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

[solitaire-au]

That was so sweet! 🥰

I love the idea of them getting close somewhere more hospitable, like Nate’s home.

[lillian]

New A-O

It's hard to be back.

(I've been reading too many post-canon fics, yes)

__

Brad Colbert would like you to know that he did not voluntarily leave one communist blue-state liberal paradise for another, colder one, with less surfing. At least, it was a practical choice. Better of two evils. 

Nate’s grad school roommate was taking a sabbatical because Harvard was stressful on the geniuses or whatever and he needed to go cry on his parent’s couch about how his brain hurt at big boy college. 

And Brad’s lease was up and he was about to be sent back over to play in the sandbox so there was no point in bumming around Oceanside anymore. God forbid he showed up at Mr. & Mrs. Colbert’s door asking for room and board. They’d welcome him in, of course, but he hadn’t lived at home since before they shipped him off to military school and he had strategically avoided all but the necessary social interactions with them since then. They loved him, and he them, but spending more than twenty-four hours in their company drained him in ways he couldn’t explain.

__

The thud came from the ceiling. The attic, more specifically. Brad set down his drink, getting catlike to his feet, scanning the room. Another thump. Creaking floorboards. Brad crept to the hallway, feet light on the kitchen linoleum. The hall light was on, because Nate felt safer with the perimeter lit these days. Brad’s socked feet had just hit the carpet of the hall when he heard it. 

“hett’CHNXT!” 

Brad looked up, hearing something rattle across the ceiling. He took a few steps forward, rounding a corner, and finally spotted the lowered attic ladder. He grabbed the rungs and started up. 

Nate was sneezing again as he popped his head into the room, so he didn’t immediately clock the intrusion. 

“eyyyeshhh! –ESHHoo!” 

“You could’ve asked me to come up here and get whatever you’re looking for.”

Nate jumped a little (still hyper-vigilant, Brad noted with a frown) and about-faced. 

“Is this what Ray calls the “patented Brad Colbert nebbing?”” Nate snapped back. 

Still sulky from their fight earlier then. 

“Ray was raised by barn animals and television. He’s an unreliable narrator.” Brad pulled himself the rest of the way into the attic. “Also it was patented by my grandmother. But you do look peaked. How long have you been up here?”

Nate rubbed his eyes. “About fifteen minutes?”

“Guess you forgot about your allergies, even after you sneezed your way across Mesopotamia.” Brad tried to keep his tone light. “Which seems to have made things worse, stateside.”

“I have an appointment at the VA,” Nate muttered. He straightened and put on his officer face. “I don’t need your help.”

Brad wasn’t sure they were talking about allergies anymore. 

“I’ll be right down the hall,” he said. 

As he passed the light switch, he itched to turn it off— save on that damn yankee electric bill-- but he glanced up at the attic where his former CO was still banging around and sniffling, and left it on. 

FIN

Edited April 20 by lillian

[lillian]

Junior -- NYC 22, Kenny McLaren

When your favorite actor keeps getting cast as either a soldier or a cop, you're stuck watching cop shows and war movies 🤷‍♀️

__

A familiar voice echoes through the lobby at the precinct. Kenny tries to keep his eyes front, listening to the briefing, but Ahmad catches him glancing at the man in the lobby.

“Who’s that?” 

Kenny sighs. “My dad.” 

"Inspector!" Yoda goes out to greet him, and Kenny listens, trying not to be too obvious. 

“And how’s Junior doin’?” He can feel his father’s eyes on him through the window.

He knew his dad was going to show up one of these days, why did it have to be today? He’s been fighting a cold for a few days and looks it. He’s sore and achy, nose raw and smarting. He’s started up with an annoying little chesty cough, too. But the worst is probably the dull, persistent tickle in the back of his nose that makes him keep–

“hh’zzSHHHoo!”  

He sniffles, trying to keep some semblance of dignity, but then he’s ducking into the crook of his arm again with another wrenching “hh’ZZSHH!” 

“Bless you,” someone behind him mutters. 

"Who, Kenny?" Yoda smiles, fond but exasperated, like he always does when he's talking about his rookies. "Chip off the old McLaren block."

The Inspector nods, narrowing his eyes. "No special favors. Ride his ass, or I'll ride yours." 

Yoda chuckles.

–

His father shakes his hand. “Kenny! Hoped to catch you before you started your tour this morning.” 

“Dad, this is my partner, Officer Ahmad Khan. Ahmad, Deputy Inspector Dennis McLaren.” 

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Kenny’s father says quickly. He turns back to Kenny. “Did you hear your brother got his gold shield?” 

“He made detective? Nobody told me. That's great!”

His father fixes him with a hard look. “Your mother wanted to be the one to tell you. She’s left you a couple messages.”

“I’ve been meaning to call her back.” 

“Once you’re over that cold,” his father says, echoing his own thoughts. “Don’t want to worry her.” He looked him over. “No days off, I like the work ethic,” he says, nodding appreciatively. “Shine those shoes before you head out!” He calls over his shoulder as he leaves.

“He seems nice,” Ahmad says carefully. 

Kenny lets his shoulders drop and sniffles. "Tell me about it."

FIN

Edited Sunday at 12:53 PM by lillian
more context

[lillian]

—removed by author—

Edited Monday at 02:41 AM by lillian