nothing smart, or at least not very, nothing revolutionary

meme, because I need a distraction from my walls

2013-08-17T20:13:14Z

I've found this meme on tumblr, but since there's no way I'm going to do thirty graphics for anything, I've decided to post it here. Oh, and it's all at once, just because.

Day 01- A show that should have never been canceled
Common Law (what, it was fun)

Day 02 - A show that you wish more people were watching
The West Wing. The West Wing.

Day 03 - Your favorite new show ( aired this t.v season)
I think the only new show I’ve started watching is The Fosters. It’s nowhere near my all time favorites, but I like it.

Day 04 - Your favorite show ever
The West Wing.

Day 05 - A show you hate
I’ve watched two episodes of Newsroom and wow, I don’t remember being that pissed off at tv show ever before.

Day 06 - Favorite episode of your favorite t.v show
There was 155 episodes of The West Wing, there’s no way I’m picking one. But Celestial Navigation, Isaac and Ishmael, 20 Hours in America Part Two, Debate Camp, The Supremes, and Tomorrow (and, and, and…) are some of my favorites.

Day 07 - Least favorite episode of your favorite t.v show
There were definitely some I didn’t care about, but again, 155 episodes. I don’t remember what I didn’t like. ;)

Day 08 - A show everyone should watch
There’s not a show that’s good for everyone.

Day 09 - Best scene ever
The snowman in Ally McBeal. Denny’s ghost in the hallway in Grey’s Anatomy. Goodbye made out of stones in M*A*S*H. I don’t know what “best scene ever” is supposed to mean, I picked a few that made me cry. I’m sure there’s many better ones.

Day 10 - A show you thought you wouldn’t like but ended up loving
I wasn’t sure I was going to like Battlestar Galactica from the way Cody described it the first time.

Day 11 - A show that disappointed you
Newsroom

Day 12 - An episode you’ve watched more than 5 times
Haha, one?

Day 13 - Favorite childhood show
Dr Quinn, I loved that show as a kid.

Day 14 - Favorite male character
Nate Fick (Generation Kill)
Sam Seaborn (The West Wing)
Sam Winchester from the first two seasons of Supernatural
And I’m not choosing between them.
(Also:
Benjamin Franklin “Hawkeye” Pierce (M*A*S*H)
Jack O’Neill (Stargate SG-1)
… and the list goes on)

Day 15 - Favorite female character
CJ Cregg (The West Wing)
Donna Moss (The West Wing)
Penelope Garcia (Criminal Minds)
Donna Paulsen (Suits)
Abby Sciuto (NCIS)

Day 16 - Your guilty pleasure show
I think I’ve watched Brothers & Sisters as a guilty pleasure.

Day 17 - Favorite mini series
Generation Kill (shocked: everyone)

Day 18 - Favorite title sequence
I usually fast forward title sequences, but Strike Back was one of the exceptions, because I loved the song.

Day 19 - Best t.v show cast
I still have a soft spot for Jared and Jensen, so I’m going with Supernatural.

Day 20 - Favorite kiss
I couldn’t think of one, but then I remembered Brian and Justin getting back together in Queer as Folk US (3x08), fiiiiiinally. So let’s go with the most historic reunification since Germany. ;)
Oh, and the first kiss of Sybil and Thomas from Downton Abbey!

Day 21 - Favorite ship
Ugh. Brad/Nate (Generation Kill), still. Ally/Larry (Ally McBeal) as a blast from the past, and from the newer ones – Sterek from Teen Wolf.

Day 22 - Favorite series finale
Tomorrow from The West Wing, maybe?

Day 23 - Most annoying character
From the show I've actually watched more than a couple of episodes of? Gaius from Battlestar Galactica.

Day 24 - Best quote
"Captain Lee 'Apollo' Adama: [at Baltar's Trial] Did the defendant make mistakes? Sure. He did. Serious mistakes. But did he actually commit any crimes? Did he commit treason? No. I mean, it was an impossible situation. When the Cylons arrived, what could he possibly do? What could anyone have done?
[looks at the courtroom audience]
Captain Lee 'Apollo' Adama: Ask yourself, what would you have done?
[looks at the judges]
Captain Lee 'Apollo' Adama: What would you have done? If he had refused to surrender, the Cylons would have probably nuked the planet right then and there. So did he appear to cooperate with the Cylons? Sure. So did hundreds of others. What's the difference between him and them? The President issued a blanket pardon. They were all forgiven, no questions asked. Colonel Tigh. Colonel Tigh used suicide bombers, killed dozens of people. Forgiven. Lieutenant Agathon and Chief Tyrol. They murdered an officer on the Pegasus. Forgiven. The Admiral. The Admiral instigated a military coup d'état against the President. Forgiven. And me? Well, where do I begin? I shot down a civilian passenger ship, the Olympic Carrier. Over a thousand people on board. Forgiven. I raised my weapon to a superior officer, committed an act of mutiny. Forgiven. And then on the very day when Baltar surrendered to those Cylons, I as commander of Pegasus jumped away. I left everybody on that planet, alone, undefended, for months. I even tried to persuade the Admiral never to return, to abandon you all there for good. If I'd had my way nobody would have made it off that planet. I'm the coward. I'm the traitor. I'm forgiven. I'd say we are very forgiving of mistakes. We make our own laws now; our own justice. And we've been pretty creative in finding ways to let people off the hook for everything from theft to murder. And we've had to be, because... because we're not a civilization anymore. We are a gang, and we are on the run, and we have to fight to survive. We have to break rules. We have to bend laws. We have to improvise. But not this time, no. Not this time. Not for Gaius Baltar. No, you... you have to die, because, well, because we don't like you very much. Because you're arrogant. Because you're weak. Because you're a coward, and we, the mob, want to throw you out of the airlock, because you didn't stand up to the Cylons and get yourself killed in the process. That's justice now. You should have been killed back on New Caprica, but since you had the temerity to live, we're going to execute you now. That's justice. This case... this case is built on emotion, on anger, bitterness, vengeance. But most of all, it is built on shame. It's about the shame of what we did to ourselves back on that planet. It's about the guilt of those of us who ran away. Who ran away. And we're trying to dump all that guilt and all that shame on one man and then flush him out the airlock, and hope that just gets rid of it all. So that we could live with ourselves. But that won't work. That won't work. That's not justice; not to me. Not to me."
(Battlestar Galactica 3x20)
I’ve seen that scene so many times that even after years, I still remember some of it by heart. Lee <3

Day 25 - A show you plan on watching (old or new)
Orphan Black

Day 26 - OMG WTF? Season finale
WTF in a bad way? Battlestar Galactica series finale.

Day 27 - Best pilot episode
Battlestar Galactica: Miniseries (I count the entire miniseries as the pilot)

Day 28 - First t.v show obsession
First in a internet era, fandom-wise etc. – Lost.
But before that, I was watching Ally McBeal and J.A.G. religiously on tv.

Day 29 - Current t.v show obsession
I’m not sure I have a big thing for any show right now :( Unless we’re counting what I’m reading the most fanfiction for – that’d be Sterek (Teen Wolf).

Day 30 - Saddest character death
There was so many deaths on Supernatural, that I don’t even know which one made an impression, tbh. And it’s hard to remember how much I cared about this show once.
But one of the questions reminded me of Denny from Grey’s Anatomy, I’m sure I cried when he died.

NaNo

2012-12-01T13:57:33Z

I should have posted about it yesterday, but:

\o/\o/\o/

If you've never heard of NaNoWriMo, you can read about it here.

warbigbang fic: Making Clouds From the Ashes, masterpost

2012-11-20T19:45:33Z

Making Clouds From the Ashes

Written for warbigbang 2012
Fandom: Generation Kill (HBO), Harry Potter
Characters/Pairings: Brad (it's his POV), Nate, Ray, Walt, Poke, and a few of other GK characters; from HP series: Ginny Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, and a couple of others, but all of them are secondary at best. As far as pairings go: Brad/Nate, mainly; background Ray/Walt and Poke/Gina; past Brad/Ginny Weasley is mentioned
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 20,312
Warnings: there's sex and swearing; as it is a post-war story, there are mentions of things that could happen to a person after that - nightmares and flashbacks, mostly, but there's also a mention of suicide (no one of the main or even secondary characters, but if it’s something that could be triggering for you: it’s a teenage suicide and one of the characters reacts with anger towards that person)
Summary: Harry Potter AU/fusion. Brad, Nate, Ray, and others, are starting their last year at school a couple months after the Battle of Hogwarts. It's a story about that year, and about figuring out how to move on after the war and how to deal with the rest of their lives coming up fast.

Link to Fic: PART ONE & PART TWO
Links to Craft:
be_cum’s amazing vid is here
lunatics_word’s awesome art is here

Additional Note: I've tried to be as close to HP canon as I could, but I’ve made one change – I’ve moved Fred and George's shop to Hogsmeade. I needed it to be closer, so I could use it in the story.

Disclaimer: my stories in GK fandom are based on the fictionalized characters from the HBO miniseries as portrayed by Stark Sands, Alexander Skarsgård and the rest of the cast. It's fiction, that's all. In no way I want to connect it to and I assume nothing about the people who are behind the story of the book that is behind the series. I mean no disrespect.

This fic was written for warbigbang challenge, which makes it my third big bang story. :)

I owe many thanks to:

idrilka who agreed to beta this monster for me at the last minute. ♥ Thank you so much and I’m sorry for all the terrible mistakes.
be_cum who was enthusiastic about making a vid for this story and came up with an amazing one. ♥ I know it wasn’t easy, but I love what you’ve done!
lunatics_word who made the awesome art and even heard me out about the colors and stuff. ♥

I also thank warbigbang mods for running this challenge again this year, justaotherwitch for initially agreeing to beta my story, and all the people who gave me moral support - noelia_g, cala_jane and others. Thank you all!

warbigbang fic: Making Clouds From the Ashes, part two

2012-11-20T19:39:43Z

Making Clouds From the Ashes
Part Two

Masterpost * Part One

The news about Terry Grant traveled so fast that at lunch his death was the main, if not the only, topic of conversation at every table.

Terry's sister, Mia, was the Head Girl and the Hufflepuff prefect, so her absence in the Great Hall was hard to miss. She left the school right after breakfast.

“Come on, Nate,” Poke said, sitting in front of him. “Tell us what happened, because the rumors will soon state he was abducted by aliens and left by them as a warning for humans.”

“And who would start a rumor like that, Poke?” Ray asked. “Seriously, stop watching those Muggle movies, they are giving you ideas.”

“Fuck off, Person.”

“It was what they say it was,” Nate started, staring at his plate before looking up at Poke. All conversations in the close vicinity fell silent, people turning their heads to hear better. Brad could feel Nate tense more. “He killed himself two nights ago. He poisoned himself.”

Terry got Outstanding on his Potions N.E.W.T. last year. It was not a mistake.

“Do they know why?”

Nate rubbed the corner of his eye. “Mia said he just couldn't deal any longer. We had talked about his problems before, he... He started using drugs, because he couldn't sleep. He had flashbacks a lot, got angry at stupid things. After New Year she told me he stopped leaving the house.”

“Did they try to get him professional help?” Rudy asked.

Nate nodded. “They tried, but he refused to go the second time. They tried family interventions, too, but,” he shrugged, “it didn't work.”

“Every one of us has flashbacks,” Ray pointed out. “Half of the school has trouble sleeping, some get angry out of the blue. Should we be on suicide watch?”

“Aren't we already?” Poke asked instead. “Teachers monitor us more than ever before. Their shifts on corridors doubled. Every Head of the House wants to meet us regularly.”

Nate nodded. “The prefects were instructed to keep an eye on things, too.”

“Is there a lot of...” Ray stopped and Nate sighed.

“Define a lot.”

Ray opened his mouth like he was actually going to define it for Nate. Brad slapped him in the back of his head. “He didn't mean it, you idiot. Let it go.”

That earned him a grateful smile from Nate and a scowl from Ray.

“I didn't mean it out of sick curiosity, okay?” Ray said, rubbing his head. “I'm allowed to be concerned.”

The bell rang to let them know the classes were starting soon. They gathered up their things and rushed to the door.

“You're right,” Nate said to Ray. “You're allowed to be concerned. I just don't have all the answers you'd like to hear.”

Ray nodded. “I get it. I'm sorry if I pushed.”

“You didn't. It's okay.”

Brad was walking next to them, half-listening, but he was mostly busy being angry at Terry.

Terry was there last year with them, at the front line of the fire. He wasn't in Dumbledore's Army, but he showed up with the rest of Ravenclaws when the Battle began. He probably saved Brad's life that night by Stupefying one of the Death Eaters who was coming at him from behind.

And now he was dead, because he couldn't deal. Now he was dead, seven months after graduating Hogwarts and starting a new life. He was dead and they only just were getting better at it, at everything. Brad didn't have flashbacks for over two months now, he slept well and actually got some rest when he did. Everyone relaxed a little, taking the new year as a do-over. Cliched, maybe, but cliched for a reason.

Less than a month into this bright and shiny new year, Terry Grant committed suicide.

Apparently, he didn't get that memo.

#

The rest of the day wasn't really much better. Brad was irritated even more than usual and even Ray started to give him a wide berth. Which happened approximately twice a year.

Brad caught Nate's elbow to keep them behind when the rest was leaving for dinner. “Meet me tonight.”

Nate raised his eyebrows. It wasn't the way they were doing things. If they would even do anything more than making out.

Which they were about to if Brad was getting his way.

“Sure,” Nate said with a pleased smile. “I'll be at...”

“Not the tower.” Brad's fingers tightened around Nate's skin. “Pick somewhere more private.”

Nate's eyes widened for a moment, before he tilted his head to the left a little. “At ten in the prefects' bathroom.”

Brad nodded and let him go. “At ten.”

He was there seven minutes to ten. He wanted to hide behind the terrifying plant that looked like it planned to take over Hogwarts at some point (get in line, he thought before realizing he was addressing a plant), but in the end he couldn't keep still. He was trying to be as quiet as possible, but he was still pacing.

Nate came dressed in shorts and with a towel hanging on his shoulder. Brad wanted to fuck him yesterday.

Which he might have telegraphed to Nate somehow, because he wasn't wasting any time opening the door. Brad still crowded him from behind and as soon as the door closed, he pushed Nate against it.

“Fuck, finally,” he breathed out on Nate's lips, before pushing in with his tongue. One of his hands tangled in Nate's hair, keeping him in place, and the other was already under Nate's t-shirt, blunt thumbnail making circles around Nate's belly button.

Nate moaned and bucked his hips, his hands tightening on Brad's waist. His hard cock was straining his shorts and Brad didn't waste any time. He clasped his fingers around it and tugged, making Nate shudder and pull away his lips to catch a breath.

“Brad,” he whispered, voice uneven. “Brad, fuck...”

“It's only the first one,” Brad told his collarbone before biting it. “Just let it go.”

Nate's head rolled back, leaving his neck exposed. Brad traced the line of it with his lips while his hand snuck into Nate's shorts and he clasped his fingers on Nate's cock, hot and heavy on his palm.

Nate's fingernails were leaving marks on his sides, breaking skin. Brad just bit harder and jacked him off faster.

Nate came with a moan muffled by Brad's mouth on his. A minute later he tugged at Brad's t-shirt.

“Come on,” he said, still a little out of breath. “Off.”

Brad lifted his arms, letting Nate do the work, and then he wiped his hand, still covered in Nate's come, on his stomach. Nate's nostrils flared.

“There's a tub. Get naked.”

They both did, really fast. Nate went ahead of him to quickly draw the bath and Brad was left to stare.

Fuck, Nate was a work of art.

“How can you be sure that nobody will come in?” He made himself focus on something else, and the tub looked like something anyone would have a hard time parting with.

“We've made a chart,” Nate said dryly, but somehow Brad believed him. “And I switched with Ginny tonight.”

Brad paused. “What did you say to her?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Nate asked coming into the water and looking up at Brad. “Now?”

“No, not really.”

They were best at not talking about any of it, after all.

He sat at the edge of the tub, ready to slide in, but Nate's hands on his thighs stopped him. Nate pushed his legs apart, coming between them, with the water up to his armpits. His lips were right in front of Brad's cock.

He slowly lowered his head, eyes not leaving Brad's, and clasped the base of his cock in one hand. Brad was ready to come right then and there and that was before Nate's lips touched his skin. The moment he felt Nate's tongue on the head of his cock, he buckled his hips, almost choking Nate in the process and almost landing in the tub. Nate backed off for a second, but came back, each slide down going deeper and deeper. The moment Brad felt Nate's throat, he groaned, threw his head back and came.

When the rush wore off, he look down again and saw Nate with his chin resting on Brad's thigh. He brushed his fingers through Nate's hair, playing with his ear, and then mapped out Nate's jawline with his thumb, before pushing the finger between Nate's puffed, red lips.

“I want to fuck you,” he said quietly.

Nate swore around his finger, before backing off a little to give him room to slide into the tub. Brad sat down on the step inside it and circled his arms around Nate's waist, pulling him closer. Nate moved to straddle his lap and they rested their heads into the other's neck for a long moment, silent but for their breath.

“Come on, then,” Nate whispered next to his ear, his tongue coming out to lick the skin there. “Come on.”

“Fuck, Nate,” Brad whispered back, his nails scraping at Nate's skin. He missed Nate's skin almost as much as twelve different things he missed the most.

Nate ground down, making their cocks slide along, eliciting a moan from Brad.

“Get me ready first.”

Brad reached out for the lotion on the edge of the tub. His orgasm slowed him down a little, made him relax, but Nate grinding in his lap was going to get him hard and needy pretty fast.

He kissed Nate at the same moment he pushed the first finger inside him and Nate shuddered above him. Brad moved to kiss him on the neck, licking and grazing with his teeth. Nate's hands were gripping Brad's head when he added the second and third finger.

“Now, Brad,” he said, breathing hard. “Now.”

Brad pushed in at once, probably too fast, but he couldn't help it. Nate tightened up and stopped moving.

“Fuck.”

“You okay?” Brad whispered, lips against his forehead.

“I need a moment.”

“Okay.” He closed his eyes and focused on breathing slowly.

“Okay,” Nate said after eternity, shifting a little. Brad jerked his hips without thinking.

“Sorry. Sorry.”

“No, it's okay.” Nate rolled his hips and Brad tightened his hands on Nate's sides. “You can move now.”

So he did. Slowly at first, but when he saw Nate responded to it, he quickened his pace. Nate was looking at him, eyes glazed and face red and sweaty, and he was so beautiful Brad could choke on it. Nate's head thrown back when he came was probably the most gorgeous thing Brad had ever seen.

He was too busy coming to say that out loud, which was probably for the best.

The reality hit him hard at the same time as the cold air after leaving the tub. He remembered what happened with Terry, what was happening all the time, and his shoulders suddenly felt heavier.

“What's wrong?” Nate asked, zipping his jeans, barefoot and covered in goose-bumps.

Brad shrugged, throwing his t-shirt on. “Nothing. We should go.”

“Listen,” Nate started, putting on his sneakers, but Brad didn't let him finish.

“Not now, Nate. Let's go.”

“What's going on?” Nate asked, following him out. “Come on, Brad, don't do this.”

Brad didn't say anything and just kept walking, focusing on how uncomfortable and cold it felt to have jeans stuck to his still wet skin.

He pretended not to notice when Nate stopped walking.

#

For the rest of February and the whole month of March, Brad seemingly couldn't stop. Couldn't fly fast enough, high enough. Couldn't hit the ball hard enough.

Nate hardly ever left the library.

#

“Bradley Colbert, the Headmistress wants to see you in her office,” the Fat Lady told him when he came down to the Common Room.

Poke whistled. “Well, well, Bradley, I guess you're finally going to pay for your sins.”

“I'm paying for them by living with the likes of you.”

“You're weeping for my awesomeness, Iceman,” he snorted. “Weeping.”

“Yes,” Brad deadpanned. “I weep a lot. I'm going away now just to curl up and cry in the darkest corner of the castle.”

“Have fun.”

Brad spent the time it took to get to McGonagall's office trying to come up with the reason for the trip. He didn't skip class. His grades were awesome. He didn't kill anyone. He didn't even threaten anybody this week.

Maybe he did need help, come to think of it.

“Come in, Mr Colbert,” Professor McGonagall said with a little smile. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Good morning, Professor. I came as soon as I got the message.”

She nodded. “Very well. Please, sit down.” She showed him the chair and kept going when he took a seat. “You did nothing wrong, let's clear that up up front.”

Brad had to admit, even if only to himself, that he did relax a little.

“Remember when I told you you have a real talent for Transfiguration magic?”

“Of course I do, Ma'am.” He didn't forget things like that.

“That's why I asked you here today. I wanted to ask if you're considering it for your future career.”

Brad stared at her for a moment. It's not like she didn't tell him that before. She mentioned it during winter break. But today it made his breath catch and he could almost hear blood pumping faster in his brain.

“I...”

“It's okay if you don't know yet, Brad,” she said gently. “I'm not asking for your blood... I'm not asking you to commit to anything you don't want to.”

He nodded.

“You're young and you're allowed not to know, Brad,” she said and Brad felt the tension in his fucking calves ease up.

“I know,” he said. Didn't stop him for wanting to, though. “There's an idea I have,” he continued, shrugging before shifting in his chair.

McGonagall raised her eyebrows. “And what is it?”

Brad looked at her for a few seconds. He didn't want to look around to see all those creepy former headmasters and headmistresses staring at him.

“What if I wanted to become an animagus?”

She nodded. “Somehow, it doesn't surprise me in the least,” she said, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the desk. “It's a lot of hard work, I hope you understand that.”

He did. “Challenge is not a deterrent for me.”

McGonagall smiled. “I thought it wouldn't.” His surprise had to show, because she continued. “Your actions and the company you keep seemed to suggest you like the challenge.”

Brad tried to contain a snort. “Ray Person is... special, but he is not that difficult, at this point.”

“Ah, Ray, yes. Him, too.”

And Brad was almost certain she was fucking with his head now. What did she mean by ‘too’?

“Anyway,” she said, opening the drawer in her desk and taking out a piece of paper and handing it to Brad. “Here's some basic information about the school you may consider if you decide to go that route. I wanted you to have it. The principal there is a good friend of mine, I'm always trying to send some talent his way.”

“Thank you, Ma'am. I truly appreciate that you thought of me.”

“You earned it, Mr Colbert. And all the praise you're getting. But don't get used to it just yet,” she said, still half-smiling. “I also have to suggest that you try not to break anyone's bones with the quaffle during the next game. You're not on the defense and we're not a violent team.”

“Yes, Ma'am. I'll try my best not to kill anyone.”

“Excellent. Try to score a lot, though. I got used to winning the championship.”

“That's the plan.”

“Good. Thank you again for coming to see me.”

Brad nodded, said his goodbyes and left. He ran down the stairs and stopped around the corner of the corridor. He leaned against the wall and stared in the dim light at the pamphlet he was gripping in his hand.

Maybe it really could happen.

#

The last game of the year happened in the middle of April and Gryffindor was playing against Ravenclaw. Brad was fairly certain they could beat the Ravenclaws by scoring, but he had to admit that their seeker, Katie, was better than Gina. Anything could happen.

“It will be alright, brother,” Rudy said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We're coming out there as warriors and we'll be leaving as victors.”

Brad had honestly no idea how anyone could talk like Rudy did and get away with it, worse even, pull it off, but he did. Brad was impressed, almost against his will.

“Let's go and kick their ass!” Poke shouted and that Brad understood much better.

They were the last ones on the field; Gina, Mike, Nate, and Ginny were already there. Brad wasn't going to stare, he avoided looking at him at all in the locker room, but now, in the harsh light of the sun, Nate looked terrible. Pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, which were half-closed when Nate didn't try to keep them open wider than usual.

It was Nate's MO to disappear around the time of the exams, not showing up for meals with the rest of them and generally becoming a hermit. Brad told himself that this was his excuse for not noticing sooner and not acting on it. But this was even worse and it was April, almost two months before they had to take any test. He should have known better.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he murmured to himself.

Ginny, standing next to him and being hopefully the only person to hear him, looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Finally decided you want to dig your head out of your ass, then?”

“Shut up, Weasley, we have a game to win.”

“Well, at least you know how to handle that.”

The game was awful. It started raining half an hour into the match and the wind sped up. Mike and Nate were doing everything they could, but Ravenclaws apparently had a lot of pent up frustration to burn through, because they were hitting them left and right. It looked like they almost gave up on scoring goals and concentrated on keep Gryffindors from scoring instead.

Brad got seriously pissed off when the bludger flied just by his ear fourth time in ten minutes.

He got mad when Swenson, one of the Ravenclaw's chasers, ricocheted the bludger right into Nate, who, anticipating that the ball was going to be flung at Brad, was in a position that made it impossible for him to avoid an attack on himself. He got hit in the right arm so hard he let go of his bat and dived towards the ground involuntarily, before gaining control back and righting himself. After examining his arm, he waved at Madame Hooch to indicate he can only move one arm and he needed replacement.

When the game picked up soon after that, Brad scored fifty points in seven minutes. Katie caught the ball ten minutes later, but they still won by twenty points.

After the shower, Brad went straight to the Infirmary.

“Apparently human rights aren't respected in this building, did you know that?” Nate asked him the second he spotted him near his bed.

“No?”

“Madame Pomfrey told me that. Apparently I do not have the right to leave this room until she decides I can.”

“Torture,” Brad said dryly.

“Don't laugh at me.”

“I'm not. I just think you should know by now that staying over for observation is a pretty normal thing.”

“I don't want normal,” Nate told him, resting his head on the pillow. “Fuck normal. I don't even know what that is anymore.”

Brad tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Are you stoned?”

“Slightly,” Nate admitted after a moment of consideration. “Which is why you shouldn't use normal things, while talking to me. Like logic. Don't use that. You should never try logic while talking with a slightly stoned person.”

I can't afford not to use logic while talking to you.

“Noted.” He got up from the chair. “I will talk to you when the drugs wear off, then.”

“Will you?” Nate asked, his eyes bright from the drugs. Probably.

“Nate.”

He was injured. He was on painkillers. Brad couldn't.

“I miss you,” Nate said quietly, looking at his hands resting on the blanket.

Fuck it. Brad leaned in and kissed Nate softly, his right hand landing on Nate's neck as natural as anything. He pulled back after a few seconds and Nate strained to follow him and close the distance.

“Lie down, Nate,” Brad told him, nudging him gently back.

“I'm fine,” he said, catching his wrist and tracing Brad's pulse point with his thumb. “It's only my arm.”

“Right now it's also your brain. You're high.”

“I'm good for kissing, though. Not too high for it.” He nodded, sure of his assessment. “Definitely not.”

“Not sober enough.”

Nate tried to pull him in by the wrist he was still holding on to, but Brad didn't move.

“It's not like you don't know I consent to kissing you. A lot,” Nate pointed out.

Brad smiled softly. “I think we should try talking first now, for a change.”

“You want to talk?” Nate asked, widening his eyes. He let go of Brad's wrist to look at his own fingers from up close. “Just how high am I?”

Brad snorted. “Shut up.”

Nate opened his mouth, but Brad interfered.

“If you say something about how I can shut you up by kissing you, I'm not talking later on. I change my mind.”

Nate blinked.

“Liar,” he muttered, but didn't say anything else.

Brad turned around and left before he could break his own promise.

#

Brad came to collect Nate from the infirmary first thing next morning. He was fine, with broken bones fixed and the drugs out of his system. He smiled wide at Brad over the shoulder of Madame Pomfrey, who was checking him one more time.

“You came,” he said, almost jumping out of the bed.

“Yes.” Brad could swear he heard Madame Pomfrey's muffled chuckle and judging from the way Nate looked at her with accusation, he was right. But Nate was shirtless, so Brad was too busy staring to feel embarrassed.

“Can I go now?” Nate asked, reaching for his t-shirt with the previously injured hand to show he was fine.

“Yes,” Madame Pomfrey decided, stepping back and giving Brad a couple of seconds of great view before Nate put his t-shirt on. “But keep an eye on the symptoms of concussion.”

“I didn't even get hit in the head!”

“And take a nice, long nap,” she added, pointing a finger at him. “Don't think I didn't notice you look like you haven't slept in a week. And there are two solutions. Either you do what you're told and what you desperately need to, or I will bring you back here and won't let out before the next millennium. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Nate nodded, standing up and stretching his arms above his head.

Brad stared some more.

“Brad!” Madame Pomfrey said in a tone suggesting it wasn't the first time she tried to get his attention.

“Is that clear?”

Nate's sleeping. Yes, of course, Brad can take him to their room and chain him to the... He shook his head. “Crystal clear, Ma'am.”

“Good. Now you can go.”

They stepped out of the infirmary and Nate let out a sigh of relief. “Finally.”

“Stop with the melodrama,” Brad told him with a mocking smile. “You were there for one night. Now come on, let's get you to the bedroom.”

“I'm not going to sleep!”

“You look like hell, Nate.”

Nate looked at him. “I've been looking like hell for over a month, this has nothing to do with yesterday.”

Brad had to fight the urge to get away, the itching to go in the other direction. “Yesterday didn't help.”

“I'm fine.”

“You're not fine, you said it yourself, you've been looking like hell for over a month.”

“Well, this,” Nate gestured at himself, “is as fine as I can get now.”

“That's not true.”

“What do you want from me, Brad?” Nate asked, opening the door to the Astronomy Tower and Brad wondered if he planned this. It was too windy to get out, but they sat down on the steps near the top.

“I promised you we'd talk,” Brad said after two minutes of silence.

Nate nodded. “I hope you didn't count on me not remembering that.”

“I didn't,” Brad said and actually meant it. That conversation was long overdue. “First of all, I'm sorry.”

Nate turned around to look him in the eye. “For what?”

Brad shrugged.

“For the last two months? And even before, fuck, the whole year maybe.” He took a deep breath. “I'm sorry I kissed you that night, the first night, during the Battle.” And he could see he was fucking this up, Nate was pulling away and Brad reached out to stop him. “Wait. Wait. I'm not sorry I kissed you at all. I'm sorry I didn't kiss you sooner. In better circumstances. Just... I wanted it to be different.”

“You wanted it, though,” Nate said and there was something in his voice that made it almost a question.

“Fuck, Nate,” Brad brushed his fingers through his hair. “Of course I did. I was imagining different scenarios for years. And then I went with a different one, the worst one, probably.”

“It wasn't the worst one,” Nate said, moving closer again, so their thighs were touching. “Hooking up and then dying during the Battle, that would be the worst one.”

Brad snorted. “True. But I also wouldn't put 'hooking up on the night of the Battle and then avoiding doing anything about it for months' on my top ten list.”

“Definitely not. But, you know, I could have done something, too,” Nate admitted, looking down at his sneakers. “It was a hard year for all of us, I guess is all I'm saying. We didn't make all the right choices, because we had other stuff to deal with.”

“Yeah, well...”

“And I guess I left it to you, made it your responsibility, because you seem to be handling all of this much better than me. Not this,” Nate gestured between them, “but the whole post-war, soon-to-be-post-school thing.” He looked up at Brad, taking in his eyes and lips, and eyes again. “You make all of it look so easy.”

Brad hold his breath for a long moment, unable to look away. You make all of it worth it, he thought, staring at Nate, a guy who was always just there, and then he repeated it out loud.

Brad knew and lived with Nate for six and a half years at this point and he had seen him happy, sad, scared, proud, excited, worried, angry, and about a hundred other things. He'd seen him drunk, high on painkillers, bloody, sweaty, he'd seen him naked and covered in come, he'd seen him crying over a dead body and he'd seen him fighting with Death Eaters. Brad thought that he had basically seen all of Nate, one way or another.

But Nate's bright green eyes wide open, his smile that had to strain his muscles, and the way he leaned into Brad, that was a new look. And it was definitely at the top of the list of his favorites.

He smiled back, half-hoping and half-scared that his face was showing Nate something similar. Because they got here. It took them time, too much of it, probably, but they were here now.

Nate kissed his cheek, before moving down to his lips. It was sloppy, because they were both grinning too hard, but it didn't matter. Brad put his hand on Nate's neck, his thumb caressing the jawline back and forth, and Nate scratched Brad's lower back with his fingernails. And somehow it felt different than all those other times when there were doing this. There were no bad memories or fear of death, no urgency and adrenaline.

They were here now.

#

It wasn't like they didn't know the anniversary of the Battle was coming up. They all remembered the date and if someone was somehow suffering from amnesia, they would still hear about it everywhere they turned for a month before the day.

It didn't prepare them, though. Brad didn't feel ready and looking at his housemates, he wasn't the only one. It was the eve of the anniversary and somehow the whole Gryffindor House was gathered in the Common Room.

“I'm not even sure what being ready is supposed to feel like,” Nate said, tilting his head back to rest on Brad's arm.

“Was it stupid of me to expect one day I would just wake up and be ready?” Ginny asked from the armchair next to the couch they were sitting on. “It worked last time. Well, almost.”

Brad shrugged. He didn't know. There were days when he expected that, too. When he got back home for the holidays last year, it was supposed to go away. When he got back to Hogwarts. When he stopped having flashbacks. When he and Nate got their shit together.

No such luck. It was getting better, though, so maybe that had to be enough.

“If there's anything that's going to be easier once we leave Hogwarts, it's probably that anniversary,” Nate said with his eyes half-closed. “A victory day, not the mourning.” He ran his fingers over the black bracelet on his left wrist, something all of them were wearing this week.

“Well, then maybe we should just start now,” Ray said, lifting his head from Walt's lap. He looked around at them and at the rest of the room. “Fuck this,” he added, standing up, and jumped onto the table. People turned to look at him and the room fell silent, everyone wondering what Ray was about to do this time. “We drank a lot this year for those who died. And that's good, that's great even. We should do that and I hope we will keep doing that in the future. But we forgot one very important toast and I think it's time to fix that.” He looked around and raised his glass. “To those who are still here.”

There was a long second of silence and Brad felt himself shift, but Ginny beat him to it.

“To those who are still here,” she said, raising from her seat. And one by one, all of them stood up and made the toast.

When they came into the bedroom two hours later, Brad caught Nate's wrist and stopped him from going to his bed, instead pushing him in the direction of his own, hoping against hope that no one would say anything.

They were living with Ray, though, so no such luck.

“No sex with us in the room!”

“Shut up, Ray,” Brad said, the curtain falling behind him and Nate. He took off his t-shirt and saw Nate do the same.

“Just saying,” Ray added, because he could never do what was asked of him.

“You wanted us together,” Brad pointed out loudly, throwing his jeans on the floor, and slipped under the covers, smirking at Nate. “Deal with it.”

“I'm dealing with a lot just looking at you mooning over each other all the time now. I don't want to have nightmares because you can't keep it in your pants.”

“Shut up, Ray,” Nate said, settling in next to Brad, and Ray did.

“It's like you're a magician,” Brad murmured into Nate's shoulder, spooning behind him. Nate shook with silent laughter and tightened his grip on Brad's arm around his stomach.

Brad kissed the back of his head and breathed in the smell of his shampoo. He felt the tension slipping out of his body and he closed his eyes.

“We're going out!”

Ray's words woke Brad up and it took him about three seconds to realize what was going on. He opened his eyes and saw Nate sitting between his feet, smiling at him. He smiled back.

“At last,” Nate said, crawling higher between Brad's legs. Brad opened them wider without a thought. “I was considering putting Silencio around the bed.”

Nate's head was right above Brad's very interested cock.

“And what were you planning on doing after that?” Brad asked, tucking his arms under the pillow and smirking.

“I will give you a hint,” Nate said and tugged at Brad's boxers. Brad obediently lifted his hips to help Nate take them off. Nate leaned down and licked Brad's cock from the base to the tip in one quick sweep of the tongue. Brad's hips moved involuntarily before he could stop it, but Nate didn't stop to complain. He just licked again, and again. He put his nose under Brad's cock and breathed in and out, slow and deep, tickling Brad's balls and making him insane.

“This is going to be over really,” Brad gasped, “fast.”

“Don't hold out on my account,” Nate said, smiling, and then swallowed him down.

Brad threw his head to the side and tightened his fingers in Nate's hair when he came few seconds later.

When the high passed, he reached out for Nate, who was still between his legs, looking up at him with a smile.

“Come here,” he said and Nate moved to lie on his side, tucking under Brad's arm, but he turned his face away when Brad wanted to kiss him.

“You don't want my mouth anywhere near you right now.”

Brad looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, that makes sense. Especially since you just had it on me and I wasn't complaining at all.”

Nate shrugged. “Your dick doesn't care about my morning breath. Not to mention...”

“And you think the rest of me cares?” he looked at Nate incredulously. “That's it, my dick is officially smarter than you.”

He lifted himself on his elbow and looked down on Nate, his flushed skin, red, full lips, and that smile Brad was still getting used to seeing. He leaned down and kissed him softly, ignoring Nate's laughing protest.

“Happy fucking anniversary,” Brad said with his lips still on Nate's. He dropped one hand down Nate's torso and lower. Nate's stomach shook from quick laughter.

“You realize it actually is our fucking anniversary, right?”

Brad's hand stopped with the tips of his fingers just under the top of Nate's briefs. Nate let out a small whine of protest, but Brad just put his forehead on Nate's collarbone and started to laugh.

“Fuck, this is so bad,” he said before he slipped his hand further down and gripped Nate's cock.

“Shut up,” Nate gasped, lifting his hips to meet Brad's rhythm, “it's awesome.”

He came five minutes later, choking on laughter and orgasm, and Brad was torn between admiring the look on his face or the new hickey he put low on Nate's neck.

Maybe they were going to be more than fine.

#

The day went downhill from there, which was, if a bit disappointing, not exactly surprising. The day that started with great sex was rarely able to improve, even if it wasn't the first anniversary of the biggest battle magical world had seen in years.

It was better than expected, though.

The afternoon classes were off, because the Minister was coming and the whole school went insane. Outside the castle journalists were running around, taking photos of every brick and every face, and trying to interview as many students as possible without being caught by one of the teachers.

From the bedroom window, Brad could see Nate and Ginny standing near the rows and rows of chairs. Ginny was half-talking, half-reading from the paper she was holding in her hands, most probably rehearsing the speech she was supposed to make in a few hours. Nate was mostly just nodding, commenting on something she said from time to time .

Brad wanted to sleep the whole thing off and wake up tomorrow morning, but he didn't let himself hope. As if sensing his thoughts, Nate turned around and looked up to see their window. From the angle Brad was standing, Nate couldn't be sure he was there, but he nodded anyway, before turning back to Ginny.

Nate had to be there and that meant Brad did, too.

When minister Shacklebolt arrived two hours later, they all stood up and kept standing until he made his way to the podium. He looked at them for a long moment, before he leaned forward and said, “At ease.”

Suddenly, there were chills running through Brad's body and he felt the silence like a punch to the gut. He could see Ginny, who was standing next to the podium and waiting for her turn, and her hands were shaking so hard she dropped her speech.

The Minister motioned for her to come up and speak, so she took the papers and came closer. She looked around at them, still standing, and closed her eyes for a second.

“I had the whole speech prepared, but,” she said, turning to the Minister, “now I just want to thank you. And I'm sure I speak for all of us here when I say, it's good to be home.”

Someone behind Brad started clapping and suddenly everyone did. The applause was loud and seemed to create an echo of itself, coming in and out as waves.

Shacklebolt waited before they sat down to continue speaking.

“It's truly an honor to be here today among you. I can't pretend to imagine how you felt last year, fighting that battle here, at your school, at your home. I won't try to tell you I understand how you felt after. How hard the year that passed since that day was for you.” He looked around. “What I can tell you is: it's okay to struggle. It's okay to have bad days. It's okay to wish the world looked like you remember it looking before the war. I can tell you that I struggle, that I have bad days, that I wish I still looked at the world the same way I did before the war. I can tell you that I have probably never been as proud of anything or anyone like I am of you. You can listen to it, accept it or reject it. You can laugh at that or not. But I wish you would believe me. I wish you would believe that your actions made me proud to be one of you, made me want to aspire to be like you. Fighting when it's hard. Fighting when it's easier to hide or surrender. Protecting your loved ones. Protecting what's right. And Merlin knows, I hope we will never have to fight again. But if we do, I hope I will be just like you. Thank you.”

The applause was even longer this time. Brad could hear someone sniff behind him, but he didn't turn around. He looked at Nate instead, who smiled and nodded. And when he leaned in for a kiss, Brad didn't even think of stopping him.

After that, the formal part was over and it pretty much turned into a picnic of sorts, only with the Minister, a few of his co-workers, and some journalists who just couldn't leave.

Brad was sitting under the tree with Ray and Walt, a little out of the way. They had the perfect watching space, but weren't bugged by a lot of people. Brad could see Nate and Mia talking with McGonagall and then being introduced to the Minister.

“You're staring again,” Ray elbowed him and moved away quickly before he could reciprocate. Walt snorted.

“I'm not staring,” he said, looking away for a second before coming back to looking at Nate.

“Sure. You're just, how's it called? People watching. Because you love people so much.”

“Adore them, even,” Brad deadpanned.

Suddenly, he could see Nate's head shoot up at something the Minister was saying and his posture straightening. Brad was up before he even thought about moving.

“Hey, what's going on?” he heard Ray say, but he ignored him. Nate was talking now, gesturing with his hands and the Minister was listening with his eyes firmly on Nate. It looked fine, but Brad felt... something. Something happened and he needed to check if everything was fine.

“... can't do what we can. Of course they would be uncomfortable with that,” Nate was saying when he came up to them.

“Brad?” Nate raised his eyebrows at him. He probably didn't expect him to move from the shadow the whole afternoon. “I'm sorry, Minister, this is Brad Colbert, he's a seventh-year Gryffindor, just like me.”

“Nice to meet you, Brad,” the Minister said, shaking his hand. “I was just telling Mia and Nate about the new Ministry department.”

“New division?” Brad asked.

Nate looked at him with a smile that was probably two times bigger than usual.

“Dealing with the relations between the magic world and the muggles. There are some things that need to be fixed there.”

“Nate was just listing them for me when you came over.”

Nate actually blushed a little. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...”

Shacklebolt raised his hands. “No, no, it's fine, honestly. Actually, I would love to hear more about what you have to say. Come see me after you graduate, if you'd be interested in a job.”

And there it was again, Nate's whole posture shifting. But Brad could see now that it wasn't a sign of trouble. Nate was smiling and shaking Shacklebolt's hand, and Brad couldn't stop staring.

He didn't see Nate so happy outside of, well, them, for a long, long time. It made him both glad and wary at the same time.

“It was good to meet you, Brad,” the Minister's words brought him back to the moment. He said thank you, he shook his hand and he watched him go.

“It's good we have a capable minister now, isn't it?” he asked, looking back at Nate.

At a starry-eyed, grinning Nate.

“He did a great job here today,” Nate said, trying for cool. “He said what we needed to hear.”

“Right up to offering you a job,” Brad pointed out. He should be glad for Nate. He should. And he did, he was happy that something made Nate so excited. And yet.

Something had to show in his voice, because Nate stopped grinning and raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Are you going to take it?” Brad asked, as if he didn't see how Nate was acting right now.

“I don't know yet,” Nate said, smiling at Brad and shrugging. “We still have the NEWTs and we still have almost two months before we graduate. Everything can happen.”

That didn't exactly calm Brad down. “But you want to take it,” he pressed on.

“Brad, I don't even know what 'it' is. He's the Minister of Magic. Yes, I'm interested. Yes, I want to meet with him and learn more about it. This is an opportunity to do something important and something I didn't know was available, so of course I'm excited. But that's it for now.” He placed a hand on Brad's shoulder. “Besides, you're going to London, right? That would be...”

“Don't make it about me, Nate,” Brad cut him off.

“I'm not doing anything.” Nate tightened his grip on Brad's shoulder as if he would run otherwise. “But I'm also not going to pretend your whereabouts aren't going to influence my decision.”

“They shouldn't.” And someone should shut him up, because Brad obviously lost control of what he was saying.

Nate hung his head and the silence stretched for a long moment.

“No,” Nate said, looking up at him again. “They most certainly should. And they are. I'm sorry if that's uncomfortable for you, but that's the truth.”

And he withdrew, probably ready to just go away, but Brad's arms came up around his sides to stop him.

“Wait. I'm sorry. I do want you in London, obviously. I just don't want for you to, you know.”

“Waste my best years waiting for you and then leave when our tragic love affair comes to an end?”

“That's... not how I would put it.”

“But I'm not wrong,” Nate pointed out. “And I should be wrong about that, because you know me and you should know that I would never do something like that.”

Brad brought their foreheads together and sighed. “I know.”

“So, are you done freaking out and may I relive the part where the fucking Minister of Magic offered me a job?”

“May you? Well, I don't know, we still have the NEWTs and we still have almost two months before we graduate. Everything can happen.”

Nate laughed and Brad pulled him closer.

“Happy fucking anniversary,” he said before kissing him.

#

Brad would love to say that the NEWTs time was anti-climatic after everything that happened that year, but he would be lying terribly. It was two weeks of sleepless nights and short tempers, long hours of studying, and reading, and writing papers. Two weeks of falling to bed exhausted and waking up not rested enough to do it all over again.

It was two out of the three weeks left of his time at Hogwarts and Brad could come up with a lot of better scenarios for them than that. He should be having sex all over the place, literally. He should be partying and making some bad decisions, teenager style.

Instead, he was sitting in the Common Room with three books on his lap and trying to memorize them by looking at them.

The group of people coming back from the Potions exam was a nice distraction.

“We have survived the war. This has to be easier than that,” Ray said, falling down onto the couch in the Common Room.

“At this point I'm not sure it is.” Walt collapsed next to him.

“Yeah, it's only your future on the line, not the whole world's.”

“Comforting,” Walt muttered.

Brad snorted.

“Don't, Brad.” Ray pointed a finger at him. “Anyone who doesn't have any exam today isn't allowed to mock other people's pain and suffering for the whole day. I'm making this a rule until the end of NEWTs.”

Half of the room clapped and cheered. The other half didn't even raise their head from their books.

“This is a stupid rule,” Brad said.

“You're not mocking my pain today, Brad. Or tomorrow. Or, fuck, three days from now. Deal with it. Or, better yet, go deal with your boyfriend.”

Brad shut the book. “What happened?”

“He has a serious problem with taking breaks, you know. He left the room with us after the exam and then decided he was going straight to the library. We tried to change his mind, but you know how that goes.”

Brad knew really well. He sighed and got up, putting all the books under the armchair.

“Nate, come on,” he tried for the fifth time. “You can't keep studying twenty four seven.”

Nate looked at him with raised eyebrows and Brad snorted.

“It's not a challenge, you moron.” Brad kicked him under the table. “Come on, you know all of this already. Stop studying.”

“Hey, I'm not the one going back to school next year,” Nate pointed out.

“So what, this is your last chance to prove yourself? That's bullshit.”

“I didn't say that.”

“Nate, everyone knows you're brilliant already. It's not hard to figure out.” Nate shrugged, but Brad didn't let him speak. “Come on, we're wasting our time when we could be having sex in the dungeons.”

“You're a true romantic.”

“I try. But I operate on tight schedule, since you decided studying is a better way of spending your time than crossing things off our list when we still have a chance.”

Nate laughed, but he did close his book.

“Were you always this obsessed with sex?” he asked, standing up. He said it quietly, but Madhuri looked up at them with a smirk.

“No,” Brad answered shortly, putting his hand on the small of Nate's back and ignoring her.

Nate grinned and leaned back into the touch for a moment before he moved again towards the door.

So, okay, yes, maybe Brad was having sex all over the place.

#

No one practiced any spells at their last DA meeting. Instead they were sitting on the floor and talking about everything but goodbyes.

Someone proposed that the seventh-years would each give their best advice to the younger ones and Brad shook his head. “Come on, what do we know.”

“No, no, I have a piece of advice for the young and bright,” Ray cut in. He looked around. “Here it is: Don't die.”

And half of them laughed, but the other half nodded. Sometimes it was indeed just that simple.

“Don't stop training,” Ginny said. “Don't become lazy just because there's no war going on right now.”

“Work together,” Nate added. “Don't let House rivalry turn ugly. We're better and stronger when we're not fighting each other.”

“Gryffindors should not let that be their excuse for not winning another Quidditch championship, though,” Brad added and got elbow in his side from Nate. But he smiled, too.

“Take care of each other. And when you don't know what to do, get help.” Julia Smithson was the twin sister of Ramona, the girl who went home in the fall. She told them a month ago that Ramona got better and she was going back to school next year.

“Have fun.”

“... but study.”

“Make the next year here the best one for you.”

“Don't let the fear get the better of you.”

“Use protection.”

“Don't turn evil.”

And it went on for a long while, funny, serious, crazy, the best and the worst advice they were able to give.

After it was over and they were all going to dinner, Brad approached Shonda.

“You're not going to cry on me, are you?” she said, smiling at him.

“I'll try not to right now,” he told her. “But I'll probably cry myself to sleep tonight.”

“That's sad. Maybe try something else before bed,” she said, looking left to where Nate stood, talking with Louis.

Brad smacked her in the back of her head lightly. “Leave Nate alone.”

She pouted. “Spoilsport.”

“Okay, I'm done,” he told her, taking a step back. “See you never, hopefully.”

“Okay, okay, wait.” She threw her arms around his neck and held on for a long moment before letting him go. “Now you can go.”

Brad walked up to Nate, who finished talking with Louis and was waiting for him.

“We're never having kids,” he told Nate firmly.

He was met with stunned silence, but Nate shook it off pretty quickly. “That's good. I'm not sure those hips were meant for childbearing.”

Brad suddenly felt frozen in place, just standing there and staring at Nate.

“Oh-o, I see you’ve just realized what you said.” Nate tugged him by the wrist and pushed him towards the door. “Don't worry, I won't hold it against you.”

Brad blinked quickly a couple of times, but didn't protest when Nate started leading him down the corridor. “It's...”

“Brad, I'm serious. I know what you meant and I know you weren't proposing to me or anything. Breathe.”

He did. In and out, once, twice, and a third time.

“Shonda is evil,” he said, starting again with what he should have said.

Nate nodded. “I have to agree. Those poor walls. Maybe she really holds a grudge against them for something.”

“She wasn't a total disaster, though,” Brad felt the need to defend her and his teaching skills.

“She's one of the best youngsters and you know it,” Nate smiled at him. “When she does hit her target.” He paused. “She'll be fine.”

“I know. I hope.”

“You can always send her angry owls to keep her in check.”

“No way. She would send one back and I would have to listen to her screams about my heritage, my people skills, and probably my sex life as well.”

“You have to learn how to live with an empty nest, then,” Nate told him. He tried to keep a straight face but failed miserably.

“I hate you,” Brad told him.

“Come on, don't be like that or I'll have to send you an angry owl.”

How was that Brad's life, he wanted to know.

#

If the last two weeks were the NEWTs weeks, this was the week of goodbyes and Brad suddenly wasn't sure he wouldn't trade them off. They had the last DA meeting, the last Quidditch practice just for fun, now there was the last trip to Hogsmeade.

Brad, Nate, Ray, and Walt went to the Weasley's shop to see how George was doing and they were surprised to see it open. The red sign said “WELCOME” and people were going in and out all the time. They were lucky there was a big group of third-years leaving just as they wanted to come in, so they sneaked in without problems.

The store looked totally different than the last time they came by. The big room was filled with warm light, shelves full of toys, smiling people, and loud voices. George was behind the counter dealing with the endless line of customers, joking with them while packing their stuff. Brad also noticed Ron, George's younger brother, showing a group of boys something that looked ready to explode.

“The greatest graduation gift ever!” Ray announced, and he and Walt disappeared into the crowd to buy out half of the shop, probably.

“We've lost them for hours,” Nate said with a laugh.

“Don't be too happy about this, somehow they always come back.”

“You'll miss them terribly,” Nate told him and Brad refused to acknowledge that he probably meant something different than the next few hours.

“Come on, let's buy something before there's nothing left.”

After spending a small fortune at Weasleys' and the second one at Honeydukes, he and Nate sat down on a park bench to drink their smoothies and rest. They could see people, mostly Hogwarts students, going in and out of stores and coffee shops in a hurry, probably wanting to make the most of the trip here. Brad had thought he would’ve liked to go to a couple more places, but now he preferred to just sit there and rest, watching the people pass them by.

“It's not like we're dying,” he said suddenly. Nate looked at him.

“No, we're not.”

“And Hogsmeade isn't going anywhere.”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

#

-- epilogue --

They knew about this beforehand. It was hard not to, some of them had older siblings, some of them friends at higher years who would spill the beans. The graduation ceremony was the worst kept secret in history.

Brad still felt like he was punched in the gut when he saw the boats on the lake shore.

“This is the last Hogwarts tradition you will experience,” McGonagall said, standing before the group of all seventh-years. The towers of the castle were visible behind her. “The founders believed in the full circle of life. You will leave the school grounds the same way you came here for the first time. I hope we will meet again, someday, but for now, may the life be good to you. Be brave, be kind, be smart, and be loyal.”

And with that, she took a step back and motioned them to take their places in the boats. Brad and Nate, Ray and Walt, and Poke, Poke without Gina, because he somehow understood what they were after. They found themselves in the same boat, just like seven years ago. They had to sit closer to each other and the boat seemed much smaller, but they made it work.

“Don't fall out this time, Poke,” Brad told him with a smirk.

“You make it sound like I actually did fall out last time.”

“Hagrid saved your ass.”

“Well, now I'm counting on you. Aside from Ray, maybe...”

“Hey!”

“... whose skinny ass would probably just fall out after me.”

“Thanks for the confidence, man.”

But they fell silent after the boats actually left the shore. They were all staring at Hogwarts and the figure of the Headmistress, getting smaller and smaller. Brad felt a little numb suddenly, so he grabbed the seat under his thigh and tightened his fingers around it. He looked at the guys in the boat, at Poke who was looking at Gina, of course, and at Ray who was laughing quietly at something Walt was whispering to him, both relaxed in an embrace. He looked at Nate in the end, who was looking back at him with a smile that still amazed Brad even after seeing it every day lately.

“Are you going to help me with my suitcase this time?” Nate asked quietly, leaning on Brad harder.

“You aren't a midget anymore,” he said with a chuckle.

“But you are still a nice boy, aren't you?”

Brad laughed at that. “I think you've got it all wrong.”

Nate grinned. “No. I've got it just right.”

______

End Notes: I have to give the credit to JKR for coming up with the idea of the graduation ceremony that includes riding the Hogwarts boats back across the lake as the students leave. I've found out about this during research and I loved the idea so much I had to use it in the story.

warbigbang fic: Making Clouds From the Ashes, part one

2012-11-20T19:35:10Z

Making Clouds From the Ashes
Part One

GK fic; Harry Potter AU/fusion;
Brad, Nate, Ray, and others, are starting their last year at school a couple months after the Battle of Hogwarts. It's a story about that year, and about figuring out how to move on after the war and how to deal with the rest of their lives coming up fast.

More info at the Masterpost

The Battle of Hogwarts had changed everyone. The whole war had, obviously. But for those who were there that night, for every student and every teacher, life seemed different since then.

It had been four months and the world liked to pretend it was back to normal. Brad didn't like to pretend anything and there was nothing normal about how he felt today, on a train back to what used to be his favorite place on Earth.

“Is it just me or is it weird?” Nate said, shutting the door behind him and fuck, Brad was not ready for this.

“Weird?”

Nate shrugged. “Coming back.”

Oh. Okay then.

“I'm not as excited as I usually was,” Brad said and Nate nodded. “But we may just be getting older.”

That got him half a smile.

“Or we may be a little scared.”

Brad made a show of looking around the empty corridor.

“Shut your mouth, Fick,” he said. “Or we will take back your Gryffindor card, prefect or not.”

“I would love to see you try.”

“Is that a challenge?” Brad asked, raising his eyebrows. “Because you know what that does to us Gryffindors. Don't be a tease.”

Nate threw his head back and laughed, and Brad smiled, feeling his stomach tighten and relax. Maybe they could do it after all.

Maybe everything was going to be fine.

#

That was obviously a momentary, Fick-related insanity, because everything was not going to be fine. Everything was, judging from the looks of it, going to be a disaster.

Half the students standing in front of the main entrance looked outright scared, gaping at the castle with their eyes wide open or looking anywhere but there. The rest tried to maintain their game face, with varying effects.

Professor McGonagall was waiting for them, with her back straight and her head held high. Seemingly unflappable, but Brad knew better now.

“Welcome back,” she said to all of them, looking around as if checking if everyone was present and okay. “Hogwarts has missed you.”

And stupid thing was, it worked. Brad felt the muscles of his back relax a little, and he heard loud, uneven exhales from around him. A couple people even laughed.

They followed her inside like a big wave coming to a shore.

#

He stepped into the Great Hall and froze, causing Ray to bump into him. Bryan muttered something and shoved him to the side, but Brad didn't really register that because he was staring at the right side of the room, where the Gryffindor table was waiting for them. Where the bodies laid, after. He remembered a woman with purple hair, among others. He tried to forget about Fred Weasley, and Mike Atwood, and Laura Banks.

Cold fingers circled his wrist and pulled, making him look to the side, right into Nate's face with his furrowed brows and careful eyes.

Brad shook his head and followed him to their table. “What are you eating first?” he asked, changing the subject.

It was a tradition of sorts, a little reminder of their first night here, when they were amazed, and scared, and amazed again. “What are you eating first?” Ray had asked, right after he’d joined the Gryffindor table, the last boy from their train compartment, pushing in between Brad and Eric. They did this every year since then.

Nate went with it, like Brad knew he would.

“I've been missing that chocolate cheesecake for the whole summer. What do you think I'm going to do?”

“I think it's baffling that you haven't already combusted from all the chocolate you inhale.”

“There's not enough chocolate in the world,” Nate said and sat down next to Ray, shifting aside to make room for Brad.

“Amen, brother,” Rudy shouted from across the table as if they were deaf. "I can’t wait for the feast to begin. I’m going to eat all the chocolate cookies they will give us.”

“I hope you’re going to control him,” Ray said to Pappy, who shrugged.

“Relaaaaaax,” he said, half-smiling. “First, we just got here, let him have some. Second, I'm not his fucking mother.”

“I should hope so. Since I have seen you two in the dungeon's corridor that one time last year, and judging by the kissing while half-dressed, it definitely didn’t look like a parental relationship to me,” Ray said, but he was cut short by the arrival of dozens of scared dwarfs.

Also called the first year students.

Brad felt old, looking at them. There was nothing like seeing the Great Hall for the first time, nothing like being in Hogwarts for the first time. Brad remembered that excitement, fear mixed up with amazement, and he remembered thinking that since he was here at last, everything was possible now. This year Brad missed that feeling more than ever, it was never as far away from him as today.

“Is it just me or is it... weird? Different. I’m not really sure.” Nate whispered, looking away from the kids at the entrance to look at Brad with those green eyes wide open and bright.

“It's not just you,” he said, gripping his fork so he wouldn't do something stupid like reaching out and putting his hand where it didn't belong.

This year was going to be a fucking disaster.

The sorting ceremony felt like it was shorter than usual, like there were fewer kids than in the previous years, and he couldn't help but wonder how many would be there if it weren't for the war. Still, it gave them fourteen new housemates whose names and faces Brad was trying to commit to memory in between eating his weight in chicken wings, potatoes, and salads.

After awhile, when even Rudy was too full to eat anything, and the rest of them were too full to talk, Professor McGonagall stood up and came to the podium.

“We lost so much this past year,” she started and the sudden, complete silence was like an echo to her words, reverberating through the hall and everyone in it. “These past few years, even. We fought a war and we lost members of our families, our friends, our colleagues... Some of us lost faith, some lost hope, and some of us may feel like they will never be safe again. But we all have to remember that we fought a war and we won. We survived and we came back here, or we came for the first time, because we know we are not done yet. The war changed us, but it did not defeat us. We have to remember that. We have to remember that when it is difficult, when it is hard to remind ourselves about the good days. We have to remember that when we struggle, because I can tell you for certain, each and every one of us will struggle. We have to remember that we fought, that we won, and that we survived.”

When the clapping started, it was loud and strong. Many people were crying, most didn't even pretend not to. Brad's chest felt heavy and his arms felt even heavier when he lifted them to join the applause.

#

On the first night of the new school year, there was always a party. Every member of the Gryffindor House gathered in their Common Room to share stories of their summer and their plans for the next year.

For Brad, Nate, Ray, and Poke, among others, it was also the last year at Hogwarts.

“Can you actually believe that shit?” Ray asked, shifting on the couch. “Our last year here.”

“Don't be so sure,” Brad advised him. “It may not be, for you.”

“Fuck you, I will pass everything.” Ray's loud voice raised a few heads in their direction, but everyone but the first-years were used to him at this point, so they let it be.

“They will be so glad to have a chance to get rid of him, they will not waste it on failing him, Iceman,” Poke said from his end of the couch.

Brad nodded. “You have a point.”

“You're all full of shit,” Ray told them.

Indeed they were. Everyone knew that Ray was actually surprisingly brilliant at some things, like Charms and Potions, and at least passable at others, with the History of Magic being the worst of it.

“Well, if nothing else, we can be quite certain that this year will be better than the last,” Eric Kocher said and the mood changed so fast Brad thought he could almost see it hightail from the room.

He was curious what it would take for them to forget. If they ever could, even. Not all of it, obviously, but it would be nice if it could get... a little easier to remember.

Brad remembered his flashback earlier in the evening, when they were going to dinner. He didn't have them often, only two or three a month during the summer holidays, but they were still there.

“To a better year, then,” Nate said, raising his mug.

“To normalcy,” Poke raised his.

“To Quidditch,” Eric said, smiling a little.

“To all the sex,” Ray stood up, holding his glass high in the air. “And by that, I mean to Walt,” he added, smirking, while they groaned.

“To the upcoming end of living with Ray,” Brad said, kicking him in the leg.

Ginny Weasley passed by, nodded at them and gave Nate a small smile. They bonded last year as prefects and Dumbledore's Army leaders, and she and Nate were good friends now.

She apparently heard their toasts, because she got that look in her face, that serious 'we'll go down fighting' look, and she jumped on to one of the high chairs in the room and shouted, “QUIET!”

Most of them were used to listening to her, so it only took a couple of seconds for all the conversations to die down.

She raised her glass and looked around the room, slowly.

“To those who died. To those who didn't make it.”

Brad could see her swallow up a choke, but she held on. She stood there, on the chair that was older than her mother, probably, and she held her head high, just like last year, so many times.

People started standing up and repeating after her, one by one, until the whole room had their arms raised for those who couldn't be here tonight.

#

Sitting in the classroom wasn't any less weird now than it was at the end of last year. They had never stopped going to class then, but for days after the Battle it felt completely surreal, like coming back home and realizing your bed didn't fit you anymore.

Now they were bombarded with talks about the NEWTs and how important these exams were, how essential for their future. They were expected to have everything figured out. They were told they were living in a new world and everything would be different now, better.

But instead they were reading about the Death Eaters' trials under the tables and avoided talking about the future after school. Everyone was mourning dead friends and fighting with those who were alive. Most of them couldn't concentrate on any book and couldn't sit still for longer than ten minutes.

They got to have Quidditch back, though. Brad felt it was surreal, somehow, to play again on Hogwarts' ground, but fuck, he had never realized how much he missed it. He’d played a little during the summer, but it wasn't the same, so he mostly stuck to flying alone. His mother was going crazy, but she knew him well. She let it be.

Now there were Quidditch try-outs and practice, and a structure for this, a purpose. A purpose that didn't have anybody dying over it. Always a bonus.

He was checking for his wand every ten minutes anyway. Just in case.

“Stop groping yourself,” Poke flied by and stopped a few feet to Brad's left. “Can't find the goods? Don't worry, you are still a growing boy.”

Over six feet tall already and towering over most of people, Brad snorted. “I'm good. But you probably need to keep telling yourself that to sleep at night.”

He sent the quaffle back to Rudy harder than before and nodded with satisfaction when Rudy scrambled for it.

He heard Ginny's laughter and turned in that direction. She grinned at him and showed him thumbs up. He grinned back.

“Stop flirting when Nate can see you. That's not cool, bro.” Poke shook his head.

“What the fuck?” Brad asked, eyebrows rising. “First of all, it's not your fucking business who I flirt with. Second of all,” he said a little louder to stop Poke from cutting in, “Ginny has a boyfriend, you might have heard of him. Third of all, what does it have to do with Nate, I can't fathom. And no, please, don't enlighten me, I don't want to know. And finally, coming back to the main point, none of this is your fucking business.”

Poke shrugged. “Whatever you say. You want to act like a moron, be my guest,” he said and flied away to where Gina were putting the snitch back in its cage.

Brad felt like hitting something, even if his arms burned, only just getting used to practicing with quaffles again. The rush he felt moments ago was gone and he was just really tired.

Of course that's when Nate appeared in front of him, his cheeks red, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. “Damn. I didn't realize how much I missed it.”

Brad felt like he was hit with a bludger all of a sudden.

“Yeah. Yeah, me too,” he said, and Nate must have noticed something, because his smile disappeared. Brad wasn't feeling like talking, though. “I have to go. See you later.”

#

There was a fire in the Gryffindor Common Room, and the students were screaming for help and trying to get out, but the entrance would not open. The Fat Lady was nowhere to be found and the frame of the abandoned painting was starting to catch fire. All of them were trapped. Brad stood at the top of the stairs and looked down on the scene, unable to move. Ray ran past him, shouldering him, and joined Rudy and Olive, who were trying to stop the flames next to their only way out. Brad started to choke on the smoke, coughed once, twice, and again. He wanted to drop to his knees, less smoke there, he remembered, but Nate appeared next to him and he wasn't choking at all. He just looked at Brad, accusation visible but not explained, and Brad wanted to ask, he opened his mouth to do so, but the smoke was suddenly everywhere and he turned around just to see the fireplace explode, sending those close to it into the air and onto the floor.

His legs jerked as if he were falling and he opened his eyes to the darkness. His heart was pounding and it took him five long seconds to realize he was in his own bed, safe and sound. And drenched in sweat. He laid on his back and tried to calm himself, focusing on the sound of Ray's soft snores and breathing deeply. He felt his t-shirt clinging to his skin and gluing him to the bed, so he got up and took the shirt off before going barefoot to the open window. He looked down to see the castle and the grounds, and it turned out to be a horrible idea. The flashes of the battle kept coming up like fireworks before his eyes and he had to grab the windowsill to keep standing.

He had to get out. Outoutout.

He stumbled through the door and leaned against the wall, counting to one hundred. He didn't see the Common Room from where he stood, but he could see soft light coming from there. And he imagined it to be warm, warm on his skin, so he moved towards it. He came into the snoop of light at the top of the stairs and looked down to see the room (there was no fire, no flames, no screaming). There was only one person there and of course it was Nate. Nate who was trying to hide the book he was reading by putting it under him, and looking up at the same time, shifting under his afghan.

“Hey,” he said, flushed from the fire or embarrassment, or both, and Brad's stomach clenched a little.

“Couldn't sleep?” Brad asked and winced. Smooth. And observant.

If Nate noticed his expression, he didn't mention it. He nodded, tugging his legs in and making room on the couch he was sitting on. Brad couldn't exactly go for the armchair now, so he sat on the opposite side of the couch, facing Nate and making sure they weren't touching, hopefully in a subtle way.

Fuck, where did this all go so stupid and awkward between them? Brad would like to go back and punch that moment in the face.

“Yes,” Nate answered, bringing Brad back. “Still on an adrenaline high after practice, apparently,” he explained, showing his self-deprecating smile. “Also, I'm so fucking sore.”

Brad was not going there. He was not going there. Just not. Going. There.

“It was fun, though, right?” Nate added and looked at him with raised eyebrows. Brad realized he was silent for too long.

“It was fantastic,” he agreed, showing teeth. “I feel every muscle group in my body going on strike, but it will pass. It always does.”

“Yes, it does.”

Something in Nate's voice made Brad suddenly remember how things went on after practice. How things had been going on between them since long before that, too.

“What are you working on?” he asked, ignoring the rest. “And don't tell me it's nothing. I saw those books you tried to hide when I came in.”

It was Nate's turn to wince. He ran his hand up and down his face.

“It's nothing, I just... I was checking up on some things for the next Army's training and I've heard someone coming, so I reacted as I always did before.”

Last year and even earlier than that. Dumbledore's Army was always a secret and even if it was a secret everyone knew about, the stakes were too high and the risk too grand to ever make it public.

Some of the teachers knew, obviously. They saw what happened during the Battle. But the secrecy was still going to be kept, even now when the war was officially over. Old habits and all that.

“It's two in the morning, Nate,” Brad chose to say instead.

“I know. But I couldn't sleep, remember? Decided to do something useful.”

And it felt like they were back, for a moment. The same old phrases, the same old responses. Knowing the other wouldn't change his mind, but be willing to say their lines anyway.

Sometimes it felt like they were having the same conversations over and over again.

“Just like old times, right?” Nate asked quietly and smiled, uncertain, as if Brad would snap or ignore Nate's attempts.

“Only better,” he responded with his standard line that at one time broke them into almost hysterical laughter. It was the middle of March, the war was long past being something new, and the thought of it being better than the past was... well, laughable.

Now it was different. The world actually was a little better. The problem was that they weren't, yet. At least not by much.

“Brad, listen...” Nate started and stopped, shaking his head.

And there they were, suddenly, on the brink of something, of the conversation Brad was unable to handle right now.

“I'm sorry about the practice,” he found himself saying. Changing the topic, but not really. Nate looked at him for a moment, his hand gripping the cushion next to his knee, before he nodded.

“It's fine.” Because it wasn't okay and Nate never pretended like that. He could bullshit his way out of almost anything, he perfected that art over the years, but somehow he drew a line on something being or not being okay.

But it was fine, and fine was enough for now. Definitely enough for Brad, whose headache seemed to go away, leaving behind persistent need of sleep.

“Are you going to bed?” he asked, standing up.

Nate smiled at that, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Yes, dear.”

They climbed the stairs together and slipped into the bedroom without waking anybody. Nate's hand found Brad's elbow in the darkness and gripped it lightly.

“Good night, Brad,” he whispered before letting go.

“Good night, Nate,” Brad whispered back.

It was fine.

#

“I say we get drunk,” Ray suggested with a grin the second they left the castle. He pulled Walt closer and kept their hands together. Brad refrained from rolling his eyes.

“I say you are an idiot,” Poke said from behind them.

“Ten points to Poke,” Brad said to that, “and zero to Ray. Only because you're in my house and I don't want us to lose because of you. Any more,” he added with a smirk.

“Fuck you, Brad!”

“Don't go breaking my heart just because you want some Iceman action, Ray,” Walt said, trying to keep a serious face and failing miserably.

“I don't blame him,” Brad said with an understanding nod, “but I wouldn't be able to live with myself after that. Probably literally.”

“Nate!” Ray shouted, “Nate, where are you? Where is our fearless leader, our prefect, our Boy of Great Head...”

“Ray, I swear on my wand, I will kick your ass the next time you call me that.”

They turned to see Nate coming up to them.

“You wound me,” Ray announced, but threw himself – and Walt, because he still wouldn't let him go – at Nate with a spastic sort of hug.

“I would,” Nate affirmed, dislodging Ray from himself with a tap on the back of his head. “Listen,” he turned to the rest of them, “I spoke to Ginny and she said she was going to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to help George. I volunteered us, too.” He shrugged. “But we don't have to all go there if you made other plans.”

“Of course we will go,” Gina said, tucked under Poke's arm and smiling at Nate.

Everybody else nodded and turned left for the shortcut to the east part of Hogsmeade.

“I didn't know he decided to re-open it,” Brad said with a question in his tone.

“Not yet. Ginny said they just got him to go there again.”

Brad nodded. Hefelt a bit of dread going there, he couldn't imagine what George was going through. Fred's death was hard for everybody who knew him, even in passing. He became one of the symbols of the war, of what it took from them. But even if he didn't, Brad had a burning memory of the Weasley family mourning around his body, in the middle of the Great Hall, surrounded by others, dead and grieving, but somehow drawing the most painful picture. And George was there, in the middle of it, kneeling by Fred's side, and saying things that were impossible to be heard from the distance. Staring like if he’d looked at him long enough, Fred would’ve opened his eyes.

Brad hadn't seen George since the funeral and he hadn’t been inside the shop for almost a year. Suddenly Ray's idea of getting drunk started to sound more attractive.

Maybe he should...

But they were already there.

From the street it looked the same way it looked last year – the curtain in red and yellow stripes covering up the window and the sign on the door that originally read “We're out having FUN” that had been long ago changed by someone to “We're out having WAR”. No one had taken it off even now.

Nate knocked four times, loudly, before trying the doorknob. The door was open, so they all went in, Nate, Ray, Walt, Brad, Poke, and Gina, and quickly shut it behind them not to attract attention from other students.

The room was brightly lit, but that actually made it worse. There were boxes everywhere, opened and sealed, some of them half filled, some of them on the carpet, spilling gadgets on the floor. Someone had to use the cleaning spell, because there was no trace of dust, but somehow it still looked abandoned and lifeless.

Ginny came in from the second room, her eyes red but her smile grateful.

“Thank you all for coming,” she said, looking around the room rather than at them. “It means a lot.”

Gina came closer and gave her a hug.

“Of course,” she said simply, just like before.

Walt nodded. “Ray needs all the workout he can get.”

“Hey!” Ray elbowed him, but everyone smiled at that and breathed a little easier.

That is, until they saw George.

“Hi, guys,” he said, leaning on the counter. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks and hadn't eaten in months. Like the idea of walking, or standing, was too hard to comprehend.

“Yo, George, my beautiful brother from a different mother!” Ray shouted and came closer to hug him.

Brad heard the whole group, himself included, hold their breath.

George widened his eyes for a moment and then hung his head, shaking it. That's it, Brad thought. The B-word has been used.

Before Ray reached the counter, George lifted his head and he was snorting.

“My mother would never bring someone like you into this world. She actually likes it.”

Ray threw his arms around George's neck and hugged him tightly. “You're just jealous. That's understandable.”

“You're the one who called me beautiful.”

“I always thought you were hot,” Ray said, before turning to look at the group. “That is, of course, until I saw Walt.”

“Touching,” Walt muttered, but Brad could see that he was biting his lower lip. Walt had this weird condition where he actually found Ray more adorable than annoying.

“And more age-appropriate,” George pointed out, still smiling and visibly surprised by it.

“You're not that old,” Ray said to that, patting him on the head before taking a step back and turning around. “But we can be, before we're done here, so let's get to it. Point me in the right direction and use me however you want.”

“Promises, promises,” George said but then he turned serious. “But you're right, let's get to it.”

So they did.

They worked for almost three hours before George called if off. “You came to Hogsmeade to have fun, not to clean. Go have fun.”

They protested, of course, but George was part of a big family with years of experience in getting his way. He sent them out, giving each of them a different item from the shop.

Before, they were planning to go to all the usual places, like Honeydukes Sweetshop or Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, that had been finally re-opened. Brad was craving the cinnamon rolls for months now (he tried the Muggle ones one time, but he ended up throwing them out; they just weren't the same), and he knew Nate needed his chocolate fix like he needed his books – badly and often.

But after leaving George's shop, they went straight to The Three Broomsticks and ordered a pitcher of butterbeer. The noises around them seemed to be almost deafening for Brad and he rubbed his right ear, fruitlessly trying to somehow shield it from the incessant waves of sound.

Suddenly he felt a warm hand closing on his thigh and the pressure in his head seemed to be immediately a little less... all-consuming. Nate's fingers tightened for a moment before just resting there on his leg, giving off warmth through Brad's chilled jeans.

He didn't turn to him, he couldn't. He just quietly inhaled and exhaled, once, and twice, and one more time. It felt as if everyone in the room quieted down a little.

“Anyone else feels like we actually got lucky in this whole mess?” Walt asked, looking at the table instead of them.

“Yeah,” Ray said, throwing his arm around Walt's shoulders and sliding closer.

Brad nodded and he could see Nate and Gina doing the same. Poke looked like he was going to say something, but he just kept staring at Gina before nodding too.

There was probably no one in the magic community who hadn't known someone who died during the war, but no one in the group lost a member of close family or a close friend.

The standards of what was considered a good situation were near an all-time low, Brad suspected.

#

He told himself for the fiftieth time that he was not expecting anything but a great view when he was climbing the last steps to the top of the Astronomy Tower, but the hot burn of disappointment he felt when he stepped onto the empty balcony rendered this and other forty nine times to be utter lies.

The view was indeed spectacular, though. The light coming out from the castle made the Hogwarts' grounds partially visible even at this time of night. Brad looked out towards the Forbidden Forest and didn't think about the last year's fires at all.

The sound of the door opening startled him, but he didn't turn around.

“We didn't do this for far too long,” Nate said, leaning on the railing right next to Brad.

“We didn't do many things for far too long,” Brad wanted to say and found himself actually speaking those words out loud almost without thought. Because if he would stop to think about it, they would stay unspoken and buried, preferably forever.

“You’re right, we didn't.”

They stood in silence for a minute. Two. Three.

“Are we friends?” Nate asked and Brad turned to face him. “Are we... We had sex, sort of, it depends on... Never mind. We had sex and then we almost stopped talking and that was fucked up. Now it's sort of better, but not by much and I want to know. Are we friends and that's it? Are we friends who are having sex? Or are we not even friends anymore? Are we...” Brad kissed him before he could finish.

“I don't know,” he said with his lips touching Nate's, because he couldn't move away now, not now. He kissed him again, pushed his tongue into Nate's mouth and pulled him closer with the hand on the nape of his neck.

“Fine,” Nate whispered back, his fingers clasped on Brad's hips. They both moved so that Brad was crowding Nate against the wall and pushing as if Nate was supposed to melt into it or into Brad. “That's fine.”

And Brad had been wrong before, Nate was a bad liar, probably the worst liar Brad knew, but he didn't care now, because he missed this, even if he actually did have this just once. He missed everything they were before that, everything they could become then. He didn't know what choices they had left now, if any at all. If there was a way to not be distant and wary, and careful, because they were never that, not ever, not before the Battle.

So they kissed and kissed, hands seeking warm skin under sweaters and t-shirts, hips aligned so that they were rubbing off of each other. It was not fast or desperate, not like the last time. There was no mortal danger, no fires going around them or screams heard through the walls.

And Brad was torn between wanting this to be their first time, this slow, focused on one another make out session leading to an orgasm pretty fast anyway, and between never giving back that time during the Battle. The fast, rushed, we're-probably-going-to-die-tonight-please-don't-die exchange of handjobs and bite marks, and kisses. But it didn't matter now anyway. He got to have Nate under his hands again.

Nate came with a quiet gasp and Brad, Brad whispered into his collarbone before his teeth closed on his skin. And then Brad was done, shuddering and falling harder onto Nate's body, with his nose next to his ear and swallowed words to be left unspoken.

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, unwilling to break the silence or to widen the space between them again. Nate put his chin on Brad's shoulder and breathed deeply; the only proof that he wasn't asleep was that his fingers were still underneath Brad's t-shirt, drawing patterns on the sweaty skin of his back. Brad was inhaling him with every deep breath, while the tips of his fingers were running along the edges of Nate's jeans.

“I missed you,” Nate said, finally, because he was always the braver one.

#

And if Brad would be inclined to think that would resolve all the issues, he would be sorely disappointed now. But since his view of the world was realistic at best, he knew better than to hope for such things.

It was better, for sure, a little easier to be around each other, and talk, and touch. A little easier to reenact their usual play of doing things. But there were also times when Brad found himself suddenly craving Nate's skin under his hands or lips so badly he had to almost constantly keep his hands in his pockets, so he wouldn't just reach out and take, and take.

It will pass, he told himself and he wasn't wrong, exactly. He was already feeling a little better, more deserving of his fucking nickname. Not jumping out of his skin any time soon, or fantasizing about molesting Nate in the middle of the Common Room. Much.

They went back to meeting at the Astronomy Tower, just like they had been doing for over three years. Mostly it was just the two of them, but occasionally they ended up sort of hosting little, eleventh-person-is-sent-the-fuck-away parties on the top of the world (Ray's idea of a great name, of course; Brad was able to at least veto the capital letters).

“Some time during the fourth year,” Nate started speaking the moment Brad appeared in the doorway one day when it was just the two of them, “I became scared that there would come a day when I could look at this view and not be affected by it.”

“Was there ever a day like that?” Brad asked, leaning on the railing and looking around. There was no such day for him, that he was certain of.

Nate shook his head. “I'm starting to believe it will probably never come.”

“That's good.”

“I have to say, Voldemort knew where to attack,” Nate said after a minute. “If Hogwarts would fall...”

“It didn't.” Brad turned to Nate and put his hand on his neck, making him turn too. He looked him in the eyes. “It didn't,” he repeated.

“I know that,” Nate said, tilting his head, so that he could kiss Brad's wrist. “We would all be dead, if it did, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Brad breathed out, trying to get his heart under control. His blood was pulsing like it wanted to burst out of his veins.

Nate laughed suddenly, with his eyes bright and his head thrown back, accidentally dislodging Brad's hand. Brad let it drop to his waist instead, because he couldn't make himself break contact completely.

“What?” he asked, lips twitching. Nate's laughter always did that to him.

“I just remembered our first time,” Nate gasped, still laughing. Brad tightened his grip in response without thinking, which made Nate stop and smirk at him, before he went back to just amused. “First time seeing Hogwarts, you idiot.”

Brad shrugged, smirking as well. “Hey, you didn't specify.”

“And you went straight to sex.”

“I'm seventeen years old. I'm not ashamed to admit that a part of me is thinking about sex constantly.” Especially when you're around.

Nate's fingers twitched at the small of his back. And when did they get there? They were basically in each other's arms and the question should be how he was able to think about anything other than sex.

“Okay, I will shoot. What about our first time?”

Nate shrugged, still smiling. “Ray's crazy stories, which, by the way, made this little guy from a family of non-wizards slightly petrified,” he started, pointing at himself. “Poke almost landing in the lake...”

“He told me later that it was the first time he saw Gina.”

Nate scrunched his nose. “They are seriously too adorable to exist. I shouldn't even use the world 'adorable', but they're forcing me to.”

“Poor you.”

Nate pinched him hard. “I also remember this ridiculously tall, silent boy who helped me with my bags.”

“You were a midget back then, that's all.”

“I was a normal-sized eleven-year-old.”

“Normal for midgets, sure. At least you grew up out of that. You still can't pack, though.”

“You're destroying my precious childhood memories, just so you know,” Nate told him, trying for serious and failing completely.

Brad suddenly felt hot. He wanted... everything. This, and more, since he knew now there was 'more' he was allowed to have. He didn't know how to get it, though. Or how to keep it. How to make sure it wasn't going to break them again.

He stepped back, letting go. “Speaking of children,” he said, looking at the door, “aren't you supposed to make some rounds to catch those sneaking up little monsters?”

Nate frowned, showing his hands in his pockets. “Yes. Yes, I do, of course. I should go.”

Brad nodded. “I'm going to stay here a little longer.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Nate.”

Nate stood there for a second before leaning in for a quick kiss. He moved away as quickly.

“Night, Brad.”

#

It was bound to happen sooner or later. Actually, to be honest, Brad was kind of expecting it to happen earlier than it actually did.

Because someone had to break at some point. Every student from the second year up was here last year and they all remembered.

They got used to hearing screams at night.

They got used to the wary looks and tired eyes, and smiles that came a few seconds too late.

They got used to not doing anything in the dark, just in case.

They got used to trying to avoid sudden movements and surprising tackles.

Friends intervened when they noticed bottles or suspicious pills.

Or split lips and bruises. Or scars.

They were trying their best, both at dealing with their own shit and at taking care of others.

They couldn't help everyone, though.

Mike Rivers, a third-year from Ravenclaw, went home after he kept refusing to leave his dormitory for anything.

Two weeks later, Ramona Smithson from Gryffindor's fifth year was sent away after pulling her wand at Professor McGonagall.

The rest of them just kept going.

Dumbledore's Army helped, that's for sure. Going to the meetings gave Brad a feeling of being understood and these days he didn't get it too often. He felt on the outside of pretty much everything.

On the wall there was a list of names of DA’s members who died during the Battle (Samantha Perkins, Trevor McKinley, Laura Banks, Ted Stevens, Mike Atwood, Cassidy Johnson, and Phillip Willow; Brad felt the need to list them all in his head sometimes). There was also a second list, open to be filled whenever anyone wanted or needed to add to it, for fallen friends and family members. Fred Weasley was at the top of that one, and Brad had seen Ginny's eyes locked on it sometimes, before something or someone distracted her.

Their numbers grew, probably doubled up before the end of November. It was weird at first, but they got used to the new faces. There was no way they would tell someone no. Everyone wanted the same thing, after all.

They shifted, though. The core members became some sort of mentors to the new ones, teaching them what they had covered for the last year and a half. It slowed down the whole learning process, but in the end they knew it wasn't about learning new things for them anymore.

Brad was fortunate enough to not get a complete moron. Shonda was smart and capable, learning quickly, even if she did stumble on some spells.

“Fuck, not again,” she groaned as her spell bounced off the wall and took a chunk of brick with it. She quickly fixed the damage and tried again, this time doing it right and Brad nodded with approval.

“Have I earned a smile?” she asked, raising her brows at him.

“I don't know, ask that wall.”

“Ouch,” she said, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “So cruel.”

“That's me,” he said, slightly amused. “And as a truly cruel person, I'm making you do it ten more times. Correctly. Leave the place alone, we need it.”

She rolled her eyes, but went back to the exercise anyway. Brad was busy observing her, so it took him a minute to notice Ginny standing nearby.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes, everything's fine,” she said, coming closer. “Didn't want to interrupt. I just wanted to make sure Nate's okay.”

“Nate?” Brad noticed, of course, that Nate wasn't there at the beginning, but he assumed he was just running late.

“He's not here,” Ginny said, shaking her head when he was looking around. “He asked Walt to let me know he wasn't going to show today. And it's fine, obviously,” she shrugged, “I'm just worried. It's kind of my thing now, worrying.”

Brad nodded.

“It's probably fine,” he said, to her and to himself. “Maybe he's just tired. I don't think he's stopped doing anything even once since we got back.”

“I've noticed.”

Ginny and Brad dated for awhile in their fifth year. It was something that, to an outside observer, might have looked like a perfect match. But they knew better, agreed that it was a good thing they tried, but it wasn't ever going to lead anywhere. Brad had never looked back and he was sure Ginny didn't either. And while they never became close friends, they always understood each other really well. Too well, maybe.

Somehow she ended up being friends with Nate, instead. Brad had problems understanding that, but right now he felt fucking good about it.

“Are you working with anyone right now?” he asked. She shook her head. “Would you mind taking care of Shonda for me? I would... go. And check. To make sure everything's fine.”

“Of course,” she smiled, like she expected it. “Let me know if I can help.”

“Sure,” he said, but he wasn't really listening anymore. After saying goodbye to Shonda, he scanned the room for Walt. He located him near the windows. It looked like there was smoke coming from his partner's wand.

“Is it safe?” he asked, curiously tilting his head.

“No,” Walt answered before addressing the guy, fellow Hufflepuff from the looks of it. “Try again.”

“Where did you see Nate, Walt? Ginny said he talked to you.”

“Where else could it be? In the library. I swear, even the entire Ravenclaw isn’t spending as much time in there as he is.”

“He has missed the meeting so he could study?” Brad asked incredulously. Even for Nate, that was extreme. They had a lot of time until the exams and teachers seemed to take it easy on them lately.

“Make him eat something, Brad,” Walt said, crossing his arms and shaking his head at the Hufflepuff.

Brad was going to force Nate to go to dinner if he had to.

He found him at the far end of the library, with three books open before him and another two waiting on the chair next to him. Brad lifted the two, so he could sit down. “Hi.”

“Hi, Brad,” Nate said, distracted. “Is everything okay?” he asked, not looking up from the paper.

“You tell me.”

“Huh?” he lifted his head, his brows furrowed and his mouth opened. “Oh. The meeting. Yeah, I needed to get this done.”

“Homework?”

“Yes,” Nate bit his lower lip. “I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Brad was trying not to sound so surprised, but it was unusual, to say the least. Nate Fick did not forget his homework, ever.

“Yes, Brad,” Nate said, his voice sharp. He winced a second later. “I'm sorry. It's obviously not your fault and I'm taking it out on you. I forgot to write the essay for Professor Lipkin. I need to do this now.”

Brad rapped his fingers on the books he was holding. “Okay. We have an hour before dinner, I will wait.”

“No, it doesn't make sense. You don't...”

Brad shushed him. “Be quiet and keep writing. You have an hour.”

And Brad was going to make sure that was it.

#

Holiday break caught Brad by surprise every year. He was looking forward to it since the middle of November and then suddenly it was a week before, or three days before, and he forgot to buy presents again.

He wasn't going home during the break, though, so at least he still had a chance to buy something in Hogsmeade before meeting his parents there on twenty eighth for Hanukkah dinner.

He was walking through the empty hallway, debating what kind of book his mother would enjoy the most, so he didn't see Professor McGonagall coming from his left until he was stopped by her hand on his shoulder.

“Careful, Mr Colbert.”

“I'm sorry, Proffesor. I didn't see you.”

She tilted her head, looking at him. “I was surprised to learn that you are staying here during the break. Not counting last year, you've never did before.”

Last year almost everyone stayed in. That was when people still believed Hogwarts was the safest place for them to be.

This year there were maybe twenty of them, and less than a half was staying by choice.

“Seemed like the best option, Ma’am. Some of my friends are staying, too.” And it was their last chance to do so.

She nodded. “I understand. I always loved spending winter holidays here,” she smiled a little, Brad thought but wasn't sure. It was difficult to say with her, sometimes.

He smiled back just in case.

“Since we're meeting, I wanted to congratulate you on your last Transfiguration essay.”

He looked at her in surprise.

“I hope you're considering your future in this field, Colbert. You could accomplish great things.”

“I... Thank you. That... means a lot.”

He had no idea about his future in any field, at this point, but it was still damn good to hear. Transfiguration was his favorite class, after all.

She nodded again and left him standing there, looking at her back before she disappeared in the dark corridor. She was looking better, like the rest of them were. Last year, she was almost invisible, tired and looking older than ever, avoiding Professor Snape as much as she could. Now, she was their Headmistress and she stepped up to the task, with her head held high and her strong voice that left no room for argument.

Brad smiled, continuing his walk back to his bedroom.

#

Eating in the almost empty Great Hall was weird. Brad stopped having flashbacks about dead bodies lying on the floor every other week after about a month and a half, but he felt... uneven tonight, with so much empty space. Sitting with his back to the most of the room didn't help either. He kept shifting and turning around.

Nate leaned in towards Brad. “What's going on?” he asked, frowning. “There's no one else coming.”

“I'm not waiting for anybody. I'm just not... comfortable. With the empty space. Behind me.”

Nate nodded, turning away to stare at his potatoes swimming in gravy. “I get it. It's weird without all these people, right? I feel like the room is three times bigger than normal.”

“At least there are no bodies,” Brad murmured, half a second later hoping Nate didn't hear anything.

Judging from the way he did a double-take at the empty room behind them, it was unlikely.

“Are you still having flashbacks?” Nate asked quietly, so the others wouldn't hear. Brad didn't even stop to wonder how he knew. He learned a long time ago that Nate was probably the most observant person he'd ever known.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It doesn't mean I don't remember, though.”

“I don't think we're going to forget it any time soon.”

And Brad saw this as an acknowledgment of many different things, but one of them was that simple understanding that it was going to take time. That it was okay not to be in a perfect form yet.

He let his shoulders relax a little bit and took a deep breath. “Probably not.”

“I would pay money for all of those memories to go away.”

Brad turned right and felt Nate moving closer behind him to see Lisa, who looked up at them and shrugged.

“I wasn't eavesdropping. You're not exactly quiet and I don't have anybody to talk to.”

She was one of two Ravenclaws who stayed in and the other one, Sylvia, was flirting with Maria from Hufflepuff on the other end of the table.

“You can talk with us,” Nate offered with a smile Brad didn't even have to turn to know was there. “Or with me. Brad here is not all that great at conversations.”

“I've noticed,” Lisa said, smirking a little.

“Then you are both terribly misguided,” Brad told hem, rolling his fork between his fingers. “I'm great at conversations. When I feel like having them.”

“Somehow I think you don’t feel that way very often,” Lisa said, raising her eyebrows at Nate as if seeking confirmation. She apparently got it, because she sat back with a winning smile.

“I tend to avoid feelings in general.”

“Unless it's irritation,” Nate said. “Or feeling murderous. Or helplessness in the face of overwhelming stupidity.”

“It's not my fault that people are stupid. It's not like I enjoy those feelings.”

“Liar.”

Lisa laughed at them and didn't even try to hide it. The left side of Brad's mouth twitched.

“Hey, we're planning on having... well, party would be stretching it, seeing like there's four of us Gryffindors, so a get-together in our Common Room later on,” Nate said, smiling. “You should come.”

“Bring snacks,” Brad added. They were almost out. Again.

“My mom sent me her cinnamon rolls. I'm willing to share.”

“You should definitely come, then.”

*

Somehow, two hours later they all ended up in Gryffindor's Common Room. Lisa brought Sylvia, who brought Maria, who brought the remaining four Hufflepuffs, including Walt. At that point Nate made a trip down to the dungeons and came back with nine Slytherins.

Brad blamed it on Christmas. Holidays made people do weird things.

But he wasn't complaining. People brought food. Someone brought alcohol, and Nate and Mia both left their Head Boy and Head Girl hats somewhere else and didn't say anything.

Brad was kicking Mike's ass at chess and didn't really pay attention to what was happening in the room, other than looking up from time to time to see where Nate was.

If he was still talking to Tina by the fireplace, that was.

“Stop staring at him and make your move already,” Mike said, rolling his eyes.

“My last move cost you your queen. It's your turn,” Brad pointed out, ignoring whatever Mike implied.

Unfortunately, Mike was a stubborn guy. “Do you plan on taking your head out of your ass and actually get together with him?”

“That conversation is ridiculous.”

“You both are ridiculous. How many years have you been pining after one another already?”

“And what are you, the ghost of Christmas past?” Brad asked, raising his brows.

“I'm the get-your-shit-together-and-do-this-already voice of reason.”

“Why exactly do I have to be the one to 'get my shit together'? Or is Nate getting the same lovely parental talk?”

Mike looked at him, tilting his head to the left. “Are you sure he didn't? Or maybe you just didn't notice it?”

“How the hell should I know if I didn't notice it?”

“So let me tell you. From where I'm standing, it looks like he's making a move every other day. You... not so much.”

Brad looked at him with narrowed eyes. He didn't think Mike was drunk, but the stuff coming out from his mouth was making a pretty strong case.

“Are you standing on another planet, then?” he asked, sitting back. Brad won the game anyway, Mike had three pieces left. “Where it's dark?”

Mike actually threw his hands in the air. “I honestly thought you would get your asses together last year.” So he didn't know, Brad thought. That was good. Probably. “But you apparently only put your brave pants on when it's time to fight the bad guys.”

Brad really didn't want to be reminded of the times he had to put his brave pants on last year. He felt his muscles tense and he tightened his grip on the arm of his armchair.

“That's really not...”

“Are you seriously still trying to win the chess game with Brad, Mike?” Nate asked with a crooked smile. “You should really let this go.”

“I'm from Gryffindor, I don't let things go,” Mike said gravely before he smiled back. “Besides, when I play, nobody tries to get me to socialize with strange people.”

Nate wasn't phased by the implication. “You’ve known most of these people for over six years.”

“Yes, that's why I can honestly tell you that I know they are strange.”

“And Brad is normal?” Nate asked, raising his eyebrows and looking between them.

“Brad is fucked in the head...”

“Hey!”

“...but that's one of his best qualities.”

“I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended right now,” Brad admitted with a dry smile.

Nate laughed at that. “That's Mike's specialty.”

“Well, I'm sitting here with you, aren't I?” Mike pointed out.

“There's that,” Brad nodded. “But it can also be a form of torture.”

“I guess you'll never know,” Mike deadpanned, standing up. “I'm going over there. And by there, I mean wherever the alcohol is.”

Brad watched him go for a long moment, before he stood up as well and looked around the room. “I think I'll just go to bed early. Make that my holiday gift to myself.”

“And abandon me to all this?” Nate waved his hand around.

“You can go to bed, too.”

Nate snorted.

“Yeah, because us going up together won't start any rumors or anything.”

“Well, Mike would pop open the champagne.”

Nate winced. “Was he harassing you about this?” he asked, pointing between them.

Yes.

“Not really.” He paused. “You?”

“At least once a week. He may actually have that penciled in in his calendar or something.” It was Nate's time to roll his eyes, but he smiled softly at Brad. “Don't worry, I'm not going to harass you about this.”

“Me neither,” Brad offers and pauses. “Should I?”

“No. Not until you figure it out.”

Brad had trouble believing this conversation was really happening. And since it happened the second time this evening, he should definitely go to bed. “It's on the list.”

“Let me know when,” Nate said, taking a step back. It made Brad realize they not only were having this conversation, but it also was taking place in the Common Room. He took the step back, too.

“Since I'm not as young as I used to be,” he said, making Nate crack a small smile, “I think it's time to sleep.”

“Maybe not as young, but definitely as anti-social as ever,” Nate pointed out, but he was still smiling. “You did good, though. Bravely resisted for,” he looked at his watch, “over three hours. Impressive.”

“I'm a real fighter,” Brad snorted.

“Go to sleep, old man. It's presents time tomorrow.”

“Hurrah.”

He went back to their bedroom and kept thinking about Mike's words and Nate's behavior. He would certainly notice if Nate was indeed making moves on him all the time. Right?

Nate acknowledged what was going on, or wasn't, and told him to take his time. It didn't feel like a move, more like stating the facts and awaiting an outcome.

And if Mike was the Ghost of Christmas Past, was Nate the Ghost of Christmas Present? Did that make Brad his own Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?

Well, he was definitely pessimistic enough.

#

Everybody came back for the New Year's Eve. The halls weren't silent anymore, the tables during dinner were full again, and everyone was talking about either their break, and the presents, and food, or about the party that was going to happen that night.

“I'm going to ask Gina to marry me,” Poke said, definitely breaking the pattern. They were sitting in their bedroom, shooting shit before the party.

“What?” Ray shrieked.

“You heard me.”

“I did, but I'm still hoping I misheard you,” Ray said, getting up to pace around the room. “You're seventeen!”

“I'm eighteen in two months.”

“Yeah, yeah, you're seventeen and three quarters, whatever. Real mature.”

“What Ray is unsuccessfully trying to say,” Nate broke in, sending Ray 'shut the hell up' look, which was apparently a magic weapon of some kind, because it actually worked, “is that although we are all sure you and Gina are a great couple and you will be that for years to come, it is really, really early to get married.”

“We're not getting married tomorrow, for fuck's sake.”

“You're still pretty young for an engagement,” Brad pointed out, leaning back on his bed.

“I was pretty young for fighting a war, too. Let's see how that turned out.”

There was a sudden silence in the room, mood shifting fast.

“Last year before the Battle I promised myself,” Poke said after a moment, looking at them one by one, “that if we survive that fight, I'm going to propose on the next New Year's Eve.”

That made an impression. Brad noticed in a detached way that Poke played the one card that pretty much ended all discussions.

“Shut up and show us the ring already, geez,” Ray said, hovering above Poke suddenly.

Brad avoided looking at Nate until it was time to leave for the party.

#

He was going to have to kill himself over this music. Two and a half hours of this and he had never wanted to use Silencio so much in his life. The fact that the entire school was gathered in one big room didn't help either. He tried hiding, but it was kind of counterproductive. He could still hear the damn whining coming from the speakers, and avoiding conversations meant there wasn't anything to drown it out.

“Have you seen Nate?” he asked, coming up to Ray, when he located him finally near the cake.

“He left, like, thirty minutes ago. Where were you?”

Trying to escape Laura Ripkin. And Molly Stark. And Luc Stark.

“Around. Getting bored out of my mind.” He paused and then furrowed his brows. “Wait, Nate left here alone?”

Ray rolled his eyes.

“No, he took that tall, blue-eyed blond he'd been lusting after forever back to our room. Oh, wait.”

Brad decided, again, that there was no greatest accomplishment in self-control than being friends with Ray Person and not killing him for over six years.

“Fuck you, Ray.”

“Sorry, bros before... bros,” he shrugged. “Anyway. You and me, not happening. You and Nate, not happening either, that's true, but not because of the lack of wanting on either side. I actually honestly have no idea why you are still not fucking, seriously, how many years a girl should wait for you? And by girl I mean Nate. And that was very sexist of me, I retract that comment. That was probably also a little heteronor...”

“Shut up, Ray.”

“Yes, thank you, that's probably a good idea. Go find Nate. I will go... somewhere else. Maybe I will drown myself in that punch. It looks radioactive enough.”

Brad decided he had enough. He turned around, but Ray caught him by the wrist. “If you don't kiss him at midnight, you are not only an idiot, Brad,” he said, quieter and without a smile. “You're a coward, too.”

And with that, he disappeared into the crowd. After a minute of staring after him and two minutes of trying to push through the mass of the entire population of Hogwarts trying to grind into each other or anything at all, Brad left the Great Hall behind.

The corridors weren't deserted, not by a long shot, students had to have their make out sessions somewhere, after all, but it was still much more quiet than the pulsing noise of the party.

He wondered sometimes what they would be like if they knew he and Nate actually hooked up already. More than once, even. Would they let it go? Unlikely, he decided. They would probably make him pick an engagement ring at this point.

He checked their room, just in case, before going up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower.

Nate was sitting cross-legged, leaning against the wall, having the perfect view of the stars.

“How the hell is this place not swamped with horny teenagers?” Brad wondered, sitting next to Nate and stretching his legs with a quiet groan. “Not that I'm complaining.”

Nate smirked at him with his eyebrows raised. “I'm not the Head Boy for nothing, Brad.”

Brad threw his head back with laughter. “You cock-blocking piece of shit.”

“I prefer to call it enjoying the perks of the job,” Nate said with a shrug and a smile.

“Well, apparently it's all the same to you.”

They sat in silence after that, looking up at the stars.

“You didn't enjoy the party?” Brad half-said, half-asked quietly without taking his eyes off the sky.

“I did, at first. But then I didn't, so I left.”

Talking with Nate was sometimes like pulling teeth. And Brad knew he wasn't a great example of a conversationalist himself, but everybody knew that. Nate was different. Which made Brad's life difficult when Nate was like this, because he wasn't good at getting anybody to talk.

“Did something...”

“Nothing happened,” Nate said, his shoulders slumped. “I kind of wish it did.” He paused for a moment. “Well, no, obviously I don't. I'm just tired of reacting badly to things that aren't there. Nothing happened. I should be fine and downstairs, having fun.”

“You should allow yourself to have bad days,” Brad said, like the hypocrite he was, and looked at Nate who was picking at his lower lip with his teeth. “Everybody has them.”

Nate shrugged. “We are all screwed, then,” he said dryly, and then he started to laugh, loud and hard, with his head thrown back and shoulders shaking.

Brad looked at him for a few seconds, but then he felt his own laughter building inside him and it poured out of him as well. They had to look like lunatics, laughing so hard Brad's stomach was starting to hurt. But it was so good, too, and Brad didn't want it to end.

It did, after a while, obviously. They were sprawled against the wall and each other, breathing loudly.

Nate checked his watch and they both could see it was a minute to midnight. Nate lifted his head from Brad's shoulder and looked him in the eye before looking at his lips. He kissed him then, leaned up and kissed him, soft and warm. Brad opened his mouth and let him in. He pulled at Nate's arm, so he would straddle Brad's lap, and they kissed and kissed, and kissed. Nate was running his fingers through Brad's hair at the nape of his neck and Brad's hands were under Nate's shirt, pulling him closer.

The first fireworks startled them both and made them pull away, but when they saw it was nothing bad, Nate whined into Brad's mouth and came back to kissing him.

“Happy New Year,” Brad whispered with his face buried in Nate's neck, his lips touching skin.

“May it be the best one yet,” Nate whispered back with a smile in his voice and bit his ear.

#

PART TWO

poetry: what's genocide?

2012-11-13T13:48:16Z

their high school principal
told me I couldn’t teach
poetry with profanity
so I asked my students,
“Raise your hand if you’ve heard of the Holocaust.”
in unison, their arms rose up like poisonous gas
then straightened out like an SS infantry
“Okay. Please put your hands down.
Now raise your hand if you’ve heard of the Rwandan genocide.”
blank stares mixed with curious ignorance
a quivering hand out of the crowd
half-way raised, like a lone survivor
struggling to stand up in Kigali
“Luz, are you sure about that?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought.”

“Carlos—what’s genocide?”

they won’t let you hear the truth at school
if that person says “fuck”
can’t even talk about “fuck”
even though a third of your senior class
is pregnant.

I can’t teach an 18-year-old girl in a public school
how to use a condom that will save her life
and that of the orphan she will be forced
to give to the foster care system—
“Carlos, how many 13-year-olds do you know that are HIV-positive?”

“Honestly, none. But I do visit a shelter every Monday and talk with
six 12-year-old girls with diagnosed AIDS.”
while 4th graders three blocks away give little boys blowjobs during recess
I met an 11-year-old gang member in the Bronx who carries
a semi-automatic weapon to study hall so he can make it home
and you want me to censor my language

“Carlos, what’s genocide?”

your books leave out Emmett Till and Medgar Evers
call themselves “World History” and don’t mention
King Leopold or diamond mines
call themselves “Politics in the Modern World”
and don’t mention Apartheid

“Carlos, what’s genocide?”

you wonder why children hide in adult bodies
lie under light-color-eyed contact lenses
learn to fetishize the size of their asses
and simultaneously hate their lips
my students thought Che Guevara was a rapper
from East Harlem
still think my Mumia t-shirt is of Bob Marley
how can literacy not include Phyllis Wheatley?
schools were built in the shadows of ghosts
filtered through incest and grinding teeth
molded under veils of extravagant ritual

“Carlos, what’s genocide?”

“Roselyn, how old was she? Cuántos años tuvo tu madre cuando se murió?”

“My mother had 32 years when she died. Ella era bellísima.”

…what’s genocide?

they’ve moved from sterilizing “Boriqua” women
injecting indigenous sisters with Hepatitis B,
now they just kill mothers with silent poison
stain their loyalty and love into veins and suffocate them

…what’s genocide?

Ridwan’s father hung himself
in the box because he thought his son
was ashamed of him

…what’s genocide?

Maureen’s mother gave her
skin lightening cream
the day before she started the 6th grade

…what’s genocide?

she carves straight lines into her
beautiful brown thighs so she can remember
what it feels like to heal

…what’s genocide?
…what’s genocide?

“Carlos, what’s genocide?”

“Luz, this…
this right here…

is genocide.”
- Carlos Andrés Gómez

(found on tumblr thanks to idrilka)

Birthday gift for Noelia: Transition (GK/TWW)

2012-05-30T20:24:05Z

Noelia is getting older today, so. I wrote her something.

Happy birthday! ♥

Transition
533 words
crossover: Generation Kill and The West Wing
starring: Nate Fick, Josh Lyman, Sam Seaborn

“Senator Fick.” Josh Lyman caught him at the bar.

“Josh, we went through this at least a dozen times.”

“Exaggerating as a true politician, sir,” Josh smiled and raised his glass. “It couldn’t have been more than five.”

Nate shrugged.

“If you say so. So, what brings you to this part of the room?”

“Free booze, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Nate nodded. “And here I thought it was my charming personality and wit.”

“I wish, sir, but I’m still mortified by your husband.”

“Brad would be delighted to hear that.”

“I bet.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, looking around the room.

“You’re doing good, Josh,” Nate offered.

Josh nodded.

“Thanks. We try.”

“You have a great team so far. Senate is stronger than I can remember. Don’t fuck this up and it will be fine.”

Josh looked at him as if he was crazy.

“It won’t be fine. Something is bound to happen.” He shrugged. “I’m kind of used to it at this point.”

“You’re addicted to it,” Nate corrected with a smile.

“Guilty as charged.”

Nate swallowed another chocolate cookie.

“Are we going to continue this or are you going to get to the point?” he asked. “I don’t mind either way. I’m just saying, you probably have more important things to do than babysitting a senator who is already mostly on your side.”

“Mostly?” Josh asked, his eyes wide open. “You wound me, sir.”

“Don’t tell me you forgot our… discussion from last month. I’d hate to be that easy to forget.”

“You won,” Josh pointed out. “I tend to forget when other people win.”

“Smart, especially in your case,” Nate said with a grin. “In your line of work, that is.”

“Okaaay, that’s it,” Josh announced. “No more small talk.”

Nate put his glass down.

“I’m listening.”

“Not me. The President would like five minutes of your time, if you please,” Josh said, already leading him out of the room.

“If I please?” Nate asked, raising his brows. “It’s worse than I thought. Is it about that last meeting of the committee? I already told…”

“It’s not that.”

Cathy welcomed them with a smile.

“The President is waiting for you.”

Nate wasn’t in the Oval Office for the first time, but it didn’t really matter. It was still the Oval Office.

Seeing Sam Seaborn there, though. That added a new level to the whole experience.

“Mister President,” he said with a nod and a smile.

“Oh god, I will never get used to it. You’ve known me for years. You’ve seen me drunk. Don’t call me sir.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.”

Sam narrowed his eyes.

“You’re laughing at me. I know that. I can see it.” He turned to Josh. “Maybe I should change my mind.”

“No, you shouldn’t. Sir.” Josh grinned.

“I hate you both.”

“That would make the next couple of minutes and beyond kind of…”

“Masochistic?”

“Yes.” Josh agreed. “That, too.”

Nate observed them with amusement. They seemed to forget he was there, so he looked down at the seal on the carpet.

“Nate?”

He raised his head and saw Sam, the President, smile at him.

“I have a proposition for you.”

___________

the end

Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home

2012-03-14T21:06:38Z

(source)

GK fic: Rolling Down

2012-03-02T13:48:53Z

I've realized that I forgot to post my yagkyas story here. Oops.
Also: I should really write something new...

Rolling Down
rating: R
wordcount: 1039
character(s): Tim Bryan, mostly; Ray, Nate, Lovell, ensemble
notes: written for surexit for yagkyas 2011 holiday exchange.
disclaimer: This story is based on the fictionalized characters from the HBO miniseries Generation Kill. It's fiction, that's all.
warnings: Doc swears a lot.
summary: Tim sometimes wonders if he made a right decision.

I should have chosen fucking SEALs, Tim thinks to himself more times than he would like.

"Devil Dogs," he mutters quietly, trying to dig his grave in the middle of the fucking Iraqi fucking desert. "Stupid motherfuckers."

"You all right, brother?" Lovell asks him, stopping on the way back from the T-L meeting. He looks like they all do. Tired as fuck, dirty and losing weight.

"Perfect," Tim answers, thrusting the shovel harder into the sand. Everything is fucking perfect.

*

The invasion starts off badly and doesn't get any better after that. Tim is constantly pissed off and he's not sure if it helps or tires him out even more, but it's not like he can exactly help it.

Underneath every "This is not what we trained for" lies "This is not what I came here for. This is not what I wanted to do". Tim hears it loud and clear, because he says and means the same. He wanted to serve his country, not to watch innocent children get blown up or shot.

"I should have chosen the fucking SEALs" quickly becomes his silent mantra, so he doesn't have to say more.

*

But regardless of what Rudy Reyes would like the world to believe, mantras, meditation and being fucking Zen usually don't work that well in the face of the craziness they encounter during this war.

"Dumb motherfucker, sir. Even the most boot-fucked Marine knows danger-close."

He should have been NJP'd after that and he knows this, just like everybody else fucking knows. And fuck, maybe there is a part of him that wanted that. Tell them all to kiss his ass and go back to the States, away from this madness.

But the bigger part of him wanted something different. A different end. Different commander. Different… something.

"Timothy!" Person greets him, leaning against the door of the humvee where Tim is sitting and checking his gun for the twentieth time.

"Joshua," he answers without looking up. "To what do I owe the displeasure?"

Person shrugs.

"Don't be like that, Doc," he says, grinning. "I just wanted to salute you. Heard about the dramatic scene with our beloved company commander."

Of course he did. The Marines gossip worse than his mother and her sisters and that is something.

"No drama," he says, looking up at Person and shrugging. "We've got lucky and there was no fire mission. End of story."

"We've got lucky for once, true. That's great. Wonderful. Good for us. Go us. Go Bravo Two. But I've also heard that you got personal with the one and only Encino Man." He leans closer and makes a bad impression of conspiratorial whispering that's probably in the hearing range of everyone in the platoon. "Tell me all about it, Tim. Don't hold back on me."

"Person, do me a favor and shut up, okay?" he says seriously. He feels edgy. The adrenaline from the scene with Encino Man has left him, leaving behind weariness and a headache.

"Yes, sir," Person says, mock-saluting, and walks away.

Tim stands up and turns in the direction of the command vehicle, but he can't see the LT anywhere. Gunny is talking with Poke and Lilley and at the back of the humvee there are two pairs of legs sticking out. From the lack of the constant noise, he supposes the inseparable duo is most likely unconscious. They are on the fifty percent watch, so the lieutenant must be awake. But he could be anywhere and Tim will prolong the inevitable for as long as he can.

He checks his gun again.

*

Fick doesn't NJP him.

"But you have to watch yourself, Tim," he says, when they stand next to the supply truck, half-hidden from the others. "You can't say things like that or there will be consequences."

"I know," he nods. "I'm sorry, sir," he adds, and it's true. Maybe not for the reasons he should be, but it doesn't really matter. There are still quite a few reasons worth being sorry.

But then the kid with their fucking bullets in his stomach shows up and Tim forgets about everything else. He hates it, he hates this whole fucking thing and he wants to punch someone, anyone.

He doesn't, though. The kid gets med-evaced and there are Person's allergies, Baptista's stomach rebellion and Pappy's insomnia to deal with.

They roll further inside the madness and Tim sometimes finds himself not caring anymore.

*

Baghdad is, not at all surprisingly, a fucking mess. Their stay in the city feels like a prolonged ending to a bad movie. Tim thought it was over before, but now they still have to play the part, conquering heroes, mighty saviors, infidels, murderers, enemies, whatever works at any given point. One thing they always are: rich Americans with clean water, food and good drugs.

He puts the bandage around another boy's foot and he wants to scream. A couple hundred meters from them a bomb goes off and the boy does it for him, kicking him in the process. His mother standing behind him starts to say something, apologize maybe, but he nods and waves her off. He doesn't apologize to her for destroying her homeland, after all.

*

The grass is so green it looks painted. But Tim is so sick of yellows and greys of this world that he would fucking paint the ground himself. He would do graffiti on the sand, a huge fucking painting of solid green.

It is entirely possible he is a little drunk. Sun and alcohol don't mix well.

They got the news that they're leaving tomorrow and the whole platoon is gathered around the campfire now, telling stories of the first thing they're going to do back home. They are filthy and hungry, beyond tired, but no one leaves the circle.

Tim looks up at the sky and thinks he may even miss these stars.

*

A few months later, they ask him if he wants to stay in Recon. He spends half an hour staring at the papers and thinks about the fact that maybe he should have chosen SEALs, but didn't.

He signs his name on the dotted line. He's not done yet.

gk fic: For One Moment Longer - masterpost

2011-11-09T21:08:13Z

Title: For One Moment Longer
Fandom: Generation Kill (HBO)
Character/Pairing(s): Brad/Nate, mentions of Ray, Mike, couple of other Bravo guys and a few OCs
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 20082
Disclaimer: This story is based on the fictionalized characters from the HBO miniseries Generation Kill. It's fiction, that's all.
Warnings: mentions of PTSD and other kinds of bad things that can happen to a person after (s)he goes to war; also: sex and swearing
Summary: They were sleeping together and then they weren’t. Brad went to England and to Afghanistan, and back to England again, and now when he comes back, he learns that Nate isn’t at Harvard, but works at Wringley’s, a place for veterans with PTSD.

by eiirene

Part One & Part Two

Art by eiirene: HERE
Fanmix by the_liftedlorax: I'll add the link asap after I get it

Notes & Thanks

The story is based on and inspired by fictional characters as portrayed in HBO miniseries “Generation Kill” and was written for warbigbang 2011.

The title is from the unknown 2nd Lieutenant’s quote: “Courage is endurance for one moment longer”.

*

First of all, I want to thank the amazing pjvilar who beta-ed this story. I was so nervous, sending it to you, but you were very supportive and honest at the same time. You helped me a lot. Thank you, again! ♥

Second, noelia_g and cala_jane, thank you for Camp Big Bang(s) again this year and for still being ~~nuts~~ excited about these guys with me! ♥

Thanks to my crafters, eiirene and the_liftedlorax, for choosing my story! I hope you had fun!

Anyone who encouraged, helped and/or listened to my whining – thank you!

And thank you, warbigbang mods, for running it again this year! Hopefully we will do it again. :)

Dear Santa, I was trying

2011-10-28T20:19:32Z

My letter to the Secret Santa ended up being quite long. Sorry?

Dear Santa,

I want you to know that I already love my gift. I have a special place in my ~~closet~~ heart for hand-made (in this case, hand-typed, I guess) presents and yours will, by definition, meet the criteria. So don’t worry!

If you want to know something more, here it is: I'm crazy in love with Brad/Nate and even more crazy in love with the one and only Nate Fick. Everything is Nate and nothing hurts etc, etc. The same goes for Brad/Nate.
But if you don't share my love for either Nate or my otp, I find both Brad and Mike interesting and fascinating and would love to read more about one (or both) of them. You can also add almost everyone you like from the series. It's a pretty safe bet I like them, too. Or you can write about only one of those guys mentioned, and it'll be great as well.

I'm not really narrowing it down, aren't I? ;)

What else… Okay, here's the most important thing: if you’re going to write Brad/Nate story, please, please, give them a happy ending. It doesn’t have to be a house, a puppy, a kid and a hell of a lot awesome sex (but all of that would be more than fine, trust me). If it’s them, together for good, whole and loving each other? I call it a happy ending and make happy noises.

Other things I love: AU stories of all kinds (it can be almost anything, but I have the biggest soft spot for college au, high school au, lawyer au or superheroes au), canon stories, future fics, thinky thoughts about OIF and military life, getting a life back after a tour, domesticity, kidfics, established relationships, getting-together stories, awesome friendships and family relationships (with mothers and sisters, especially), sex with feelings, small things that show intimacy, being a BAMF and/or very competent, smart person… The list goes on. And on. I’m really easy to please.

As for the things to avoid, I’d really appreciate if there was no death of any of the guys and no unhappy ending when you’re writing Brad/Nate (my heart can’t take it, seriously). Other than that, have at it. Go with whatever you want to write and it will be great. It’s already met my basic criteria for being a wonderful gift, remember?

I want you to have fun, writing this story. :D

Thank you for doing this!

Kubis

We'll All Float On Okay (gk fic)

2011-06-03T18:19:33Z

We’ll All Float On Okay
Generation Kill fic
pairing: Brad/Nate
rating: R
word count: 1017
disclaimer: This story is based on the fictionalized characters from the HBO miniseries Generation Kill. It's fiction, that's all.
summary: Every relationship is the junction of little things.
notes: Written for gk_remix challenge. The idea for this fic was inspired by this (thanks, eiirene!) and the titles of all drabbles are from this as well. The main title is from the song “Float On” by Modest Mouse, my prompt.
Thanks to idrilka for beta!

Metamorphosis

It takes them three years. Nate has to come back, leave the Corps, fight through the memories, sleepless nights, apathy and never agains, and go back to college, where he works hard and doesn’t lose sleep over anyone’s life. Brad has to come back, take a trip, drink some, exercise more, feel the water closing around him again and again, go to England, go back to Iraq, live through it again and come back home again.

It takes them three years to meet again under Mike’s roof and understand there’s still something from back then they haven’t dealt with yet.

Desires

Nate can’t remember touching Brad back then. He probably did, a hand on the arm, good work, Brad, or thank you, Brad, stronger clasp of his fingers, don’t, Brad, skin barely touching skin, these are the best maps I have, or here, have something to sustain that weapon and let’s pray it will work.

He can’t remember that want, his muscles shifting to reach out and connect the skin, visceral need and sloppy self-control. He can’t remember that heat, that pressure, it wasn’t there. He remembers the camaraderie, too easy and careless, and the attempts to keep himself in check.

Openings

There’s a chance they would still pass it off, file it with other what ifs and hell noes in their lives and move on. They could have been the only ones to know there was even a thought about it, the slightest idea.

But Brad gets transferred temporarily to Quantico and that changes things. Before, they could bullshit themselves that it would be more hassle than it’s worth, but now it’s either trying and making the best of it or running to the hills. And neither of them has ever run from a challenge.

And fuck, is the sex amazing.

Flames

It’s not the first time he has ever done this, but it’s the first time he wants it so much.

“Brad,” he whispers into his neck between kisses and bites. He inhales and exhales, and the heat is building up and up, and up. He wants everything.

Brad’s hand is there on the back of his neck, grounding him.

“I got you,” Brad says. “Right there.”

Nate’s thighs tremble when his fingers close on Brad’s dick, and Brad repeats his name over and over. There will be time to map out his body, slowly and thoroughly.

There will be time.

The morning

It’s difficult to calculate how often is not often enough to be suspicious. When a simple staying over can bring in the questions you aren’t able (or ready, for that matter) to answer.

It’s probably why every morning like this is so important. Roll over, there’s a warm body next to you. Touch and then touch some more, because you can. Make more coffee, don’t overdo the eggs. Actually sit down to eat breakfast. Maybe have sex in the kitchen, if you want.

And try to forget that sleeping alone is always more difficult after days like this. Nate tries.

Love

Nate thinks that there might have been a better way to do this, but who knows, maybe there wasn’t.

“I love you,” he says, standing next to Brad who’s doing dishes, and kisses his shoulder. Nate waits a long moment and feels Brad’s muscles tense under the black t-shirt, before Nate moves slightly away.

Brad’s staring at the coffee mug he was washing, before he puts it down and turns to Nate.

“I almost broke it, you know. And it’s my favorite,” he says, and his wet hands are on Nate’s neck, pulling him closer. “But I love you too.”

Confrontations

“One more tour and I’ll be able to walk away,” Brad says, and he looks as if it was nothing. Nate’s used to it, he knows it’s just how Brad deals, but it still pisses him off right now.

“Will you?” he tries for calm. He can do that too.

“Walk away? I don’t know.”

Nate nods. It’s not really surprising.

“I don’t know what it will be like after I come back, Nate.”

’It’ being you, me, or us?, Nate wants to ask, but doesn’t. He remembers what it’s like after the tour. Everything is different. Everything can happen.

Distance

It’s probably better they weren’t living together before. From Monday to Friday, Nate’s life doesn’t change much. He wakes up alone and he sleeps alone, he works a lot and he eats and exercises when he has the time. He may work a little too much now and he may run too far, but at least he’s usually too tired to dream.

The weekends are tougher, but he manages them too. He works, he runs, he goes to see his family a few times. His sisters look worried, but he tries to ignore them.

It works, most of the time.

Wakening

Nate hopes Brad will use the key. It’s stupid, maybe, but small things count, especially with Brad, and Nate wants him to use the key.

He wakes up to a hand coming up from his torso to the neck, pressure light but present. He opens his eyes and Brad’s there. In the warm light cast by the small lamp, kneeling next to the couch where Nate fell asleep, looking down on him. Larger than life, like always, and close, like too long ago. It’s all important, Nate knows.

“Hi, you,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” Brad says back and kisses him.

The horizon

They put all of the boxes into the empty room, Nate’s studio turned into Brad’s supposed bedroom, and Nate orders them pizza. It reminds him a little of college life, those first days and new beginnings, and bonding over unhealthy food.

They are both tired, so there’s no celebration and definitely no unpacking stuff. They eat pizza on the couch, drink beer, touch each other a lot. They’d done this many times before, but never with the knowledge that they can do that the next day and the day after that, and the one after that.

It’s different, starting now.

GK fic: One foot in front of the other 2/2

2010-12-30T15:36:58Z

Part I

*

They were going to go to Beth’s wedding together since the day they got their invitations. Both of them without a date, it seemed like the best solution. Now... Of course, the official version is still that they came as friends, but they know it’s different and Nate’s family knows, too, and it’s weird. It’s sort of their first date, even if Brad tries not to think about it that way. They are really good at pretending, before the summer break no one at school noticed that anything was different between them, but this. This is something else. Brad can’t help remembering the first date he went out on with Natalie, how nervous he was then and how the only problem with touching her or kissing her was if she was going to allow it. Nate is making him more calm and more nervous at the same time. And he is off-limits.

Although the last one Brad has only himself to thank for, so he can’t really complain.

“Are you having fun?” Beth asks as they dance together.

Brad looks at Nate, sitting at the table and talking with his new brother-in-law, laughing. There's something to be said about how good he looks in this suit, because seriously. Really, really good, even better since he took off his tie a couple of minutes ago. He looks so happy that Brad’s grin is a reflex.

“Yes, I have to admit you throw nice parties,” he answers, turning his attention back to Beth. She looks amazing and happy. She has never reminded him of Nate as much as she does now. “What about you?”

“Well, I got my dream boy, of course I’m happy,” she says, grinning. They turn and now she has a perfect view of their table. Her smile is soft, but when she looks back up at Brad, her voice is more serious. “Speaking of dream boys...”

Brad starts to pray for the song to end right now.

“I’m happy for you both, I really am. I’ve never seen Nate so happy, that’s for sure. It’s just...” she pauses and Brad’s not smiling anymore. “I don’t like this hiding bullshit. I understand why and I get it. I may not like it, but I get it’s something you have to do. I just hope that it's worth it and that you’re sure about you and Nate, because if you break his heart, I’m going for your kneecaps. Fair warning.”

Brad’s not scared. He’s... rationally concerned.

“I’m not in this to break his heart,” he says, uncomfortable. He can’t and won’t promise her anything else.

She seems to like his answer, though, and they stay silent for the rest of the song. When it’s over and some other guy comes up to ask Beth to dance, Brad goes back to their table. Nate turns to him with a blinding smile and he smiles back, thinking that maybe he doesn’t need to be rationally concerned after all.

*

Brad doesn't tell Nate he loves him for the first time during a blowjob, because he's not an idiot. Nate may have pretty much sucked all the braincells out of him, yes, but Brad still manages to catch himself in time. He kisses Nate, long and thorough, not minding the taste, and reciprocates, but he stays silent about the whole love thing. No matter how awesome the experience is, it's not the right time.

But he doesn't catch himself, doesn't even try, a week later, on his birthday. They are in his room and Nate just gave him the helmet to go with the bike he's supposed to get from his parents.

"Happy birthday, Brad," Nate says softly, leaning in for a kiss. "I love you."

And it's just there, ready and right.

"I love you, too, Nate," he says and puts his hands on Nate's neck, bringing him closer. Brad can see his eyes widen and feels the catch of his breath under his fingers, and he kisses him, because it's the only thing he can think of doing right now.

*

Brad planned to tell his family about him and Nate in the most suitable time. He wasn't sure what that meant, exactly, but sometimes he worked on his speech before falling asleep and he was telling himself over and over that he was going to do this at the right moment.

It happens a little differently.

They are at a restaurant, celebrating his birthday, and his parents are bringing back some really awful stories from his childhood. His sister is laughing so hard Brad's sure she's about to choke on something.

"I can't believe I've never heard some of those," Ann says, breathless. "I have so much blackmail material now, it's awesome! Now you just have to find yourself a girlfriend I can share it with."

He tries to look normal, he really does, but his mother sees something is wrong.

"Bradley, you will find a lovely girl, don't worry about it."

"I've found Nate," he says, his fingers digging into his thighs.

"I'm sorry?"

"I don't need to find a girl, Mom. I... Nate and I, we are... together. I don't need to find a girl."

Their silence is incredibly loud in the room full of other people.

"Nate Fick?" Ann asks. Brad thinks she's trying to be helpful, so he nods. "Wow. Since when?"

"The end of April."

"It's not that long..." his dad starts, but Brad was ready for that.

"We’ve known each other for almost two years now. I was a little late to the party, so to speak, but it's serious, Dad."

"He was your friend, that's different."

"He was my best friend and he still is. But now he's also my boyfriend."

"So you're gay now, because your best friend is?" His mother speaks quietly and he can hear she's angry. It hurts. He expected it to, but it doesn't really help.

"I'm bi, not gay. And it isn't Nate's fault, if that's what you're implying." I fell in love, Brad wants to add, but he doesn't. It wouldn't feel right here.

"Would you still be with Natalie if Nate wasn't around?"

"What? No!" It feels like a really bad dream. "Natalie and I broke up because we were different and we wanted different things from life. Not because of Nate."

"Speaking of your plans, what about the Marine Corps? You can't be gay in the military."

Brad looks at his father.

"I can't be openly gay. I know that and we talked about it. Nate understands." He pauses. "Listen, I know it's not what you wanted for me. And that it's surprising. But I can assure you, it's serious and I care about him a lot. I really thought about this."

"So you're going to stay in the closet?" Ann says, frowning. She's not sad about the gay part, just about the hiding part, and Brad's grateful.

"As long as 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' is in place, yes. I don't have a choice."

"You're just making your life a lot harder," his mother says, looking at her plate.

And Brad hates to be the soap opera impersonation, but he wants them to understand, so...

"Nate's worth it."

*

"Do you think I'm scared of anal sex?" he asks Nate two weeks before the summer is over. "Is this why we're not doing it?"

For his defense, he was just woken up with a blowjob, which ended in a mindblowing orgasm.

"What?" Nate looks at him incredulously, lifting his head from Brad's thigh. He sits up and Brad's thoughts sidetrack. He has Nate, naked and hard, sitting between his legs and what were they even talking about?

Oh. Oh. Fuck. Okay, when in doubt, soldier on.

"You just never... mentioned it."

"Neither did you," Nate points out.

"Well, yeah. But I just did." Brad is really glad the Fick family is out for the whole weekend and they have the house to themselves. This is not a conversation that should be going on anywhere near other people.

"By asking me if I think you're scared," Nate clarifies.

"Yes?"

"You're a moron," he says, but it's affectionate and Brad can live with that.

"I just wanted to start a conversation." Okay, so he didn't exactly plan this, but he has been thinking about it for a couple of weeks now.

Nate laughs, moving closer and straddling Brad.

"Do you want to have anal sex?" he asks.

Brad puts his hands low on Nate's back.

"You're sitting in my lap and you're naked. And hard. Any kind of sex would be great right now."

Nate laughs again, kisses him and moves away.

"I will remember that," he says. "Okay, so. Do you want to have anal sex?"

Nate's face and neck are a little pink and Brad would bet his are, too. Sex should not require talking about it in broad daylight.

"Yes? I think so? Don't you?"

"I want to try it," Nate says quietly. "It's just... you know, you probably want to fuck me and it's okay with me, I'd like that, it's just... a lot to take in. And I don't mean your dick." He cracks a smile at the end, but Brad isn't blind, he can spot nervousness.

"You haven't done this before, right?" He's pretty sure, but he prefers to check.

"Before you, I had basically one boyfriend, back when I lived in Baltimore. If you think I'd let a fifteen-year-old boy put his cock in my ass just because I liked him and he wanted to, you're insane."

"Well, you're going to let a seventeen-year-old boy do it, so..."

"There's a difference. And it's you." Nate shrugs and Brad has to kiss him.

"We don't have to," he says. Nate rolls his eyes and kisses him back.

"Of course we don't have to. But we both want it, so we should at least try, right?"

"Now?" Brad asks to make sure.

"Let's make out and see what happens," Nate says with his lips on Brad's. "If it's not going to work, we have other stuff we're pretty good at."

What happens is: Brad lies down on top of Nate, they kiss and touch everywhere; all the places they already know are now somehow new and more exciting. What happens is: Brad kisses Nate's chest and stomach, and hips, and thigh, and knee, while Nate fingers himself open for him. What happens is: Nate's making those soft, quiet noises and Brad can't stop looking at his face, eyes half-closed, mouth open, skin sweaty. What happens is: he trails his fingers from Nate's cock to his balls and further, touches the place where Nate's slick fingers disappear into his body and Nate breaths out "Brad, fuck, now, please", lifting his hips. What happens is: Brad has to bite his cheek to stop himself from coming when he puts a condom on. What happens is: Nate's eyes widen and close from the shock of intrusion and his breath quickens and his muscles spasm around Brad's dick. What happens is: Brad starts to make calming noises which he won't remember, too preoccupied with trying very hard not to come or move, or both. What happens is: they kiss and when Nate's muscles relax a little, Brad starts to push, and they somehow find a rhythm, kissing and moving, then there’s more moving and less kissing, and Nate's eyes are open now, looking straight at him, and Brad somehow manages to close his hand around Nate's dick. What happens is: Nate comes with a gasp and muscles clenching around Brad, so he's only a few seconds behind him.

There's a mess, they are covered in sweat and come, and they are kissing, high on endorphins, laughing like they can't stop. This is what happens.

*

The fall of the senior year in high school is crazy. All you can hear is college, college essays, college, letters of recommendation, college, SATs, college, college, college. Brad couldn't care less, but Nate is stressing out, even if, with his grades and accomplishments and SATs he took last year, every school will want him.

"Nate," Brad says, looking up from his laptop after two hours of hearing, "I'm almost done." He's not whining, he's... expressing his boredom and frustration.

"I'm almost..."

"No, you're done right now." Brad gets up from the bed, takes Nate's laptop, saves changes and closes it.

"Brad!" Nate definitely whines.

"You rewrote this essay dozens of times. You're not up for a Pulitzer, for fuck's sake," Brad says, kisses him and takes his hand to pull him towards his bed. "Come on, have sex with me."

"My parents are downstairs," Nate tries to argue, but he goes anyway.

"They never come up here, they don't want to know," Brad says but stops to close the door. "Lie down. I will blow you, maybe that will relax you for a moment."

It manages to relax Nate for about fifteen minutes of post-coital bliss. They're lying on the bed, facing each other, and Nate's fingers trace the lines of Brad's jaw and neck.

"It's really important," he says quietly. "It needs to be perfect."

And that's Nate. Always trying to be better, wanting to be perfect.

"Hey," Brad says, kissing him. "Your 'good' is someone else's 'brilliant'. And your essay is better than good, every damn version of it that I've read. Pick three you like most and we will discuss them tomorrow. Then you'll send in your applications and that will be it, okay?"

Nate moves closer and places his face in the crook of Brad's neck. He murmurs something that sounds like ‘I love you’ and Brad smiles and kisses his ear.

"I won’t let you get an ulcer before college."

"That's very kind of you." Nate backs away a little. "What about your essay?"

"Wrote it during the weekend. I can show you tomorrow, so you can do a spell check if you want," Brad says, smiling.

His parents wanted him to apply to at least one college, so that's what he's doing. He's not going to go to CalTech anyway, but he promised. He just wishes that Nate would look a little less happy about it.

"Of course I want to. At least it will be something I understand." Nate grins and points at Brad's laptop lying on the floor. "More often than not, you're writing things in an alien language."

"It's easier than French," Brad points out.

"The pun I could make is so bad, I can't say it," Nate laughs and kisses him, pushing Brad to lie down.

It's time to relax again.

*

Brad couldn't be happier that the holidays are over. If he had had to say, "No, I don't have a girlfriend," one more time to one more relative, he would have killed somebody. Or brought Nate to family Hanukkah dinner, kissed him in front of everyone and kissed his future in the Marines goodbye at the same time.

Brad's really glad the danger is over now, but it's New Year's Eve and the situation is not that different. Instead of annoying relatives, he's surrounded by annoying classmates, most of them drunk on cheap beer and some blue-ish drink Brad's not touching with a stick. And instead of questions about a new girlfriend, there are girls interested in being one (he's not full of himself, he's just not blind).

His life is not that bad, though. Nate is beside him and they are joking and laughing with Mike and Poke, sitting close without the need for explanation other than the obvious fact that there are really too many people in Ray's living room.

Ten to midnight Nate tilts his head in the direction of the back door and they move outside. There's not a lot of people here, but it's difficult to see everyone in the shadows. Brad notices Stafford and Christeson in a small group on the patio, and he thinks he sees Trombley with his girlfriend sitting under a tree with another couple. Nate and Brad find a deserted place near the east side of the house and they lean against the wall next to each other, but keeping a safe distance in case someone shows up. The music is loud, coming through the windows, but it’s still relatively quiet after hours of constant noise.

They are silent, just standing there, and Brad can't help thinking about that year. He started it recovering from a break-up and now he's in a relationship he wouldn't even be able to predict back then. He remembers the day Ray told him about Nate's feelings and he thinks of all the things that could have gone wrong but didn't. Nate loves him and Brad loves him back, they're still best friends and still together.

The counting starts and they are looking at each other, smiling. Nate's fingers touch his in the dark and approximately five seconds after midnight Brad closes the space between them and kisses Nate.

*

Unsurprisingly, each school that Nate applied to wants him. The fact that CalTech wants Brad is rather unsurprising, too, but much less appreciated. At least by Brad, because Nate looks ready to explode from excitement. He jumps him as soon as he walks through the door and pins him to it, demanding to be fucked. Who's Brad to say no. Nate doesn't stop smiling and even laughs during his orgasm like he can't help it. It looks like his grin is going to be a permanent thing now, but what Brad has to say will take care of that pretty damn fast, he knows. So he stalls a little, gives them time, but in the end he doesn't have a choice.

"You know I'm not going to CalTech, right?" he says, looking at Nate's neck.

"Yeah, I know," Nate admits quietly and Brad looks up. The smile is gone.

"Nate..." he starts and doesn't know what to say. He just hopes it's not like the last time, everything going to shit, because someone can't change him the way they want. Nate knew what he was getting himself into.

"Hey," Nate says, resting his hand on Brad's neck. "I knew that and I still do, okay?"

"But you wish I'd go," Brad can't help pushing.

"But I'm okay with you not going," Nate counters. "I want you to be who you want to be. Just... before you decline the offer, go to the recruiting station, talk to someone. Make sure."

Brad is sure. Nate's right, though. He was planning on going anyway and now is a good time.

"I know," he says, kissing Nate's jaw and neck. "I will."

*

And this is how he finds himself coming in to the recruiting station on Friday afternoon. He sees that the man at the desk is busy talking with a girl, so he turns to the chairs where there's another guy waiting.

"Trombley?"

They had never talked much to begin with, but since Trombley's homophobic ass turned against Nate they pretty much just avoided each other outside of the basketball court.

"Colbert."

They sit in silence for the next couple of minutes, then the girl leaves and the Marine turns to Brad.

"Hi, my name is Dominic Lane. How can I help you?"

"Brad Colbert." They shake hands and Brad looks at Trombley. "I'm interested in enlisting, but I wasn't here first..."

"James is not waiting for me, don't worry," the guy, Dominic, says. "Come sit down."

Brad sits and opens his mouth to ask a first question, when Trombley speaks from behind him.

"I don't know what you're doing here, Colbert. Last time I checked they didn't allow fags into the Marine Corps. Or any other military branch."

He freezes. He stops breathing, because this is a bad dream, a really bad dream, and he will wake up if he just stops...

"James!" He hears and it's loud. Shouldn't a loud noise like that wake him up?

"I go to school with him, Lane, I know what I'm talking about." Trombley now moves and comes up to Brad, standing a few feet to his right. "You were trying, I can give you that. Everyone thinks you are just friends with the Golden Boy. You got me fooled, too. Fuck, you're worse than him, he's at least not lying about what he is. I didn't even want to believe when my sister told me you were there with Fick at his sister’s wedding. 'They are best friends, their families probably know each other well by now,' I said. There are photos, Colbert..."

This is not happening.

"... but you could still argue that you're just really close friends, I guess. You were behaving then. Shame you couldn't keep it up on the New Year's Eve, though. Kissing your boyfriend when there might be people taking pictures? Not your smartest move."

Trombley and his girlfriend sitting under the tree. Fuck.

"James! Go wait for your father in his office," Lane says sharply. "I think you made your point."

Neither of them speaks for a few minutes after Trombley disappears. There's not much to say now, Brad thinks.

"I'm really sorry about that," Lane starts at last. "And I'm really sorry for what I'm about to say, but... if there are pictures, they can come up. There could be someone," he says, looking at the door to the back office, "who decides to disclose them and your career will be over before it even begins."

"I see," Brad says. He actually can't, for a moment, he has to close his eyes and maybe when he opens them...

"I'm sorry," Lane repeats, and he actually sounds sincere. Brad wishes it meant more to him, but it really, really doesn't. "If it helps, DADT should be over soon. If not this year, then maybe the next. I'm sure we'll be lucky to have you."

Brad nods, thanks him and walks out of this place.

His phone is vibrating in his pocket. Fuck you, he thinks and drives away.

*

He wakes up on Saturday morning tired and aching in places that have little to do with last night’s running.

The scene from the recruitment station replays itself in his head over and over again, in flashes. Last time I checked they didn't allow fags into the Marine Corps is there when he wakes up and the echo follows him to the bathroom. They don't allow fags into the Marine Corps. He brushes his teeth and thinks about how he’s worse than Nate, he's at least not lying about what he is.

The thought of Nate stops the replay for a moment, but it doesn’t make him feel better. Quite the contrary, he feels his muscles tense and has the urge to punch Nate in the face.

If there are pictures, they can come up.

You were trying, I can give you that.

Brad throws up the dinner his mother forced him to eat last night.

“So much for your Carbonara, Mom,” he whispers and his breath quickens. He feels like he’s burning up. The tiles are cold to the touch and this is exactly what Brad needs. That, and maybe enough alcohol to knock himself unconscious. He wants a do-over, a fucking Groundhog Day.

What are the odds of Trombley being at that recruitment station at the same time as Brad? How often is he there? What would happen if Brad went there on Thursday? Or Wednesday? Or next Monday? Would he still have his fucking dream and his entire life plan if he hadn’t gone yesterday?

Brad sits between the toilet and the sink, looking for answers the white and dark blue tiles can’t give him.

There’s nothing there. Nothing.

*

Nate's here. Brad knew it was going to happen sooner rather than later, it's not like he was subtle in avoiding him. After about a dozen unreturned phone calls and only two received texts during the entire weekend, it's slightly surprising Nate waited till Sunday evening to come over to Brad's house.

And now he's standing in the doorway of Brad's room, looking at him from head to toe, with his brows furrowed and fingers playing with his bracelet.

"Your Mom let me in. I think it means she's okay with us now," he says and he's not coming in, just standing there, waiting for Brad to invite him in or not.

"She's probably worried about me." Brad steps aside. He closes the door after Nate enters and turns to face him.

"She's not the only one," Nate says, looking at him questioningly. "I came to see what happened."

Brad doesn't want to talk at all, but settles on doing it as quickly as he can.

"I went to the recruitment station on Friday," he says and watches the reaction closely. He knows Nate wasn't happy with the idea and now each facial expression, each gesture is very, very important. While he's telling the story, he sees confusion and worry, surprise, anger and sadness. Brad feels his own anger simmering inside him. Nate's a good liar, he thinks. He hides the relief really well.

"I'm sorry," Nate says, and he's usually better at figuring out what's the wrong thing to say. "I know..." he continues and Brad takes a step back.

"No, you really don't know."

"You're right. I'm sorry," he admits, coming closer. He really should know by now that closing in on Brad is never a good idea.

"Each and every fucking dream you'd ever had came true, Nate. Each and every one. I had one dream, one, and now it's gone," he says, aiming for calm, but they’ve known each other for too long.

Nate deflates. He backs off and sits on the bed, putting his hands under his thighs, before Brad's brain catches up.

Fuck, is his first thought. Well, tough shit, is the next one and he knows he has to get out of here.

"I have to go," he says with his hand on the doorknob.

"It's your room," he hears but doesn't look back.

*

Two days are not enough and on Monday morning Brad still feels like shit. Last night's fight with Nate just made him feel worse, but he can't help being angry. It's not Nate's fault he succeeds at everything he does, from getting into college to, well, getting Brad, and Brad knows that, he's fucking amazed by the things Nate can do, but. But he can't help thinking that if not for Nate, DADT wouldn't be Brad’s problem at all. He can't help thinking that he lost Natalie over something that he didn't even get in the end.

Yes, he's aware that he's being an asshole, thank you very much. It's not like you can control everything that comes to your mind, though. And it's not like he wishes he was with Natalie now, because he doesn't. He just... He loves Nate more than he ever did Natalie, but he was in love with her, and it hurt like a motherfucker then. Besides, he never really thought that being with Nate and being a Marine were mutually exclusive. Making the other difficult, yes, but not impossible. He was wrong.

So, on Monday morning he still feels like shit and he's still pissed off.

Unsurprisingly, the day is going terribly, because everybody notices. And Brad means it, everybody. Even professor Patterson is looking at him and Nate at the end of the History class as if he wants to figure out what happened.

Ray does more than just look. He uses every opportunity to torment Brad and he's a persistent fucker.

"Nothing happened, Ray," Brad repeats, again, when they walk into the locker room before practice. Nate's already in there, talking with Mike, but he doesn't say anything to Brad, doesn't acknowledge him at all.

Good.

*

On Tuesday, Ray apparently moves to Nate to torment him instead.

"Let it go, Ray," Brad hears Nate's voice and stops outside the door. He left his phone in his locker, earlier, not bothering to check if he packed everything, because he wanted to leave as soon as possible. He didn't expect anyone to still be in there now.

"No. I want to know what's going on!"

"I'm giving him some space," Nate says after a moment. "That's all."

"Are you nuts? You know it's dangerous to give Brad any space. He starts to think!"

"Thank you, doctor Freud."

"Nate..."

"Ray," Nate's voice makes it a warning. "He wants some space, I'm giving it to him. That's it."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care," Nate snaps, and Brad winces. Nate is going to feel bad about it later. Or now. "Sorry. Just... Leave it alone, please?"

"Fine," Ray capitulates. "But I don't like this."

"I know."

Brad is wondering what he should do now when Ray opens the door and collides with him. He looks angry and it's something new.

"I don't know what you did, but you need to get your head out of your ass," he says and walks away.

Brad waits a couple minutes more and if it wasn't about his phone, he would just turn around and leave, but he can't. Suddenly, the door opens again and he and Nate only avoid the collision because Brad expects it and moves away. Neither of them says anything. Nate doesn't even look at him.

Brad wants to kick something. Instead, he counts to ten and goes to his locker to get his phone. There's a flyer stuck in the door and Brad wants to just throw it out, but he sees the Marine Corps insignia and stops.

Officer Candidates School. He sits down on the bench.

*

Brad talks with his parents on Saturday. He was afraid they would be either blaming Nate or being too happy about him not trying to get himself killed, but he's positively surprised. They are actually supportive and act like they're genuinely sorry. They ask him about other options and ideas he has, and when he mentions thinking of maybe getting a BA from CalTech and then going to the Officer Candidates School if DADT gets repealed, his parents look like they couldn't be more happy if they tried.

His mom mentions Nate, but Brad ignores it. He sends in his letter of acceptance on Monday after school and he doesn't think of Nate's enthusiasm over college at all.

He doesn't even know which college Nate decided on in the end. It hits him that night. Two and a half years of friendship, almost a year of relationship, and he doesn't know which college Nate picked. Stanford is where he wanted to go the most, but maybe he’s changed his mind? Maybe someone had said... something and Nate decided he didn't want to stay in California? Maybe he chose fucking Harvard, or Princeton, or Dartmouth.

It's after ten p.m. and Brad knows there are other ways he could find out, but he doesn't care. There's only one way he should find out. He's out of the door in less than ten minutes.

Nate's dad opens the door and Brad's, well.

"Good evening, sir. I know it's late and I'm sorry..."

"Just go upstairs, Brad." Nate's dad sighs and lets him in.

He knocks and enters when he hears the invitation. Nate's sitting cross-legged with his laptop on Brad's side of the bed. Because Brad has one, the left side of this bed is his.

"Hi," Nate says after a moment of silence, looking up at him. When Brad still doesn't say anything, he moves to the other side of the bed, making room, and goes back to his laptop.

They will need to talk about a lot of things. About the Marine Corps, because Nate won’t leave it like that and Brad can admit he’s nowhere near over this. About everything they can be now, because there’s nothing stopping them. But for now, there’s one thing he came hear to ask.

"I don't know which college you've chosen," Brad says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

Nate's not surprised. He smiles instead.

"Stanford," he says, tilting his head in the direction of the desk. "Signed my letter today. We had a Fick family discussion about it. There was a vote, Dad thought he could convince me to go to Harvard. Wish you..." he stops and his smile turns into a frown.

"Sorry I missed it," Brad says, and he means it. He comes closer.

"I was going to wait till the end of the week," Nate says and Brad stops. "With the letter, Brad. Fuck, what do you think?"

He shrugs.

"You don't talk to me for two weeks, so I'm done?"

Brad sits down at the bottom of the bed.

"I wouldn't blame you. I was a moron and an asshole."

"You're being a moron now," Nate says, putting the laptop aside, and tugs at Brad's arm to get him to come closer until they are both sitting at the headboard.

"I was angry at you," Brad admits. It's easier when they're both dressed, he doesn't feel that exposed. "I shouldn't have, because it's not your fault, but I couldn't help it. I was pissed off and disappointed, obviously, and I didn't want to talk to you."

The sooner they talk this through, the sooner they will be past this. Hopefully.

"I get it," Nate says, nudging him with his knee. "I just wish... that you would talk to me about it. I mean, I understand why you didn't, but I was still pissed off by the silent treatment."

"One time you tried to talk to me, it didn't end well," Brad points out. He cringes at the memory. "I'm sorry about the things I said, by the way."

He turns to look at Nate, who smiles at him a little self-deprecatingly. Brad feels like an asshole.

"Becoming a Marine is my oldest dream," he says, "but it's not my only one."

His life turned into a fucking soap opera when he wasn't looking, Jesus fucking Christ.

Nate grins.

"That was painful for you, wasn't it?"

"A little," Brad admits, putting his hand on Nate's neck and bringing him in for a kiss. "But I know when I fuck up."

"So," Nate says, with his lips touching Brad's. "Does that mean that you're talking to me again?"

"In general, yes." Brad tugs and pulls until they're lying, facing each other. "But I'd prefer making out now, if you don't mind," he says, sneaking his hand under Nate's t-shirt to touch his back.

"It's okay, I guess," Nate sighs theatrically, but he can't stop himself from laughing.

"Your life is so hard," Brad agrees, biting him on the neck.

*

He wakes up in the morning with Nate lying half on top of him, and he doesn't think of anything at all.

Nate stirs and nuzzles his chest a little.

"I want to go to law school," he murmurs, half-asleep.

Brad laughs and Nate rolls over to lie beside him.

"I know," Brad says, smiling softly, running his fingers through Nate's hair. "You will want to help everyone and will almost ruin yourself working pro bono."

"Or I could become a corporate lawyer," Nate says, without opening his eyes. He tucks his nose near Brad's armpit and sighs.

"I'd pay to see that." Brad moves his hand to the back of Nate's neck and starts massaging it lightly.

"It could happen," he slurs quietly.

"You will get burned so bad," Brad says as quietly.

Nate's hand closes on Brad's hip.

"That's not a reason not to try."

"I'm not saying it is. Everyone knows you're a masochist."

"Says the guy who wants to have people shoot at him."

"Says the guy who came out in a locker room full of half-naked teenagers," Brad shoots back, smiling at the memory.

"Says the guy who... kissed that guy... one day," Nate struggles to finish the sentence before he falls asleep again.

Brad tries not to laugh and wake him up.

"Says the guy who kissed him back," he whispers and closes his eyes.

___________

GK fic: One foot in front of the other 1/2

2010-12-30T15:31:32Z

One foot in front of the other
Rating: R
Word Count: 11713
Pairing/Characters: Brad/Nate, mentions of Brad/OFC; Ray Person
Summary: High school!AU. "He's awesome! Let's adopt a stray, Brad."
Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters from the HBO miniseries Generation Kill. It's fiction.
Notes: Written for yagkyas exchange as a gift for asimplechord.
Many thanks to idrilka and noelia_g for the beta.

One foot in front of the other

Ray will later call this day the day he almost went gay for Nate Fick ('Almost' is most fortunate here, because that would be weird afterwards, with all this true love and destiny and stars aligning between dear Nathaniel and Brad, you know?), but for now it is just the second day of their sophomore year and the news about the new guy hasn’t spread around yet.

This is high school, though, and everyone wants to know everyone else's business, so as soon as Encino Man leaves Nate in the basketball team locker room after a quick introduction, the guys start their inquisition. What Brad’s most interested in is if Fick is a good player and a team player, but he still listens. There are the standard questions: where he's from (Baltimore), why he's here (the whole family moved after his mom got promoted), which year he's in (he looks like he's twelve, but either looks are deceiving or he's Doogie Howser 2.0, because he's a sophomore), does he have a girlfriend (no)...

"I had a boyfriend, though, but we broke up before I moved here. We weren't up for a long-distance relationship, you know?"

Brad looks up at that. Fick's voice got quieter at the end and Brad would bet it's not because he's mourning the relationship. He lowered his voice, because everyone else stopped talking. Brad looks up and sees Nate facing the group, his locker on his right and a shoelace loose in one of his sneakers.

The locker door behind Brad slams loudly.

"Don't worry, homes, there's a lot of dicks here, I'm sure you will find one you like," Ray says and Brad snorts.

"Lucky for you, Person is a big pussy. We wouldn't wish him on anybody." Mike claps Nate on his arm and points at the untied shoelace.

A moment later Godfather comes in and there's no more talking, except for Ray, who leans in and whispers, "He's awesome! Let's adopt a stray, Brad."

Brad doubts anybody who has balls like that needs adopting, but he nods nonetheless.

*

The sad truth about life is that most people are assholes and narrow-minded idiots. Brad knows this and he usually tries to ignore it, but sometimes it's just jarring on his nerves.

The team is mostly okay. Manimal and Chaffin calm down after the third practice, when it's obvious Nate isn't groping anybody, and start to talk to him. Trombley doesn't, and he's getting pushy about it.

"I don't want to shower with him," he says on Tuesday, three weeks into the semester. Nate just went to the showers and the rest is on their way.

"Shut up, sicko, and clean yourself up," Ray says, passing him by. "You stink."

"Fuck you, Person," Trombley growls.

"But, honey," Ray turns around. "I thought you weren't gay?"

"I'm not! And I don't want to shower with a faggot!"

"I'm not going to look at your dick, Trombley," Nate says, standing in the door. "A: I'm not interested in the least. B: I forgot to bring my magnifying glass. Get over yourself."

And that would be it, but then Encino Man has to step in. After Trombley's request to be allowed to use a different shower, he not only permits it, he holds an after-practice meeting with the whole team and asks if someone else is feeling that way. Nate sits there quietly, rolling the ball in his lap, and Brad wants to punch somebody (Trombley, for being a giant fuck-up of a human being; Encino Man, for being an idiot; Casey Kasem, for not even trying to hide his smirk; Godfather, for not being there to stop this bullshit). No one says anything and the coach lets them go, but no one says anything in the locker room either.

Nate leaves without taking a shower and Brad feels sick in his stomach.

*

Ray starts to kiss Nate on the mouth at the beginning of every practice and every game. They both find it hilarious and it's their thing; Brad just shakes his head and hides his smile.

"You should worry about catching something," he warns Nate at lunch one day.

"I’m going to worry when he starts humping my leg, and I warned him about the tongue, so we should be fine," Nate says, grinning. "Besides, let's be honest here, there’s no way he would’ve had a chance to catch anything in the first place."

"You wound me, Nathaniel," Ray collapses into the seat beside Brad.

"It's called reality check, Person." Brad turns to grin at Nate, and then he notices Natalie sitting at a table two rows away. She's talking, flailing her arms around, and he wants to listen to whatever she’s saying, even if it's... whatever.

Nate starts to turn around to see what's Brad's looking at, but he kicks him under the table.

"Hey!"

"Don't."

Nate shrugs and goes back to his food, but Ray isn't that easy.

"Aww, Brad! Did you find someone to warm your cold heart and feet? Because, dude, your feet are icy-cold. But anyway, who is it?" He starts to look around, making a huge spectacle of himself, as always, and Brad just doesn't want to deal with it.

"Fuck off, Ray," he says warningly. "I mean it."

Nate looks as if he's too busy chewing to pay attention, and Ray just rolls his eyes.

"You never really mean it, homes. You love me. But have it your way, I will find out sooner or later."

"There's nothing to find out."

"Yes, yes, of course. Just tell me it's not Natalie Williams again."

Brad doesn't move a muscle. He doesn't.

"Fuck, homes, still?" Ray whines. "It's so freshman year, seriously. I thought you got over your crush."

"Ray, do you want the rest of my fries?" Nate asks suddenly and moves his plate in Ray's direction, not waiting for an answer. "I'm full."

"You are forgiven for everything you said earlier, Nathaniel," Ray announces, forgetting the previous topic instantly. "You know how to win a guy over, I can give you that."

Brad smiles at Nate and gets a small smile in return. When he looks up after a few minutes, Natalie is already gone.

*

They get together in January, Natalie and Brad. It's almost an accident that he asks her out, an accident fuelled by Ray's speeches and Nate's lifted eyebrows, both challenging him.

It's good. It's great even. Brad thinks falling in love makes you stupid, but he's weirdly okay with that. It's not like he will ever be as stupid as Ray on his best day, so he will live.

He is lying on Nate's bed, looking at the ceiling and trying to find a solution for the bug in the open source project he is working on. The sounds of Nate writing his paper are comforting. Brad has learned that this place and their shared semi-silence do wonders for his creativity. It seems to work well for Nate, too, so now Brad has an open invitation to come and think in peace. But today his thoughts are wandering and Brad can feel himself quiver inwardly with something that he can't identify. Natalie comes to mind and his concentration is for shit, anyway. He closes his eyes and sees her eyes and her smile with a dimple in the left cheek, and her fingers in his. He has different thoughts, too, but he suppresses them. Nate would certainly not appreciate Brad getting hard on his bed.

He opens his eyes and rolls onto the side, propping himself up on one arm and looking at Nate. He doesn't look like he's in the zone, so he probably won't mind an interruption.

"Hey," Brad says quietly, in case Nate is in the zone and not ready to throw something at the wall like Brad thinks he is.

Nate turns to him with a hint of a smile, the kind that's too lazy to really come up, but still wants to be noticed.

"Hm? Solved?"

"No, not really." Brad grimaces. "This one is harder than I thought."

"You will crack it," Nate says like it's obvious, and for him, it is. "I, on the other hand, am about ready to print this shit," he points back to the screen, "only so I can tear it into small pieces."

"Nice," Brad chuckles. "It's time for a break then."

He moves a bit, making room for Nate, who falls onto the bed with a sigh. They lie in silence, looking up at the ceiling.

"So, what's up?" Nate asks and it takes Brad a couple of seconds to stop concentrating on their breathing and focus on Nate’s words.

"Nothing is up."

"Something is up," Nate says, but it doesn't sound like he wants to argue. "You don't have to tell me, of course, but it is."

Brad feels like there's fog in his mind, and he tries to remember what he was thinking about before.

"Natalie."

"It doesn't tell me much."

"I don't know what else to tell you," he admits.

"Okay."

Brad looks at him out of the corner of his eye. Nate’s eyes are closed, his eyelashes dark and short. His mouth is slightly open.

"How long had you and your boyfriend been together before you moved here?" Brad asks, looking back up.

"A little over three months," Nate answers after a long moment. "Why?"

Brad doesn't really know. Does he want relationship advice? It's not like Nate has a lot of experience (unless he's just not saying anything) and Brad's quite sure a guy and a girl are different in more ways than one.

"Oh please, Colbert, tell me it's not about sex."

"It's not about sex." Even if it was meant to be about sex, it isn't anymore.

Silence.

"Okay, I'll say it once and we're over this," Nate says and pauses for a moment. "Make sure you're willing, make sure she's willing and make sure you're safe. That's it. No, wait, two more things. One, if you want to talk, I'll listen, just spare me the details, but two, never, ever, talk about it with Ray. Now that's it."

"Thank you, Mom."

"You're welcome, sweetie. Just be a good boy and don't make me a grandmother."

"That's just disturbing, Fick."

"You love disturbing."

"No, I don't. You confused me with Ray and now I'm really offended."

"No, you're not. You love me, you love Ray and you love disturbing."

"... That sounds like I'm in some kind of a twisted threesome with you guys."

"Now who's disturbing?"

"Why are you not in a relationship?" Brad changes the topic so suddenly it startles them both. Nate opens his mouth, but before he says anything, Brad clarifies, "Not in a twisted threesome with us. Just... you know, a normal relationship."

"First of all, it's not like a lot of guys are openly gay at our school..."

"I'm sure you could find somebody. You're a catch, Fick."

"I'm flattered," he deadpans. "And second, I'm not really looking right now either." He stops. "It's complicated and demanding, you know?" Nate shrugs. "And I don't trust that many people."

Brad considers it for a moment and nods.

"Yeah. Neither do I."

*

Brad has sex for the first time at the beginning of July and that's just a start of the most awesome summer he has ever had. His parents work a lot and his sister is backpacking across South America with her friends, so he has the house to himself. Natalie comes over almost every day, they play computer games, watch movies and have sex, and sometimes they hang out by the pool where Nate works as one of the lifeguards. To top it all off, Ray was shipped to his poor grandparents and he's not there to make Brad's life miserable.

He knows he's neglecting everything and everyone that's not Natalie a little, but he's trying. He spends time with his parents, who are extra clingy now that they are worried about Sarah. He goes to Nate's house every Friday afternoon to hang out and work on his projects while Nate reads, writes and talks about people at the pool.

"I have a date tonight," Nate says one extremely hot day in August. Judging by his own life, he really shouldn't be surprised that someone's dating, but somehow he is. He remembers Nate saying he didn't want to have a relationship, but that was months ago and well, one date is not yet a relationship anyway.

"Brad?" There are three lines forming on Nate’s forehead now and Brad shakes his head quickly.

"You surprised me, that's all. Who's the guy?"

"You remember Arthur from the pool?"

Brad remembers, because the guy wasn't really subtle about ogling Nate. Someone could have drowned and he wouldn't have noticed, too busy flirting.

"Hard not to notice when he's around you all the time."

Nate looks at him with lifted eyebrows, his mouth twitching.

"Dude."

Brad shrugs and grins.

"Yes, I know, I know. Pot, kettle, I get it."

Nate grins back.

"He's smart and funny. Not to mention hot. I didn't mean to, because he goes away to college once the summer's over, but it's just a date. A couple of them, at the most. Why not, right?"

Why not, indeed.

*

He says "I love you" into Natalie's neck, warm and a little sweaty, in the middle of September. A month later it all goes to shit and Brad thinks that maybe it was just too good to be true.

He's not sure how they let this happen, how it got to that point. They should have gone out a few times, date casually for a while and then end it before it got too serious, before... before now. But you can't seriously talk about a future together when you have only just started dating, so it's only when you're already invested, already head over fucking heels, that you discover you don't really have a chance.

And that hurts like a motherfucking bitch, because it wasn't supposed to go like this.

It's Friday night and he sits at the desk, staring at his laptop. There's a goldfish swimming back and forth on the screensaver, over and over again.

Someone knocks on the door and it's Nate, in too long jeans and a red t-shirt, and when did he get so tall, when did they all get taller and older?

Wait, what the fuck?

"You didn't show up, so I tried to call you," Nate says, coming in. He closes the door and lies down on Brad's bed. "Then I called Natalie. And here I am."

"I think I was getting into a weird mood," he admits.

"You're entitled to weird tonight." Nate sits up, with his back propped against the headboard. "Speaking of, Ray's coming over, too."

"I hate you," Brad groans, sitting next to him.

"You love me. And you love Ray, too."

"You're sadly mistaken on both accounts."

"One time you'll admit your love, I just know it."

"Well, I tried that one time and it didn't really go that well in the end," Brad says and looks away.

Nate apparently gets that they're not talking about him or Ray anymore, because he stays silent.

"This is so stupid," Brad almost chokes on the cliche of it all.

"It's really not," Nate says softly and nudges him with his knee. Their arms are pressed together and it's quiet. Brad starts to talk.

He told her about his biggest dream, he wanted her to know first. I want to join the Marines after graduation, he said, and she didn't take it well. No. No, you can't, she said, and it all went down from there. Who would have thought that a nine-month-long relationship could end just like that.

"Do you think maybe you will—"

"No." Brad shakes his head and closes his fingers into a fist. "There are things we can't get over and that's it."

"People say things in anger..."

"Nate."

"I'm sorry," he says, running his fingers on the side of Brad's thigh before letting his hand drop between them.

"It's okay. I know what you're trying to do, it's just... I'm really sure it's over." Brad takes a deep breath and if it hitches a little, neither of them comment on it. "The stuff that came up, we should have known better. It'd be still good now, tomorrow, next month, but we wouldn't make it in the long run. It's... it's really better that we found out now."

"Broken heart is still a broken heart," Nate says, a little unsure and awkward. Brad's insides clench in agreement.

"Hey, and what would you know," Brad says, smirking, partly defensive and partly trying to lighten up the mood. "You and your 'no serious relationships' policy."

It doesn't help the mood at all. Nate face closes off and Brad wants to apologize immediately, but he's interrupted by a tight smile and a shrug.

"Doesn't mean I don't know what a broken heart feels like," Nate says looking at Brad's chest.

"You never told me," he whispers into the sudden silence between them, willing Nate to look back at him, but he doesn't.

"You never told me about the Marines," he shoots back.

Brad nods.

"We don't have to tell each other everything," Nate says quietly. "Not everything is meant to be talked about." He looks back at him now, smiling softly. "It's just the way it is."

"There's no one I trust more than you," Brad hears himself say and he realizes it's true. No one, not Natalie, even before today, not Ray, even if he is the other one of Brad's best friends.

"There's no one I trust more than you, too," Nate says and they grin at each other, because for a moment everything is okay.

Five seconds later the door opens and it's Ray with his, "Hello, ladies," and the sound of glass hitting glass coming from his backpack, and Brad thinks, Fuck, my parents are going to kill me.

*

People who tell you that getting over your broken heart is a pain the ass, well, Brad agrees with them. It is a fucking pain in his ass, at least.

He goes through the motions. School, practice, his on-line projects for which he even gets paid now - he still does everything he used to do before. He isn't a people person and Natalie and he have never had any mutual friends, so thankfully no social circles are broken or some weird high school etiquette disturbed, or whatever.

Trying to ignore her existence may not be the best way to deal with things, but it's the one he's sticking with for now.

Sometimes he feels like he's observing the world instead of participating in it. He observes his teachers, his teammates, his friends and his family, and he can't figure out what's missing. He starts to come around at the end of the winter break, then the day of not-anniversary comes and goes and he feels good.

He starts running with Nate. Brad's doing it to get in shape, Nate because he's apparently unable to sit still. Basketball practice, being the vice-president of the student's council and the star of the debate club, and working for the school newspaper is clearly not enough for him. Brad thinks he's a little insane. Ray agrees and rolls his eyes a lot, but he still kisses Nate before every game they play, because he adores giving people an aneurysm and Nate still thinks it's funny.

*

The thing about Nate is that he's... well, he's insane, yes, but he's also the most determined person Brad knows. He started talking about organizing the Day of Silence at their school last year and the idea was dismissed. But now he isn't ‘a crazy new student who wants a free pass from the teachers’. He is well-known, well-liked and well-prepared.

And the Day of Silence is, indeed, happening.

Some teachers weren't happy about it and Brad thinks a few of them asked more questions than usual, but the principal supported the cause, so they couldn't do anything. Brad is willing to bet that the students who stayed silent today will be questioned thoroughly next week, though.

It's almost over now. The one thing left is the Breaking the Silence event, organized for the people from their school as well as those from Winston High.

"There you are," Ray says, sitting next to him on the grass, and looks around. "Wow, this is a lot of people. Nate sure knows how to throw a party."

Brad automatically looks for Nate - he's still standing next to that guy, Adam, who organized the Day of Silence event at Winston High and co-organized this one with Nate and their GSA. They are still not allowed to talk, but there are smiles and little touches and standing a little too close to each other involved.

"So," Ray starts and Brad makes it a point to stop looking at Nate. "I guess this my perfect opportunity to talk some sense into you. The fact that you can't speak makes it perfect, that is. Because there's nothing else even close to perfect about this whole thing apart from that."

Brad lifts his eyebrows and starts to get up, just to show Ray that he really doesn't have to listen to him if he doesn't want to, but Ray holds his arm.

"It's about Nate, Brad. It's important."

He sits back down.

"This is totally crazy and I'm going to die," Ray mutters, looking around, but then he seems to make up his mind. "I wasn't going to say anything, really, I wasn't, but this shit is getting old and you're over Natalie, and you're blind, homes, you really are, and you should know and he shouldn't have to..."

Brad snaps his fingers in front of Ray's face. If he doesn't get to his point fast, Brad will punch him.

"Nate is in love with you," Ray blurts out and makes a face, and Brad... Brad sort of freezes.

"Fuck, there's really no delicate way to say this," Ray continues. "Believe me, I tried to think of one."

Ray actually planned this conversation. And Nate is in love with Brad.

If Ray is fucking with him right now, Brad will kill him, slowly and painfully.

"I wasn't going to tell you anything, because sometimes even I understand the whole 'not your business' shit, but homes, it's Nate and it's you. When I was sure it was never going to happen, I kept my mouth shut, because you're fucking soulmates, platonic or not, I don't care, and I didn't want to mess it up. You were happy with her, so we were both, you know, happy for you. Not that Nate would say something if he wasn't, of course, he would just fucking smile brighter and bigger... I mean, anyway. I kept my mouth shut, because I didn't believe something might happen. But now I'm telling you this. So I hope you know what that means. Oh hell, I'm not sure you know, and I'm sure as hell not doing it again, so I will spell it out for you. I think you just never thought about this, about the possibility of it. And you should, because probably no girl will ever come close to Nate for you, not where it counts."

Brad can't take any more of this, so he holds his hand up to stop Ray.

"Yeah, okay," Ray agrees quietly and he slumps down a little, deflated. He sounds more serious than ever before. "Just... whatever you do, don't fuck it up."

Brad wonders how exactly he is supposed to manage that.

*

He wishes he could take a break from his life. Go somewhere and think it through, make a plan or something. Anything. But he can't take a break and the place where he always has the best ideas is Nate's bed.

A ride to Nate's house isn't probably the smartest idea, but it's Friday afternoon and it's their thing, no matter what, and Nate left Adam with a handshake and had the biggest smile, looking at Brad, and. Brad doesn't want to break the routine, he feels like changing anything could destroy his zen. And he fucking has his zen, he does.

"Thanks for today," Nate says, his voice a little lower than usual after the whole day of not speaking.

"No need," Brad answers, turning left onto Nate's street. "I just wish you'd talked Ray into it. We all could use a break from that mouth."

Nate laughs. He doesn't know the whole truth, just like Brad didn't, and Brad wonders if it’s still okay, those not-lies they tell each other.

"You have to give me points for trying, though," Nate says, grinning. "Homes, I love you, you know that, but I'd end up with an aneurysm."

Brad chokes, and it has nothing to do with the fact that Nate's pretty good at impersonating Ray.

He parks in Nate's driveway and they go in, just like hundreds of times before. They pass the kitchen, where Beth and her fiancé are apparently cooking dinner. Simon's kissing her brow and she's grinning at him with that Fick smile before they notice the newcomers and say hi. Brad smiles back and goes with Nate to his room, like always, like it's the same it has always been.

And maybe it is the same, for everyone but Brad. He doesn't have words for how much this isn't what he knows.

Fortunately, there's nothing weird with Brad being silent or lying down and staring at the ceiling. They have a routine, established well over a year ago and played out so many times it's all just different versions of the same song.

Brad thinks of kissing Nate here, in this room, on this bed, and wonders if it would be just a new riff that wasn't there before. He doesn't think so. He can picture it, it looks so easy in his mind, like a memory of something that has already happened.

The truth is, there's really nothing easy about it at all.

Nate sits cross-legged next to him on the bed, and Brad notices that the palm of his left hand is covered with barely visible handwriting. He catches it and turns to look at it, fingers clasping Nate's wrist without thinking, because it's normal, it's allowed.

There are many things Nate allows him to do without question and Brad never noticed, because he does it, too.

"Never enough time to find some paper," Nate says and shrugs a little self-consciously, but he smiles, looking at their hands.

It would be so easy, Brad thinks again, looking up at him. He doesn't do anything, because he can't now, not yet, maybe not ever. Not until he knows what he wants, because it can turn ugly, like it usually does, and Nate is anything but disposable.

*

For the next week Brad questions everything he does after it happens. He discovers that he's a tactile person and that he seems to touch Nate more often than anybody else. Or everybody else combined.

He waits for a freakout, but it never comes. It's not anything they haven’t already done. And caring for Nate isn't really a problem here, because he does that already.

But caring and innocent touching aren’t gay sex. So, after a week, Brad does the only thing he can think of - he goes looking for porn. It doesn't go as well as it could, to put it mildly. Brad has seen more assholes from up-close that he had ever wished for. Basically, it's like the regular porn minus pussy and breasts, so not like one at all.

He decides he's had enough and he wants to exit the site, when he notices a comment about ‘cocksucking lips’. He clicks, feeling a little bad, because he heard that comment directed at Nate in situations that weren't about anything fun at all, but...

The shots are mostly of a cock disappearing in some guy's mouth. Mouth that vaguely resembles the one Brad knows quite well, even from a distance.

He's hard in less than a minute. Somewhere in the back of his mind there's a thought that it can't possibly be that easy, but he freezes the video and pulls down his jeans. He jacks off thinking of Nate's lips on his cock, Nate between Brad's thighs, with his eyes closed and his eyelashes dark and short, and his freckles that show up only in the summer. His hips shoot up when he comes, thinking of Nate pushing him down.

So. There's that.

*

"Brad?" Nate asks, sitting next to him on his bed. It's Friday again, two weeks after the Day of Silence. Brad doesn't stop staring at the ceiling, he just hums to let Nate know he's listening. "Is everything alright?"

Brad looks at him then, sees the furrowed brows and concern in Nate’s eyes, and he has this stupid thought again about how they all got older while he wasn't paying attention. He wasn't paying attention to many things and it bugs him.

But while they might have gotten older, they're still only seventeen. And Nate is still the closest person to Brad.

Brad tugs Nate to get him to lie down and rolls on one elbow, so he's looking down at him. He stares, he knows he does, and anyone else would get impatient and ask or move, but Nate just looks back at him, waiting. There really isn't a choice to make, Brad thinks and kisses Nate. It's just a touch at first (he's a tactile person, remember?), but then Brad's hand comes up to Nate's neck and Nate kisses him back. They're not rushing it, there's no urgency, just slow getting to know each other, like their mouths are catching up on the acquaintance, late to the party.

When they part, Brad's hand is on the back of Nate's neck, thumb caressing the skin behind his ear. Nate's fingers are in Brad's hair, and he looks uncertain for a moment, opening his mouth, but he closes it when their foreheads touch. He smiles the kind of a smile Brad has never seen before, happy, unguarded and in love. Brad remembers Nate saying that they don't tell each other everything and that it’s okay, and he knows, he knows it's true, but he still feels cheated a little for not getting to see this Nate before.

"So," Nate says. Brad gets that he has questions which Brad should answer, and they should talk, they have to, really, or this is going to implode, and Nate's giving him an opening.

"Yeah," is the only thing he says, because for now the one thing Nate needs to know is that Brad's in, a confirmation and not a freakout. Now is not the time for talking.

"Okay," Nate agrees before kissing him again.

*

"So," Nate says again, two hours later. They are lying on their backs, with their arms touching, like they were hundreds of times before, but Brad was right. It isn't the same. There are their puffed lips and hooked feet, and Nate's face, and the feeling inside of Brad he can't name.

"I didn't know," is the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

"I didn't want you to know," Nate admits. He had quickly adapted to Brad's way of speaking without preamble and learned to figure out what Brad didn't say before he started talking.

"I never considered it." Nate being in love with him, him being attracted to Nate, starting a gay relationship, a possibility of having gay sex - any of those.

"I think most guys don't, unless they are prompted. Either by their feelings or by someone saying something..." Nate pauses and look at Brad expectantly.

"Ray got tired of me being stupid," he admits. Nate laughs at that and Brad has to kiss him again, because he might have been stupid but is not anymore.

"We need to talk about this," Nate says, his lips still touching Brad's.

"Yeah."

They move around, so they're lying facing each other.

"I'm not fooling around," Brad says first and lays his hand on Nate's hip.

"I know that." Nate smiles at him. "You wouldn't. So I guess we are, for lack of a better word, dating."

"How does 'being together' sound to you?" Brad asks. He can see that Nate is careful with him and he's grateful, but he also doesn't want to go too slow just because Nate thinks he's freaking out.

"Sounds great." Nate grins and touches Brad's stomach. "I'm really, really grateful to Ray right now. Even if he's going to be insufferable when he finds out."

"He already is, he's Ray," Brad says out of habit. "But Nate, listen, I can't..." And this is the hard part, the one that made him question this time and time again over the last two weeks. "I can't be open about it at school. Well, anywhere and to anyone, really, with the exception of Ray and maybe our families." Brad's talking fast and Nate's silent. "It's not... There's 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell', and I want to be a Marine, I just can't..." be gay, "be open about this."

Nate's watching his fingers trace the letters on Brad's t-shirt while he breathes in and out.

"I know, Brad," he says, looking back at him. "I get it. It's... well, I won't say it's okay, but I understand. I can live with that."

"Are you sure?" Brad asks, even if he has no idea what they would do now if Nate wasn't.

"I'm sure. It's a small price to pay, considering." He shrugs and brings Brad in for a kiss, a little harder than before.

*

Part II

The Cat

2010-11-11T17:39:18Z

So. I was talking with lunatics_word via AIM and she was enabling me. And by enabling I mean: showing me all those photos of adorable kittens. So it's her fault. ~~At least it's not mine this time, right?~~

There's Brad. And there's The Cat. There's also Nate, but of course there's Nate.

1.

"Go harass Fick, would you? I'm hungry and he's been working for hours."

The Cat looks unconvinced.

"You would get your food while we're eating, too," Brad says.

Sold, apparently. The Cat leaves to find Nate.

After a minute, Brad goes after The Cat to see if he's indeed a cat whisperer or some shit.

"Your cat is very innapropriate," Nate says, smiling, lifting his head to look at him.

Brad can see that. The Cat is not hanging from the screen of Nate's laptop, instead he chose to sneak beneath it to emerge between Nate's legs in small space left from the laptop sitting on Nate's thighs. His head is directly in front of Nate's crotch.

"I told him to go and get you, because I'm hungry," Brad explains, coming closer. "I bribed him with a promise of food."

Nate scratches The Cat's ear.

"Maybe he heard 'horny', not 'hungry'."

"Well, he wouldn't be *that* wrong," Brad says, taking away Nate's laptop and putting The Cat on the floor, before settling in between Nate's legs.

"In front of the kid, dear?" Nate smile grows and he spreads his legs.

Brad bites his hipbone.

"He can cover his eyes."

2.

Brad wakes with the feeling of being observed. Without opening his eyes, he murmurs:

"Stop perving on me while I'm sleeping, Fick. You could blow me, not look at me, you know. That I'd understand."

Silence. He opens one eye. There's no Nate, but on his part of the bed The Cat is sitting and looking at Brad, seemingly without blinking at all.

"Why are you here?" Brad opens the other eye.

Nothing.

"Where's Nate?"

The Cat's left ear twitches, but that's all.

"Are you hungry?"

The Cat stands up, looks back in the direction of the kitchen then back at him.

"Just so you know, I hate your guts," Brad says, getting up.

3.

Brad moves The Cat's little paws from his laptop's keyboard.

"Go walk over Nate's Mac. That's something that was made to be walked on. Or worse, but I wouldn't advise you to do any of those other things."

4.

They stand in the doorway of their guest room.

"Do you think he wants to tell us something?" Nate asks quietly, not wanting to wake up his niece. And The Cat, probably.

"That he's tired of Emily?" Brad doesn't blame him. He loves her, but little kids are more tiring than basic training.

"No. That he wants a sibling." Nate unsuccessfully tries not to smile. Brad elbows him lightly.

5.

Brad walks in and sees Nate lying on his stomach on the floor, in the middle of a staring contest with The Cat.

"What..."

"He helps me think," Nate says, without moving.

"About?"

"World's peace?" Nate deadpans. "I need to write this paper and I need to concentrate."

Brad goes to the kitchen and doesn't say that if Nate finds a solution for that problem, he should probably mention The Cat in his Nobel acceptance speech. It'd be only fair.

_____
All of the photos come from we heart it.

All we gotta do is be brave and be kind (baby, we'll be fine) - part two (b) and epilogue

2010-11-02T20:29:40Z

MASTERPOST # PART TWO (A)

*

#CNN: Sen. Nathaniel Fick is a Republican nominee for the president. #ficknominated

#Sen_JackWillis: We officially have our guy. N.Fick for the president of the United States! #ficknominated

#MarieH: #ficknominated I was too young to remember Obama's win, but maybe it felt just like this one.

#Pa_trick: I know he didn't win yet, but wow, it's still huge. #ficknominated

#mim: #ficknominated Well, I guess Republicans are ready to lose again. Another 8y for Democrats?

#teooo: Have you seen the empty chairs on the audience? No class. #ficknominated

#qwerty: @teooo Or maybe just doing what you believe in? #ficknominated

#teooo: @qwerty If you believe in being a jackass, sure. #ficknominated

#Stevaah: Didn't think I'd see the day. Though, sadly, it's probably as far as he'll go. #ficknominated

*

Brad got used to the Secret Service following him around. He acknowledged that he didn't have a choice, so he gritted his teeth and accepted the small team who was responsible for keeping him safe.

They were more respectful of his privacy that he initially assumed and after two weeks it stopped being a pain in his ass for the most part.

After the third time he didn't even try to escape Simmons following him when he wanted to take his Yamaha for a ride. They talked and negotiated the rules. Not too close, not too far, not during the night. They didn't agree on not too fast. After that, they talked shop and bonded over their mutual love of Japan engineering.

Brad could live with that.

.

He tried to draw a line when they told him he should have an assistant.

"I don't need anyone's help to get through the day," he argued.

They were eating lunch at the campaign office in San Francisco, Brad, Nate, Martha and Joe, along with Mark and Jessie, the speech writing duo, and Riley, Joe's assistant.

"If the senator wins, you'll have a whole team, you should get used to it," Joe said, shrugging.

That wasn't the best thing he could say.

"I won't..." Brad started.

"Yes, you will," Martha interrupted him. "Look, I'm sorry, Brad, I know you hate the idea, but you will need those people. The spouse of the president always has a staff. They are not there just to be around, they are useful. Your schedule will look more crazy than you're used to. You will have limited time at work, but there are other things..."

He tuned her out. His work. Fuck.

He wasn't hungry anymore.

"Guys, could you leave us for a moment?" Nate asked the staff, his staff.

"Hey," Nate started when they were alone, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Brad said, putting the box of Chinese food on the table. "I just don't want any assistants."

"Is it about the retirement?" Nate asked quietly. He felt guilty about this, Brad knew it. And it wasn't that bad, really, it was just...

"I had to do it some day, right? It's just... weird."

"I know," Nate said, laying his forehead on Brad's shoulder for a moment. "I'm sorry."

Brad put his hand on the back of Nate's neck, thumb stroking his hair.

"We talked about this. And you didn't make this decision alone." They did. And Nate didn't. When they talked about Nate running for president, they covered the fact that if he would become the Commander in Chief, Brad couldn't be in the Marine Corps anymore. Brad agreed to retire and he talked with his boss. He didn't even have to lose his job, he would return as a civilian employee. With limited hours, because he would be the First Gentleman. "It just comes back sometimes, like this big... thing. It's a big change."

"I know," Nate repeated, looking at him with a sad smile. "You've been serving for over thirty years now. It would be strange if it wasn't a big thing."

"It would be much worse if I wasn't able to keep my job," Brad admitted. He would work less, but the Warfighting Laboratory agreed to accommodate him.

Nate kissed him. And then someone knocked on the door.

"Come in," Nate said, pulling back, but still leaving his arm on Brad's chair.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you have a meeting in twenty minutes and we need to go," Martha said, walking in. She had three people with her. "Brad," she turned to him, "these are your choices for the assistant. Please, pick someone."

And then Nate and Martha left, leaving him with people he didn't know who he had to interview for a job. Fuck his life.

*

"Commentators agree that Senator Fick was a winner of both debates. They say that Fick has better, much clearer vision for the country and that his plans for reforming military and intelligence are the best ideas we have had in terms of our national security for years. They also note that although the security is the topic closer to the Republicans, Fick's positive vision of politics involving cooperation and engagement of everyone speaks to the Democrats, especially young people. Will it swing some unlikely votes his way? And will it be enough to convince undecideds to vote for him? With not so small number of the Republicans refusing to vote for their own party's candidate, Fick needs the votes of undecideds to go majorly in his favor."

*

"You know what is the best part of this campaign?" asked Brad, sitting up and taking his coffee from Nate.

"Room service?" Nate smirked.

"Exactly."

They weren't living in expensive hotels. Nate believed in spending their money on something more important, even if some people would prefer to have an actual room service and whatever else. In the end, there was always an intern who would bring people coffee each morning.

Like today.

"Morning sex?" Brad nudged Nate, who was sitting next to him, leaning against the headboard.

Nate laughed into his coffee.

"How romantic of you."

"That's me," he easily agreed, putting his mug on the nightstand. He lay down facing Nate and lifted his eyebrows expectantly.

"You're serious," Nate decided and gulped the rest of his coffee in couple of swallows. Brad nodded, staring at his neck. His hand was already on Nate's sweatpants, pushing them down.

"Of course I'm serious," he said, kissing Nate's collarbone and moving down to nip at Nate's left hip. "You know how cranky I can be, if I don't get any."

"Remember the time when you had to work for it?" Nate asked, putting his mug away, and took off his t-shirt.

"Not really." Brad's lips were moving towards Nate's navel.

"Fucker," Nate laughed. He was ticklish there.

"You know me so well." Brad moved on top of Nate, who spread his legs willingly and kissed him hard.

Nate's cell rang when Brad had two fingers inside of Nate and they both groaned. Brad got to the phone first.

"Hello, Martha, what can I do for you today?" he said, scissoring his fingers and grinning at Nate, who was biting his lip to keep quiet.

"Hello, Brad, is the senator there?"

"He just went to take a shower." Brad sat up and put third finger in. Nate arched up a little from the bed as his muscles tensed up.

"I know we were supposed to meet at nine, but I need to..."

"Give him ten minutes," Brad said quickly, moving his fingers in and out a little faster. Nate looked at him incredulously and kicked him in the ass. "Fifteen, maybe."

Martha laughed.

"I'm really disappointed, Brad. I thought better of you."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Nate shuddered under him. Brad leaned in a little to kiss his stomach and chest.

"I bet you don't. Tell the boss that I'll come in thirty minutes."

"There's so many things I could say to that."

"Three words: sexual harrassment policy. Also, I could come knocking in five minutes. With photoreporters."

"See you in thirty minutes," Brad said and disconnected the call.

"I hate you so much," Nate groaned. He wrapped his legs around Brad's waist to bring him closer. "Fuck me right now."

"Or lose you forever?" Brad felt laughter building somewhere inside him, threatening to explode out of him. He grabbed Nate's hips and positioned himself.

"Right the fuck..." Nate groaned again, when Brad pushed in. "...now."

.

Half an hour later they were both freshly showered and dressed, and Martha was briefing Nate on the new Israeli-Palestinian clusterfuck.

Brad's life was definitely interesting these days.

"Has the president already commented on this?" asked Nate, playing with his watch.

"Not yet. I think she's waiting for some kind of confirmation on what's going on there exactly," Martha said, only briefly looking back from CNN. "For now it's only a video someone put on the Internet and a couple of unconfirmed stories."

"There are some pretty convincing photos as well."

Martha shrugged.

"She's stalling. I would, too."

"She can. But it will be the first question I get as soon as I leave the room."

"But it could be a good thing," Martha pointed out. "Miller will stall, too, because he has to wait and see what the president’s going to say. It's your chance to speak up first."

"And they will compare whatever they say to whatever you said earlier," Brad added.

"I know," Nate said, checking the time. "Let's get this over with, we have to be at the town hall meeting in forty minutes."

"Do you know what you're going to say, Senator?"

"Nothing new, I'm afraid," Nate smiled self-deprecatingly and stood up. "I will say that we're waiting for more information, although it looks like it's serious. But nothing has changed in my view of the Israeli-Palestinian situation. I'm not promising peace, because I don't have a magic wand," he said, putting on his jacket. Martha was nodding and writing his words down. "I can promise that an offer of assistance will always be open, if they wish to use our help. I can promise I will do my best. And I won't hesitate to say that either side is wrong, if they attack the other. But I'm not accusing anybody of anything before I know something more."

"That's very rational of you," Brad commented, smirking. "People will hate it. They got used to rather trigger-happy Republicans."

"And then they threw us out from the White House for sixteen years," Martha said. "It's good, Senator. I will give it to Joe, but if you say it to those guys downstairs, the story will run on its own."

Nate nodded.

"It will be the topic of the day, so keep me posted. And I need Felicia to ride with me to the meeting and catch me up on everything that was going on there." He looked at Brad and then turned back to Martha. "Meet me downstairs in five?"

After she left, Nate wrapped his arms around Brad's waist, pulling him in for a kiss.

"You're good?"

Brad pressed their foreheads together.

"I'm good. I got laid, remember?"

Nate laughed and ran his palms over Brad's back.

"I remember very well."

"Our lives are crazy," Brad murmured, kissing Nate's neck and stepping back. "Let's order pizza tonight."

They used to do it often, back when Nate was still in college or right after and when Brad had his leave. They would wake up early, go for a run and then go back, shower and spend the rest of the day in Nate's small apartment, having sex, reading, sharing stories, watching movies. They would order pizza and eat it on the floor, young and carefree like they never were in Iraq. Like they were only with each other and only then.

Nate usually didn't look much older than he was back then, but sometimes when he was laughing hard, with his head thrown back, or smiling his biggest, most honest smile, Brad remembered more clearly the times when there were no lines around Nate's eyes and no grey hair. And sometimes he missed it, that version of Nate, of them, sometimes he wanted to get it back for a while. Today was one of those days.

Nate kissed his jaw and smiled.

"It's a date."

*

"Remember, remember, the fifth of November";

"Last stop: California";

"Is it okay to be gay in the White House, America?";

"Miller already in his home town";

"The Rainbow House"

"Undecideds decided on Fick?";

"WWAD? What Will America Do?"

*

When their plane landed in Baltimore, they still had two hours before the voting would start.

Nate slept for more or less that long in the last forty-eight hours and Brad was almost ready to punch or fuck him unconscious, and well, that only left him with one option, really, because aside from the unwritten, but rather obvious rule of no physical violence in their relationship, they really couldn't afford to have Nate with a black eye, could they?

Brad was probably a little sleep deprived himself.

They were alone in the backseat and Nate put his head on Brad's shoulder for a moment.

"I need a shower so bad," he said, his hand running slowly up and down on Brad's thigh.

Brad stopped the movement, laying his hand on top of Nate's. Nate wasn't doing it on purpose, but it wasn't like Brad's body could tell the difference and Brad didn't want to start anything they couldn't finish in the car.

"Me too," he said, closing his eyes.

"Yeah," murmured Nate quietly, but still put his nose in Brad's neck.

"Fuck you," Brad laughed quietly.

"What?" Nate opened his eyes and looked at him with unfocused eyes. He blinked a couple of times. "Oh. I was thinking about sharing the shower with you, not that, you know."

"I smell?" Brad smirked and Nate kissed him.

"Shut up."

.

Whatever plans Brad might have had to induce Nate into a post-coital coma after the shower and mutual blowjobs, they failed under the joined forces of almost every member of the Fick family, who wanted to hear about the last days of the campaign and gave their opinion about Nate's chances in each and every state, Brad suspected. He was glad Diane stayed in California, because he might not have been able to be civil, if she was as rude as the last time they saw her.

Brad quickly escaped to the kitchen anyway, in time to get a fresh cup of coffee from Nate's dad.

"How are you, Brad?" he asked, handing him sugar.

"Tired, mostly," Brad admitted.

"And ready for this to be over?"

Fuck, yes.

"Yes, exactly. It was a long couple of months. Well, year and a half, but who's counting, right?"

They both smiled.

"He did an incredible thing," Nate's dad said, sitting down with his coffee.

Brad nodded.

"And he still can do much more than that," he said. He didn't get emotional over Nate, not really. He loved him, that was as simple as almost nothing else in Brad's life, and he didn't sit around and think about reasons for or against it. But the enormity of things that Nate could accomplish, the fact that he could be and do things other people dreamt about - all of this sometimes got to Brad. Sometimes it would stop him right where he was, like in the kitchen in the house of Nate's parents, drinking coffee on the presidential election day.

He would never talk with Nate's mom or sisters about how amazing Nate was or whatever. They knew and loved him longer than Brad did, they were aware of that. But sitting with Nate's dad in that moment gave him the feeling that Christopher understood. It wasn't about love, it was about respect and looking back, Brad respected Nate much longer than he loved him.

.

"Okay. That's not so bad. Well, yes, but... Okay, that's still not so bad. Well, I expected it to be worse, to be honest, so..."

"Hey," Brad kicked him, when Nate was walking past the couch. "Put her on speaker."

"Of course, sorry. Martha, I'm putting you on speaker," he said turning it on and sitting down next to Brad. "Go on."

"Okay, so one more time. For now we're up by one in Georgia and Louisiana, two in North Carolina and Virginia. We're down by one in New Jersey and two in New York. I'm a little worried about turnout in South Carolina, Alabama and Florida, but it's still early."

"Two out of three are swing states, so anything can happen," Brad said, looking at Nate, who shrugged.

"That's true. Wow, the last time Alabama was a swing state was what, 1980?"

"But Reagan still won," Martha countered. "So, the weather is supposed to be good on the West Coast and..."

.

"Okay, I'm blinded a little by all those camera flashes, what if I choose the wrong candidate?" Brad whispered to Nate just after they entered the polling place.

"Well, think of it this way: you're either voting for sex for the rest of your life or no sex ever again. Your eyesight should improve instantly," Nate whispered back, flashing a smile to the election judges and scrutineers.

"Nathaniel," his mother hissed quietly from behind.

"Or I could vote as you," Nate added quickly.

Brad laughed.

"So you're trying to make me vote for you using either a bribe involving sexual favours, which I approve of by the way, or a fraud?"

"Guys, seriously," Beth sighed. "There are microphones here. A lot of them."

In the end they would have probably gone on like this for a little longer, if not for Chloe, who left Emily's side and elbowed her way to Nate.

"Uncle Nate!" she shouted, reaching out for him to lift her, which he obediently did. "Can I vote with you?"

Cameras were rolling and the flashes went crazy again. Unscripted Kodak moment in their life.

Brad wanted a copy of that.

.

.

"Tell Chloe I'm buying her ice cream the next time I see her," was the first thing Martha said, when Nate called her.

"I knew you would love it," Brad said, stretching his legs as much as he could in the car.

"Don't pretend you didn't, I saw you smiling on national television," she laughed.

"If you were working for me, I'd fire you."

"Some people almost swooned here..."

"Maybe you should keep them hydrated until it's over, what do you think?"

"Guys, guys," Nate was laughing. "Please, stop. I wanted to hear about the exit polls, not about people who are swooning because of my husband, okay?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure there are people that are almost-swooning over you, too," Brad assured him, laughing.

"Well, there was that woman in South Dakota..."

"Focus! Focus, please," Nate said, kicking Brad. "Martha, just give me those numbers."

"Sorry, boss. So, we're down by three in Colorado and Illinois, one in Pennsylvania, four in Connecticut and two in South Carolina, but we're up by two in Maryland, three in North Carolina and we just moved to the front in California, we're up by two."

"That’s not bad," Nate was serious again, frown lines more visible than usual. He almost looked his age.

They knew for a long time that they had to win California or they would lose. With Texas going for a Democrat and some of the other red states suddenly becoming swing states, they had thrown a lot of time and money at California. In the worst case scenario, it would be all over before people even stopped voting in there, but in the best one Nate would win their fifty-five electoral votes and he and Miller would go neck-to-neck for the last states.

"When are you going to be here, Senator? It's madness in the whole building, obviously, but the podium is ready outside and there are more and more people coming."

"We have a late lunch with the mayor and short meeting with the students, but after that we're coming to you, so I'd say, around seven or eight."

.

"This is madness," Nate was standing in the door of the main office, looking at people running around and not noticing him, and he was smiling at it all. He seemed to lose the tension he was carrying around for the whole day (or week, or year in a half). Brad could feel himself relaxing as well.

There was really nothing they could do at this point and it was exhilarating.

A few seconds later Martha noticed them and the moment was broken, but the feeling didn't go away, not really.

"They've called Pennsylvania and Vermont for Miller and Georgia, Kentucky, Indiana, Virginia and West Virginia for you, Senator," Martha said, fast. "We're still waiting for the rest."

"So it's twenty-six versus fifty-two," Brad counted. He could recite the electoral votes of all fifty states by now. He actually did that once when he couldn't sleep.

"That's not bad," Nate smiled at them, relaxed, looking odd in the room full of nervous tension. Martha looked like she wasn't sure if he wasn't having a nervous breakdown.

"Just tell us where there's a room with a couch and TV," Brad told her with a smile.

It was entirely possible she would have a heart attack before this night was over and Nate would have to find a new Chief of Staff.

.

This is what the eye of the storm feels like, Brad thought, standing with Nate in front of a dozen TV screens in the main office. When you're still in it, but it's moving fast.

They were losing by almost fifty votes and everyone was holding their breath for the results from California, Oregon and Nevada. Well, everyone except Nate, who looked like he was meditating in front of those screens, hypnotized by various maps, graphs and commentators on mute.

"Are you alright?" Brad asked, turning to stand in front of him, blocking out his view.

"I'm..." Nate blinked a couple of times and concentrated on Brad's chin. "Calm. I have this strange feeling of... disconnection, you know?" Nate looked him in the eyes and Brad nodded, his hands coming up on Nate's neck. "I hadn't had that feeling in years."

Not since Iraq's aftermath.

Brad went to kiss Nate, but they were interrupted. Someone turned the voice on CNN.

"And now, with the reports from eighty-seven percent of polling places in, we're ready to call the state of California for... Senator Nathaniel Fick!"

Two things Brad would later remember from that moment: the noise was incredibly loud and Nate's eyes were incredibly green.

*

"We haven't had a race this close in years. With Senator Fick winning California, it's still too close to call who will be the next president."

"You're right, Jon. It's been a long time. It was still in the Before Beard era."

"It was fourteen years ago, you really should let this go, Stephen."

"But I've only mentioned it a couple of times!"

"You've mentioned it on every election night since 2012."

"Well, we didn't have a lot of them, did we? And it's our thing, Jon! Our tradition, something we both enjoy and cherish..."

"Speak for yourself."

"I enjoy it immensely."

"I can tell. Shall we continue with the results or do you want to stay on the topic of my long forgotten beard?"

"We can move on."

"Thank you. And right on time, I see. The results just came in from..."

"Let me, Jon, let me, I want to do it this time!"

"Sure."

"You always do it, you know. Now it's my turn..."

"Okay."

"You actually did this every time we were doing it together and we've been doing it together for a long, long time. And you always have to be on top!"

"Just tell them, Stephen!"

"Thank you, Jon. Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States is Nathaniel Fick."

Epilogue

"Wake up, Fick, it's your graduation day," Brad says, running his fingers over Nate's back. Nate arches into the touch, but doesn't make any move to get up.

"Do I have to wear an ugly robe?" he asks with his face tucked into his arm.

"I'm not sure. But if you do, I'll happily disrobe you afterwards."

"It's nice of you," Nate mutters without lifting his head.

"I aim to please," Brad agrees and then gives Nate's hair a little tug. "Nate, come on."

"I'm awake," he says, turning to lie on his back. He had probably been up for hours already. "But I've decided I'm not getting up."

"I'm not sure the party can start without you, you know."

"We still have time, right?"

"I don't know, you're the popular one. Don't you have any meetings beforehand?"

"I'm meeting General Pears and General Matthew in about an hour, then breakfast and then we have a meeting with the president and her husband in the White House before the ceremony."

"It's as if you were someone important."

"As if," Nate smiles and turns to kiss him. "Five more minutes," he says with his lips against Brad's.

.

"How many?" he almost chokes on his coffee.

"Six, sir," Tony says and Brad sighs inwardly. He gave up on explaining that he didn't want to be called 'sir' all the damn time. Or at all. Apparently, when your husband is elected president, suddenly nobody but him and the rest of your family can call you by your name. Brad's managed to convince Martha at least, after she tried it one time. "It's how it's supposed to be," she said, but he told her he didn't care. Then there was her "What if I slip in public one day and the press will notice?" and his "What if I ignore you in public when you call me 'sir' and the press will notice?", and just like that he won.

"We have to go to six inaugural balls," Nate's voice brings him back to the conversation.

"Why?" he almost whines.

"Because there are six balls organized?" Tony replies and this is why Brad picked him to work with. Nate smiles.

"You have to show up for just about twenty, thirty minutes," Andrew, Nate's assistant, explains. "Shake some hands, make a toast..."

"We will be drunk before we go to our last one," Nate says.

"Maybe you will," Brad smirks and Nate kicks him. Martha rolls her eyes.

"You don't have to drink the whole champagne. The president makes the toast, you both take a sip and that's it."

She meant Nate, Brad thinks. He thought of President Wilkinson, but she meant Nate.

"Mark is writing those toasts for you, sir. You will get them in the car on the way."

"I can make a toast by myself, I've done it before," Nate tries.

"I'm sure you did, sir, but it's different."

"Let Mark do this," Brad says. "It will be a nice change after writing two hundred pages of inaugural speech. Which, by the way, I hope is great, because it's going to be cold out there."

"It will make you cry," Nate deadpans. "So, a toast that I won't write and champagne I won't drink. Something else?"

Andrew looks nervous.

"Well, usually there's a dance of the First Couple, but it was suggested by the committee that we may skip that part. So it will be..."

"Who suggested it?" asks Nate and Brad knows trouble when he sees it. Nate would want to dance only to show everybody that they can. They have never danced together, not even at their wedding. They aren't starting now.

"Whoever it is, he, or she, will be glad to hear that we're not going to dance," he says calmly, trying to downplay how serious he is about this. Only one person is supposed to hear it and he does.

"We're not," Nate agrees, looking at Andrew before turning to Brad. "I guess we will have a lot of hands to shake."

Brad smiles at him.

"Aren't you used to it by now?"

.

"At what point does this stop being surreal?" Brad wants to ask, but feels it's stupid, so he doesn't. At what point does it stop being surreal that your spouse is the president? At what point do you stop caring that you're living in the fucking White House? And when both of those happen, how do you stop yourself from going mad?

"It never really goes away," Wilkinson says, still standing in the patio door, smiling at him and pretending he isn't giving Brad time to get over himself. Nate and the president are already outside of the Oval Office, but Brad lingered a couple steps behind to have one more look at the room.

"Does it get better?" he asks, when they step outside.

"Yes," Wilkinson says. "You can get used to it after some time. At the beginning every time I came into the Oval Office, I was... intimidated. But one day I just went in, because Donna was horribly late, and I didn't even notice the room. After that, it was better. Of course, you can't just do it anytime you want, especially if your husband is in a meeting, but aside from that, you have more or less a free pass."

They join their spouses and the president leads them to the East Wing.

"It's a little difficult to make it look like home," she says, "but I'm sure you'll manage."

After the quick tour, Brad thinks that the only way to do that, would be to throw away almost everything and start again. But that's most likely not gonna happen.

.

After some time, Brad won't remember the morning conversation, because they've had and will have thousands of them over the years. He won't care about the inaugural balls. He will get used to the White House, the magnificent bed they will love and the scary living room they will almost never be in, the cooking staff and the cleaning staff, he will get used to everything and everyone.

He will get used to this life, similar and completely different than what they had before. He won't remember in details the novelty of it all.

But nothing will ever, ever feel like this:

It's so cold when they're standing up, the wind stronger than just moments before, when Brad was simply a part of the crowd (There were over one hundred and fifty thousand people there, Martha will tell him later). Brad has a copy of the Constitution in his hands (It's insulting, Nate said, when the committee proposed the Bible, when you swear on a symbol of something you don't believe in) and moves his icy-cold toes a little (I hope nobody's filming my shoes right now, he thinks).

Nate next to him is dressed in a black coat and the lines on his face are almost invisible now, his eyes shining, but calm, when he says:

"I do solemnly affirm that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States..."

[the end]

All we gotta do is be brave and be kind (baby, we'll be fine) - part two (a)

2010-11-02T20:13:57Z

MASTERPOST # PART ONE

Part Two

"After today's announcement from Governor of Michigan George Martenson (R) that he's going to run for president in next year's election, I think we can say that the season has started. I believe that in the next few weeks or maybe even months we will see new candidates throwing their hats in the game, both Republicans and Democrats. Who will that be? Will there be any surprises? Ana, what do you think?”

"Thank you, Vanessa. Yes, Governor Martenson's hat is first in the game, but soon there should be many more. Apart from Martenson, Senator Willow Stern of Ohio is also the obvious candidate for the Republicans. There are rumors about California Governor Michael Tanning and Senator Nathaniel Fick of Maryland, but nothing is confirmed. When it comes to the Democratic Party, the only obvious choice is Vice-President Anthony Miller, but some sources suggest that Senator Patrick Stewart of New Jersey may join the race.”

*

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, because Brad couldn't say no.

It wasn't like he didn't know that Nate wanted this. He did. But it was just one of those things. You can't like everything about the other person. Some people didn't like their partner's cleaning habits or lack thereof and Brad didn't like the fact that Nate's dream was to become the fucking president of the United States.

Yeah, one of those things.

.

"Well, if anyone in this country can become the first gay president it's the LT." Poke didn't even blink. Brad hated Poke. "It sure ain't gonna be easy, though."

No shit.

"Well, maybe he should have fucking thought about it before getting involved with me. With a nice girl he wouldn't even need to try," he said and downed a shot.

Poke looked at him incredulously. Brad signaled to the waitress that he wanted two beers.

"First of all, don't flatter yourself, your dick and charming personality didn't turn Nate gay. Second, dog, I hope you didn't tell him that."

"I'm not that stupid." Or that masochistic.

"Yes, you are. But he would have to punch you in the face and he would walk away, and the press would just love that."

The thing was, Nate would not walk away. He would get pissed, he would punch him, maybe, but he would not leave Brad. He was a stubborn motherfucker and he would stay, if only to prove Brad wrong.

The thing was, Nate had never even mentioned Brad leaving the Corps. Never. Even if that would make their lives much easier. But they wouldn't be where they are (together, married, in politics or in military), if they were any good at making their lives easier, right?

"Besides," Poke continued, "you knew who he was. That guy who wants to fight for a shot at becoming the president is the same guy that fought with the stupid command in Iraq to make sure we do the right thing and get out alive. That guy was meant for shit like this and you know it. Don't be stupid, Iceman."

It wasn't like Brad forgot the OIF or Nate there. It was just that his Nate, present Nate, both was and wasn't like Nate from Iraq and it was sometimes difficult to remind himself about that past version of him.

"He could hire you to write his fucking speeches, he will need those."

And that was that.

.

Brad woke up and found the other side of the bed empty. He looked at the clock and frowned. It was a little after five and if someone was supposed to get up early today, it was him. He had been dreaming about surfing for weeks. And now when they were in California for a few days and the beach was right outside their doors, literally, Nate was up before him?

He went to the bathroom first, then to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The house was quiet and empty. He went outside on the porch and saw Nate sitting on the sand so close to the ocean that every time a wave came, his feet were getting wet.

Brad nudged him with his foot when he got closer.

"What are you doing up?" he asked, sitting beside him.

Nate nudged him back with his knee and shrugged.

"Just thinking." After a moment when Brad didn't say anything, he continued. "The polling numbers came in."

"And?"

Brad believed that whatever Nate wanted, Nate would get, but he also thought that this country had too many stupid people to get something done most of the time. So it could go both ways and he didn't know which one was the cause for sitting on the beach before dawn.

"They're good. They're not amazing, but they're really good," Nate said, looking at him. Brad put his hand on the nape of Nate's neck and squeezed, his thumb stroking softly behind the ear.

"That's good," he whispered.

Nate leaned into his touch.

"That's also terrifying."

"A little, yeah," Brad had to agree. Because it was, when he really thought about this. "But that has never stopped you before."

"It's not stopping me now, either." Nate kicked him lightly. "I'm just saying. I woke up, I called, they told me and suddenly it all became so real." A pause. "I know it sounds stupid."

Brad shrugged.

"It doesn't. I understand. When you join the Marine Corps, you don't know it's real until you're ready to pass out during the basic training."

Nate chuckled at that.

"Thanks for the analogy, I can't wait for all the passing out and being dead tired."

"Dead tired, yes. But I wouldn't recommend passing out, that could scare your constituents off."

"We wouldn't want that," Nate smiled.

Brad looked at him and tried to imagine Nate as the president. He tried to picture him in the Oval Office, making decisions he would have the final say in. Sending them to war or not. Approving the military and intelligence reforms he had been thinking about for years. Being the person he had wanted to be most of his adult life, maybe longer.

"No, we wouldn't," Brad said finally, kissing him on the ear.

*

BALTIMORE, Maryland (CNN): Senator Nathaniel Fick of Maryland announced this morning that he's going to run for president in 2024 election.

In his home state, where he has served as a senator for over nine years now, he told thousands of people that although "the time has come for a Republican to come back to the White House," he truly believed that "Americans are more than ready to look above the dichotomy and work truly together." "There are causes that affect us all," he said, "like national security and education of our children. These are causes that are important and reforming them is long overdue. Now is the time."

If he is elected, the 46-year-old Fick will become the first openly gay person to become the president of the United States.

Other Republicans that publicly announced their start in the race are: Michigan Governor George Martenson, Senator Willow Stern of Ohio and former Senator Keith Marlow of Texas. California Governor Michael Tanning is expected to announce his candidacy next week.

*

The campaigning was crazy. Rushed phone calls, tired voices, not enough time together and not enough sex reminded Brad of the time when he was still active duty and they had to hide who they were. In other words, not the time he wanted to repeat ever again. But he also couldn't - and didn't want to, really - travel around the country with Nate, so they didn't have much choice.

Nate was still a senator, so he was coming back to D.C. as often as he could. But the time they had was seriously limited and Brad's co-workers started to notice that he was a bigger asshole than usual. They could go fuck themselves, as far as Brad was concerned.

He joined Nate on a campaign trail a few times, never for long, never to be seen on a stage or wherever else. Martha, Nate's campaign director, was probably plotting his murder already, after figuring out that Nate would be better off a mourning widower than a husband of an invisible and uncooperative Bradley Colbert. He would tell her to go fuck herself, but she was one of the five women that Brad considered to be fucking scary from time to time. Also, she and Nate got on like a house on fire and if they were going to take over the world, he preferred to be on her good side.

If Nate won the nomination, Brad should probably try to do just that. But for now it was more like this:

"You could show yourself on the stage," she would start.

"No," he would say and end the conversation as soon as possible.

Or like this:

"Could you stay tomorrow for dinner?" she would ask.

"I leave at sixteen hundred hours tomorrow," he would remind her.

"I know, I'm asking you if you could stay and go to the dinner with the senator. You could talk with those guys about the programs you work on and..."

"I have things to work on, exactly," he would say, "and that's why I can't stay longer."

Or like this:

"I thought you were going to come to us this weekend," she would say.

"I was going to, yes, but then you changed your plans and instead of going to Cleveland, Ohio, you decided to go to Dicksville, South Carolina. And do you really want me to come there?" he asked, not really waiting for the answer. "No, you don't. You want me with Nate when it's good for the campaign and I get it. It's your job. But those homophobic assholes would not appreciate Nate bringing in his husband and you know it."

All in all, it was always a pleasure to chat with her.

*

"America - ready or not?
submitted by Jeanette A. Markel, September 24th, 2023

With what will most probably be an easy win for Vice-President Anthony Miller in the run for the Democratic Party's nomination, all country looks closely at the other side of the fence. Governor Martenson is the frontrunner, but both Senator Willow Stern and Senator Nathaniel Fick are still very much in the game.

But as we all know, a little competition isn't the only reason we watch the news almost religiously now. Or maybe I should just speak for myself, maybe I'm the only one who is looking at Senator Fick and thinking 'Are we ready?', 'Are we not?'. If I even have to question that, does that mean we are not ready? If he has been a well-known and liked senator for years now, does it mean that we are? I don't know.

What I know is that if the program and the ideas for the country were the only deciding factors (naïve, I know), Senator Stern would be out of the race already and Governor Martenson would be just someone who doesn't know how to quit (*coughs* Marlow *coughs*) or whose party doesn't want to look like the party with only one legitimate candidate.

So tell me, America, are we ready?"

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*

In November they were still hanging in there and they were starting to become stronger and stronger, coming in second or close third in polls. Nate was doing great in the debates and even if his views were more moderate than some of the most conservative Republicans would like, it didn't matter that much, as those people would not vote for him even if he decided to buy every American a gun and go from church to church on his knees. He was also liked by the media, which didn't surprise Brad all that much. Nate was the youngest of the candidates, he was handsome, smart and funny - everything journalists could want from the future president, Brad was sure.

And that was when the fucking hate mail started to arrive.

.

Brad was in the middle of the training session, when two men in black suits came in and stood by the door. And it didn't matter that Brad was seeing guys like that almost on a daily basis or that it looked like the scene from the fucking movie, there was a moment when he thought... There was a moment of blind panic and fuck, but Brad wasn't ready for it. Years ago he had been taught to survive almost anything people could throw at him, but he never felt quite like that. He froze.

It took him a couple of long seconds, but then he was moving, fast but controlled. He took his phone from the bench on the way to the door and could see three missed calls from Nate.

"What happened?" he asked the men, looking from one to the other and clutching his phone to the point of pain.

"Could you please..." started the one on the left, but the other one interrupted him.

"Senator Fick is okay, sir."

Brad liked the other one. The air, too, Brad liked the air and he was glad that his lungs started to work again. He took a deep breath and nodded.

"Okay, so what happened?" he asked again, this time directing the question to the guy who he believed could give him the answers he was looking for and not waste his time. He was the younger of the two, but apparently smarter. Brad led both agents to the empty office right outside the gym.

"The last couple of days there was an alarming increase in the amount of hate mail directed to the senator's office and..."

"Increase? What the fuck do you mean by 'increase'?" Brad was going to kill Nate.

"Almost every politician gets a certain amount of hate mail. Comes with the job, I suppose." The older agent shrugged. "And the higher position he holds, the greater is the chance that it's going to happen. And in the case of the senator..." he waved his hand as if that explained senator’s case.

"As far as we know, Senator Fick had been getting some hate mail since the beginning of his presidential campaign, but nothing like that," the younger agent took over, before his partner could bury himself even further in Brad's eyes.

"Like what?"

"The last two days the senator's office, along with the campaign headquarters and the campaign offices in the cities the senator will visit soon, received over four hundred letters. Last week it was almost five hundred. And while most of them are harmless, there were a few that raised some red flags."

"You mean serious threats."

"A few of them, yes. We don't know if something's going to happen, but better safe than sorry. It was decided that Senator Fick will be given basic Secret Service protection from now on. We're here to..."

"Is there an investigation into who sent those threats?"

"Of course there is," the older agent said, looking slightly offended. "But now we wanted to talk to you about your protection."

"I don't want any," answered Brad shortly.

"It would be wise..."

"... to spend your money where it's needed. And I don't need protection. No one was threatening me, I didn't receive any letters from fans and I don't want anybody to follow me around."

"Of course it's your right to refuse protection right now, but I would recommend..."

"No. And now excuse me, gentlemen, I need to call my husband," Brad said, almost challenging the older agent to do something, anything that would justify Brad breaking his nose. Or arm.

Yes, he was mad.

Unfortunately, it looked like both men decided to back off and leave after a quick goodbye, so Brad had to come up with a different idea of how to let go of that anger. But first he had a phone call to make and a senator to kill.

Although it looked like he had to stand in line for that last thing.

And wasn't that a comforting thought.

.

"Apparently a priest from Alabama decided to preach about the devil that's coming to the White House and suggested that the righteous people of God should not allow that to happen." Nate sounded tired on the phone, but lately that was a norm, so Brad decided to let it go. Trying to make Nate get some rest was a lost cause anyway. "Some of those righteous people decided to go further than others."

"Isn't inciting people to commit a crime illegal?"

"It is, but you'd have to prove that he wanted them to do something more than simply vote for one of my opponents or write a letter saying that God hates my kind."

They were lucky - Brad was an atheist, Nate an agnostic and their families, although religious, would pick either of them before any god they believed in any day. But things like that still weren't nice to hear.

"They arrested a few that were the most...graphic in their letters. I think that will be enough, but Secret Service will stay with me anyway."

"That's good."

"Says the man who refused the protection."

"Hey," Brad protested, "I wasn't the one they were threatening to set on heavenly fire or whatever."

Nate let out a sound between a chuckle and a sigh.

"Wouldn't hurt to have someone there."

"Don't tell me you're surprised I didn't want anybody to follow me around. It was hard enough to get rid of Person, it took years and moving to the other coast. And he still calls me."

Now he got a laugh.

"How is Ray, by the way?"

"Still collecting his First Lady jokes. I think he's preparing to publish a collection after you become the president."

*

"Let's look at Senator Nathaniel Fick's current situation. He lost the Iowa caucuses and came close second in Wyoming. After that it was almost fifty-fifty: he won in New Hampshire, lost in Michigan, narrowly won in South Carolina and Florida, lost in Maine. I may be wrong, but I think it's safe to assume that the Super Tuesday will be all about Governor Martenson and Senator Fick. Dorothy, would you like to comment on that?"

.

"The Super Tuesday came and went and we saw George Martenson still in the lead, but he is not an obvious frontrunner anymore. Nathaniel Fick is still fighting hard and he managed to win some of those battles. What do you think, Brian?"

.

"Willow Stern and Keith Marlow both withdrew from the race this week, leaving only George Martenson and Nathaniel Fick still in the game."

*

Brad liked Nate's mother, he really did. Apart from being somewhat scary most of the time (especially when she would team up with Brad's mom) and fucking teary this one time (namely: a whole month between their engagement and the wedding), she was a wonderful woman.

He would prefer to spend Saturday at home, though, but she was also a master in guilttripping Nate to do almost anything she wanted, so Brad should probably be glad she wasn't using it more often. One family party every three months he could do, especially if the next day they had to be in Baltimore anyway for a rally.

"Come on in, guys." It wasn't a surprise to anybody that Brad's favourite member of the Fick family, aside from Nate, was his father - a former Marine, quiet and stoic, but with the same dry humor that the rest of them had.

"Uncle Nate!" Chloe was five years old and she wanted to marry Nate one day (or at least that was her plan on Christmas). Brad could admire her good taste in men.

"My favourite little girl!" Nate had her in his arms even before the rest of the family got to the hall.

Technically, they were uncles of Chloe's mother. Brad still remembered Emily as an eleven-year-old and now she had two kids. He was old.

And yes, he had that epiphany every time there was a family gathering, so what.

"Glad you could join us, Senator." Beth had been calling her little brother that for years now and it never stopped being funny for Brad. Nate just rolled his eyes and hugged her, conscious of Chloe still in his arms.

"Are you going to continue to call him that after he becomes the president?" Nate's mother joined in, hugging him next.

"I'll call him 'mister president, sir', of course."

Brad laughed.

"I would pay to see that," he told her and she grinned.

"You're on. And I'm wondering how are you going to call him, you know."

"Oh, God."

"Aren't you a little too old for jokes like that?" asked Nate, putting Chloe down.

Beth smacked him in the head. She apparently wasn't too old for that.

"I'm not old at all. And boy, I hope you aren't too old, because..."

"Dinner, anyone?" Nate's dad interrupted. Another reason why Brad liked him.

.

"I think you should focus more on education than military reform tomorrow," said Diane, Beth's younger daughter, sitting next to Nate on the couch after dinner.

"That's the plan," he said, turning to her with a smile, but Brad could see he tensed a little.

"People here are more interested in their children's education anyway," she went on. "Nobody wants to hear about war."

"Diane," Beth said with a warning in her tone. "Let's not talk politics anymore, okay?"

It wasn't about politics, if you asked Brad, it was about being rude. But Nate obviously couldn't let it go.

"I'm going to talk more about the education reform, but the military and intelligence are also on my agenda. We need to change some things..."

"Many things."

"...and the whole country should think about that."

"The majority of this country doesn't want to go to war anymore."

She hadn’t been like that on Christmas. She had been perfectly happy with Nate and didn't challenge his political views, or, well, him in general. Apparently three months in college could change a lot of things.

"It's not only about going to war. Our military needs an internal reform, in terms of leadership and in terms of offering valuable things to recruits, soldiers and veterans alike. Our intelligence agencies need better accountability and better tactics and strategies. We can make our country a safer place just by doing that."

Nate was a politician with years of experience, not to mention he spent a majority of the last year convincing people of what he believed in and debating with people that didn't agree. He could probably do that in his sleep (as he did, a couple of times). But it was clear to Brad that he didn't want to do it here, in front of the family, with Diane, who was so set in her ways that she forgot how to behave.

"Okay, how about we all take a break from politics? If you tire Nate down tonight," he looked at Diane and tried to be nice and play it down, "he won't have any energy left for tomorrow".

"Excellent idea," Beth agreed immediately. She was trying not to look upset, but she was always one of Nate's biggest supporters and she always respected his and their father's military service, the same way she later came to respect Brad's. Having her own daughter speak like that was clearly painful for her. For all of them, really.

.

The next day the whole family joined them at the rally and Martha and Joey, the communications director, were almost ecstatic because of all the family pictures. It was another weak point for Nate - not having children. People, as Martha explained to Brad while trying to convince him to be more visible in the campaign, were used to seeing politicians with their spouses and children. Apparently it made a person look more human and closer to the general public.

Brad stopped trying to understand the whole election process a long time ago.

Nate had a husband (who started to be more visible, thank you very much), but he didn't have children. He had siblings with kids and grandkids instead, though, and from the way the media kept taking pictures and filming the whole family, it was clear that, as Martha said, it was "good enough for them." Brad shrugged. "Good enough" was as far as they could go in that area anyway.

.

They were driving back to D.C. the same night, Brad half-asleep and Nate staring absentmindedly through the window. The glass between them and the agents in the front seats was up, separating them from the world outside of each other.

"How much time do you think I have," asked Nate, turning to look at him, "before Diane will get caught on camera, protesting against the war, with a big sign telling the world where exactly she has my opinion about it?"

Brad couldn't stop laughing for a couple of miles. Then he kissed Nate stupid for the rest of the trip.

*

#Sarah: Church is so obviously for Martenson, it's sick. Where's the separation of church and state??

#_Karl: @Sarah: In the Constitution. lol

#P@ula: priest in our church was almost preaching the gospel of martenson yesterday. wtf. isn't it illegal or sth?

#Pam: @Paula: and what can you do, tell on him to the Pope? He's probably for Martenson, too.

#MollyR: @Pam: Pope is cool for now, he's not saying anything. It's how it should be. Not his bussiness (no offense).

#bishopp: FICK IS HOT!

#Pam: @bishopp: don't we know it. :P

*

When the news came, they were both home, watching Die Hard (and no, Brad didn't have anything to do with this, it was one of Nate's favourite movies and Brad could indulge him sometimes) and drinking beer. Nate was lying on the couch with his head in Brad's lap and Brad's fingers were running through his hair.

Brad was about to bend over and kiss Nate's ear, bringing his attention from John McClane, who already lost his shoes, to him, who would very much like to have sex, preferably before the end of the movie, when Nate's cellphone started to ring. It was Martha's ringtone and Brad could see Nate frowning. He was supposed to have a free night.

"Hello?"

Brad couldn't understand the words, but she was definitely using her outdoor voice.

"What?!" Nate got up quickly and changed the channels. MSNBC was showing video of Martenson from the last week meeting in Ohio, but the speaker was talking about a defraudation and Brad could clearly see SCANDAL spelled in big, red letters at the bottom of the screen.

He looked at Nate, who was staring at the TV and listening to Martha on the phone. Then he turned and looked back at Brad, looking like he couldn't believe what was happening.

"I can't believe this," he said, as if confirming Brad's thought. "I can't fucking believe this."

.

During the week after Martenson scandal broke, Nate slept maybe ten hours all together. There were meetings and talks, refusals to meet and talk, and strategic campaign meetings that lasted till dawn. Brad rarely saw Nate and most of that time Nate was either on the phone or unconscious.

Countless sheets of paper were lying all over their place and that whole situation was starting to look more and more like Nate's college days to Brad. Not that he was around a lot then, but he caught a few things here and there. And finals time looked almost exactly like that.

.

Eight days after The Story, Brad was eating pepperoni pizza and reading a report about the US-Mexico border that Nate left on the coffee table this morning, when his beloved husband came home. Brad lifted his head from the couch and caught sight of Nate going straight to the bathroom. He left the slightly greasy report on the coffee table and went after him.

"Hello to you too, darling," Brad said coming into the bathroom. Nate was standing in front of the mirror and not moving. He blinked at Brad.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you," Nate came closer to kiss Brad. "I need a shower really badly."

"And bed. You need our bed." Nate shook his head, but Brad didn't let him say anything.

"No, Nate. It's late and you're exhausted. You haven't slept in forever and now it's time to do just that. You don't have to keep watch 24/7."

Brad put his hands on Nate's head, slowly threading his fingers through Nate's hair. Nate made an encouraging noise and leaned into his touch.

"I really should..."

"He had already lost, Nate. Nothing short of you having some kind of illicit affair would change the fact that you will win the primaries. You will win the fucking nomination."

"Because I don't have any kind of illicit affair," Nate said quietly.

"That's because you're an outstanding human being. And because I would kill you if you had one."

"You'd have to do that before the announcement, if I win. After that, I'll have more than a couple of agents, I'll have a full Secret Service team and it won't be so easy to kill me."

"I'd just have to step up my game a little."

"Well..." Nate murmured, kissing Brad's jaw and wrapping his arms around Brad's waist. "We could play a different one right now."

Brad smirked.

"You're lucky I'm easy. Your sex talk is really, really bad."

Nate moved his hand to Brad's cock, palming it through two layers of clothes.

"Come on, shower with me," he said, kissing Brad's neck.

"One day we will be too old for the shower blowjobs, I'm afraid." Brad stepped back to undress and watch Nate do the same.

The big cabin was one of the best things about their apartment, in Brad's opinion.

"Today is not that day. And when it is, we will figure something out. Marines make do, Brad," Nate looked up at him from his knees. "Today is the day I could fall asleep if you'd want to have sex in our bed, though."

Brad spread his legs and put one of his hands on Nate's head.

"You say the sweetest things," he groaned when Nate's tongue touched him.

.

So, during the week after the Martenson scandal broke, Nate slept maybe ten hours altogether, because there were meetings and talks, refusals to meet and talk, and strategic campaign meetings that lasted till dawn. And Brad rarely saw Nate and most of that time Nate was either on the phone or unconscious.

That's why it took Brad over a week to notice. He should have noticed it the night before, in Nate's quiet words when Brad told him he was going to win.

Because I don't have any kind of illicit affair.

Brad should have noticed, but there was Nate, close and willing, touching him, so he didn't. Not until the next morning, when he was eating breakfast in the living room and absentmindedly surfing channels until he heard Nate's name.

"The only winner here is Nathaniel Fick, who will get the nomination he wanted so badly. And let me tell you, he should be ecstatic, because the only reason he gets it is the fact that he doesn't have an affair with his assistant and he doesn’t steal money from the government. He would never win this otherwise."

"The polls..."

"He's young and handsome, and he's not stupid, so he did good in those polls. But it's not a Miss America pageant, it's politics. The Republican Party would not nominate him as their candidate, but now..."

Brad sat there, almost mesmerized. He silently dared the stupid motherfucker to go further, to just come up and say it outright.

"Apparently I should be ecstatic that being gay is better than having an affair and stealing money."

Brad turned his head towards Nate who was standing in the doorframe. He still looked so young and never more so than when he just woke up.

Right now he just looked pissed off and sad.

"He's an idiot," Brad said and wished he could say something different. Something better. He just didn't know what that could be.

"He's not completely wrong," Nate said quietly, turning around.

"What?"

"I need to go to the office."

Nate was already back in their bedroom before Brad caught up to him.

"It's Sunday, Nate."

Nate shrugged, looking for new shirt.

"Nate."

"Brad," Nate sighed, but didn't turn around. "I have things to do."

"You can do them tomorrow."

It was over a week of basically no sleep and a couple of months of barely sleeping. Nate wasn't in a fucking war and Brad had enough.

"Tomorrow I have even more things to do."

"Tough shit. You'll find the time. Stay home today, Nate."

"I can't."

Fuck it. It was time for extreme solutions. Brad fucking hated it, but he knew it would happen one day, knew it from the beginning of this fucking campaign.

Knowing didn't make it easier, though.

Nate always had workaholic tendencies, to say the least. But since he decided to run, he was tying himself in knots over every fucking thing and the Martenson scandal, which was supposed to help, just made it worse. Nate had to vent, had to let go and just be. And for the first time Brad felt that it wasn't something Nate could fuck out or run out of.

So Brad had to play dirty. Really fucking dirty.

"You will never be perfect, Nate. You will never be straight."

Nate froze.

"Fuck you, Brad," he said quietly, turning around. He was angry, but not enough.

"That's what I'm talking about."

"Shut the fuck up," Nate raised his voice, almost yelling. He never yelled. Brad couldn't back down now. He just stood there and watched Nate take a breath. "It wasn't me who... I don't have problems with being gay and you know it! So don't stand here and tell me this bullshit."

"You don't have any problems with being gay. You have a problem with not being perfect."

"I'm not perfect."

"Of course you aren't! You can't be. But that's the problem, isn't it? You would like to be perfect. You would like to do everything right. Nathaniel Fick doesn't make mistakes." Brad hated doing this, hated looking at Nate while he was doing this. But he didn't allow himself to look elsewhere. That was his punishment for saying all this, even if he knew he had to do it. "But if you wanted the whole party to love you, you sure as hell made a few mistakes along the way. And I was your biggest one."

Nate didn't punch him in the face even if it was obvious that he wanted to. He put his fist on Brad's chest, not punching, but more like putting pressure, hard, but probably not enough to even leave a mark.

"You would never be a mistake, you fucking idiot."

And Brad knew that, he really did. He was years past being insecure about him and Nate, but they both still remembered when he wasn't and Brad was using it right now to make a point.

"Fuck it," whispered Nate, breathing harshly. "Fuck it."

He turned around to put some space between them, but Brad stopped him.

"Don't run away from me, Nate."

Nate looked at him incredulously.

"Don't run away from me? Are you kidding me? I am the runner all of a sudden? It's you, who was always running away, Brad! You! So don't put that shit on me."

"You don't run away? Nate, maybe you don't get up and run away literally, but you're shutting off. You can't even get mad at me and just fucking ride it out! Yell at me, punch me, don't just turn around and leave the room."

"You are a hypocrite, I hope you are aware of that."

"I am. But listen to yourself. Why aren't you yelling at me? Why do you always have to be so collected and stoic? We can fight dirty, Nate. We can get ugly with each other once in a while..."

"No, we can't, Brad!" Nate raised his voice and tried to get away, but Brad just tightened his hold.

"Why not?"

"Because... we just can't, okay?"

"No, that's not okay at all. Shit, Nate, why can't we do this?"

"What happens next?" Nate sagged in Brad's hold and his eyes were locked on the cabinet behind Brad. "What happens after we get ugly with each other, we yell, maybe punch each other for a good measure. What's next? What if..."

Brad had a really bad feeling about this. Really bad fucking feeling.

"Nate?" he asked quietly.

"What if you leave?" Nate said softly. "What if I say something that..."

"Stop it."

"No, you wanted to hear this." Nate was breathing faster, and if they were a little closer, Brad could probably feel his heart going crazy.

Brad didn't want to hear this at all, but he had to.

"What if you leave? Or what if I leave? What if we just don't bounce back from it the way you apparently think we would? What if we say some things we can't get over?"

"Nate." Brad shook him a little. Nate looked at him for a brief moment, then came back to admiring their fucking cabinet. "Nate, look at me. Look at me and believe me when I tell you this. I'm not in this for the rainbows and kittens, okay? I'm not in this only when it's good and you should fucking know this and I can't believe you don't, after all the shit we went through."

"I know. It's not..."

"Are you sure? Because if you think I'll take my bike and just go, and don't come back home to you..."

"It's not that, Brad!" Nate put his hands on Brad's neck and for a moment hid his face there, too. Then he lifted his head and looked him in the eyes. "I just don't know how to do this. At all. It's not only you, it's me, too. What if I can't handle this? I'm not... It's not easy for me, I can't fight like that."

"Fuck, LT, why am I only hearing about this now?"

"And what I was supposed to say, exactly? 'Hey, Brad, next time we fight, make sure we don't hurt each other's feelings'? I know we'll sooner or later fight about something, I just don't want it to be ugly, okay? We can have ugly from other people, and we do, but..."

"We're not exactly careful with our language, you know."

"It's not about calling me a pussy civilian or a dumbass motherfucker or whatever term of endearment you come up with. It's the other stuff."

Brad kissed his forehead while Nate continued.

"It's not that I don't want us to fight. I don't like it, but I'm not stupid, sometimes we have to. But I don't want us to hurt each other on purpose."

The way Brad did just a couple of minutes ago. Brilliant.

"We're not saints, Nate. And I'm not talking about getting ugly or hurtful every time we fight. But, fuck, I can't have you thinking that I could leave you, if you'd say something I don't like. I'm not leaving you, you stupid shit. I married your ass."

"My ass is very grateful for that. It cares for you deeply." Nate tried his small smile, but Brad wasn't in love with that man since yesterday.

"Nate. Under no circumstances would I leave you. There's nothing you could say - well, aside from 'I don't want you anymore', but I'd probably just kill you then - that would make me leave you. Bad, ugly, hurtful, nothing. We'd fight, both of us would say some shit we don't mean and then we would make up. As always."

"It's not that easy."

"It is! Nate, how do you think we lived with each other for all those years? We weren't always gentle and proper, you know. And we didn't split. We won't."

Nate was almost trying to climb him by now. His face tucked in Brad's neck, his arms holding him tight.

"We won't," he murmured against Brad's skin.

Brad pulled him even tighter.

"Nate, I need... I need to know that I can say all kinds of things to you and not have you running away."

He got a nod as an answer.

"Nate, I need you to tell me I can say shit to you and you won't leave me for it."

Nate lifted his head, kissing Brad's neck once. He looked him in the eyes.

"Okay. Okay. No matter what you say, I won't leave you. I couldn't. Unless you would directly tell me to."

Brad closed his eyes and put his chin on Nate's head.

"Yeah. Not going to happen."

They stood like that for a few minutes. Brad's arms were keeping Nate close to him, but Nate didn't fight it at all, he just tucked his face in Brad's neck and wrapped his arms around his waist.

"I love you," Nate whispered. "I'm sorry."

"I love you too," Brad moved a little to look at Nate and smirked. "I'm not sorry about that."

Nate smiled and Brad put his thumbs on the wrinkles around his eyes to smooth them out a little.

"I've obviously had a few bad days," Nate said, making a face. "Sorry I was an idiot."

"I'm used to it by now, don't worry," Brad said, grinning.

Nate elbowed him lightly.

"Shut up."

"Okay," Brad moved away and started to steer Nate in the direction of their bedroom. "And now we're going back to bed."

"Brad."

"Shut up, Nate. We're going back to bed and tomorrow you can go back to being the future president, but today you're here, with me."

Brad had missed his husband home. So what.

Soon after they were lying in bed, their limbs tangled together. Nate was drawing circles around Brad's navel and Brad's dick was starting to take notice, when suddenly Nate chuckled.

"What?" Brad pulled Nate's hair.

Nate lifted his head from Brad's chest and smiled at him.

"Who would have thought that there would be a day when you would be the more secure one."

Brad would maybe take offense if they hadn't had the history they had. He just smirked.

"American people should know you're an idiot."

Nate chuckled.

"You could tell them, if you would do one of those interviews people want you to do."

*

"This is DCAC live, you're on the air, speak your mind."

"Hi, I'm George. This campaign is ridiculous or what? First Fick, but, you know, we could deal with it, Martenson was going to win anyway. But no, he had to have an affair! Was he out of his mind? Not to mention the fraud, you know, seriously. What is wrong with the Republicans that those two were ever the best candidates? One cheats and steals and the other..."

"Oops, I think we've lost the connection. Sorry, George. Next call in, then, hi, how are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks. But George, if you're still listening... You know, nevermind, it's not worth it, you're obviously an idiot. So. Moving on. Sorry. My name is Paul and I didn't want to talk about the campaign, because, damn, I'm tired of it, but the dude provoked me. So. Did you all see the clip from the Fick's meeting with those children from second grade? I mean, how adorable was that? And amazing, he explained his whole education reform plan to them using stick figures and diagrams. I mean, what the... Even my roommate understood that. I'm impressed, really, I am."

*

This wasn't like any roadtrip Brad had ever been on. Or wished to be on.

.

There was no anonymity, because at least half of any given town knew that they were coming. They had friends and enemies there before they even arrived.

In Cleveland, Ohio, Willow Stern came to support Nate, but in the end it was more like we-used-to-date-and-now-you-are-here-with-your-new-girlfriend painful, but with a couple of thousand people watching.

In Somewhere Along The Way, Michigan, a small group of teenagers threw eggs on their car from the side of the road. Brad thought the kids were lucky Secret Service agents didn't shoot any of them, because in their line of work? When somebody was throwing something, it could be anything from fucking flowers to fucking Molotow cocktails and agents were often allowed to shoot first and ask questions later.

Those kids were also lucky he didn't have his gun with him, because Nate didn't speak a word the rest of the way.

In Charleston, West Virginia, when after his speech Nate was shaking hands with people from the crowd, an approximately five-years-old girl hugged his legs and didn't want to let go. Nate lifted her to his arms and got a kiss on the cheek before passing her back to her mother. Brad was smiling like an idiot probably, he could feel it. He wanted his inner bastard back, so he looked around for Martha, who was probably over the moon about the perfect photoshoot opportunity, but when he found her, she got a soft smile on her lips that he had never seen before.

.

There was no driver versus shotgun debate that Brad could win, because they were being driven or flown everywhere.

His whole body ached from hours spent in his seat.

He missed his bike.

.

There wasn't a lot of free time or a lot of alone-with-Nate time, because they were accompanied by dozens of people. Nate's staff and Secret Service were with them all the time, but they also had temporary guests endorsing Nate.

And don't even ask Brad about the media people.

Martha was glued to Nate's side all the fucking time and although Brad started to really like her, sometimes he wanted her to just go away. And help Joey deal with journalists, most preferably, but really, he just wanted her gone. For her not to be with them. To leave them alone. To detach from them. To...

"Yes, Brad, I think I've got it," Nate said with a smirk. Apparently Brad was thinking aloud now. "You're tired of Martha always being around."

"That works, too," he shrugged.

They were driving to the airport, alone in the backseat of the car. Nate shifted closer to him and Brad put his hand on Nate's thigh.

"I know it's not easy," Nate said, threading his fingers through Brad's hair, "but I'm glad you're here with me."

Brad leaned into the touch a little and smiled. "Where else would I be?"

.

Brad was wrong. He was on a roadtrip a little like that, long time ago. It was called Operation Iraqi Freedom.

He was also wrong about not wishing to be on it. He might not like it much, but he still wouldn't miss it.

*

"It looks like we are saying this every eight years now, John, but history is being made, again. Sixteen years ago we had our first African American president, eight years later first woman to be ever elected president of the United States, and now, with the Republican National Convention starting in three days, we will witness the first gay person to be nominated. And who knows, maybe in less than three months, we will celebrate the first gay person to become the president of the United States."

*

The big stage and the thousands of chairs in front of it reminded Brad more of a rock concert than the national convention. Why, he couldn't really say, it wasn’t like he went to a lot of them in the past. But there was something unreal about this, him standing on a stage where Nate would be accepting his nomination in two days. Nomination for the fucking president of the United States.

Over a year of campaigning and all the craziness that came with it did not prepare Brad for this.

"If not for the flags and the Secret Service agents, it would almost look like a Rolling Stones concert, right?" asked Nate, coming up beside him.

"I don't know, are you sure there were no flags at those concerts?" Brad smirked.

"None that I remember," Nate smiled back. "Fuck, Brad. Approximately twenty thousand people will be here tomorrow."

"I know. I hate them all already," he deadpanned and moved a little closer to Nate, just so their shoulders were touching.

"Many of them hate me, so I think it will even out."

Many of the delegates did hate Nate. Brad wouldn't be surprised if some people decided not to come to the appointment of the nominee, but he preferred empty chairs over open hostility. When Martenson's scandal broke, the GOP had no other choice but to give the nomination to Nate and as happy as Brad was that some of those morons had to swallow the hard pill and smile for the cameras, he also knew that there were people who would do anything to stop it.

There was a reason why Nate had Secret Service agents following him for months now. And why the number of them at the convention was higher than usual. And why Brad was on his way to having an ulcer or a heart attack, whichever would come first.

Nate put his hand on the back of Brad's neck and squeezed a little, as if to reassure him that everything was going to be fine. Apart from the thing after Martenson's scandal, it was usually like this, Brad being reassured by Nate, not the other way around. I'm okay, don't worry, Nate would whisper into the kiss. I can't protect you from this, Brad would think, but not say it out loud, tightening his grip on Nate's hips.

.

Brad would later wish that he wasn't in the shower when the waiter brought the note with the dinner.

When he exited the bathroom, he saw four Secret Service agents checking the room or talking on the phone and Martha casting worried looks at Nate, who was sitting against the headboard, legs crossed, silently revising his speech for tomorrow.

She handed him the card.

You'll burn in hell, faggot. You deserve to burn.

"Fuck," Brad said quietly. He wanted to punch somebody. Hard.

"They are looking into this," Martha whispered, with the nod to the agents. "They are talking with the waiter who brought it here; they will check the cameras, too. But I'm worried about the senator," she tilted her head in the direction of the bed. "He hasn't said more than five sentences since I got here."

"I will take care of this, after you guys are done here." He wasn't subtle in the least, but he suspected she understood the bluntness for what it was.

When she and the agents left the room, Brad sat beside Nate and laid his hand, palm up, on the mattress between them, nudging Nate's thigh with his thumb. Nate put the papers down and entwined his fingers with Brad's.

"I'm really pissed off right now," he said, squeezing his hand.

"I know." Brad was drawing circles around Nate's pulse point. "That's good."

Nate nodded and rested his head on the headboard, looking up at the ceiling for a moment.

"They can fuck with me all they want. I will show them."

Brad brought their entwined fingers to lie on his thigh.

"I know you will."

They ate dinner in bed, watching in silence a documentary about Spartans. Brad would love to say that it was the end of the day, that they were taking a break until tomorrow, but he knew better. Soon enough Nate was collecting the discarded papers and getting up.

"I'm going to take a shower. Could you read the speech again? I've made some changes, I want you to tell me if it's better or not."

Brad took the papers. It was the best way to help Nate right now.

"Sure."

.

"With great pleasure I introduce to you the next president and vice-president of the United States - Nathaniel Christopher Fick and Steven Joseph Winston."

The applause was deafening. Brad stood on the side of the stage with Steven's wife and kids, and watched Nate shake hands with the chairman of the Republican National Committee and make a victory gesture to the crowd.

With hundreds of balloons falling down from the ceiling, it was easy to miss thirty or forty empty chairs. Brad noticed, but didn't care.

There was Nate on the stage, in one of the happiest moments of his life.

"With a great honor, I accept the nomination..."

Nate's speech was great, maybe the best he had ever given, but if it was Brad's job to write it? He would have only one thing to say:

Deal with that, America.

*

PART TWO (B)

All we gotta do is be brave and be kind (baby, we'll be fine) - part one

2010-11-02T19:27:18Z

MASTERPOST

All we gotta do is be brave and be kind (baby, we'll be fine)

Part One

Q: The anniversary of ending the war in Iraq is coming up next week. You were there early on, in 2003. How do you feel about your experiences now, after so many years?

A: I’ve stopped questioning myself a long time ago. At first I was constantly second-guessing myself. ‘If this is what I should have done’, ‘What would happen if’. There were a lot of ‘if’s and ‘what about’s. In the end, my whole platoon came back home. That’s what matters the most to me. That's what makes me proud. [Pause.] Truth is, there’s no simple answer to your question. On one hand, there are some things you can never forget. On the other, after Iraq, nothing in the Senate can scare me that much. [Laughs a little.]

*

If a night was particularly bad, Nate would say that nights were the worst. There had to be a limit to how often a man could watch his men getting shot, bombed or crucified, or young children being mutilated and left for dead or shot in close range by his gun, by his hand. There had to be a limit of sleepless hours, waking up in sweat-soaked cold sheets or never even falling asleep at all, just lying there. Just lying there, like in a grave. Sometimes he'd wish that he was back there, where the noises ringing in his ears could be easily explained and where he was so tired that when he could rest, when he allowed himself to do so, he just lay down and immediately fell asleep.
Sometimes he wished he never went there in the first place.

But then a day would come and really, that was just so much worse. Driving a car was a nightmare. A few weeks spent in Iraq erased almost ten years of his experience behind the wheel. There was glass in the windows and air-conditioning. He could see hundreds of cars around, but not one of them was a humvee. There was a radio, but there were no reports. There was life outside, but one day he spent two hours sitting in the car in the parking lot outside of KFC, because he couldn't stop the images of ruined Nasiriyah.

Sometimes he didn't leave his apartment all day and watched TV on mute or too loud. He waited for the sun to go down and then he would go for a run. He knew every block, every building; if asked, he could probably tell how many windows there were in every one of them.

Every time he went to the bathroom, he spent a couple of minutes just looking at his face. Resolving things. Looking for things.

*

Q: Your partner is in the Marine Corps and you were serving together in Iraq. He was in your platoon, under your command. There were some rumors back when your campaign for a Senate seat started...

A: Yes. They weren't true. I'm sure you're aware that there was a formal investigation and we were found innocent. The truth was that while we did meet when I was Brad's commanding officer, our relationship started more than two years after I retired from the Marine Corps. There was no fraternization and certainly nothing that could dishonor either one of us or put us or any Marine we served with at risk of any kind. I deeply cared, still care, for every Marine I've ever had under my command. The bond that's forged between marines, or soldiers of any other branch, is not a myth. It's respect, mutual responsibility, understanding and a few other things we would prefer not to name. So we're all using probably the closest thing that can explain it: a brotherhood.

Q: Brothers in arms?

A: Yes, exactly. As a commanding officer, I didn't have the same relationship with the men in my platoon as they had among themselves. There's always a line between the command and the people following orders. But I think we did alright. [Smiles.]

*

The paddle party at Mike's had been going on for at least four hours already when Nate finished off his second beer. He was definitely too sober for most of the other guys, but this party was one of those things that he felt he had to get through sober because he would embarrass himself otherwise.

Not that he would tell anybody this, obviously.

He had one beer in him when they gave him the paddle and he still almost cried then and there. Fortunately, Ray Person thought it would be a great idea to start stripping right after. Half of the guys started to record it, the other half just went to get more alcohol and Nate had a moment to close his eyes and breathe.

He didn't want to think about tomorrow, about Monday, about next week. This party was the last time all those guys would be his. No matter what he felt, they wouldn't be his the next time they see each other.

They told him their stories. The first training session, working together on their humvees in Camp Mathilda, the cover up of the espresso maker fiasco, directing traffic in the ambush outside Muwaffaqiya, rapping competitions in the command vehicle, standing up to You-Know-Who (and of course the joke about Voldemort came right after, but Ray's delivery made it funny), letting Stafford stay with the platoon after he got shot... It went on and on, and Nate was collecting those good stories as they spoke.

Now he was thinking about his own.

Lying in his grave and listening to Poke telling Reporter about his wife and kids and to Reporter's tales from his former marriage. They were on the route to Baghdad and Nate was tired beyond words, but still couldn't sleep, and somehow those stories helped.

Ray's rants about the future of the world, which were brilliant, but couldn't be shared with civilians. After stripping them of all the pussy and the insults towards pretty much everyone and everything, it just wouldn't be the same.

Brad running in the grass, flying with his arms outstretched, looking almost like an innocent kid that he wasn't.

Mike always being next to him, making him feel a little less alone, pissed off or helpless.

Speaking of whom.

"You alright?" Mike asked and handed him another beer. He sat on the patio chair next to Nate.

"I'm fine," he said, looking at the group sitting around the grill.

Some of the guys were staying in the Corps, a couple of them were transferring and a couple were leaving for good. Nate was proud of all of them, of what they did, but couldn't help being happy for every one who decided to retire. Fuck, maybe in the end he wasn't a good officer, worrying about his guys too much, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't protect them anymore. And he knew it was a stupid thought, really, because his job was never to protect them, not to mention he wasn't the only one or even the best one to lead them. He wasn't irreplaceable.

Still, the picture of them sitting like this, in t-shirts and jeans or khakis, looking both similar and not at all like how they were in Iraq, made him feel like he was suffocating.

*

Q: And after you retired, you began a relationship with one of them.

A: No. After I retired, I came back to college and Brad left the country for two years on an exchange program with the Royal Marines. We talked sometimes and became friends. And then it went like most friends-turn-partners stories, I suppose. [Smiles.] We decided we wanted more than friendship.

*

Nate learned how to not be gay in the Marine Corp as quickly as he did almost anything else. It wasn't that hard, really. You could be so good that nobody would think of asking, whether in fear of getting the answer (they really couldn't afford to lose any more people than they already did, but that insight would come up years later) or with stupid belief that anybody that good couldn't be gay. You could talk a lot about your past girlfriend (and not even lie about her, in Nate's case) or about pussy in general. You could not mention cock at all or you could talk about it a lot, depending which one meant more in establishing hetero status in any given group.

You just dropped the gay part of you, the same way you dropped the tired part, the lazy part, the I-don't-know-what-M-16-can-do-to-a-person part. Some of those parts you could get back when you left. Others you forgot you had ever had.

And apparently, in combat different emotions could sometimes blur together and become unrecognizable or hidden. You didn't see desire, because you thought of trust, of mutual understanding that brought you closer to someone. You explained to yourself that the need to be close was the need to rely on someone, to not go crazy with incompetence and stupidity, and with fear of losing people because of that. You took comfort the best way you could, the best way that was allowed to the Marine Corps officer.

It hadn't been until Nate was back home that he started to see that wasn't all there was. It hadn't been until Brad left for England that Nate started to understand.

.

There were months when they didn't speak with each other at all and usually Nate didn't even miss it much. Between classes and the internship, between studying and working, there was no time for missing anything, he made sure of that.

But between those months there were several phone calls and e-mails and most of the time Nate couldn't decide if they were not enough or too much. Probably both. Still, they were enough to sustain the connection, whatever that connection might be.

.

It wasn't like Nate was meeting or even talking with other guys from his platoon regularly. Aside from Mike, who he talked to every week when they were both stateside, and Ray, who semi-regularly sent all of them crazy e-mails, the contact was rare. During his two years with the Royal Marines Brad missed only two big get-togethers, Stafford's wedding and Mike's I Let You Into My House, But You Better Behave and Clean Up After Yourself Before My Wife and Kids Return party.

So although Brad was the one Nate hadn't seen for the longest time, he wasn't the only one Nate missed. Still, Nate had two years to think and to sort out his feelings, and he knew very well that no matter what, he would always feel differently about Brad.

.

They were sitting in Mike's kitchen, in the exact same place as two and a half years ago, just after Nate's paddle party. It was again the middle of the night, around four a.m. and most of the other guys were either sleeping somewhere or, like in Christeson's case, lying unconscious on the patio chair.

There were new pictures and drawings on the fridge and new shelves above the table. The chairs were still as uncomfortable as the last time, yet they were still sitting on them, over two hours after they came to get the beers.

It was a relief, to still be able to talk with Brad after their lives drifted apart so much. At the paddle party Brad's two years abroad seemed like forever and Nate’s retirement actually was forever. He remembered how he felt then that maybe it's stupid to try to hold on to something that was in the past already. The most significant year of his life over and done with and maybe all parts of it would just disappear as well. He felt like it was some kind of hellish post-summer camp experience, when you just didn't hold on to the friends you made away from home. He remembered Afghanistan and how many guys he was still close with (one). Nate had faith in Mike and him, but he just didn't know what to think (or do, or feel) about Brad.

It was a relief, to still be able to talk with Brad. To some degree, he felt that way every time they talked on the phone when Brad was away, joy and relief that he called again and that they were still in tune with each other, still able to get each other, while at the same time slowly but surely moving away from rank differences and power imbalance. But it took meeting Brad again in person and talking with him in slightly hushed voices in Mike's kitchen for over two hours for Nate to fully believe that.

But Brad wasn't an open book, to put it mildly, and it took Nate almost three years to understand his own feelings, and he wasn't exactly sober right now, so he probably shouldn't. He probably should just be happy they could be friends.

"Hey, Nate." Brad's fingers stroked his hand just to get his attention, Nate was sure, but it didn't change the fact that his heart started beating faster. "What are you thinking about?"

And he should just lie. Nothing wrong about it, just a simple little lie, simple 'I'm not telling you I'm in love with you'. He was going to lie.

He didn't.

"I think about the fact that kissing you will probably ruin our relationship."

He was probably more drunk than he'd thought, but still sober enough to be scared out of his fucking mind. He lasted ten seconds of silence and stood up, only to be stopped by Brad standing up as well and blocking his way.

"It depends on what our relationship is going to be," Brad said, trying for calm and collected, but Nate heard the nervous tension, he could feel it between them.

"I know what I would like it to be," Nate said quietly, his hand twitching to reach out and touch, but not now, not now, maybe never, if it went wrong, "but I'm good with friendship, too. I just don't want to... It will be whatever we both want it to be."

"Okay," Brad whispered and put his hand on Nate's neck, bringing him closer. "Okay," he said and kissed him.

.

If only it was so easy.

.

They left Mike's house at dawn, leaving a note about Brad teaching Nate how to surf, and went to Brad's motel room.

When they started kissing, Nate's hands wandered to Brad's head, as if to hold on to him, to keep him where he was. But his hair was too short to have a grip on it and Nate ended up leaving marks on the back of Brad's neck with his nails. Brad's hands were on Nate's hips, pulling him closer and closer, as if there was any more way to go after being molded into each other, their bodies touching from ankles to foreheads.

After that it was skin on skin, kisses and touches turning desperate, both marking and being marked and whispering the need for more.

When Nate came for the first time that night, it was with Brad's fingers around his cock and his face tucked into Brad's neck, salt of Brad's skin on his tongue.

.

It will be whatever we both want it to be, Nate told Brad that first night and he meant it, wanted it to be true. It wasn't, though.

They didn't want it to be long-distance, seeing each other every couple of months, not nearly often enough. Not close enough. But Brad was back at Pendleton and Nate was in Baltimore, and there wasn't any other way.

They didn't want it filled with unasked and unanswered questions, like: What are we, what are we doing? and: You're going to leave me one day.

They (Nate) didn't want it hidden.

They (Brad) didn't know how to talk about it.

But they both wanted this relationship to work, so they adjusted and kept going. They learned how to live with the imperfections.

*

Q: I guess it wasn't easy.

A: No, it wasn't. But no relationship is easy, not really. Especially if it's long-distance, like ours was for a couple of years.

*

When Brad went back to Iraq for his next deployment, it was a nightmare.

Nate was almost living at work, coming in before everyone else and staying up long after he was supposed to go home. His dreams kept him awake, so he preferred not to go to bed at all and most of the time he fell asleep in random places in his apartment, like on the couch or on the floor next to coffee table. It was like when he got back from Iraq, only now every dream featured Brad, Brad bleeding, Brad dying, Brad blown up.

Nate had cold showers and long runs, but no one to talk to.

.

"Still alive, sir."

Breath in,

"I'm glad,"

breath out.

.

"You look like shit," Beth told him, when Nate opened the door.

"I've missed you, too," he replied, letting her in. She didn't call to say she was coming, but it wasn't anything new.

She hugged him hard, right there in the hall.

"I know something's wrong. And you will talk, I have cookies."

Nate hugged her back, putting his chin on her head, and closed his eyes. She had cookies.

.

"Brad Colbert."

"Yes." He made himself look her in the eyes. It was important.

"It's... Well, it's not really that surprising, I suppose."

"What..."

"Can I tell Mom?" she asked quickly, grinning.

"No."

"Nathaniel," she said, because yes, they were one of those families where people used full names to intimidate each other.

"Not yet. Not before he comes back."

"You moron," she said, but she wasn't playing anymore.

"He has to come back first," he repeated calmly and went to get more beer.

.

"I told my sister about the girl I'm seeing," Nate said, painfully aware of what he was and wasn't allowed to say during a phone call sponsored by the United States Marine Corps.

"And what did she say?" Brad asked just when the silence was becoming too long.

"She said, and I quote, 'it's not really that surprising'. I guess I had talked about her a few times."

Brad laughed.

"I'm glad it went well."

"Me too," Nate smiled. He wasn't worried about the guy part, his family had known about his homosexuality for years, but he was worried about the ‘guy that was under his command’ part. Nate had made peace with this, because it was in the past and a lot of things changed, but some people might see it differently. He was glad Beth didn't. "It just..." he started, remembering how lonely and tired, and terrified, he felt before she came. "It was the right time, you know?"

In that moment he would immediately reenlist, if it meant seeing Brad in the flesh, touching him right then. He tightened his grip on the phone instead.

"I know," came Brad’s soft reply.

*

Q: Even before you started your political career, you were one of the people speaking up about getting rid of DADT regulations. Was it because of your personal situation?

A: Apart from the fact that it was morally a right thing to do, yes, it was also personal. By then I was retired for years, but my partner is in the Marine Corps and I didn’t want to live a lie, I wanted to be able to tell people about us, to share it with others.

Q: But you didn't come out immediately after DADT was revoked.

A: Well, technically we had come out to our families and the closest friends before that. But yes, it took us some time to tell other people.

*

They almost broke up because of it. ‘Almost’, because Nate didn’t want to remember that one week when Brad disappeared after rather heated discussion about their future.

Nate had understood keeping things quiet when DADT was still a law. Hell, he wasn’t an overly caring and sharing type and he didn’t need constant PDAs or grand gestures. But when nearly a year after evoking DADT, he still couldn’t touch Brad anywhere even half-public without having him get tense and move away? Yes, Nate had a problem with that.

So they had the talk. Like always, Nate did most of the talking, but he was used to that by then. Brad Colbert couldn’t handle a serious conversation about anything personal that went past up to five or six sentences from his side.

Nate was used to that, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

“Our families know, and our friends, all the people that matters. I don’t understand why I have to tell everyone about my personal life.”

“You don’t have to tell everyone you meet. But you don’t have to hide it from them either,” Nate tried to explain.

Not to mention that even at family gatherings Brad acted more like his friend than his lover. But yeah, no PDAs.

“Not sharing doesn’t mean I’m hiding,” Brad said.

“It shouldn’t.” But I’m afraid it does, he thought.

“It doesn’t. I just don’t feel the need to talk to anyone about it,” Brad insisted.

To anyone. Nate tried for it not to hurt him. He didn’t ask what Brad did whenever someone asked. Did he tell the truth then? If yes, was it ‘I’m with Nate’ or just ‘I’m with someone’? If not, was it a lie of omission like ‘No, there’s no girlfriend’ or was it ‘I’m single’?
Nate wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. Well, okay, yes, he did, but not then, he didn’t want to piss off Brad even more. He could see him fidgeting and getting irritated already.

“What about the future, Brad? You know I want to get more involved in politics. What happens when I run for office? I won’t have paparazzi following me, but it still is a rather public life. Personal stuff come up and I don’t want to lie.”

“And I don’t want to have my sex life become some story people are going to read in papers or see on the news,” Brad’s voice got harsh and he stood up.

Nate didn’t even try to stop the hurt this time. He sat still when Brad left and he didn’t move long after the roar of Brad’s Yamaha quieted down.

It was very movie-like, all things considered.

.

The second day Brad was gone, he sent Nate a text saying ‘I need to clear my head a little. I will be back soon’. Nate appreciated it, because he really didn’t want to have to start calling people. If he called Ray, all guys from Recon would know in an hour, maybe two if they’re overseas. If he called Brad’s mother or sister, his mother and sisters would know in ten minutes.

He texted back ‘Okay’, because he didn’t feel like saying anything else.

The fourth day his mother called. It was actually three and a half days later than he suspected, he was impressed with Brad’s ninja skills at hiding. Recon Marines training or not, there weren’t a lot of things that got past their mothers.

“Nathaniel, why didn’t you tell me you and Brad had a fight?”

“Because we didn’t, Mom.” Not exactly.

“Don’t give me this bullshit, honey.” His mother wasn’t a typical mother. “I had just spoken to Eliza, she said that Brad’s in Florida. Why would he be there, instead of home?”

Nate rested his head on the desk in front of him.

“He needed to get away, see the ocean. You know how he gets when he’s in D.C. too long without a break.”

That was true, Brad loved working in Quantico, but he missed the ocean. East Coast wasn’t the same, Florida wasn’t California, but it was Brad’s substitute and escape.

“I know, but I don’t believe that’s the problem this time,” his mother said, worry evident in her tone. “Whatever it is, it’ll get better, Nate. Brad may be stupid sometimes, but he loves you. That’s obvious to anyone who have seen the two of you together.”

These last words scratched an open wound, but Nate wasn’t going to let his mother know that.

“I know he loves me, Mom.” It wasn’t a problem. No matter how much a remark about ‘sex life’ stung, Nate knew how Brad felt about him. You couldn’t have what they had without loving each other. “Don’t worry about us, Brad will be home soon.”

.

It took over a week for Brad to come back.

Nate went out for his morning run and when he got back, Brad was sitting on the couch in the living room. Nate kicked off his sneakers and watched how Brad stood up and started to come closer. He stepped closer, too, and when they were at touching distance, he kissed Brad, hard and a little painful, his right hand getting hold of Brad’s hip instead of colliding with his face.

He pulled away.

“I’m glad you’re back. But now I need a shower.”

Nate turned and went to the bathroom.

He was washing his hair when the shower door opened and Brad came in. They didn’t shower together often, but there was enough space to fit them both when they needed it.

Brad’s fingers joined his in his hair, massaging his head gently. Nate let his arms fall to his sides and closed his eyes. He went willingly when Brad maneuvered him under the spray. After a few moments he felt Brad’s hands settle on his neck, thumbs behind his ears, stroking his matching soft spots there. Nate tilted his head and opened his eyes, looking at Brad. His skin was darker than when he left; Florida’s sun clearly did its magic. Nate wondered how the ocean looked, but he didn’t want to ask.

Brad kissed him gently and all remains of anger slowly slipped away from Nate. He felt himself relax, shoulders losing the tension they carried for a week. He moved his lips to Brad’s neck and collarbone, hiding his face there for a moment.

.

“I won’t lie about you and me to anyone ever again,” Brad said, later, when they were lying in their bed. “I promise you, Nate.”

Nate kissed his shoulder and smiled.

*

Q: It took some time, but now not only you're out as a couple, you're also married.

A: Yes, we are. [Smiles.]

Q: For how long?

A: Nine years.

Q: Big anniversary next year!

A: [Laughs.] Yes, that's true. But on the other hand, last year we had the fifteenth anniversary of being together, so... numbers are getting mixed up.

*

"Hello?"

"Everything alright?" Nate closed his eyes for a moment and let his head fall back on the couch. Mike had this freaky ability to recognize his mood from one word.

"Everything's fine. Just, you know, stupid people at work."

"I know, I was right there with you, learning a lot about it during OIF. And then you had to go into politics, as if you didn't have enough of the stupidity there."

"I'm a masochist."

"Clearly, I'm not going to argue that one," Mike deadpanned. "So, what was it?"

It was stupid, really.

"There's this guy, Stevenson, who decided that if I'm not married, I don't have a chance to become a senator," Nate said. "He made it very clear that me being gay is difficult enough, me being gay and in an informal relationship..."

"Does he know that you've been in the same 'informal relationship' for what, seven years now?"

"Apparently it doesn't matter to him. But fuck him, I don't care what he thinks..."

"Clearly." Mike wasn't his Gunnery Seargant for years now, but he never stopped to call him on his bullshit, when Nate needed it. And when he didn't.

"...I wouldn't be the first gay senator without a husband. Not so long ago they wouldn't even allow us to get married. Now the fact that I didn't is a problem."

"For whom?" Mike asked and Nate wondered if he was even listening to him.

"According to Stevenson, for the Republican party."

"Stupid people are the fact of life. The problem of the Republican party is the number of them in the party. It's not your problem. You want me to tell you what your problem is, Nate?”

No.

"Sure, why not."

"The real problem here is that you want to get married."

Nate closed his eyes.

"Mike."

"Don't tell me it's not true. You always looked like the marrying type to me."

Nate didn't say that it was probably before he knew Nate was gay. It wasn't supposed to change anything and it would be unfair to Mike.

"I'm not asking him to marry me to become more politically correct, Mike."

"Do you want to marry him?"

Mike was a pain in the ass.

"I want to be with him for the rest of our lives, married or not."

"That doesn't answer my question. Do you want to marry him, Nate?"

Nate sighed.

"I won't ask him. I hadn't asked him before, now it would look like political game."

"He knows you better than that." Idiot was definitely implied, but it was implied half the time Mike talked to him anyway.

"I won't ask him."

He could almost see Mike rolling his eyes at him.

"Do I really have to play marriage counselor here? He would say yes."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Yes, I do. Why don't you?"

Nate was silent for a long moment.

"He didn't say anything."

"And you were so forthcoming."

"I know. It's just..."

"You are basically married already. You've been together for years and that's not going to change."

Nate opened his mouth to answer when he heard the movement. He turned and saw Brad standing in the doorway, with his arms crossed and his eyes looking straight at him.

"I need to go, Mike. Brad's home," Nate said and closed his phone.

They were both silent for a minute. Nate didn't even know what to say. He didn't know how much Brad had heard.

"Yes, it would be the right move for your career. So what? That's the reason we shouldn't do it? It's insane," Brad said, coming into the room. They did this sometimes, they would start in the middle of a conversation and just go from there.

"I don't want it to be a game, Brad," said Nate, getting up from the couch. His voice was tired, like they’d discussed it many times, not for the first time.

"I know you don't. Neither do I. If this was the only reason. But it's not."

They stood in front of each other, almost touching. Nate's fingers were half-way towards Brad's hip, before Nate stopped himself, suddenly unsure.

"Do you want to get married?" Brad asked.

"I think it's the best way to ensure all the rights we can get" was the first stupid thing Nate came up with.

"How romantic."

Nate looked at Brad and hoped that their talking-without-talking thing worked this time, too. You already know how I feel about you. You already know my reasons.

Apparently it worked just fine, because Brad put his hand on Nate's neck and pulled him closer.

"We both want it, but neither one of us would ask, if there wasn't any other reason to say anything. Is this what's happening here?"

"Maybe," Nate breathed into Brad's mouth.

"We're crazy." Brad ran his tongue on Nate's lower lip.

"And stupid." Nate licked into Brad's mouth, his fingers on Brad's hips.

They kissed slowly for a minute and when they parted, Brad asked:

"So, are we doing this?"

"This is how you propose? Really? How romantic." Nate's hands were on Brad's back, stroking slowly. He was grinning.

"Hey, you were the one that came up with the idea, Fick. You should propose." Brad was whispering with his mouth touching Nate's. "Not that the answer will surprise you, really."
Brad was right, Nate knew that. But that didn't stop him from being nervous and it took a moment before he was sure his voice would work without a hitch.

Brad's eyes were dark blue and expectant.

"Would you marry me?"

Brad's fingers were touching Nate's ears, tips stroking slowly, when he said "yes" and kissed Nate again. Nate hid his head for a moment against Brad's neck, breathing in.

"So," said Brad after a while, "are you calling your mother or should I?"

.

"In the interest of full disclosure - I wouldn't say yes if I knew what's going to happen," said Brad, coming behind Nate, who was looking through the window. Outside there were over seventy people waiting for them to get married.

"Liar," Nate laughed and turned around. He wondered briefly if the sight of Brad in uniform would ever not make his heart beat a little faster, but he decided that it was unlikely. He stroked Brad's sides and drew him closer for a kiss.

Brad smiled.

"Well, you make a valid point," he said and kissed Nate again. "But I'm not sure it's enough to survive the next couple of hours, you know. There's Ray who will probably hump Walt's leg, although hopefully after the ceremony, not in the middle of it. There are our mothers who will most definitely cry, again, during and after, and maybe even tomorrow as well, because it's so beautiful..."

Nate smacked him in the head.

"Please don't impersonate my mother ever again."

"Or at least until you say yes. After that, everything is allowed."

"I think we should talk more before the ceremony, you know. Make sure we understand each other." Nate started to move away, but Brad just tightened his hold.

"Oh no, it's too late now."

"Is it? Because I didn't make any vows yet."

"But you paid for my ring. You don't want to lose that money."

"Well," Nate pretended to consider that. "The economy isn't so good, I guess I should try to hold on to my investments."

"Exactly."

They grinned at each other and Nate wouldn't tell anybody this, ever, but when Brad smiled at him like that, Nate felt... Well, Nate was a pretty confident man and he knew what he was capable of, but when Brad smiled at him like that, he felt like he could do more and be more. And yes, Nate was aware how that sounded, thank you very much. There was a reason he wasn't going to tell anybody about this.

They were about to kiss, when they heard his mother coming in.

"Boys... oh," she stopped in the doorway and looked at them adoringly. Nate remembered the time when his mother wasn't tearing up every time she saw them, but that was before they told her they wanted to get married. He really hoped it would end after they did it, because that would be difficult otherwise.

Brad stood with his back to her, so he could roll eyes freely. Nate bit his lip not to laugh.

"It's time, boys."

Brad raised his eyebrows at Nate, question in his eyes. Nate shook his head and smiled.

"We're going, Mom."

*

Q: Do you think we will ever see an openly gay person becoming the President of the United States?
A: Are you fishing for an answer if I’m going to run? [Smiles.] In our lifetimes we have seen the first black person and the first woman to become president. I really hope we’ll get the chance to see an openly gay person in the White House, too.
Q: Is this going to be you, Senator?
A: [Laughs.] Next question, please.

PART TWO (A)

Warbigbang masterpost: All we gotta do is be brave and be kind (baby, we'll be fine)

2010-11-02T18:44:32Z

I'VE MADE IT! \o/

This is my first finished story longer than 4.5k, so I'm both excited and really, really nervous.

Title: All we gotta do is be brave and be kind (baby, we'll be fine)
Fandom: Generation Kill
Crafters: aubreyrose (her art is here) and lunatics_word (her art is here)
Characters/Pairings: Brad/Nate, mostly; there's a mention of Ray/Walt once, Poke and Mike even get to speak and there are some original characters, too. Oh, and Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert have a little scene together. ;)
Rating: R
Word Count: 20886 (according to GoogleDocs) or 20057 (according to Writer), so let's just say that it's a little over 20k.
Warnings: mentions and acts of homophobia; swearing, but it's nothing you haven't heard if you watched the series.
Disclaimer: This story is based on the fictional characters from the HBO miniseries Generation Kill. It's fiction.
Summary: Senator Nathaniel Fick of Maryland decides to run for president in 2024 election. What happened before, what happens after and what Brad thinks about all of this.

made by aubreyrose

Part One # Part Two (A) # Part Two (B) and Epilogue

Author's Notes:

Did I mention I'm a little nervous? Well, I am.

Everything I know about American politics, I've learned from The Daily Show, The West Wing and Obama 2008 presidential campaign. And, yes, Wikipedia, too. I tried to make this story as believable and realistic as possible, so I'm sorry if I made any mistakes.

The title of the fic is from The National's song Baby, We'll Be Fine.

And now, as I said, I have a lot of people to thank:

noelia_g for a lot of things, especially for organizing and hosting the one and only Camp Big Bang (which was crazy and AWESOME!), betaing the story and not thinking it sucks, and supporting me through all this in general. You make my GK fannish experience a lot of fun and I really appreciate it.
And as I promised: thanks to your Grandma for all the food!

cala_jane for crazy and awesome Camp Big Bang and all the support for someone who is writing her first Big Bang. ;) ~~And for not writing as fast as Noelia during CBB, because then I'd feel bad. xD~~

swiiftly for agreeing to be my beta, dealing with my mistakes and giving me positive feedback afterwards. Thank you so much!

Thank you, aubreyrose and lunatics_word, for making the art for my bigbang! I appreciate everything you made for this story and I hope you had fun doing it! :)

And of course thanks to warbigbang mods: exsequar and zippitgood for organizing the whole thing! I hope we will do this again next year!

kubis @ 2010-08-04T12:39:00

2010-08-04T10:39:39Z

Your faith walks on broken glass (nothing's ever built to last)
fandom: Generation Kill
characters/pairing: Nate, Brad, Walt and Ray; Brad/Nate
rating: PG
disclaimer: This story is based on the fictionalized characters from the HBO miniseries Generation Kill. It's fiction, that's all.
a/n: I saw "Inception" yesterday and then this happened (there are no spoilers for the movie in this fic, but I think you should watch it before reading anyway). Thanks to noelia_g for beta and encouragement. The title is from a song "21 Guns" by Green Day.
summary: GK Inception AU.

It's easy to build a world, if you ask Nate. It's much harder to live in one.

&.

First time he shoots to kill, he almost throws up then and there. His hands are shaking, but the building is shaking harder, so they need to get the job done and get the hell out of there.

When they go back, Walt is eating cold pepperoni pizza. Nate barely makes it to the bathroom.

That night he dreams of Walt falling again and again, and again.

&.

"Start simple," their professor tells them at the first lecture.

His first project in college is a playground for the elementary school near the campus. He puts a big carousel at the center of it, because he still remembers the feeling of going faster and faster, and faster, world spinning around him and the sun being always so bright.

His first world has twenty-storied office buildings, busy streets, crazy taxi-drivers and hundreds of people looking him straight in the eyes.

When windows start to break, the glass is like a rain.

There is blood on Brad's neck and Nate feels the pain in his cheek for maybe two seconds.

&.

There is nothing but stairs for Brad and him. Up and up, and up.

Paradox.

&.

When Rob, his high school friend, dies in Afghanistan, Nate wishes there wasn't a totem in his pocket, his golden queen looking left.

But there is, his knuckles turning white from the grip he has on it. He goes to the funeral and watches people going in and out, and in, and out.

He dreams of a big cathedral that night. His screams are getting lost between the dark walls.

&.

They are sitting on the hood of the car, waiting for Ray, when Brad kisses Nate. They both have chapped lips and it's cold, Brad's fingers at the nape of Nate's neck are sending shocks through Nate's whole body.

He retaliates by putting his hands under Brad's shirt, caressing his stomach. Brad moves away, laughing.

"Why?," Nate asks. Ray's running towards them and behind him Nate can see buildings going down, first and second, and third.

"Genuine inspiration, perhaps," says Brad, getting into the car.

Nate smiles. It is Brad's dream, after all.

&.

"Do you know how we got here, Nate?" Brad asks.

Nate threads their fingers together and smiles.

GK fic: I'm a liar and a fighter

2010-05-02T19:06:02Z

I should be writing my thesis. Or packing. Yeah, well.

I'm a liar and a fighter
fandom: Generation Kill
pairing: Brad/Nate
rating: PG
disclaimer: This story is based on the fictionalized characters from the miniseries Generation Kill. It's fiction, that's all.
a/n: thanks to noelia_g for beta and cheerleading. The title is from a song that is playing in my head, but I can't remember what it is and google isn't helping.
summary: Sometimes Brad is an idiot.

Despite the stories that would be going around among the guys later on thanks to Ray, they didn’t actually fall into bed the minute their plane touched American soil and they hadn’t been spending all their time fucking ever since.

Yes, they did fuck soon after they came back. But then came the morning after and nothing looked easy.

*

His sexuality was never in question, because there had never been any guy.

And then Nathaniel Fick showed up.

Not that there was any sign, a faster beating heart, a boner, something. No. Their new platoon commander came to say hello and all that Brad was thinking was “For fuck’s sake, he’s a little kid. We are going to war with a fucking twelve years old leading us.”

Well, it turned out he wasn’t twelve and he wasn’t a kid. He was a jaded idealist (“jaded” came later, and now Brad wasn’t sure how long “idealist” would last), a damn good officer and the only semi steady good thing in that fucking clusterfuck of all clusterfucks.

*

He had never done a walk of shame actually feeling ashamed. Now he was fucking feeling it alright, but he’d be damned if somebody saw him leaving this apartment at four in the morning.

He almost made it. Almost fucking made it.

“Brad?”

He wasn’t stupid (except for the half-naked proof in front of him), he didn’t really believe that he could sneak out unnoticed. There were two Recon Marines in this house, after all.
But he had foolishly assumed that even if the LT woke up, he wouldn’t stop him from leaving. That he would just ignored it.

Fucking foolish assumption, that’s what it was. Fucking lieutenant Nathaniel fucking Fick, never backing out from a confrontation. Never fucking giving up.

Brad could feel his anger waking up. Not a good sign.

“Sir?,” and yes, he knew it probably wasn’t the right thing to say, he could see how the man in front of him tensed his shoulders, but there wasn’t any SOP for this. There wasn’t, because it shouldn’t have happened at all.

“Why are you leaving?”

Somebody maybe should explain some things to his LT, but Brad, frustrated and angry all of sudden, didn’t feel like it. Or maybe didn’t feel like doing it delicately. Whatever worked out there, in the theater, sure as fuck wasn’t gonna work here.

“Why am I leaving your apartment at four in the morning, sir? I’m sure you’re aware of the regulations. This kind of thing? Is against it. Sir.”

The LT’s eyes flashed. He had the respect of his men, nobody spoke to him like that. Somewhere in Brad’s head, there was a riot, a fucking rebellion.

“I’m aware of the regulations, Brad. But I also think that leaving my apartment during the day, not in the middle of the night, would be much more easily explained, if somebody were to notice it.”

“Thought about it, sir?”

He really was a fucking stupid piece of shit. And a hypocrite, too.

*

Not that he would ever admit it to anybody, but the first time he caught himself thinking about his LT’s hands (followed up quickly by an unwelcomed thought about his lips), he freaked out and didn’t touch himself for five and a half days. Ray was probably one step from kicking him out of the humvee, team leader or not.

The LT was male, so these kinds of thoughts surprised Brad a fucking lot, but it was probably something that he could deal with. Maybe. Possibly. Who the fuck knew.

But he was also his fucking commanding officer and strange, life-fucking-changing feelings aside, male or female, Nate Fick or no Nate Fick, Brad could follow orders anywhere but in the bedroom.
He did, however, could picture Nate on his knees before him. And that wasn't a great thought to have when you were standing next to the guy in the middle of the team leaders meeting in the middle of the fucking desert.

*

One thing for sure, Nathaniel Fick was not a coward.

“Have I thought about having sex with you? Yes.”

Unlike Brad, apparently, because the next fucking thing he said was:

“You’re my commanding officer, sir.”

Something shut down in the man standing in front of him, Brad could see that, but he just couldn’t stop doing whatever it was he was doing.

“I’m aware of that,” Nate said.

“So why...”

“Because I was under the impression that you wanted it, too.”

Like it was that fucking simple. Like there wasn’t... Like they weren’t...

“You’re my commanding officer, sir,” was the first thought that came out of his mouth.

He saw the blue eyes open wide, the same expression like that day in Baghdad, when they had seen a child jumping on the bomb lying on the street.

A second later, Nate closed the bedroom door and Brad was alone.

It wasn’t until later, in the shower, that the last words he'd said registered fully for what they could have been taken for. Goosebumps rose on his skin.

“Oh fuck.”

*

“I think the Reporter has the hots for our LT.”

“Ray.”

“I’m serious! You don’t think I’m serious? I’m fucking serious! Look,” Ray waved his free hand towards the command. They were sitting beside their humvee, eating and resting. Ray was throwing his food around and he couldn’t shut up. “We are here, minding our own bussiness and relaxing, and where is the Reporter? With the LT. I bet they’re eating lunch or whatever and the Reporter can’t take his eyes off our fearless and fair-haired, but in this case fairly clueless leader...”

Walt choked on his food. Brad was chewing slowly, eyes locked on his MRE, and not looking anywhere else, especially not in the direction of the LT’s vehicle.

“It could be our own little tragic romance, homes,” Ray continued, getting more and more excited. “Unrequited love, in this dangerous place and dangerous times, amongst bullets...”

“Ray, shut up,” mumbled Walt, looking a little upset for some reason other than the stupidity of his fellow marine.

“...from the foreign enemies and the enemies within our troops, because our tragic Reporter-lover has to be afraid of...”

“Ray, shut the fuck up, you little inbred moron. Right now,” Brad stood up, suddenly annoyed. The Ray Person effect, ladies and gentlemen.

When the Reporter came back a few minutes later, all smiles and shit, Brad wanted to shoot someone.

*

“Can I have a moment, sir?”

It was two long fucking weeks. Between the training, the news about LT leaving the Corps and about Brad’s incoming trip overseas, there was no time for getting it squared away. That, and the fact that Nate was never alone. Gunny Wynn was his shadow even more than usual and if he wasn’t there, someone else appeared and blocked Brad from talking to the LT.

He wasn’t a paranoid person, but this was getting riddiculous.

“I’m busy, Brad,” lieutenant Fick barely lifted his head from the papers he was filling out.

“It won’t take long,” he said quickly. No way he was backing out now. Nate needed to listen to what he had to say. “It’s important.”

“Come on in, then.”

Brad sat down in front of the desk and for a moment he missed the theater and meetings and talks that didn’t involve... all this.

“Sir, I wanted to apologize...”

“There’s no need,” Nate interrupted him. “I should be the one apologizing. It wasn’t my intention to give you the impression I apparently did.”

“You didn’t. Sir. I wanted to clear that out. Whatever I meant by saying what I said, I wasn’t suggesting that.” His LT looked him in the eyes and Brad realized he didn’t even know that he missed that, too. “I’m sorry I gave you the impression I most certainly did.”

There it was, the almost smile. Stupid little thing that always made Brad feel better.

“I see,” Nate said, his posture a lot more at ease than a minute ago. “What did you mean, then?”

“That I’m a coward, apparently.”

Well, that surprised them both. But Brad went on.

“Look, it’s definitely not the right place and probably not the right time, and I would really appreciate it if we could forget about more embarrasing parts of this conversation later on, but I have to say it. I was scared and I behaved like a coward. I’m sorry. I’m not scared anymore.”

That was the smile he’d never seen. He would remember that one, he remembered them all.

“I’m glad to hear that. But I’d suggest that we should be a little scared.”

He was leaving in four weeks and two years was a long fucking time. Nate was leaving the Corps and moving somewhere. Brad could do “a little scared” without even trying.

“Okay. A little scared, then.”

But only a little.

______

Rachunek sumienia (spn ff)

2010-02-28T20:05:11Z

Nie jestem specjalnie zadowolona z tego fika, ale a) chciałam napisać fika odwołującego się do 5x04 The End (czyli ten 5 lat w przyszłość) o Samie i wyszło jak wyszło, ale innego już nie napiszę; b) dziś ostatni dzień na wklejanie fików do tabelki. Więc wklejam.

Rachunek sumienia
fandom: Supernatural
spojlery: do 5x04 The End
ilość słów: 777
prompt z tabelki: 10

I think I’ve reached that point
where giving up and going on
are both the same dead end to me
are both the same old song

- Michał był mi jak brat – powiedział na powitanie w Michigan. – Właściwie wszyscy aniołowie byli dla siebie braćmi, ale ja i Michał... Zawsze razem, zawsze ramię w ramię w imię Ojca.
Sam czyścił broń w milczeniu. Piwnica, w której się ukrywał, nie była bezpieczna. Prędzej czy później go tu znajdą, chyba, że uda mu się zniknąć, uciec. Do kolejnego razu, kolejnego miasta.
- Obóz twojego brata stracił dziś piętnastu ludzi.
Sam zatrzasnął magazynkiem.
- Ile stracił twój brat? – zapytał.
- Aniołowie już nie grają w tę grę, nie słyszałeś? Michał i Gabriel zniknęli, razem z innymi. Najwyraźniej nie chcieli za was ginąć. – Lucyfer obszedł stół dookoła i oparł się o ścianę koło okna, nie dotykając zaciągniętych zasłon. – To śmieszne, biorąc pod uwagę, jak to się wszystko zaczęło.

*

- Gratulacje, Croatoan rozprzestrzenia się właśnie w Azji.
Sam zamknął oczy.
- Nie cieszysz się? Ależ Sam, to przecież dzięki tobie!
- To nie moja wina – wychrypiał, wyciągając brudną paczkę papierosów z kieszeni kurtki. Dawno z nikim nie rozmawiał.
- To konkretnie? Twoja. Apokalipsa? Tylko pośrednio, jeśli cię to pocieszy.
Zazgrzytał zębami. Wiedział, że nigdy się nie uda, ale czasem marzył o tym, żeby uderzyć Lucyfera, zacisnąć pięść, zamachnąć się i walnąć go tak, by upadł, a potem nie przestawać bić. Chciał poczuć jego twarz pod swoją pięścią, jego żebra pękające pod jego butem. Czasem chciał tego bardziej niż śmierci. Czasem bardziej niż śmierci Lucyfera.

*

Sam liczył każdy dzień. Tym razem minęło sześćdziesiąt cztery.
- Nadal próbujesz, co? Nadal się starasz.
- Nigdy nie przestanę.
Lucyfer wzruszył tylko ramionami.
- Przestaniesz. Ale – odwrócił się nagle z uśmiechem – doszedłem do wniosku, że może podchodziłem do całej sprawy niewłaściwie... Dlatego przyniosłem ci prezent.
Wyciągnął rękę, w dłoni trzymał paczkę opakowaną w szary papier. Sam pomyślał, że chętnie połamałby każdy z palców zaciśniętych na papierze. Powoli.
- Nie jesteś ciekaw?
Sam w myślach prawie słyszał trzaski kości.
- W porządku – Lucyfer wzruszył ramionami. – To też zrobię za ciebie.
Zniszczona czapka baseballowa wylądowała na stole, pomiędzy lufą karabinu a ostrzałką do noży.

*

Czuł jakby jego płuca stanęły w ogniu. Wziął głęboki wddech, potem drugi i trzeci. Każdy kolejny oddech przynosił nowe sygnały bólu z całego ciała.
- Mówiłem ci, że cię wskrzeszę – usłyszał gdzieś za głową. Przekręcił się na bok i zwymiotował na szorstki, dziurawy koc.

*

- Wyjrzyj za okno, Sam.
Zasłony nagle rozsunęły się zupełnie, wpuszczając do pomieszczenia światło słoneczne.
Sam nie ruszył się z miejsca. Pomyślał, że może kiedyś dowie się, w jaki sposób Lucyfer znajduje go za każdym razem. Może nie, w sumie, jakie to ma znaczenie. Może ta jego głupia próba śmierci (ostatecznej, wreszcie) była tym, na co Lucyfer czekał. Wcześniej przychodził w wizjach, w snach, teraz naprawdę go znalazł, naprawdę tu był.
- Ależ Sam, musisz to zobaczyć. Dawno nie widziałeś tylu ludzi w jednym miejscu... No, przynajmniej żywych... Dawno nie widziałeś tylu...
- Dzieci – szepnął Sam, opierając się ciężko o stojący tuż za nim stół.
- Kto by pomyślał, co można znaleźć we wspaniałym mieście Detroit, co? Poza tobą, oczywiście. Ale nie mogłem się zjawić z pustymi rękoma, czyż nie? Już wiem, że nie obchodzą cię starsi inwalidzi ani młode kobiety, więc tym razem – objął gestem zgromadzone na placu, brudne, mrużące oczy przed słońcem dzieci – pomyślałem o tym. A raczej zostałem natchniony. Niemal dosłownie się na nie natknąłem, w piwnicy...
Sam spróbował uderzyć go kolbą między oczy, jak zwykle nadaremnie. Potem otworzył łokciem okno i zastrzelił po kolei każdego z czterech mężczyzn pilnujących dzieci. Potem dwóch, którzy wyłonili się z domu po lewej. Trójkę, która zbliżała się od strony pustego baru. Dwójkę z naprzeciwka, mężczyznę, który wybiegł za nimi.
Część dzieci leżała na ziemi, część kucnęła i zasłoniła uszy. Część tylko skuliła się w sobie i stała bez ruchu. Sam nie przestawał strzelać, automatycznie ładując kolejne naboje.

Lucyfer przez chwilę stał z boku, potrząsając głową z krzywym uśmiechem.
- Sam, Sam, Sam. Naprawdę myślisz, że to podziała? Że niby co się stanie? Masz więcej nabojów niż ja demonów? Ja ucieknę z podkulonym ogonem? Nie. – Kiedy Sam odwrócił się w jego stronę z lufą karabinu wycelowaną prosto w niego, Lucyfer ruchem ręki przygwoździł go do krzesła, blokując jego ruchy, jakby przywiązał go niewidzialnym sznurem. Broń potoczyła się po drewnianej podłodze. – Powiem ci, co się stanie. Będziesz siedział tu, z doskonałym widokiem na to, co się będzie działo. – Wskazał ręką na plac, gdzie dzieci były już otoczone przez grupę demonów. – Każdy człowiek ma swoją cenę. I każdy człowiek ma granicę. Celem naszego małego przedstawienia jest przekonanie się, jaka jest twoja.
Odwrócił się i skinął głową na jednego z mężczyzn stojących najbliżej, który złapał kulącego się obok niego chłopca.

*

Na imię miała Mary-Louise.

_________

Łuski, odblaski i pęcherze na stopach (Generation Kill ff)

2009-12-12T13:43:24Z

Wklejam drugiego fika w ciągu doby, prawie jakby był fikaton. XD

Wielkie dzięki le_mru za betę! :)

Łuski, odblaski i pęcherze na stopach
fandom: Generation Kill
postaci: głównie Nate; Brad/Nate, ale nic co mogłoby podnieść rating z G ;)
uwagi (bo ten fandom ich potrzebuje:P): to chyba jasne, ale dla podkreślenia - w mojej głowie Nate ma twarz Starka Sandsa, a Brad zawdzięcza ASkarsowi swoje 6'4 i krew Wikingów. Nie mają nic wspólnego z RL!people (poza identyczną przeszłością;)) i nawet jeśli czerpię jakieś informacje z np. One Bullet Away, nadal traktuję to jako element fanonu. Ale jeśli ktoś nie jest wspomniany w miniseries, zmieniam mu imię (jak żonie Mike'a) lub imię i nazwisko (jak następcy Nate'a).
ilość słów: 1129
prompt z tabelki:
Summer time and the wind is blowing outside
in lower Chelsea
And I don’t know what I’m doing in this city
The sun is always in my eyes
It crashes through the windows

Łuski, odblaski i pęcherze na stopach

Piasek jest teraz zawsze pustynią, nie plażą.

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Na pierwszym obiedzie u rodziców, całą dyscyplinę Nate’a trafia szlag i w ciągu trzech godzin je więcej niż w Iraku przez trzy dni. Wysłuchuje historii o rzeczach, które go ominęły i ludziach, których koniecznie musi poznać. Mały Jack już nie jest taki mały, a Nate nie może trzymać go na kolanach dłużej niż trzy minuty, musi go oddać siostrze i wstać, podejść do okna i... Czuje na ramieniu dłoń ojca; lekki uścisk i już jej nie ma.
Mama płacze dwa razy, nikt nie pyta go o szczegóły.

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Nate pół nocy rzyga swoimi ulubionymi potrawami. Do łez rozśmiesza go widok w muszli; to, co kilka godzin temu było obiadem jego mamy, teraz podobne jest do plamy Beefaroni, którym, ku zgrozie pozostałych marines, splunął Ray w Iraku. Brad zagroził mu wtedy, że jeśli jeszcze kropla jedzenia nie trafi tam, gdzie trzeba, to randka z Jasmine zostanie odwołana.
W łazience Nate’a na podłodze leży worek brudnego prania, dwa ręczniki i wczorajsze skarpetki, a przy wejściu pod prysznic widać wyschniętą plamę szamponu. Nadal jest tam zbyt sterylnie.

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- Mam na imię Ishmael i oprowadzę was po tym pięknym mieście – mówi mężczyzna, trzymając w ręku stos map, na widok którego Nate czuje ukłucie zazdrości.
Robią sobie zdjęcia wśród ruin, taki Irak pokażą w domu rodzinom.

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Nate jest dumny ze wszystkich odznaczeń i awansów swoich żołnierzy (Bóg i cały drugi pluton wiedzą, że nikt nie zasługiwał na awans tak bardzo jak Brad), ale skrycie jeszcze bardziej cieszy się z każdej decyzji o rezygnacji ze służby. Może wciąż zawodzi jako oficer, ale nadal nie jest (i nie wyobraża sobie, że kiedykolwiek będzie) gotowy, by żegnać któregokolwiek z tych mężczyzn na cmentarzu.
Łudzi się, że będzie miał ich wszystkich na oku, ale Brad za parę tygodni wylatuje do Wielkiej Brytanii, Doc Bryan przenosi się do Sił Specjalnych, a ci pozostający w rekonesansie w każdej chwili mogą dostać rozkaz powrotu do Iraku albo wyruszenia na kolejną wojnę.

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Jego stopy wreszcie się goją, ale już zawsze będzie chodził po domu boso.

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W obozowej siłowni w środku nocy można spotkać prawie tyle samo żołnierzy, co w ciągu dnia. Za to w szatni chwilowo jest tylko Brad, który stoi nieruchomo, wpatrując się w zawartość swojej szafki. Nate szybko przebiera się, po czym obchodzi ławeczkę, by znaleźć się w linii wzroku Colberta.
- Przed czy po? – pyta, wskazując głową w kierunku siłowni.
Brad szybko mruga dwa razy i zwraca się w jego stronę.
- Przed, sir.
- Przydałaby mi się asysta.
W odpowiedzi dostaje skinięcie głową, odwraca się więc i idzie przodem. Słyszy za sobą trzask zamykanej szafki.

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- Hitman Dwa, tu Dwa-Jeden. Nie możemy ruszyć w żadnym kierunku, odbiór.
- Hitman Dwa, tu Dwa-Dwa. Mamy rannego! Powtarzam, Drużyna Dwa ma rannego! Odbiór.

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Nate nigdy nie zamyka okna z wielu powodów. Jednym z nich jest nieustanny szum rozmów, jaki dobiega do jego pokoju. Czasem łapie się na tym, że dziwi go brak trzasków i zakłóceń.

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O sytuacji w Iraku dowiaduje się w ten sam sposób w Camp Pendleton, co w Camp Mathilda: przez radio i internet.

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Impreza pożegnalna, którą wyprawił mu Mike, pełna jest momentów, których nikt nigdy nikomu nie opowie. Jak rozcinanie tasakiem arbuza, wcześniej ochrzczonego jako Encino M, jak improwizowane karaoke, na którym dwudziestu facetów śpiewa piosenkę Pink, jak łzy Nate’a, jak ucisk w gardle, który czuł, ściskając w dłoniach otrzymane właśnie wiosło, jak Brad przyciskający go do drewnianej szafki w ciemnej kuchni, jak spojrzenie w mroku, przywołujące wspomnienia z Iraku, i dotyk lekko wilgotnych ust, przywołujący coś zupełnie innego.
Za to nagranie striptizu Raya zapewne szybko stanie się hitem na youtube.

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Nate wie, że Brian Murray to dobry kandydat na jego następcę, sam go w końcu wybrał, ale zagryza wargę niemal do krwi, kiedy podpisuje papiery, które oznaczają, że w oczach batalionu jego marines nie są już jego marines.

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Porządny sen nadal jest luksusem, na który go nie stać.

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Jazda samochodem to koszmar. Kilka tygodni w Iraku przekreśliło prawie dziesięć lat siedzenia za kółkiem. Jeep Nate’a jest czterodrzwiowy, ciemnozielony (leśny kamuflaż) i ma opuszczane szyby. Za oknem nie ma żadnych potencjalnych celów, przed nim ani za nim nie widać żadnego znajomego humvee. Jest sam.
Któregoś dnia spędza dwie godziny siedząc w aucie na parkingu pod KFC, bo nie może odpędzić wizji zrujnowanej Nasirijii.

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Na motorze czuje się o wiele bezpieczniej.

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Person dzwoni do niego w środku nocy, pijany. Dowiedział się, że pluton wraca do Iraku.
- Zdążę się ponownie zaciągnąć.
- Nawet o tym nie myśl, Ray.
- Jako cywil nie muszę słuchać rozkazów.
Nate przeciera oczy i w ciemnościach, z telefonem w ręce, czuje się jak gdzieś na drodze, tysiące kilometrów od domu.
- Posłuchaj mojej rady.
Ray się rozłącza. Nate resztę nocy spędza, wpatrując się w sufit.

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Rozpakowując się w nowo wynajętym mieszkaniu w D.C., Nate otwiera paczkę z prezentami od rodziców i siostry. Poza oprawionym zdjęciem rodzinnym, trzepaczką do jajek i kilkoma filmami DVD, znajduje płytę Dźwięki natury: ocean z jaskrawozieloną samoprzylepną karteczką na okładce. Poznaje duże, okrągłe pismo Ann.

Nie wyrzucaj, zanim nie spróbujesz.
Kocham cię.

Wieczorem włącza płytę (im szybciej przesłucha, tym szybciej wywali) i rozsiada się na łóżku z laptopem. Chce sprawdzić oferty różnych szkół, zanim ostatecznie zdecyduje, gdzie kontynuować studia.

Kiedy budzi się rano, budzik wskazuje siódmą trzydzieści, a komputer leży obok, z domyślnym wygaszaczem wirującym na ekranie.

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Telefon dzwoni, kiedy Nate wraca z Virginia Beach, gdzie dekorował pierś Pappy’ego brązową gwiazdą. Na ekranie wyświetla się informacja, że dzwoni Carol Wynn. Serce Nate’a przyspiesza, kiedy odbiera na szóstym sygnale, tuż przed tym, aż rozmowa przełączy się na pocztę głosową.
- Nate, mam złe wieści.
Zjeżdża na pobocze i czeka na uderzenie. Twarze przelatują mu przed oczami, palce prawej ręki kurczą się, jakby chciały złapać za broń, której nie ma.
- Kapitan Murray nie żyje.

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- Hitman Dwa, tu Dwa-Jeden. Nie możemy ruszyć w żadnym kierunku, odbiór.
- Hitman Dwa, tu Dwa-Dwa. Mamy rannego! Powtarzam, Drużyna Dwa ma rannego! Odbiór.
- Hitman Dwa-Dwa, tu Hitman Dwa, w jakim jest stanie? Powtarzam, w jakim stanie jest wasz ranny? Odbiór.
- Dostałem w pierś, Hitman Dwa. Myślę, że nie żyję. Bez odbioru.

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W jego mieszkaniu nigdy nie brakuje baterii. Wysyła je też co miesiąc w paczkach do Mike’a w Camp Mathilda, na wszelki wypadek.

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Kiedy Brad dostaje przepustkę, leci do San Diego, do rodziny. Nate ma do napisania trzy prace i żyje na kawie od tygodnia, może dłużej. Ale za tydzień zaczynają się wiosenne ferie i Nate ma już bilet do Kalifornii.
- Stęskniłem się za twoim motorem – mówi, wkładając pół wczorajszej pizzy do mikrofalówki.
Tęsknota robi się większa, kiedy słyszy śmiech po drugiej stronie słuchawki.
- Ja też, Nate. Ja też.

________

Cienie pośród światła (Merlin ff)

2009-12-11T19:45:16Z

Drugi fik z serii "Artur dowiaduje się o tym, że Merlin jest czarodziejem".

Dedykowany idrilka, której życzę wszystkiego najlepszego z okazji urodzin! :D Spełnienia marzeń, pasji w każdej dziedzinie życia, dobrych przyjaciół zawsze blisko, a także - pora na życzenia fandomowe ;) - fantastycznych seriali i jeszcze lepszych fików. No i Weny, oczywiście!

tytuł: Cienie pośród światła
fandom: Merlin (BBC)
postaci: Artur, Merlin, Morgana
spojlery: do 2x09 The Lady of the Lake
uwagi: fik nie jest sprzeczny z ostatnim odcinkiem, ale w większości napisany był przed nim.
ilość słów: 1337
prompt z tabelki:
I never betrayed you and I never betrayed the revolution
I just didn’t want to die alone, I needed you to see me home

Cienie pośród światła

- Wierzyłem ci.
- Wiem.
- Ufałem ci.
- Wiem.
Stali po dwóch stronach więziennych krat. Artur spuścił głowę i Merlin nie mógł dostrzec jego twarzy.
- Chciałem ci powiedzieć, ale...
Artur spojrzał na niego z pogardliwym uśmiechem na ustach.
- Nie było okazji?
- Twój ojciec skazałby mnie na śmierć, dobrze o tym wiesz!
- Wiem.
- Więc wiesz też, dlaczego nigdy nic nie powiedziałem!
- Wiem, dlaczego nie powiedziałeś jemu.
- To twój ojciec. I twój król. To, co mówi, jest prawem.
Artur prychnął.
- Och, proooszę cię, jakbyś nigdy nie widział mnie łamiącego jego rozkazy. – Nie dodał: Jakbym nigdy nie złamał ich, by cię uratować. Nie musiał.
- Tego byś nie złamał.
- To ty tak twierdzisz.
- Tak, ja tak twierdzę! – Merlin podniósł głos. – I może się mylę, może zachowałbyś to w tajemnicy. Ale nie mogłem ryzykować!
Śmiech Artura odbił się echem od murów celi.
- Cóż, biorąc pod uwagę obecną sytuację – stwierdził, prezentując Merlinowi swoje zakute w kajdany ręce - muszę przyznać, że z nas dwóch to ty jesteś tym mądrzejszym. Nie powierzasz swojego życia byle komu.

*

Turniej chylił się ku końcowi, czekała ich jedynie ceremonia ogłoszenia zwycięzcy. Artur myślał już tylko o tym, jak bardzo był głodny. Wyszedł z namiotu i ruszył ku arenie, kiedy nagle usłyszał krzyki niemające nic wspólnego z radosnym oczekiwaniem. Wbiegł między trybuny, by zobaczyć Morganę i Morgause, stojące na środku areny, kilka metrów przed królem.
Artur rozkazał Merlinowi zostać tam, gdzie był, a sam dołączył do swoich rycerzy. Ludzie na trybunach umilkli, tak jak wtedy, kiedy trzy lata temu Morgause stała nad nim z wycelowanym w jego pierś mieczem. Artur spojrzał na nią, na nią i na Morganę, której nie widział odkąd rok wcześniej uciekła z Camelotu. Obie ubrane były w bardzo podobne lekkie zbroje i stały w tej samej pozycji, zaciskając dłonie na swoich mieczach. Miały też identycznie splecione warkocze.
Morgana spojrzała na Morgause i opuściła swój miecz. Artur mrugnął i już było za późno. Świetlista czerwona kula pojawiła się znikąd i mógł tylko patrzeć, jak przeleciała szybko koło niego. Odwrócił się, by zobaczyć ciało swojego ojca pochylające się do przodu i wypadające przez barierkę na arenę.
Musiał krzyknąć, będzie potem pamiętał, że krzyczał, ale w tej chwili nie słyszał żadnego dźwięku. Zamachnął się mieczem, który zderzył się z ostrzem Morgause. Po chwili Artur leżał na ziemi, przygnieciony niewidzialnym ciężarem.
Odwrócił głowę i zobaczył Merlina dokładnie w momencie, kiedy z jego dłoni wyłonił się żółtopomarańczowy strumień światła. Sir Leon upadł na ziemię, jego bezużyteczny miecz potoczył się w stronę leżącego kilka kroków dalej króla.

*

- Ratowałem ci życie więcej razy, niż jestem w stanie zliczyć! – wybuchnął Merlin. – Odkąd pojawiłem się w Camelocie, odkąd dowiedziałem się o tym cholernym przeznaczeniu, robiłem wszystko...
- Jakim przeznaczeniu?
- ...żebyś przeżył! A uwierz mi, nie było łatwo. Czasem miałem wrażenie, że co tydzień ktoś próbuje cię zabić! A jak nie ciebie, to twojego ojca!
- I wreszcie komuś się udało? - Artur zrobił krok do przodu, potem drugi i zatrzymał się tuż przy kratach, zaciskając pięści. Merlin wcześniej tylko raz widział go w takim stanie. Uther pewnie wówczas zginąłby z ręki syna, a losy Camelotu potoczyłyby się zupełnie inaczej.
Ale Merlin był wtedy młody i głupi, ślepo wierzył w przeznaczenie, w Artura i w bajkową wizję zjednoczonego królestwa.

*

Walki o północne ziemie toczyły się osiem miesięcy. Artur pojawił się w tym czasie na zamku dwa razy, za każdym razem z powodu rany, która sprawiała, że nie mógł walczyć i stanowił dla swoich ludzi większe zagrożenie niż pożytek.
Merlin nie opuścił murów miasta ani razu. I może to był błąd, może wbrew wszystkiemu nie powinien był wtedy pozostać w Camelocie, ale Gaius potrzebował jego pomocy i król stwierdził, że Merlin będzie bardziej potrzebny na miejscu, niż na polu walk.
Artur na odchodnym powiedział mu, żeby nie dał się zabić.

Merlin przeżył, ale na placu zamkowym powieszono trzy osoby oskarżone o magię. Przeżył, ale czuł się coraz bardziej samotny, coraz bardziej się bał.
W wieczór po drugiej egzekucji, kiedy Merlin przyszedł do Morgany, by dać jej eliksir nasenny, powiedział jej prawdę o sobie, bo nie mógł już znieść jej rozpaczy i bezsilności, jej podkrążonych, przestraszonych oczu. Spoliczkowała go, zszokowana, a potem zaczęła się śmiać, opadła na stojące za nią łóżko i długo nie mogła się uspokoić. Patrzył na nią, myśląc, że może postradała zmysły, może jego sekret był ostatnią kroplą, która przepełniła czarę i popchnęła ją w stronę obłędu.
Śmiech zamienił się w płacz, a Merlin czuł się całkowicie bezradny. Po blisko wieczności, Morgana wytarła dłońmi twarz, wstała i objęła go, wciąż i wciąż powtarzając „dziękuję”. Merlin odwzajemnił uścisk i zamknął oczy. Morgana nie była Freyą i nigdy nią dla niego nie będzie, ale znów poczuł, że nie jest sam, że nie jest jedyną osobą, która musi ukrywać to, kim jest.

*

- Od jak dawna planowaliście go zabić? – spytał Artur, cofając się pod ścianę i zsuwając się do pozycji siedzącej. Nie czuł się tak zmęczony, odkąd wrócił po wojnie do Camelotu. Jakby wszystkie siły musiał wkładać w to, by nie upaść. Pomyślał, że chciałby zasnąć i obudzić się wczoraj.
- Co? – Merlin brzmiał na zaskoczonego, może zranionego. Ironia tego tonu sprawiła, że Artur prawie się uśmiechnął. – Nic nie planowaliśmy! Ja nic nie planowałem! Nie miałem pojęcia, że Morgana i Morgause wrócą do Camelotu, nie chciałem też zabić Uthera. Gdybym chciał, miałem wiele okazji.
Miał niezliczone okazje. Artura przeszedł dreszcz na myśl o tym, jak niewiele było trzeba, by król zginął z rąk kogoś, komu jego syn tak bardzo ufał.
Ostatecznie zginął z rąk kogoś, komu obaj kiedyś tak bardzo ufali.
- Sir Leon zaatakowałby Morganę, to był instynkt.
- Sir Leon zaatakowałby Morganę, która chwilę wcześniej zabiła jego króla.
Merlin usiadł przy przeciwległej ścianie.
- Nie wiedziałem, że chcą zabić twojego ojca – powiedział cicho.
- Powiedziałbyś mi, gdybyś wiedział?
Kraty rzucały cień na ziemię na zewnątrz celi. Obaj zapatrzyli się na jasne prostokąty na posadzce.
- Nie chciałem śmierci Uthera – powiedział w końcu Merlin, zaciskając dłonie na przykrótkich nogawkach swoich spodni.
- Nie chciałeś jego śmierci czy nie chciałeś go zabić?

*

- Czy myślisz, że po śmierci Uthera coś się zmieni? – spytała Morgana cicho. Światło świec stojących na stole obejmowało ich jeszcze swoim blaskiem, ale w pozostałej części komnaty panowała ciemność. Było późno i Merlin nie powinien tu być. Ani on, ani księga, którą przynosił, by dzielić się z Morganą wiedzą o magii. Jej umiejętności były nieposkromione, zupełnie jak jego, dawno temu. Działała bardziej pod wpływem impulsu i nie zawsze wiedziała, co robi. Jej magia zdawała mu się być bardziej dzika niż jego, jednak nie bardzo potrafił to wyjaśnić. Ale czary były czymś tak osobistym, tak głęboko związanym z tym, kim był, że Merlin doszedł do wniosku, że najwidoczniej istniał więcej niż jeden sposób na magię. Może było ich tyle, ilu czarodziejów.
A dzięki Utherowi czarodziejów było coraz mniej.
- Artur nie jest tak okrutny jak jego ojciec.
Morgana skinęła głową.
- Czyli jedyne, na co możemy liczyć, to mniej egzekucji? – Zacisnęła dłonie we włosach, pojedyncze pasma wysunęły się z warkocza i opadły jej na twarz. – Twoim zdaniem Artur nigdy nie zaakceptuje magii?
Merlin pomyślał o przepowiedniach, które mówiły o królu, który zjednoczy królestwo. Pomyślał o Arturze po spotkaniu z Morgause, o tamtej szansie, która przepadła. Pomyślał o księciu, który wrócił z wojny.
Wzruszył ramionami.
- Nie wiem – przyznał cicho. Nie wiedział też, czy miałby odwagę zaryzykować.
Morgana zagryzła wargę i skinęła głową. Zapatrzyła się w płomień świecy i zamrugała kilka razy.
- Jak to się stało, że nie możemy być sobą? – spytała szeptem. – To wszystko, czego bym chciała. Być sobą.

*

- Pamiętasz wizję, którą pokazała mi Morgause? Tę z moją matką? – Artur bezwiednie przesuwał palcami po metalu otaczającym jego nadgarstek. – Przez moment wierzyłem, że może magia nie jest taka zła.
- Magia sama w sobie nie jest zła – odpowiedział Merlin zmęczonym głosem, jakby to była wyuczona kwestia, którą wciąż i wciąż musi powtarzać.
Artur zahaczył paznokciem o obdartą skórę i syknął cicho.
- W takim razie spotkałem w życiu niewłaściwych ludzi.
__________

Wzniesiony kurz (Criminal Minds ff)

2009-11-29T17:04:39Z

Wreszcie!

Dzięki, swistus za betę ("jeszcze dwa razy i już"XD)! ♥
Dedykowane pellamerethiel, za doping. ♥

(edit: zmieniłam koncepcję po wklejeniu:P)

tytuł: Wzniesiony kurz (Siedem razy, kiedy w Nowym Jorku wybuchł czarny SUV)
fandom: Criminal Minds
spojlery: do 4x01 Mayhem, włącznie.
słów: 1219
prompt z tabelki:
Ain't gonna study, study war no more,
ain't gonna think, think of war no more
Ain't gonna fight, fight the war no more,
we're giving it up, we're gonna let it go

7.

Spencer nie lubi zmian. Im więcej rzeczy, które są pewne i niezmienne, tym łatwiej uporządkować świat, ułożyć go w coś, co ma sens. Liczby składające się na statystyki mają sens, litery składające się w słowa mają sens.
Spencer boi się rzeczy nienazwanych i tych, których nazwy nic nie znaczą („choroba” niczego ci nie wyjaśnia, „schizofrenia” to tylko słowo zastępcze dla grupy różnych objawów, a „śmierć” nie przygotowuje na dalsze życie bez kogoś). Zmiana ma nazwę, ma definicję (ktoś staje się inny lub coś staje się inne niż dotychczas; zastąpienie czegoś czymś), ale i tak za każdym razem oznacza coś innego (teraz to: Hotch nie żyje; nowy szef; nowa wersja ich zespołu).
Każda zmiana ma też swój własny termin ważności, moment, w którym traci swoje znaczenie i nazwę, bo przestaje rzucać się w oczy, przestaje odstawać od rzeczywistości, staje się tylko kolejnym elementem codziennego życia (jak szef, jak zespół).
Cztery miesiące po Nowym Jorku, Spencer nadal czeka, aż ten moment nadejdzie.

6.

Nikogo nie dziwi to, że JJ nie wraca do pracy. Może Hotcha, trochę, w końcu dla niego praca jest tym, co pomogło mu przetrwać po rozstaniu z Haley (nieważne, że była też tym, co do tego rozstania doprowadziło). David rozumie JJ, rozumie, że pozostanie oznaczałoby ciągły kontakt ze wspomnieniami, z przyczyną jej żałoby (bo David wie, że JJ obwinia siebie, swoją pracę, pewnie czasem też ich).
Wie również, że odejście nie wymaże poczucia winy, nie odbierze ani trochę jej cierpienia. Ale w takiej chwili człowiek broni się jak może i jeśli nie da się załagodzić bólu, który już jest, zrobi się wszystko, żeby uniknąć bólu, który może nadejść. Słaba sztuczka, ale pomaga przetrwać (więc może to najwłaściwsze rozwiązanie).
David wie sporo o uciekaniu i o przetrwaniu, wie, że czasem jedno oznacza to samo, co drugie.

5.

Z wielu wspomnień, które ma o Emily, najczęściej myśli o tym, jak szczęśliwa zdawała się być na wiadomość o jej ciąży. Wokół panował chaos, nadal nie rozgryźli, jak powstrzymać ataki, ale JJ miała wrażenie, jakby wtedy na chwilę świat się zatrzymał. Ona i jej dziecko byli małym źródłem szczęścia, które na chwilę zdominowało wszystko inne.
Emily chciała być matką. O tym właśnie myśli JJ, to króluje w jej głowie, kiedy wspomina teraz Emily Prentiss. Nie to, kim była – świetną profilerką, ciepłą kobietą, sympatyczną koleżanką z pracy, odważną, zabawną, upartą, z kiepskim szczęściem do związków. To, kim chciała być – matką. JJ uśmiecha się, kręcąc małe kółka wokół swojego pępka.
- Jestem samolubem – mówi cicho, patrząc na swój lekko zaokrąglony brzuch.
Emily byłaby dobrą matką. JJ obiecuje sobie, że ona też nią będzie.

4.

Pogrzeb Dave’a odbywa się tydzień po wybuchu. Na cmentarzu Aaron stoi w środku ich małej grupy – po prawej stronie ma Morgana, Garcię i Emily, po lewej JJ i Reida. Nie stoi już w samym środku, jest ich tylko sześcioro, poprawia się w myślach. Przelatuje mu przez głowę, że to właściwie niemal cud, że dopiero teraz któreś z nich zginęło. Zastanawia się, czy poczucie nieśmiertelności opuści teraz ich wszystkich nagle i bez ostrzeżenia (nigdy jeszcze nie stracili go wszyscy naraz). Myśli o następnej sprawie, o tym jak znów będą wchodzić w swoje stare-nowe role. Po raz kolejny zabraknie mentora, po raz pierwszy zabraknie Dave’a.
Za nimi stoją inni pracownicy BAU. Aaron kątem oka widzi Strauss, nieruchomą i milczącą. Oni wszyscy są nieruchomi i milczący, Reid przestał nerwowo obciągać rękawy marynarki, a Garcia pozwoliła łzom swobodnie płynąć.
Stoją z boku i są na uboczu, omijani łukiem, przyciągający nieliczne ciekawskie spojrzenia. Mają na pogrzebie plakietkę „Współpracownicy”, figurują nisko w hierarchii ważności. Mało istotni goście, którzy znikną raz na zawsze, tak nagle jak się pojawili, bo nic już nie będzie ich łączyć z resztą obecnych tu osób.

3.

Kiedy lekarz przekazuje im diagnozę Reida, uginają się pod nią kolana. Morgan łapie ją szybko pod ramię i nie puszcza, póki Emily nie siedzi na krześle. Garcia splata palce z jej palcami i Emily przez chwilę wpatruje się w kolorowe pierścionki. Trzy na lewej ręce, dwa na prawej, miała kiedyś spytać Penelope, czy nie przeszkadzają jej w pisaniu na klawiaturze. Zapomniała, za każdym razem wypadało jej to z głowy. A teraz nie zapyta, bo przecież Reid...
- Kiedy będziemy mogli go zobaczyć? – słyszy za plecami głos Hotcha. Jego opanowanie zawsze pomagało Emily zebrać się w sobie, uspokoić. Nie wie, czy tym razem jej się uda. Nie jest pewna, czy Hotch jest teraz opanowany. Zwykle jest, niemal zawsze, ale nie zawsze, więc może teraz, tak jak wtedy, kiedy Reid był porwany i kiedy Penelope leżała w szpitalu, może teraz też nie uda mu się opanować.
Nie puszczając dłoni Garcii, Emily odwraca się lekko.
- ...jutro rano, po testach. – Lekarka ma około czterdziestki, krótkie kręcone włosy i jest wyższa od Hotcha. Na opalonej dłoni ma ślad po obrączce, pewnie zdejmuje ją przed operacją (albo jest rozwiedziona, albo jest wdową, albo...).
Po odejściu lekarki, Emily zerka na zegarek. Druga czterdzieści. Wkrótce wrócą do hotelu, dwie, może trzy godziny snu, jeśli w ogóle uda im się zasnąć, i z powrotem będą tutaj. Jutrzejsza diagnoza nie będzie ostateczna, Emily wie, że przy urazach kręgosłupa wszystko się może zdarzyć, nawet cud. Ale może cudem było już to, że Reid przeżył. Jest chyba jakiś limit, prawda?
Jeden cud to i tak więcej, niż Emily nauczyła się spodziewać. Ale to nie znaczy, że nie pomodli się z zamkniętymi oczami i dłonią nadal zaciśniętą w dłoni Garcii.

2.

Kiedy Garcia budzi się na twardej kanapie w siedzibie FBI, media od trzech godzin podają sensacyjną wiadomość, że w Nowym Jorku wybuchł budynek szpitala św. Barclaya. Wśród ofiar znalazł się syn byłego prezydenta, przechodzący w tym czasie operację usunięcia śledziony.
Penelope przypomina sobie, co działo się zanim zasnęła, zanim straciła przytomność pod wpływem środków uspokajających. Przed oczami przewija się bez przerwy kawałek taśmy z ulicznej kamery, Morgan wsiadający do samochodu, dwa, trzy, BUM. Morgan wsiadający do samochodu, dwa, trzy, BUM.
Zaczyna szczękać zębami i czuje, że cała się trzęsie. Zamyka oczy, ale jej umysł nadal działa według tego samego rytmu: Morgan, dwa, trzy, BUM.
Drzwi otwierają się i Penelope zamiera, ciche kroki to nieznane niebezpieczeństwo. Otwiera oczy i widzi JJ, z zaczerwienionymi oczami, wyciągającą rękę w jej stronę.
- Jak się czujesz? – pyta cicho. Garcia kręci głową i nie przestaje płakać. Czuje na czole dotyk palców odsuwających jej wpadające do oczu włosy.
Minie dużo czasu zanim JJ powie jej, że Hotch był w szpitalu, który wybuchł.

1.

Ktoś powinien był się zorientować. On powinien był się zorientować.
Ale Garcia co chwilę traci i odzyskuje przytomność i dla Morgana nie liczy się nic innego, jak tylko szybkie dotarcie do szpitala.
Derek zaciska poplamione krwią dłonie na kierownicy i nie myśli o niczym, skupia się na głosie ratownika, który mówi mu, gdzie ma jechać. Kiedy zatrzymują ich agenci Secret Service, monitor na tyłach karetki sygnalizuje zatrzymanie serca i Derek myśli, że nie ma nic do stracenia i jeśli ich nie przepuszczą, przejedzie tak czy siak. Przepuszczają.

Garcia jest już na stole operacyjnym, kiedy w szpitalu pojawia się reszta zespołu. Morgan zbiega schodami pożarowymi na podziemny parking, zanim jeszcze myśl o bombie i karetce, o bombie i Garcii, w pełni pojawi się w jego świadomości. Po chwili znowu zaciska dłonie na kierownicy i jedzie prosto przed siebie.

Bomba wybucha dwie sekundy po tym, jak Morgan upada na ziemię.