Title: I'm Not OK. I promise.
Fandom: Generation Kill
Characters/Pairings: Nate/Brad
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Based on fictionalised portrayals as seen on the HBO miniseries.
Summary: Brad comes home to find no one there.
It always amazed Brad Colbert how acclimation to a new environment could seriously fuck up the ones previously held to as axiom by his body. Yet here he was in beautiful and sunny Oceanside, California, wearing about two layers of his military-issue extreme cold weather system. The forecast called for temperatures in the mid-80’s, as did the handy thermometer Nate insisted he install on his front porch.
As far as Brad was concerned, the meteorologist and basic science were fucking liars.
This was beside the point, however. Brad had just landed that morning from the excruciatingly long journey from Afghanistan to the West Coast, and Nate had promised him two weeks earlier that he would be at the airport to pick him up, as was customary between the two since Nate had decided the Marine Corps life wasn’t what he’d wanted. So, Gunnery Sergeant Colbert, being the reasonable man he was, had expected to see his dear friend and lover waiting for him to take him home in the brand new Prius Ray just loved to remind him Nate had bought in his absence.
Things, however, did not go as planned. He’d waited in the airport for nearly two hours as his fellow Recon Marines were picked up and gushed over by various friends and family, and still, no Nate. Which, honestly, was forgivable in Brad’s book. There’s no way in Hell Brad Colbert would admit that he’d ever set foot in a Prius. This way, he didn’t have to duck from people he recognized or lie about the fact later on.
Eventually, he left the terminal and took a cab home, shivering in the back seat. By the time he got home, he was ready to kill someone. One because, yes, he was sure he was fine, and two, he did not think he should go to the hospital. Honestly, you’d think the civilian population in Oceanside would recognize the symptoms of a Marine fresh from deployment by now.
It didn’t matter, however, as he made his way to the front door of the home he and Nate had purchased the year before, though officially it was in Brad’s name. He paid the cabbie and hauled ass to the front door, throwing stealth to the wind and practically slamming the door open. He made only one stop on his way to the showers, and that was to turn the heat on. Several minutes later, after scorching his skin, Brad stood in his living room wearing the ridiculous fleece snivel gear which he currently didn’t think was so ridiculous. Everything was as it should be. Minus the minor Fick missing issue, which Brad refused to admit to anyone was an issue. He shrugged and made his way to the kitchen, the sterile opulence of it screaming his companion’s near-obsessive compulsive tendencies. He headed for the fridge and noticed just before he opened it the Day-Glo pink post-it note on its face emblazoned in Nate’s meticulous handwriting, his name. Pulling it off of it, he read through the information before proceeding to punch a dent into his fridge.
--
“Where the fuck is he?”
“Welcome back, Mr. Colbert. It’s so nice to hear your voice again.” The voice over the phone was deadpan and laced with sarcasm.
“Don’t fuck with me, Steph. I’m not in the mood for reindeer games, and trust me when I say you don’t wanna be in my way.” Brad made sure to put the venom he felt coursing through him seep through. Most people shied away from Brad when he became the Ice Man, but not Steph. Brad was pretty sure Nate had kept her on just for the fact that she didn’t take Brad’s shit. Either that, or it was because her boobs had a way of almost popping out of her bra. Either way, it was a win on Nate’s part.
“Per Mr. Fick’s guidance, he told me to tell you he was called away from the West Coast offices due to an important business negotiation regarding a rival company. He also told me to quit your bitching and actually fucking call him if you happened to phone this office,” her voice was metered with the same calm as his was, and Brad wondered if what he’d thought about Steph was true, or if Nate just loved blondes with emotional and social issues. If that was the case, they needed to talk about this arrangement.
“I tried that,” he responded in earnest. “His phone was conveniently off when I called him.”
“Then my recommendation is to wait like a good little boy and-“ her words were cut off as the phone in his hand began to vibrate. He looked at the caller I. D. and his eyes narrowed in recognition. N. FICK. “I’ve gotta go.” He switched over lines and started to speak before Nate could even acknowledge him.
“What the fuck sir? ‘Sorry Brad, but I’m going back on the promise I’d made to you and leaving town. By the way, my pansy ass job is more important than you’.”
“It’s great to know that you’re doing well and haven’t been freaking out, Brad. I’m doing just fine, too.” If Brad could punch the sarcasm out of someone’s voice over the phone, he would.
“So, did you plan on calling me some time before I hit the states so I could know that you weren’t going to be there, or was the act of making me look like an ass intentional?” He heard Nate’s sigh and took pleasure in the fact that he was getting under his skin.
“I couldn’t get a hold of you before you left Kuwait, and you refuse to get Skype, so I made do, Brad. I wanted to pick you up, but the guys over me refused to take no for an answer. I’ll be back in a week or two. I promise I’ll make it up to you. I’m assured of this.”
“Two weeks? What the fuck am I supposed to do for two weeks?”
“Jesus, you’re a bitch when things don’t go your way. I’ll see you in two weeks.”
“This is ridiculous, Nate, but fine. I lo-,” CLICK.
Oh, Hell no.
--
“And then he hung up on you? So hard to imagine, what with that charming demeanor of yours. Seriously, Brad, I bet if your bio-parents loved you , you’d come to find out that it’s The fucking Grinch and that blonde elf thing.”
“Cindy-Lou Who?”
“Yeah, that one.”
“Ray, I’m not even going to comment on how disturbing that mental image you just gave me was.” There was that headache again.
“Just get over it, man. There’s no use fucking sulking over something as retarded as your ass buddy going away,” Ray was starting to get on a roll, so Brad cut him odd before he could begin.
“So what do you suggest I do to get out of this rut?” he asked, tapping the phone in irritation.
“I don’t know. Come up here and see me and Walt?” he asked.
“Ray, I think we established the fact that I’m still cold as fuck from Kandahar. What in your right mind would make you think I’d go from Oceanside to Seattle?”
“Uh…Because you love coffee and Shellfish?” Ray intoned as if it was fucking obvious.
“I’m Jewish. We don’t eat shellfish, asshole.”
“Fine, because you love me and Walt. And we missed you, kinda. Come on, we’ll show you around town.” Brad thinks about it for a minute. Maybe thirty seconds, and then he decides.
“No. There’s no way I’m gonna set foot in that death trap of Hippies and self-important Liberal faggots.”
--
“It’s great to see you again, man.” Brad just gives an emotionless grunt before taking a bite of the stuffed bread he bought off an Indian guy at the farmer’s market on the pier. It’s better than what was actually on his mind as they sat at the edge of a pier overlooking Puget Sound.
“I needed a break from Oceanside and the Corps. There’s only so much you can take of Sixta before you become homicidal,” he opted for, gaining a sage nod from Walt.
“Take as much time as you need. Your place is our place. Treat it as if it’s yours.” Honestly, Walt was too nice sometimes.
“Except Walt. I’m the only one allowed to defile him.”
Trust Ray to ruin a moment.
--
It’d been three days since arriving in Seattle, and already he was bored. He was nervous walking down the streets. Not that Seattle seemed any more dangerous than the average city, but he couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching him. He kept looking behind his shoulder, expecting some foreign national watching him, cataloguing his every move. The buildings were too tall and he couldn’t help being on the move, lest he be the target of a sniper. He couldn’t sleep, either. It was odd, being here, so different from Oceanside, and dimensions different from Afghanistan. It was a great place, some far corner of his mind told him.
It just felt like the piece of his soul that would enjoy it most was missing, and it was. Nate was the only missing piece of his life right now, and it needed to be put back in place. The fact that Nate had to take care of business didn’t bother Brad. What bothered him was his affection for his former captain had been suppressed the entire time he was there, and now that Brad was in garrison, the lack of his heart tore him apart inside.
What bothered him most was that he told Nate in not so nice words that he’d be in Seattle if anyone was looking, and all Nate said was “Have fun.” No rise, no offers of early return or promises of anything in the future. Not even a fucking “I miss you.”
Did Nate even remember that he’d just come home?
--
Brad found himself in a cramped elevator, his mind as blank as the stare of some homo’s kid as the lift opened to the observation deck. It’d been nearly four days since he’d last called Nate. He was missing him, and now that sinking feeling in his gut was being replaced by hollow sorrow for the one person who could make him feel alive these days. The day was gloomy, and the wind was blowing a none too gentle knife through his jacket and onto his skin. Whoever decided to meet someone on the top of Space Needle was a fucking retard. When he found out who, he’d let them know.
Walt wouldn’t even let him know who or what the issues were. Just go to Space Needle to meet the contact. He stood outside, shivering as the wind sliced through his clothing and made contact with his skin. Oh yeah, this fuck was dead.
“Honestly, Brad, you can’t be that cold.” He froze at the sound of the familiar voice, and he was shivering now for an entirely different reason. The soft voice, short and clipped, filled his brain and enraptured him.
He opened his mouth, and his voice cracked from barely contained emotion. “Please don’t tell me I’m dreaming.”
“You’re not, Brad. I’m assured of this.” He turned slowly, to be met by a brunette man with eyes greener than any ocean’s ever known, and Brad couldn’t take it.
“I didn’t think you’d come here,” he told him truthfully, almost on the verge of breaking down in front of everyone. Nate’s eyes dimmed at the comment and looked away.
“You’re not still mad, are you? Because I’m--,” he didn’t even have time to finish his sentence before his mouth was on Nate’s, seeking, allowing his body to warm up just from the touch. His skin tingled, and for the first time in a year, he felt like things were going to be okay.
“I’m not mad. Never because of you.” This moment, this feeling was what Brad fought for in the Corps. Not freedom or money or that retarded bullshit. The only thing that mattered was right here, surrounding him in a cocoon of protection, letting him know beyond a shadow of a doubt things were going to be okay. “I love you.”