lillian’s drabbles - Generation Kill (2008 miniseries), NYC 22

[lillian]

Author's Note:  This show takes place during the invasion of Iraq in 2003. It has been praised for its accuracy and realism, especially in terms of dialogue. There is a general warning for language, however there are certain words, phrases, and punchlines that I choose not to use in my writing. I am writing for a 2024 audience. 

Additionally, this is a war show about a very controversial and highly politically-divisive military operation. I'm here to write sneeze fic and light whump. I will be as politically lukewarm as possible. As it is war, certain things will be mentioned (like firearms) and the overall plot objective will remain the same (invade Iraq). The controversy and politics are part of why the show is so engaging, but that won't play out here. 

TLDR; the show is heavy, my writing will not be, but it is a story set during the invasion of a country in the Middle East so if you are sensitive to any aspect of that, be aware.

ALSO: these drabbles are based only on the characters portrayed in HBO's miniseries. They are in no way representative of the real people the characters were inspired by.

 

“Name Brand Civilian Shit” (Generation Kill, Nate)

In the show, Nate’s eyes look so red all the time and I know it’s bc he’s having Emotions but he also looks really allergic…

“—tchh!” Nate flinched into a cupped hand with another sneeze. 

“Excuse be,” he said, rubbing at the side of his nose.

“You got a cold, sir?” Ray asked, narrowing his eyes. 

Nate waved him off. “Doh, doh… just— “ he sneezed again. “Het’tschhh!”

“Bless you, sir,” said Q-Tip. 

Nate’s cheeks reddened. “Ah… thadks. Dow, when we bove dorth agaid…”

—

“Lt!” Doc Bryan called, striding towards him from his own Humvee. 

Nate looked up from his map. 

“Here,” Doc said, holding out a small cardboard box. “The ones in the field kit are basically sugar pills, so I got a couple boxes of name brand civilian shit from PX before we left Matilda.”

Nate took the box and stared at it in stuffy confusion. 

“Adtihistabides.”

“Yes, sir. Mesopotamia does not agree with you.” 

—

Ray and Brad watched the exchange from the shade of their vehicle. 

Ray shook his head in mock sorrow. “Only Lt. Allergic to the desert.”

Brad grinned. 

More to come! 

Edited April 22 by lillian
PSA

[solitaire-au]

This was really sweet! I don’t know the fandom, but military sneezefic is right up my alley. 💗

Actually, I was reading a few journal articles about allergies in the Middle East and it’s a common misconception that people shouldn’t experience allergic reactions there. It varies by country, but it definitely is possible.

[lillian]

@solitaire-au thank you! There is quite a bit of foliage like date palms and reeds since they aren’t moving through like, the Sahara. And they’re outside like 24/7. I kind of love the idea of Nate in particular being sensitive to the grit of military life, since he’s a career officer fresh from the Ivy League. Next I might explore how Ray is the loudest, most annoying mf-er in the whole platoon until Brad’s asleep next to him in the Humvee and he has to sneeze…

Anybody else who’s familiar with GK feel free to give suggestions! 

Edited February 8 by lillian

[lillian]

“Combat Ready” (Generation Kill, Ray)

warning for language I guess? I’m a foul-mouthed writer so just expect that from now on.

—

Chilly night air settled over the Humvee, cooling the hot metal and masking the smell of engine and Marine with the sweet scent of date palms and the salty tang of Subkah dirt. 

Reporter, Walt, and Trombley had fucked off somewhere. It was proof of just how exhausted Sergeant Colbert was that he didn’t appear to give a shit. He was curled up in his corner of the Humvee, snoring softly with his chin tilted down against his comms. 

Ray snickered, debating whether to try to turn the comms on, but then Brad snuffled in his sleep and burrowed further into his MOPP suit. 

“Fuckin’ adorable,” Ray muttered, settling back in his own seat with a grin. 

A good twenty minutes passed with the relative quiet of a sleepy camp broken only occasionally by the rumble of artillery in the distance. 

Ray’d had way too much ephedra to sleep.

His skin was electric, buzzing with prickly zaps as his synapses fired back and forth, adrenaline building in his chest. 

Maybe he’d overdone it. 

He thought about going for a walk, but leaving Brad alone and defenseless without his RTO was a no-go. So he sat back and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, humming very very quietly. 

Unfortunately, the vibration from the humming against his hopped-up nerve endings created a sudden, urgent tickle that flooded his sinuses. He clamped a hand over his nose, eyes wide and watery. 

Shit. 

This had happened before. Taking too much Ripped Fuel did make him kinda sneezy — probably some fucked-up karma thing — but as nobody had slept in 30 + hours, until this point he’d been free to be extra loud and obnoxious about it to prevent even the slightest possibility of embarrassment. Hell, he considered it his duty to keep everyone awake and on edge. 

Now it was just him and his very sleep-deprived best friend (who was also like, really in charge of calling major shots and very much needed to be thinking clearly at all times to prevent them from getting lit up) finally getting the chance to get some sleep. 

Ray took a steadying breath. 

Bad idea. 

“nngxxt!” 

Holy shit that hurt. He repositioned his thumb and forefinger more effectively, bringing his other hand up to serve as a double-vice grip. 

“nng’zzzt!”

Brad better be grateful.

“hizzz’shh!”

Fuck, there went another few brain cells. 

“ett’NGXT!”

“Ray?” Brad mumbled sleepily. 

Ray froze. 

“Somethin’ goin’ on with you that could affect combat readiness?”

Ray cleared his throat, swiping a gloved finger under his nose. 

“Dnope.”

Brad cracked open bleary eyes and regarded him for a moment. 

“Good.”

“hehh… heh’ESHOO!” Ray jerked forward, catching the sudden sneeze in cupped hands. 

“Gesundheit.”

“Thadks.”

Ray was busy putting the sleeve of his MOPP suit to good use (perhaps its only use), so he missed Brad’s fond smile. 

“eht—SHOO! Ughh…”

“Times six,” Brad muttered softly. 

“Whad?”

“Nothing. Get a tissue like a civilized person,” Brad said, then crossed his arms over his chest and settled back into sleep. 

Edited April 20 by lillian
grammar

[lillian]

Evidently in the episodes I have yet to watch, Ray has actual, canon allergies. Stay tuned, yall!

[lillian]

King of the Road (GK, Ray)

“ett’CH’ah!”

“Ray.”

“asSHH’ue!”

“Ray.”

“Holy botherfu—kk’SHHHEW!”

“Stop. Sneezing.”

“I’b t-tryihhhhh… hiii’SHHOO! Tryi’g..”

“Well we need someone who isn’t having an allergy attack to drive.”

A look back at Reporter and Trombley affirms that he is not alone in this sentiment. 

Brad cranes his neck to look at Walt up on the Mark-19. He’s pensive, staring off into the passing scrublands. Brad looks back at Trombley who’s eyeing the Mark-19 hungrily. 

“ikk’SHHHeh!” Ray hits a pothole while trying to rub his eyes. 

“Alright children, we’re playing musical chairs,” Brad says. “Ray, switch with Trombley.” 

Ray brakes and the Humvee lurches forward. 

“Whad? Doh! Absolutely dot!” 

“He’s a better driver than you right now,” Brad says, ignoring Ray’s stuffy shriek of disapproval. And we don’t want Whopper Jr. on the Mark-19, he doesn't say.

“ha’SHH’ue!” 

“Are you taking the pills like Doc told you?”

Ray sniffles pathetically. “I ab! I swear!” 

“So am I driving or…?” Trombley pipes up from the back. Brad looks over to see Reporter very subtly shaking his head. Brad cracks a small smile at that. Reporter stays out of their business for the most part. The blatant fear in his eyes at the idea of Trombley at the wheel is amusing. 

Brad lets out a breath. “Hooookay. Ray, switch with me.” 

Ray fist-bumps the air. “Hell yeah, Ray’s hitti’d the cobs!” 

“Ah, no. You’re snotty enough to be unintelligible at this point. Blow your nose and we’ll see.” 

Ray dismounts the vehicle, grumbling something rude about Brad’s adoptive mother. Brad claps him on the back as they pass each other. Brad notes with cautious relief that Ray does seem to be slowing down with the sneezing. He’s been at it all morning, and Brad can see how much it’s getting to him – the red, teary squint to his eyes, constant stuffy sniffles, and general weariness, in spite of the Ripped Fuel. If Brad didn’t know better, he’d think Ray was coming down sick. 

They settle in to their new seats to the sound of a few confused voices behind them inquiring as to what the fuck is going on. To Brad’s surprise, Ray does actually pull out a mostly-clean tissue and tents it over his nose. His head jogs back with a stuttering breath, then he crumples forward with an only partially muffled “heh’nSHH’eh!” 

“Gesundheit,” Brad says softly, releasing the brake and pulling forward. 

~fin~
 

Edited April 20 by lillian

[solitaire-au]

Aww, this was lovely! 🥰

I gather Ripped Fuel is some kind of energy drink?

[lillian]

On 2/9/2024 at 3:17 AM, solitaire-au said:

Aww, this was lovely! 🥰

I gather Ripped Fuel is some kind of energy drink?

Glad you liked it!
It’s a “fitness” pill that used to have what essentially amounts to legal speed in it. Apparently it was heartily abused by the US Military. In fact, much of Ray’s nonsense in the show is attributed to his abuse of legal stimulants via Ripped Fuel. 

Edited February 14 by lillian

[lillian]

Just a Fucking Cough (Generation Kill, Brad) (aka Doc ships Brad/Ray too)

Brad coughed into his sleeve and wiped his nose, focused on un-fucking his firearm. Hadn’t even gotten to use it yet and already it was gritty with sand. 

“What are you doing about that cough?” For all his barely-checked rage, Doc walked like a cat. 

“What cough?” Brad asked, clearing his throat. 

“That cough you’ve had for two weeks as of yesterday.” 

“Stalker.” 

“We live in each other’s assholes, Brad, and my chosen profession is to figure out why people are coughing.” 

Brad sniffled and wiped his nose on his shoulder. He knew Doc wouldn’t be here lecturing him without good reason, but Brad didn’t feel well and he really didn’t want to talk about it.

“Probably allergies or some shit. Left my snivel gear back home in the Communist Republic of California.”

“Do I need to get your RTO?”

Brad rolled his eyes, a sudden surge of feelings making his chest tighten up. With a wheezy gasp, he leaned over his weapon, wracking coughs bringing tears to his eyes. When he could see again, Doc was crouched in front of him, one hand on his shoulder, the back of the other pressed against his forehead. 

“Didn’t realize allergies caused low-grade fevers,” he said dryly, pulling out his stethoscope. 

“No… no, no, no–” 

“I will radio for Ray to come sit on you. Move your weapon, I need to listen to you.” Brad rolled his eyes and shoved his gun off his lap, stifling another cough into a fist. 

Doc listened to his chest, his customary frown deepening. Brad coughed again, wincing. 

“Dammit, Brad.” Doc sat back on his heels. “I expected you at least to follow instructions when I said no huffing sand.”

“Fuck.” Brad knew he wasn’t feeling right, but he thought it was allergies or a cold or something. Not…

“The U.S. Military in all its wisdom packing thousands of souls cheek-to-ass like it’s fucking 1863…” Doc muttered under his breath and scribbled something on a pad of paper. He ripped off the top sheet and handed it to Brad. Brad squinted at it. 

“Didn’t know you knew Arabic.”

Doc ignored him. “Bring that over to the infirmary. They’ll do your bloods just to double-check, but I went ahead and wrote you a script for antibiotics. Cover your mouth when you cough or sneeze, wash your hands, hydrate, and get some rest.”

Brad frowned at the piece of paper, still trying to decipher the writing. “Doc… we’re moving out any day now.”

Doc sighed. “I know. Your timing sucks. Anyone else sick?” He raised an eyebrow. “Ray?”

Brad shook his head and coughed, making sure to pull his collar up securely over his mouth. 

“Well next time someone so much as sneezes, send them straight to me.” He lowered his voice, smacking Brad’s shoulder to get his attention. “Part of leadership is getting your own shit sorted. What if you’d let this go and had to be medevaced out of a combat zone?” 

Brad’s cheeks burned. 

Doc got to his feet. “I’ll come by to check in after chow.”

*Snivel gear: nice things like cold medicine and hoodies

__

Bonus: King of the Road Part 2

Nate’s comms crackled to life. 

Hitman Two Actual this is Hitman Two One Actual. Requesting permission to relieve Corporal Person of his driving duty. How copy? Over.

Nate frowned. Colbert’s team was the best, even with Reporter tagging along like a hostage situation waiting to happen. What could be wrong?

“Hitman Two One Actual, this is Hitman Two Actual, interrogative: why does Person need to be relieved of driving duty? Over.”

There was a staticky pause, then:

Ray you asshole get out of the driver's seat!

Not a.... ASCHHHHOOO! a chance Brad!
 

Edited February 14 by lillian

[lillian]

Just a Fucking Cough Part 2 (time for Brad/Ray!)

—

“Hey, Brad!” 

“Go away.”

“Are you sleeping, homes? It’s like, barely sundown!”

“Go away, Ray,” Brad said scratchily into his bedroll. Now that he’d taken his first dose of amoxicillin, the itchy, burning heaviness in his chest and the near-constant need to hack-cough a lung felt more real than it had before. Logically, he understood that this was just his compartmentalization breaking down, but a small part of him wished he’d picked up and ran as soon as Doc asked him about his cough. 

He coughed again, hard, into his pillow and groaned softly.

“Brad?” Ray’s voice sounded way too close to his ear. Brad shoved a fist into the general direction of the voice. It connected with a bony shoulder. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For disturbing me.” Brad cracked open sore eyes to find the wide ones of his RTO staring back at him. Brad jumped back, putting as much distance between them as he could without toppling a tower of rations and ammo.

“Dude, you’re already disturbed.” Ray’s crooked smile looked a little tight; a question in his dark eyes.

The swift change in position set off the precarious equilibrium of Brad’s lungs, and he had just enough presence of mind to pull his t-shirt collar over the lower half of his face before he started hacking deep, harsh coughs. 

“You done?” Ray rolled his eyes. “Drama queen.” 

Brad sniffled and wiped his nose on his collar. He swallowed his pride for the sake of Ray’s health, and prepared to confess. 

“Doc—“

“So it is about your cough!” 

“What?”

“Did you finally go see him? Dude, I’ve been on you like I’m your fucking mother about this.” Ray flopped to his back on the plywood sheeted-ground. “What’d he say? What’s wrong with you?”

“Are you... fucking with me?” Brad asked lamely. 

Ray sat up, hurt. “Are you that good at ignoring me?”

“I… not on purpose.”

Ray opened his mouth, then closed it. “Hey,” he said with uncharacteristic softness. “You’ve been sick. ‘Course you don’t know what the fuck is going on.” 

Brad was saved from answering when he had to cough again, this time holding one sleeve tight to his face. It went on for a while, and he felt the steady pressure of Ray’s hand rubbing his back. 

“Hey! Can you die more quietly over there?” a disembodied voice called from across the tent. 

“Shut up, asshole— he’s sick!” Ray yelled back. 

“Pneumonia.”

Ray looked down at him, brown eyes huge. 

“Walking pneumonia. More spreadable because I’m not sick enough to be laid up in bed.” Brad paused to cough. “Doc said it’s a combination of close quarters and all this fucking sand we’re breathing.”

“My grandpa died of pneumonia,” someone across the tent said. Sounded like Trombley.

“Great,” Brad groaned, burying his face in his pillow. 

“Hey, Brad, you’re not gonna die, homes! We’re living in the 21st century here!”

“No, I know that… just—“

Ray leaned down to hear. Brad shoved him away. “Don’ get close.”

Ray nodded sagely. “Danger-close. Germ-artillery fire within 200 meters.”

“Exactly,” Brad mumbled. 

“Hey, Brad?”

“Hn?”

“Is it ‘cos you’re adopted?”

“What—“

“Why you don’t want to be taken care of. Is it like an early childhood thing or…?”

“Ray?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Roger that, sir,” Ray said with a grin. 
 

—

apologies for lack of sneezing. the prevalence of walking pneumonia at the base camp is mentioned in the book and Brad was the perfect victim  

—

preview of next prompt(?):

Brad’s sneezing— Ray assumes he’s sneezing anyway. Each mini-explosion is perfectly contained with a firm pinch. The only thing he can’t control is the ridiculously congested sniffles he has to indulge. But WHY is he sneezing? Ray needs to know. Bc he needs to make him do it again.

Edited February 14 by lillian

[solitaire-au]

😍 I’m really loving this. I feel like a melting into a puddle of warm goo from how 💕 this is!

Btw, I had no idea the characters names were of the actual people involved! I’d assumed they’d used pseudonyms.

[lillian]

@solitaire-au I'm so glad you're loving it! did you watch any of the show? it's so so good.

It's pretty far removed from the actual people as it was a series in Rolling Stone, then a book, then a fictionalized tv show. 

Edited February 14 by lillian

[lillian]

Just a Fucking Cough Part 3

—-

Ray’d known Brad was coming down with something two weeks ago during their team meeting when he’d sneezed three times in a row (all neatly pinched-off in an impressive attempt to go unnoticed) instead of two. To someone not currently living in a tent on a military base with 28 or so of their closest friends, that might sound weird. 

But Ray knew Brad. And Brad knew that Ray knew him, so after that third sneeze, Brad began trying to avoid him. 

This was difficult, due to the circumstances under which they were living before they stepped off into active combat, and due to the fact that Ray wasn’t going to let it happen. 

He caught Brad triple-sneezing again that night, while they were watching the chess tournament, then again the next morning during PT, and at regular intervals over the next two days. At the end of day three, after lights-out, Brad started with the chesty cough. 

Ray scooted over to his friend’s bedroll. 

“Hey,” he whispered (he wasn’t very good at whispering). “Need some water?”

“Negative,” Brad muttered sleepily. He stifled the next few coughs into his pillow and rolled over.

Not good. 

For the next two weeks, the majority of their conversations followed a similar pattern. 
 

—

“Choke on sand?”

“Yep.”

—

“Can’t hack PT anymore? Ha-ha, get it? Hack? ‘Cause you’re coughing?”

“Shut up, Ray.”

—

“Sand again?”

“Nope, just sick of you.”

—

“Shit homes, you’re gonna need both those lungs when we invade Iraq.”

“Hmph.”

—

“You should go see Doc, dude, that sounds fucking awful.”

“G’fuck y’rself.”

—

That’s when Ray went and tattled on him.

Edited February 14 by lillian
totally forgot to paste half the drabble

[lillian]

[removed]

Edited February 15 by lillian

[lillian]

I wrote this quick lil thing because while I'm enjoying the Nate story, I missed Brad. I tried to find a clip of this scene but I couldn't  Skarsgard's lil sniffle is so excellent though, believe me. I thought it was rude of Nate to just leave Brad there all in his feelings so this happened.
Context: Brad has decided he's now in ordinance removal and is going around trying to safely deal with undetonated bombs around the neighborhood, hence the ep title "Bomb in the Garden."

__

Nate and Mike rounded the corner just in time to see Brad jump into the hole in the sidewalk.

“We keep killing civilians, we’re gonna waste this fucking victory!” Brad wiped his nose on the back of his hand, sniffling. “We can’t keep doin’ this,” he said, voice dropping in pitch. He looked around the bomb crater, cat-like blue eyes scanning frantically. 

“Relax, Iceman, relax,” Poke said from above him, holding his weapon and keeping an eye on the street. “The only thing we gotta worry about here is fucking do-gooders." He shook his head. "Luckily, there’s not too many of those.” 

“Get out of there, Brad,” Nate said in his best officer voice as he and Mike approached.

Brad was still staring at the bomb.

“Sir, we have another Mark-82–”

“That’s an order.” 

Brad looked up, eyes wide.

“Sir, I strongly request–”

Nate’s voice went a little hoarse as he strained to talk over him without shouting. 

“I will not let you blow yourself up trying to maintain property values in Greater Baghdad, that’s a no-go.” 

Brad just stared at him, unblinking. He saw why Poke had been begging him to calm down– Brad looked anguished, like diffusing this bomb would make up for all of the mistakes they’d been making as they tore north through the desert. 

“Up ‘n’ out now, Sergeant,” Mike said firmly, but gently

Brad didn’t move.

Nate raised his eyebrows pointedly.

“Get out of the hole.” Nate could count on the fingers of one hand how often he’d had to use that tone, not just in Iraq, but in his life. 

Brad gave him a tortured look, but finally cut his eyes away and accepted Poke’s outstretched hand.

The correct officer thing to do would be to say something like “We’re done here,” and leave his Marine to un-fuck his own feelings, but Nate was not going to do that, not to Brad. He nodded to Mike and Poke to keep going, and headed over to where Brad was standing at the edge of the bomb crater, staring down at the M-82. 

It was so quiet, Nate would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking directly at him. 

“God bless you,” Nate said softly, coming to stand beside him. 

Brad lowered his hand and nodded his thanks. He sniffled again, blinking dirt out of his eyes. 

“I know you’re trying to do good out here Brad, but–” 

Brad’s jaw clenched, but he knew better than to interrupt a superior officer again.

“We can’t fix this. It’s too big. We have to walk away.” 

Brad said nothing, still staring at the bomb.

“Brad…” 

Brad suddenly lifted the back of his hand and pressed it tight to the underside of his nose, trembling with a near-silent “knx!” and then another, slightly more audible, “h’xxsh!” He sniffled, beginning to sound a little congested. 

“God bless you,” Nate said again, unable to keep the fondness out of his tone. He rested his hand gently on Brad’s shoulder. “Come on, I know for a fact that you’ve been awake too long.”

Brad allowed himself to be led back to the Humvees, only shaking Nate off once they’d rounded the corner into the sight of the platoon.

_fin_

Edited March 13 by lillian

[solitaire-au]

You’re killing me here with how wonderful these snippets are! 💗

The characters are wonderful. I gotta watch this show! (Though I’ve got Halo and Star Wars: The Bad Batch to get through first.)

[lillian]

@solitaire-au I'm so so glad you're enjoying them! I def recommend the show, although it is quite accurate, 2003-era language included. It can be a little hard on 2024 ears, if you know what I mean. This is the video I send people if they're interested in the show! Warning for (cinematic) wartime-gore and language. 
 

and here’s them being goofy

Edited March 14 by lillian

[solitaire-au]

14 hours ago, lillian said:

@solitaire-au I'm so so glad you're enjoying them! I def recommend the show, although it is quite accurate, 2003-era language included. It can be a little hard on 2024 ears, if you know what I mean. This is the video I send people if they're interested in the show! Warning for (cinematic) wartime-gore and language. 
 

and here’s them being goofy

Thanks for that. Unfortunately the editor of those videos frequently has the music up significantly louder than the dialogue, so if it wasn’t for the transcripts, I couldn’t follow half of what was said.

What was the crowd of civilians holding out to the marines to take at 1:18 in the first video? Was it photos of missing loved ones?

[lillian]

 

On 3/14/2024 at 11:52 AM, solitaire-au said:

Thanks for that. Unfortunately the editor of those videos frequently has the music up significantly louder than the dialogue, so if it wasn’t for the transcripts, I couldn’t follow half of what was said.

Oh I didn't have that trouble with my speakers -- I'm sorry! If you enable cc it should be better.

On 3/14/2024 at 11:52 AM, solitaire-au said:

What was the crowd of civilians holding out to the marines to take at 1:18 in the first video? Was it photos of missing loved ones?

They were holding out leaflets that the US Military dropped promising clemency and protection to anyone who surrendered. Unfortunately, those above Nate ordered them to "un-surrender" the civilians so they wouldn't have to take care of them. This is the beginning of Nate's disillusionment and frustration. He eventually starts fighting these stupid, immoral orders from command and they end up threatening to court-martial him. 
 

Post-deployment

Nate has left and Brad's still in. Brad gives Nate a call.
___

"Oh, hey."

“Well you sound terrible.”

The line crackled. 

“Yeah, I have a cold.”

“Civilian problems,” Brad scoffed. 

“How’s the Sandbox?”

“As you left it.”

“Functional and promising?”

“More hopeful every day.”

“H-hang on..” Nate held the phone away and sneezed twice, harshly, into a wilted handful of tissues. “Ugh, excuse be.”

“Bless you.”

“I thought you said that phrase is ‘poidtless a’d a waste of airspace?’” He blew his nose, lazily holding the phone in his lap. 

Maybe it was the connection, but Brad’s voice sounded soft when he brought the phone back to his ear. “Isn’t it late over there?”

“Stayed up to catch you.” And he hadn’t been sleeping. 

“You sound like you should be in bed.”

“I am.”

“Sleeping.”

“I will be,” now that I’ve heard your voice again…

_fin_

Edited April 9 by lillian

[lillian]

ITEM: SAND

CAUTION: DO NOT CONSUME

or a silly little drabble about nate and his (favorite) devil pup, pfc christeson 

—

He hadn’t meant to inhale a face-full of sand. 

“haah-ISHH! h’ISHhu!”

But now he’s sitting up in his ranger grave, sneezing harder and faster than he has in his entire life. 

“heh-ISH! het-ESHH!”

“God bless you! Are you alright?”

He looks up through blurred eyes. His LT is standing over him, oil cloth in hand like he was in the middle of cleaning his weapon.

“Y-yeah I.. ihyESHH! HESHHu!” Despite his words, Christeson bites back a groan, gritting his teeth. He can still taste sand. He wants to go home.

Alarmed, Nate crouches beside him. 

Christeson jerks away to catch another needy “HAAH-kshhhxx!” in cupped hands. 

“Bless you.” 

“Thadks...”

“Wait a moment.” LT jumps up and goes to rummage in his pack. He tosses him a fleece pullover, olive green and soft.

“It gets chilly at night,” he says, in the same voice he uses to tell them to get some sleep or to ask if they’ve eaten. “Don’t want you catching a cold out here.” He gives him a rare, tired smile. 

Christeson smiles back, sniffling. “Thadks, LT.”

-fin-

Edited April 10 by lillian

[solitaire-au]

Loved this! 🥰

Nate is so sweet!

What is Christeson like?

[lillian]

7 hours ago, solitaire-au said:

Loved this! 🥰

Nate is so sweet!

What is Christeson like?

I'm so glad you liked it! I love torturing Nate but I love writing him in caretaking roles too! He's officially my favorite character. 

Christeson is 19, one of the youngest Marines. He's in Mike and Nate's truck, along with another newish Marine, his bff Q-tip (Stafford). They're like a little family ❤️ 

eta- he’s kind of a follower to Q-tip’s big personality, but he’s really sweet and loyal. 

 

Edited April 10 by lillian

[lillian]

Nate POV

Nate’s leaned against the front right tire of his truck, his firearm spread out in pieces on a tarp in front of him. He gently runs a cloth through the intricate parts and gears of the piece he’s holding, blowing at the omnipotent gritty particles of sand. A grain of sand could mean a gun jam that could mean a bullet in his own head. 

Before he can dwell too much on that, another sound carries over from the opposite side of the truck, where his team has dug in for the night.

“haah-ISHH! h’ISHhu!”

It… doesn’t sound right. He can’t put his finger on why, but he knows it’s one of his devil pups and it doesn’t sound healthy. Better safe than sorry, because Lord knows none of them would never admit to weakness voluntarily.

“heh-ISH! het-ESHH!”

He comes around the side of the truck cautiously, scanning the two ranger graves. Stafford's curled up in one-- he can tell by his snoring. Christeson is sitting up in the other, sneezing helplessly.

“God bless you! Are you alright?”

Brad would undoubtedly be taking the opportunity to call him a mother hen, and then start ranting about humanity’s reliance on an invisible man in the sky for everything from the afterlife to sneezing, but these are Nate’s men. It's his call.

Christeson looks up at him, eyes wet and nose pink. 

“Y-yeah I.. ihyESHH! HESHHu!” Christeson groans and wheezes a little, eyes squeezing shut like he’s going to sneeze again. 

Nate drops to a crouch beside him, worry compounding worry.

“HAAH-kshhhxx!” Christeson has the presence of mind to turn away and cover, but that doesn’t ease Nate’s concern. 

“Bless you.” 

“Thadks...”

“Wait a moment.” Nate gets up and grabs his pack off the truck. He pulls out his fleece, stuffed in at the last minute when he used his 'officer brain' and re-thought the unspoken “no snivel gear” motto. He lobs it at Christeson, hoping that he’ll take it and not give him shit for bringing it along.

Not that any of his men can give him shit, directly at least, except for Brad, who manages to do so solely with his eyes and occasional clipped verbal eviscerations -- how one can stuff so many conflicting emotional cues into one "sir," Nate cannot understand. It’s exhausting to try.

He turns his attention back to his sneezy devil pup.

“It gets chilly at night,” he can’t help but say. “Don’t want you catching a cold out here.” To his own surprise, the corner of his mouth pulls up in what used to be an easy smile as Christeson catches the fleece and immediately starts shucking off his flack vest and MOPP suit jacket. 

“Thadks, LT.” He smiles up at him, sniffling.

Nate feels a little better about the world. For the moment, at least. 

-fin-
 

Edited April 11 by lillian
making her seaworthy

[solitaire-au]

Even more adorable from Nate’s point of view! 🥰 

[lillian]

I'm glad you enjoyed!! 

Here's some pre-Brad/Nate-- post-canon, Brad's on leave and he chooses to spend it with his former LT, who unfortunately isn't feeling very up to hosting. 

"Couched"
__

“ngt!”

“God bless you,” Nate said, threadbare and hoarse.

“Don’t waste your voice.” Brad stared boredly at the TV, head propped up on a pillow, sock feet dangerously close to being in Nate’s lap. Nate watched as he pinched his nose again and jerked forward with a barely-audible “ggt!”

“Bless you again.” 

Brad rolled his eyes.

“You don’t have to be rude.” Nate curled tighter, directing his attention to the TV.

“hup’gxxt!” Brad wiped his nose on the back of his wrist and sniffled. The recovery was slower than usual as he blinked and cleared his throat.

“That actually almost sounded human,” Nate said. He reached into the space between his shins and Brad’s feet, pulling the blanket over himself. 

Brad nudged him with a toe. 

“Chills?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been taking the blanket on and off.” 

Nate shrugged and looked away. 

“I hope this is just a cold you’re in the process of giving me, not the flu.” Brad leaned forward, hand extended, palm out. 

Nate held up a hand as he struggled to keep his eyes from slipping closed. “huh!”

Brad sat back and waited, familiar with this by now. 

“huh-ESH! hhh…etch’ngxt—choo!” 

“Sounded almost human,” Brad said dryly. 

“T-trying not to—“ 

“Just let it happen.” Brad pulled a few tissues from the box on the table and handed them over. 

“etchmmpf! heh-eh-EH! MMPF-chhshh!” Nate blew his nose, muffling one final “ett’chhmpf!” into the clump of tissues. “Sorry,” he croaked. “Tryi’g to keep this to byself.”

“That,” Brad sighed, leaning in to press his palm to Nate’s forehead, “is a lost cause, sir.” He made a tutting sound, frowning. “Where do you keep your Tylenol?”

_fin_