Iceman Doesn't Catch Colds (HBO War: Generation Kill-- Ray, Nate, Brad) 5/5 --FINISHED!

[lillian]

NOTE: this story is based solely on the characters portrayed in HBO’s miniseries, and has no relation to the actual people the characters were inspired by. 

While working on the next part of my other story, I got this idea in my head and I couldn't not write it. Takes place at the base camp in Kuwait before they set out. Nate just got command of the platoon, so he’s still getting to know everyone, hence the formality.

Also:
LT/ Lieutenant Fick -- Nate

Sergeant Colbert -- Brad

Corporal Person -- Ray (RTO - radio telephone operator)

Corporal Hasser -- Walt

In this chapter: Brad doesn't understand his own feelings. Ray whines. Nate sneezes a lot.

Let me know what you think! 

___

Part 1

“I’b dyi’g.”

“You are not.”

“You’re godda hafta carry be to the idfirbary, hobes.”

“Blow your nose.”

“Feel by forehead, I thidk I have a fever…”

Brad sighed, reaching over to grab the tissue box and scooting over on his bedroll to drop it into Ray’s lap. Why he decided to bunk next to his RTO, he did not know. Why he then pressed his palm to his RTO’s forehead, he also couldn’t tell you. 

“No fever. Quit being a drama queen.” 

“hih…” Ray’s eyes squeezed shut as his breath began to waver. 

“Cover your mouth!” Brad reminded him sharply. “I know you were raised by barn animals but–”

“huh’eshHIEW!” To his credit, Ray did manage to catch the rough sneeze in his hands, but he missed the next one. “heh’yESH!” He coughed, barky and hoarse, into a fist. “Ugh… ow.” 

Brad cringed, but felt a sympathetic twinge in his chest. What had started as a snotty head cold had turned into what sounded like a very stuffy chest cold, with a miserable-sounding croupy cough, probably due to the dust and sand that coated everything. It collected in little piles all around their tent, no matter how much they tried to keep it out. 

“How the hell did you manage to get a cold in the fucking desert?” 

“All of Bravo 3 has it,” Ray said morosely. “It was idevitable.” 

“If you give this plague to the rest of the platoon I will drive you out to the desert and leave you there to die of exposure.”

“Please do.” Ray slid down into his sleeping bag and rolled over, facing away from Brad.

To his own surprise, Brad found himself rubbing Ray’s back when he started to cough again.
___

The next morning, Brad woke to the sound of Ray coughing miserably into his sleeping bag, and 

“het’nxxgt!... chuh…”

Someone else sneezing. 

He pushed himself up on an elbow and looked across the narrow, crowded walkway to see Lt. Fick sitting up on his bedroll, firmly pinching his nose as he pitched forward over the charts in his lap. Judging by the headlamp, he’d been up for a bit.

“h’nnng-choo!” 

“Bless you,” someone nearby mumbled sleepily. 

“Braaaad,” Ray whined. 

Brad rubbed the bridge of his nose, where a headache was beginning to set in.

__

The LT was blowing his nose when Brad hunted him down after the team meeting. He wiped his nose and stuffed the tissue into his pocket as Brad approached.

“Sir, you didn’t mention when the maps are going to get here,” Brad said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. It wasn’t Fick’s fault.

“Udfortudately, I do dot have idtel od the sitrep of the baps,” he replied with a small, stuffy sniffle. “I will let the teab kdow as sood as…” he trailed off, eyebrows furrowing. Then he pinched his nose and turned away. “nnt! heh…” he glanced up at the midday sun, squinting. “het’ngxxt!... cheh…” he rubbed the side of his nose with a knuckle and sniffled again. “Excuse be… you should keep your distadce. I seeb to have caught the cold that’s beed goi’g arou’d.”

The admission took Brad by surprise. 

“nnngt–choo!” 

Brad winced. Such a forceful sneeze should probably not be contained like that.

“Excuse be,” Fick said again, this time keeping his hand hovering near his face. “I’ll see you arou’d…” 

Brad nodded, and watched as Fick’s shoulders trembled with yet another sneeze as he walked away. 
 

TBC

Edited April 12 by lillian
Disclaimer

[solitaire-au]

😘🥰💕

[lillian]

Part 2!

Ray was conspicuously absent at lunch. The chow tent seemed almost quiet without his rapid, hyper monologuing. As Brad looked down the table one last time, just in case by some wild chance his RTO had been quiet enough to sneak in, Fick caught his eye from the officers’ table. A few minutes later, as the Recon Marines did their usual dramatic group exit (“cocky motherfuckers” as Godfather had called them), Fick tapped him lightly on the arm. 

“Be advised,” he said quietly, either from hoarseness or an attempt at discretion, “Corporal Persod is excused for the day.” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell hib I hope he feels better.”

“I will, sir.” Brad nodded, and went to join his team, thinking about the small, fond smile on the LT’s face when he’d caught him looking for Ray. 

__

Ray was awake when Brad went to check on him later. He could hear him coughing from outside the tent. 

“I come bearing gifts,” Brad said, pushing the tent flap aside. He tossed a handful of rehydration packets at Ray. 

“Yay,” Ray croaked. “You eved got the strawberry odes! Why thadk you Brad!”

“Yeah, well, it's highly likely that you’re not maintaining adequate hydration.”

Brad settled down on his own bedroll, next to Ray. 

“The LT says to feel better.”

Ray ripped open one of the packs with his teeth and poured the powder into a water bottle. 

“He seebs alright, for ad officer. I was tryi’g to help Jeff a’d theb with their Hubvee but I was coughi’g up a storb a’d Fick cabe over to tell be to go back to bed.”

“Thoughtful of him, especially since you definitely got him sick too.”

Ray looked up. “Aw, da'b. Really?” His eyebrows furrowed. 

Brad rolled his eyes as Ray started to cough again. 

“Yes, you are an unsurprisingly proficient plague vector.” 

“hh… hehh…. h’esSCHH!”

“Case in point.”

“eh’SHHHewww!”

“We need to start drills on how to properly cover your mouth.”

“exxtschhh!” Ray looked at Brad over his cupped hands, dark eyes shiny with tears. Brad sighed. Ray always managed to get him with that look.

“What?”

“Doe “bless you?”” 

“No, Ray, you are beyond benediction.” Brad said dryly, beginning to get up. 

“Wait–”

Brad raised an eyebrow.

“Ared’t you afraid of getti'g this? Why’re you still budki’g dext to be?”

To make you drink water. To keep you company. To watch over you.

Brad got to his feet. 

"Okay, I get it." Ray rolled his eyes. “Icebad doesd’t catch colds.”

Brad shot him a winning smile as he left the tent.
___

Or does he...? TBC?

Edited March 24 by lillian
making brad less ooc

[solitaire-au]

But of course he does! No one is invincible, not even the Iceman! 😈 

[lillian]

On 3/24/2024 at 3:16 PM, solitaire-au said:

But of course he does! No one is invincible, not even the Iceman! 😈 

Ohhh but it's gonna take him a bit to realise that...

This part is another +plot -sneeze but I promise I will make that up to y'all. Brad's just a real slow-burn, okay? He's dense.

Am I overdoing Walt’s (Hasser) southern accent? Yes. Am I ashamed? No. He is southern sunshine personified. I'm from the south and I'm allowed to do this.

I’m also having fun with writing Brad as a major geek. I credit the fanfic community for the headcanon that he is Efficient & Particular (read: anal-retentive and oblivious). Perhaps those familiar with some of my older work will recognize another character bleeding in.. (hint: he has three dogs, an Italian boyfriend, and an Awesome older brother). 

I also headcanon Nate as photic because every time the sun hits his face he gets this adorable little squint and his eyes are so red the whole time and he just doesn’t look like he should be out in the sun...

Also I have not abandoned my other story! I'm writing like three things at the same time. Thank you for all of your support and comments! I know this is a niche fandom and I appreciate y'all for taking the jump and enjoying these amazing characters with me. 

In this chapter: Iceman is oblivious yet perceptive, Walt Hasser is here and he's a ray of sunshine, folks.

—

The nagging headache that had begun at dawn had slowly increased over the course of the day. His throat was perpetually dry from the heat and the wind and the dust, but it had begun to feel raw and scratchy. Brad just kept up with his hydration and resolved to avoid any unnecessary speaking until it sorted itself out. 

Ray’s absence was taking a toll on the war-prep’s overall rate of productivity. Brad was glad he was allowed to get some rest, both for his health and for Brad’s own patience (a sick Ray was a very taxing Ray), but his speed and mechanical skill were the reason they’d been able to turn a barely-running hunk of metal into a decently-outfitted vehicle in under two weeks. 

Brad re-rolled the cammie nets for the sixth time. The only logical place to put them was along the rim of the roof, but they kept getting caught in the doors. It was necessary to move them out of the way any time you needed to enter or exit the vehicle. He knew this was not the most pressing thing to devote his energy to (that would be the odd sound coming from somewhere underneath the alternator), but without Ray he felt a little stuck. 

He rubbed his nose, adding another streak of grease. It had been itching - in kind of a ticklish, over-sensitive way - all afternoon. Brad had never had allergies before, but he supposed they could happen to anyone. If the problem became too distracting, he could always go find Doc. He sniffled again and wiped his nose on his shoulder. 

“Sergeant Colbert?” 

“Corporal Hasser,” he said, nodding in greeting. Hasser grinned, as if he hadn’t expected Brad to know his name. He was one of the young ones, maybe twenty or so, and from his soft southern drawl, fresh out of the middle of nowhere. 

“Me n’ Gabe were headed down to the PX at the Army camp and wanted to know if there’s anything we could pick up for Ray?” Hasser ran a hand through his blond hair, making it stand on end. “Him bein’ sick in bed an’ all,” he said, sniffling. 

A selfish part of Brad wanted to say that Ray would very much like several packs of batteries and to inquire as to the status of a certain custom-engineered turret shield that was supposed to have arrived three weeks ago, but the cloying bonds of human attachment compelled him instead to reply:

“A can of Beefaroni, a few packs of Copenhagen, and a book. Any book— he’s finished all of his and mine and he’s been reduced to re-reading firearms manuals.”

“Oh I know,” Hasser said cheerfully. “He’s been complainin.’” 

“No cigarettes until his cough’s better.”

“Roger that, sir!” His eager smile was broken when he had to turn away to muffle a surprisingly strong sneeze into his sleeve. “ESHMMmph!… ‘scuse be.”

“You should pick up some vitamin-c packets, too,” Brad said, a slight frown drawing a crease between his brows. He swallowed against the itch in his throat. 

“Yessir. Will do.”

As soon as Hasser disappeared into the garrison of tents, Brad allowed himself to cough. 

TBC...

Edited March 28 by lillian

[solitaire-au]

💗

I gather PX is the base/camp store where they buy things?

Is Copenhagen chewing tobacco?

Also, what are the approximate ages of all the characters?

[lillian]

59 minutes ago, solitaire-au said:

💗

I gather PX is the base/camp store where they buy things?

Is Copenhagen chewing tobacco?

Also, what are the approximate ages of all the characters?

Kind of? It’s said in the show that PX (post-exchange) can’t supply the entire platoon with things but I’m assuming they can use it like a commissary for small quantities. 

Copenhagen is chewing tobacco, or “dip”

Brad’s 28, Ray’s 22, Nate’s 25. Gunny Mike is the oldest at 35, and Trombley and Christeson are the youngest at 19.

@solitaire-au that's going from my memory from the book -- I think the actors were a bit older. Also I love sharing this story and these characters with you! Thank you so much for enjoying it with me!!

ALSO no one told me that the actor who plays Nate is the soldier in the Green Day musical? Was I just supposed to figure that out myself? 

Edited March 25 by lillian

[lillian]

Part 4!

In which Nate is a (sneezy) sweetheart. (Iceman’s next— who should take care of him?)

Nate trusted Colbert to look after his RTO, he did, but as platoon commander it was also his job to make sure his team would be well and ready to step off when General Mattis gave the order. 

Judging by the increase in sneezing and sniffling he’d been hearing in the tent, Ray had brought Bravo 3’s plague home. 

“’nxxt!” And apparently he wasn’t immune, as he’d felt compelled to reveal to Colbert from a sense of civic duty. “ng’xxtchh!” He paused outside the tent, waiting to see if he was going to sneeze again. He’d been sniffly yesterday and had gone to bed early, hoping to sleep it off, but he’d woken up sneezing at oh-four-hundred hours anyway. 

“heh…” Yep, he was going to sneeze again. Whether sick, allergic, or well, he was always subject to these frustrating little fits. 

“nnnt—choo!” Stifling probably wasn’t helping. “hep’gnnnt—choo!” But it was a habit he couldn’t drop. “heshheww!” Not intentionally, anyway. 

He sniffled and pushed the tent flap aside. Ray was curled on his side, apparently asleep, but popped his head up when Nate entered. 

“That you sdeezi’d outside?” He asked groggily. Apparently he was a light sleeper. 

“Sorry if I woke you.” 

“Dah, cad’t sleep.” He took a shaky breath and coughed, hoarse and chesty. 

Nate winced. “You dod’t sou’d like you’re feeli’g very well.” 

The coughing triggered a harsh “ASCHHmph!” Which he attempted to muffle into his sleeping bag. 

“God bless you,” Nate said, grabbing his box of tissues where he’d left it next to his pillow and offering it over. 

“Thadks.” 

Nate eyed him carefully, taking in his pale face and pink, irritated looking nose. He supposed he probably didn’t look much better. 

“I’b sorry I got you sick,” Ray said with a sniffle, lifting teary brown eyes to meet Nate’s. 

“It bight dot have beed you, pledty of people are sick right dow.” 

Ray shrugged and blew his nose. Nate found his lack of deference charming. 

“Do you deed adythi’g?”

“I’b good— Brad a’d Walt have been taki’g care of be.”

Nate nodded. “Good. I have to go to a beeti’g now, but I hope you feel better sood.”

Ray gave him a crooked smile. “You too, LT.”

As Nate stepped out into the sunlight, he felt the expected sting in his eyes but still wasn’t prepared for the rapid, urgent sneezes that followed. 

“hetch—heh’ESCHH! ha’EShh! hehh…ett’djshh! et-djSHHeww!”

“Bless you!” Came a croaky voice from inside the tent. 

“Thadk you!” Nate called back, his own voice cracking. 

He worried, yes, about colds and casualties and combat stress reactions, but he felt a little more at ease knowing he had a team that cared about each other. 
—

TBC

Edited March 26 by lillian

[lillian]

Extra: 

“McMurray’s got it, I know it,” Ray said, his voice a little clearer after blowing his nose. Walt, who was sporting a super red nose and was stuffy as hell, shook his head.

“Doh, Biffle’s godda get rookie of the year. Have you seed his stats?”

Ray sighed and leaned back against his pillow. “I hope we’re somewhere with a satellite tv for race season.”

“Do you thidk Brad’s godda let us talk about Dascar id the Hubvee? You dow how he is about coudtry busic.” 

“Fuck if I care. I’b entitled to watch cars go fast in a circle for hours on end. That’s why we’re here, right? To protect good old American pastimes.”

Walt grinned. 

“I know you’re not talking about Nascar,” came a cold, threatening voice.

Edited March 26 by lillian

[Catsgotyourtounge]

OMG LOVEEEED THIS!

[lillian]

1 hour ago, Catsgotyourtounge said:

OMG LOVEEEED THIS!

Yay! Thank you for the encouragement! Comments always help with the motivation! 

I’m working on the next part— I hope to finish this up today and get back to my main story. 

Who do we want to take care of Brad? Nate, Ray, or a combination (+Walt)? Who’s POV/voice do y'all like best? 
 

 

[lillian]

At long last, here it is. The Final Part. In this chapter: so much stifling. so much. 

__

“Have faith, gentlemen, General Mattis will get us into the action soon. I know there’s been rumors of a ceasefire, but the general is confident that we will see action before that happens.” Godfather smiled, eyes alight at the promise of medals and streamers.

Normally the bloodthirstiness would bother Nate. It didn’t make sense to him, the idea of seeking out dangerous situations. But orders were orders and he knew they’d soon see combat. There was a point, he was assured of this. There had to be a point. 

“h’mnxt! ngxt-chheh!” His nose stung where he pinched it. 

“Bless ya,” Mike murmured. 

“nxxgt!” Patterson looked over at him with raised eyebrows. God, he hated this. He sniffled against his dripping nose, reaching into his pocket to find something to wipe it with. “hep’mmph!” The tissue helped muffle it, somewhat. “mnxxgt! –chmmph!” 

He’d chosen a seat on a crate towards the back in the hopes that his symptoms would go unnoticed. 

Gunnery Sergeant Griego held up a hand. 

“Sir, what precautions should be taken to ensure that all personnel are in full combat readiness before we step off? Especially those in leadership positions.” 

Nate would be seething, if he weren’t so tired. But he was currently helpless. 

“hep’nxgt! ngxt! –chhhshh!” 

Mike squeezed his shoulder.

— 

Mike had been the first to notice, before Nate himself, even, the day before his cold settled in for real.

“You sound a little under the weather there, Nate,” he’d said, as soon as Nate greeted him with a husky “good morning.” 

Nate had swallowed and given an experimental sniffle. Sore throat and stuffy sinuses. He huffed a laugh, which made him cough a little. 

“How do you always know, Mike?”

“It’s my job.”

__

The tent lights were off and most of Bravo 2 had passed out by the time Ray heard Brad slip in and settle on his bedroll next to him. 

“Where you been?” He hissed in Brad’s direction, listening to the rustle of him hanging up his towel and getting into his sleeping bag. 

“You still haven’t learned how to whisper, Ray?” Brad’s voice was low and scratchy. “Why are you awake? I believe I told you to get some rest.”

“This stupid fucking cough.” He waited for the dig, but instead...

“gnt!” 

“Dude do you have like a chipmunk or something over there because –” 

“gxt!” 

No… 

“No fuckin’ way…” 

“hep’gnxt!” 

“Bless you, homes!” 

“Do not invoke the pity of that charlatan on my account, Ray.”

Brad was starting to sound a bit stuffy, his voice a little rougher than usual, but mostly he sounded so damn tired.

“Bradley Colbert.” Ray let a little bit of a warning slip into his voice. The answering silence egged him on. “I know you weren’t hiding under a Humvee in the motor pool nursing your cold until after everyone else was asleep.” Energized by his own lecture, he pushed himself up on an elbow. The outline of Brad, buried up to his nose in his sleeping bag, was just visible against the other shapes of the tent. “If you were rolling around in the sand in this weather–” 

Brad muttered something too croaky for Ray to catch.

“Huh?”

Brad cleared his throat. “Guard duty.” 

Um, Ray knew Brad’s schedule, thanks, and he so did not have guard duty tonight. He was about to call him on it when that urgent, squelchy sound came again. 

“gxxt!” 

“Dude, you gotta stop that. You’ll tear up your sinuses and shit.”

“Sobe of us codsider those… hng’xxt! those arou’d us.”

__

“Well I sure as hell ain’t enjoying listening to you smother yourself to death.”

“I’b dot – hnng’tch!”

“Seriously. Bless you.”

Nate pulled a tissue from the box beside his pillow to wipe his nose, unable to keep from overhearing. Brad had a lot to say about Ray’s inability to whisper, but he wasn’t excellent at it himself. 

“Of all the arcande and indande ways of providi’g cobfort–”

“Okay, okay. No sky daddy. I hear ya.” Ray’s voice had suddenly lost the teasing edge. Nate was wondering what caused it when–
“Headache, huh?” 

“Like the edtirety of your ndatal whiskey ta'go trailer park is tweaki’g out id there, shitty pop hits a'd all.”

“Brad, I think you might be delirious.”

A few quiet minutes passed. Nate thought they’d fallen asleep when Brad spoke, hoarse and congested.

“How do you always kdow?”

“‘s my job, homes.”

Nate smiled into his pillow and finally drifted off to sleep. At least Ray would always be there when the Iceman cracked.
 

_FIN_

Edited April 13 by lillian

[lillian]

Bonus!

They were both almost over their colds, Brad still a little worse off than Nate, when General Mattis finally issued the warning order. In the scurry of getting maps, celebrating over pizza, and breaking down all their possessions into their barely-ready vehicles, Nate found a moment to check in with his Team Leader. He was in the turret of his Humvee, making a last-minute adjustment to the Mark-19. Suddenly, he ducked sharply to the side. 

“Hh’RSHHHOO!”

“Finally!” Nate heard Ray yell from across the yard. “Goddamn, Brad!”

Nate held back his near-automatic blessing, instead allowing himself to grin up at Brad. 

“Better now?” He teased, bracing himself.

“Much,” Brad said, with a very small smile of his own.

now FIN

[solitaire-au]

😵🥰💗

I loved how Brad and Nate were trying to hide their colds, but Ray and Mike know them too well and are looking out for them. And Brad finally sneezing openly at the end! ❤️

[lillian]

On 4/12/2024 at 2:32 PM, solitaire-au said:

😵🥰💗

I loved how Brad and Nate were trying to hide their colds, but Ray and Mike know them too well and are looking out for them. And Brad finally sneezing openly at the end! ❤️

it takes a village ❤️ 

poor brad is so repressed. i had to give him at least one! I'm glad you enjoyed it!