Fic: Chart Your Way
Oct. 7th, 2010 09:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
asimplechordchart your way
pg || Brad/Nate || 528 words
Complete fiction, based on portrayals by actors and implying nothing about real people.
Inspired by Something Corporate's Globes & Maps, from which the title and cut text were culled. Totally self-indulgent schmoop here.
1 meter. That's all that separates them in their spots on the oak pews of Pendleton's chapel. Even though Gunny Wynn sits between them, Nate is acutely aware of Sergeant Colbert's disapproval of the moto bullshit emanating from the pulpit.
Wynn walked Nate down to the NCO's office and introduced them four weeks ago, and Nate's wondering when or if this feeling is going to wane; he's enervated in Colbert's presence, confident that his alpha team leader will succeed at whatever mission they're assigned, and determined to meet Colbert's standards, to surpass them.
10 rows. Brad's in the rear of the plane for the flight to Kuwait. Not because Nate worries about fraternization, but because he'd directed Wynn and Colbert to make sure the men were comfortably seated, their gear stowed, before any officers did the same. Nate hates sitting over the wings, but he'll deal.
75 meters. Nate can run that in seconds, but it's immeasurably long when it's the distance between the lead victor in an invasion and the command truck giving the order to advance.
2.2 meters. The width of a victor's hood shouldn't seem like a broad, gaping chasm. At Al Hayy, Muwaffaqiyah, and Al Kut, that short span between them feels like miles.
2 floors, 1 hallway. Brad's cubicle in the NCO office is actually closer to Nate's than they were when they lived in tents at Mathilda, the space shorter than their dispersion during the invasion. But Nate's disillusionment with command makes him hesitate to breach that distance on anything other than Corps-related business. (Brad doesn't have the same scruples, it turns out.)
4 miles. Brad's condo is within jogging distance of Nate and VJ's house. He google-mapped it the first time Brad invited him over for beer and BBQ. Now that he doesn't have PT every morning, he uses that as his daily run after shoving Brad out the door with coffee.
2740 miles. It's a wicked long drive from Pendleton to Roland Park, but it would be worse if Nate were doing it alone.
3325 miles. The Atlantic is not a pond, whatever the Brits say. It's a fucking ocean, and sometimes Nate hates that all that water separates them.
6550 miles. But it's worse when he knows that the Royal Marines are deploying to Afghanistan, that he's sitting in classes ignorant of Brad's condition, and he wouldn't even be the person informed if anything happened.
2700 miles. He will never tell Brad this, ever, but Nate fares better when he and Brad are on the same land mass. Knowing that he can drive the distance to Carlsbad or catch a red-eye settles something in his gut. Even though there's just as much chance that Brad can be injured in a training accident or speeding like a fool on his bike. It's illogical, but there you go.
6200 miles. The Corps doesn't care about Nate's peace of mind, though; there's a mission in Baghdad, Ramadi, Fallujah, Tikrit. Nate doesn't ask, and Brad doesn't tell.
1 millimeter. That's a gross overestimate. Nate's pretty sure there is actually no space between his skin and Brad's, and he's equally certain that it's going to stay that way for the first few hours now that Brad's returned.
ETA: Now with bonus map-related drabble, 400 words.
This entry was originally posted at http://favoritemistake.dreamwidth.org/6322.html.
pg || Brad/Nate || 528 words
Complete fiction, based on portrayals by actors and implying nothing about real people.
Inspired by Something Corporate's Globes & Maps, from which the title and cut text were culled. Totally self-indulgent schmoop here.
1 meter. That's all that separates them in their spots on the oak pews of Pendleton's chapel. Even though Gunny Wynn sits between them, Nate is acutely aware of Sergeant Colbert's disapproval of the moto bullshit emanating from the pulpit.
Wynn walked Nate down to the NCO's office and introduced them four weeks ago, and Nate's wondering when or if this feeling is going to wane; he's enervated in Colbert's presence, confident that his alpha team leader will succeed at whatever mission they're assigned, and determined to meet Colbert's standards, to surpass them.
10 rows. Brad's in the rear of the plane for the flight to Kuwait. Not because Nate worries about fraternization, but because he'd directed Wynn and Colbert to make sure the men were comfortably seated, their gear stowed, before any officers did the same. Nate hates sitting over the wings, but he'll deal.
75 meters. Nate can run that in seconds, but it's immeasurably long when it's the distance between the lead victor in an invasion and the command truck giving the order to advance.
2.2 meters. The width of a victor's hood shouldn't seem like a broad, gaping chasm. At Al Hayy, Muwaffaqiyah, and Al Kut, that short span between them feels like miles.
2 floors, 1 hallway. Brad's cubicle in the NCO office is actually closer to Nate's than they were when they lived in tents at Mathilda, the space shorter than their dispersion during the invasion. But Nate's disillusionment with command makes him hesitate to breach that distance on anything other than Corps-related business. (Brad doesn't have the same scruples, it turns out.)
4 miles. Brad's condo is within jogging distance of Nate and VJ's house. He google-mapped it the first time Brad invited him over for beer and BBQ. Now that he doesn't have PT every morning, he uses that as his daily run after shoving Brad out the door with coffee.
2740 miles. It's a wicked long drive from Pendleton to Roland Park, but it would be worse if Nate were doing it alone.
3325 miles. The Atlantic is not a pond, whatever the Brits say. It's a fucking ocean, and sometimes Nate hates that all that water separates them.
6550 miles. But it's worse when he knows that the Royal Marines are deploying to Afghanistan, that he's sitting in classes ignorant of Brad's condition, and he wouldn't even be the person informed if anything happened.
2700 miles. He will never tell Brad this, ever, but Nate fares better when he and Brad are on the same land mass. Knowing that he can drive the distance to Carlsbad or catch a red-eye settles something in his gut. Even though there's just as much chance that Brad can be injured in a training accident or speeding like a fool on his bike. It's illogical, but there you go.
6200 miles. The Corps doesn't care about Nate's peace of mind, though; there's a mission in Baghdad, Ramadi, Fallujah, Tikrit. Nate doesn't ask, and Brad doesn't tell.
1 millimeter. That's a gross overestimate. Nate's pretty sure there is actually no space between his skin and Brad's, and he's equally certain that it's going to stay that way for the first few hours now that Brad's returned.
ETA: Now with bonus map-related drabble, 400 words.
This entry was originally posted at http://favoritemistake.dreamwidth.org/6322.html.
