(no subject)
Some days are better than others. He's been spending a lot of time alone, no humvee to lie under, but he's been at the hut that he shared with Nate whent hey were together, methodically cleaning things out and stowing things away. He's putting their life together away because, as far as he can see, there's no other way to go on. He's got Terry and Remy (and, God help him, Eric Cartman). He's got friends here. Last month, he found a pair of wedding rings and he's been carrying them around in his pocket ever since.
He's not ready. He knows that; he wouldn't do that to Terry.
But he's getting there.
It's something else that he's been carrying around for a while. He found it on the bookshelf a few weeks ago: a paperback, satisfyingly heavy. After a long run, his shirt tucked into the back pocket of his shorts, Brad sprawls on his belly in the grass outside the compound and he looks at the cover for a long moment. ONE BULLET AWAY: The Making of a Marine Officer. The picture of the author isn't somebody Brad recognises, but that doesn't matter; the name is familiar enough.
He reads in silence for a long time before he finds the first mention of himself, finds himself described as a blond, cerebral San Diegan, known as “The Iceman”. It's impersonal, professional, but it makes him smile anyway and, when a tear rolls down his cheek, he turns his head and catches it with the back of his hand.
There might have been a time when his warrior spirit would have balked at it, but there's nothing, now.
He's well on his way to being somebody else.
ooc: one Marine, shirtless, in the grass. ST/LT welcome, as is distraction.
He's not ready. He knows that; he wouldn't do that to Terry.
But he's getting there.
It's something else that he's been carrying around for a while. He found it on the bookshelf a few weeks ago: a paperback, satisfyingly heavy. After a long run, his shirt tucked into the back pocket of his shorts, Brad sprawls on his belly in the grass outside the compound and he looks at the cover for a long moment. ONE BULLET AWAY: The Making of a Marine Officer. The picture of the author isn't somebody Brad recognises, but that doesn't matter; the name is familiar enough.
He reads in silence for a long time before he finds the first mention of himself, finds himself described as a blond, cerebral San Diegan, known as “The Iceman”. It's impersonal, professional, but it makes him smile anyway and, when a tear rolls down his cheek, he turns his head and catches it with the back of his hand.
There might have been a time when his warrior spirit would have balked at it, but there's nothing, now.
He's well on his way to being somebody else.
ooc: one Marine, shirtless, in the grass. ST/LT welcome, as is distraction.