[Generation Kill] [Brad/Nate] No Man Is An Island
Title: No Man Is An Island
Subject: Generation Kill | Brad/Nate
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Brad finds Nate on a ship headed for Guadalcanal.
Notes: Sequel to Exquise - WW2 AU, reincarnation/daemon verse. For the prompt "And then I saw him and nothing was ever the same again. The sky was never the same colour, the moon never the same shape: the air never smelt the same, food never tasted the same. Every word I knew changed its meaning, everything that once was stable and firm became as insubstantial as a puff of wind, and every puff of wind became a solid thing I could feel and touch.". Probably should have been a little angstier but I felt like being nice for once.
WC: 716
Brad finds Nate on a ship headed for Guadalcanal. He is Nate this time, full of loyalty and trust and grand ideas, pride and naivety and he's an officer again for the first time in a while. There's a photo in his cabin of him in his dress uniform, Iolanthe pride of place on his shoulder and it makes Brad's heart swell. He doesn't say anything, doesn't even smile, just turns back to Nate, his Lieutenant now, and lets Portia nuzzle against his knee.
"I've been assured that you're the go to man for advice," Nate says, leaning against his desk. He's smiling at Brad like - like the time in London Brad thinks, before he shoves that thought away, keeps it locked away - like they're going on an adventure or a trip and not to war. "Off the record, of course. Smith only had good things to say about you."
"I try to make myself useful," Brad says, carding his fingers through Portia's fur.
"I'll bear that in mind," Nate says. It's strange to salute Nate after so long. It's strange to see Nate after so long. He wouldn't ever say it, wouldn't know how to say it - how do you explain reincarnation, soulmates, immortality, all in one go without sounding completely insane - but he's missed Nate, missed Nate in the past six lifetimes in which Nate existed but not Nate. That alone is hard enough to explain, how Brad can be Brad, always and how Nate can be Nate but not always.
He doesn't say anything at all. He smiles and leaves and he goes to his bunk and he pointedly does not think of where this could go.
Guadalcanal is hell on Earth. Guadalcanal breaks Nate's spirits, crushes it into tiny pieces and all Brad can do is stand back and watch and try and distract his men from noticing that their commander is falling apart.
"It's not your fault," Brad says, already knowing it's gone over Nate's head. Nate has been shaped differently in this life but he's still Nate, and it's not your fault means nothing. "This is just bullshit."
"This is war," Nate says, shrugs his shoulders. The rain seems to drum down harder, dripping through a hole in the patchwork of Nate's tent. They listen to it for a moment, listen to the men outside gossiping like their mothers. Iolanthe chirps, like she's trying to cheer Nate up too. "Brad," Nate says and he sounds so fucking broken that all Brad knows how to do is lean forward and kiss him and hope, hope desperately, that this goes well.
Nate's hands fist in the collar of Brad's shirt and for a moment, he's certain he's going to be pulled back and punched, shot if he's terribly unlucky, but Nate just lets out a sob of breath and kisses him back, hard and violent and their teeth clash. He curls into Brad like he's shelter from the rain, the weather, the war and keeps his hands tight on him, even when he pulls away to breathe.
"This is okay," he says, voice faint and fragile like he's not sure. "Right?"
"Right," Brad says, dots a kiss to the rough edge of Nate's jaw, slips his teeth against it for a moment. "Right."
They survive, make it through The Pacific and the war and they survive. They leave people behind, memories behind, they leave a little bit of health behind and they're both scarred and battered and bruised, but they've slotted together, just like they're supposed to.
"I heard that you're good for advice," Nate says, leaning against his desk. He can't keep a smile off of his face. The ship chugs onwards, headed for home, headed for a lot of things and a lot of nothing.
"I try to make myself useful," Brad says, and cards his fingers through Nate's, just because he can.
Subject: Generation Kill | Brad/Nate
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Brad finds Nate on a ship headed for Guadalcanal.
Notes: Sequel to Exquise - WW2 AU, reincarnation/daemon verse. For the prompt "And then I saw him and nothing was ever the same again. The sky was never the same colour, the moon never the same shape: the air never smelt the same, food never tasted the same. Every word I knew changed its meaning, everything that once was stable and firm became as insubstantial as a puff of wind, and every puff of wind became a solid thing I could feel and touch.". Probably should have been a little angstier but I felt like being nice for once.
WC: 716
Brad finds Nate on a ship headed for Guadalcanal. He is Nate this time, full of loyalty and trust and grand ideas, pride and naivety and he's an officer again for the first time in a while. There's a photo in his cabin of him in his dress uniform, Iolanthe pride of place on his shoulder and it makes Brad's heart swell. He doesn't say anything, doesn't even smile, just turns back to Nate, his Lieutenant now, and lets Portia nuzzle against his knee.
"I've been assured that you're the go to man for advice," Nate says, leaning against his desk. He's smiling at Brad like - like the time in London Brad thinks, before he shoves that thought away, keeps it locked away - like they're going on an adventure or a trip and not to war. "Off the record, of course. Smith only had good things to say about you."
"I try to make myself useful," Brad says, carding his fingers through Portia's fur.
"I'll bear that in mind," Nate says. It's strange to salute Nate after so long. It's strange to see Nate after so long. He wouldn't ever say it, wouldn't know how to say it - how do you explain reincarnation, soulmates, immortality, all in one go without sounding completely insane - but he's missed Nate, missed Nate in the past six lifetimes in which Nate existed but not Nate. That alone is hard enough to explain, how Brad can be Brad, always and how Nate can be Nate but not always.
He doesn't say anything at all. He smiles and leaves and he goes to his bunk and he pointedly does not think of where this could go.
Guadalcanal is hell on Earth. Guadalcanal breaks Nate's spirits, crushes it into tiny pieces and all Brad can do is stand back and watch and try and distract his men from noticing that their commander is falling apart.
"It's not your fault," Brad says, already knowing it's gone over Nate's head. Nate has been shaped differently in this life but he's still Nate, and it's not your fault means nothing. "This is just bullshit."
"This is war," Nate says, shrugs his shoulders. The rain seems to drum down harder, dripping through a hole in the patchwork of Nate's tent. They listen to it for a moment, listen to the men outside gossiping like their mothers. Iolanthe chirps, like she's trying to cheer Nate up too. "Brad," Nate says and he sounds so fucking broken that all Brad knows how to do is lean forward and kiss him and hope, hope desperately, that this goes well.
Nate's hands fist in the collar of Brad's shirt and for a moment, he's certain he's going to be pulled back and punched, shot if he's terribly unlucky, but Nate just lets out a sob of breath and kisses him back, hard and violent and their teeth clash. He curls into Brad like he's shelter from the rain, the weather, the war and keeps his hands tight on him, even when he pulls away to breathe.
"This is okay," he says, voice faint and fragile like he's not sure. "Right?"
"Right," Brad says, dots a kiss to the rough edge of Nate's jaw, slips his teeth against it for a moment. "Right."
They survive, make it through The Pacific and the war and they survive. They leave people behind, memories behind, they leave a little bit of health behind and they're both scarred and battered and bruised, but they've slotted together, just like they're supposed to.
"I heard that you're good for advice," Nate says, leaning against his desk. He can't keep a smile off of his face. The ship chugs onwards, headed for home, headed for a lot of things and a lot of nothing.
"I try to make myself useful," Brad says, and cards his fingers through Nate's, just because he can.