grinned and kept singing and didn't worry about anything at all except which version of the words to the last verse they were going to go with.
And then he heard--Navi heard, and gave to him, through Bo, through the wide open pack-sense of the pack-within-the-pack--Brad saying sleepily, tinged with his brother's shared amusement, You know that song is actually about fuck--
Ray and Mike both cut off to say Shut up, Brad, backed by the displeased growls of their sisters, but Nate was already shutting down all connection, closing himself off from the platoon until he knew nothing of them but that they were all around him, alive. The only wolf he could feel was Bo, still breathing his breath and warming his hands.
He raised his head and opened his eyes, and she stared back, brown eyes steady, in silent understanding. There was one pack-within-the-pack that Second Platoon could not afford. They had to be careful. They had shared that instant of wanting to answer Brad and Frost some other way, of knowing what the song actually meant and just exactly how it applied.
Bo blew out the sigh that Nate wouldn't allow himself, and shifted forward just enough to lay her head across Nate's thigh, her nose to his hip. Nate shivered and warmed his hands on his sister. He stared out at the desert, watching the distant flashes.
They were eclipsed, a second later, by Mike climbing into the driver's seat, and Ash leaping up onto his lap to sprawl across the space between them, resting her head on Nate's other thigh. Ash was a classic northern wolf, and her MOPP was half-unfastened; even through his own, Nate could feel her warmth against his leg.
"Couldn't sleep?" Nate said aloud, when he was sure he could get it out without his teeth chattering.
Mike nodded in his peripheral vision. "Too quiet."
This entry was originally posted at http://dira.dreamwidth.org/586264.html. There are currently
comments there.