musesandlyrics | 5.16. Pride and Glory quote
5.16. "Your brother is in a bad hour here and the only way through this is you."
Pride and Glory
Co-written with tacticalmind
There was a light snow laying that morning from a fall the night before. It was cold, but nothing that Mike couldn't handle. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them, shaking some snow off his heavy booty as he watched the familiar-looking Army building that Rob had disappeared into a good hour ago. This was Mike's first time at Fort Hamilton, but he had basically made it impossible for Rob to refuse to let him come along for moral support. Out of respect, Mike was in uniform, even if he wasn't technically here in an official capacity like his friend was. Rob, adorned in a similar uniform but of Sergeant ranking, was here to hear of his service fate, the day finally coming for his medical specialists to meet minds with his commanding officers to decide whether he could be fit to return to service any time soon. Leila wouldn't have been allowed in this part of the brig, so Mike became a hemorrhoid and didn't take no for an answer when Rob said he was fine to come to the meeting alone. On the outside, he had seemed fine, albeit reserved. He didn't say much, though, and didn't make much eye contact either. Mike knew this meant Rob was worried and nervous inside, just trying not to make a big deal out of it. Who wouldn't be nervous or worried? Everything he had worked for and achieved could be on the chopping block, especially when Rob himself knew he still wasn't right after the trauma in Afghanistan.
It wasn't long before Rob exited the main building and came storming across the court yard, a deep-set frown on his features. His foot falls were heavy in the snow, and seemed to be only glancing up to make sure he didn't plough into anyone. Mikes pushed away from the wall he had been leaning against and met Rob about half way across the court yard, easily falling into step beside him and looking at his face anxiously. "Well, what'd they say? Ya' headin' back?" It was probably a stupid question. Physically, Rob still had some minor ailments. He wouldn't be allowed back just, but surely it couldn't be that far off?
Rob didn't answer and just kept walking. He barely even noticed how cold it was. There was an angry heat burning in his face, and he just wanted to get off the base as quickly as he could. He had a firm grip on a bundle of papers in his hand and he knew if he spoke immediately, he would probably say something he would regret, even if he would just be unfairly projecting his emotions onto his friend.
Mike's forehead creased and his eyes narrows slightly in thought. He kept at the same pace as Rob, staying beside him as they headed back towards Rob's car. "Wanna talk 'bout it?" he murmured.
There was no hesitation. "Nope," Rob answered shortly, eyes still trained directly ahead of him and there was no hesitation in his heavy strides.
"Wanna go get drunk?" Mike offered.
Another slight, succinct nod from Rob. He pushed past some people at the exit, uncharacteristically not even apologising when he bumped into them. "Yeah."
* * * *
Mike initially considered taking Rob to The Bondi for the booze up, but thought twice about it. This wasn't a scenario that called for a trendy, busy bar. It definitely wasn't a scenario that called for Rob getting trashed in front of his cousin-in-law. In fact, Mike figured it was best they go somewhere where there was the least chance of running into anyone they knew. Rob respected Leila's family, Mike knew he wouldn't want any of them to see him in the state he was about to potentially get himself into. Happy celebratory drunk was one thing, depressed sorrow-drowning angry drunk was a whole different story, and Mike had seen Rob in both states. Instead, after the car was left back at Rob and Leila's, Mike found a seedy, mostly-deserted pub in a back street that was in walking distance to home. He didn't want to have to pay for valeted if Rob hurled all over the back of a cab. As it was, Mike ended up tossing more than a few back himself and it didn't take long for them to both be drunk, Rob had just headed straight into doubles while Mike stuck safely to singles. He didn't want Leila to kill him for bringing Rob home dead.
Rob gestured messily with his glass and the amber liquor sloshed over the side on the glass and onto his hand. "Sis'months..." he slurred with a snort. "Fuckin' sis'months, man! Fuckin' unfit f'fuckin' s'vice f'sis fuckin' months!" he growled with emphasis and took another sharp gulp from the glass, licking the spilt booze from his hand after it. "'least," he added, looking down at the bar woozily.
"Sucks, dude," Mike agreed with a nod. "Can ya' go back then? Six months, back t'the sand pit?" He waved the barman down for another round, the guy having absolutely no issue serving drunk people like some of the more trendy places would. Clearly boozed up blokes were his biggest customers, if the patrons littered around the pub were anything to go by, some of which were unconscious and face down on the bar.
"Fucked if I fuckin' know," was Rob's dismissive answer as he tried to unsuccessfully fish an ice cube out of his glass, chasing it uncoordinatedly around the edge. "Jus' gave me sis'months t'shut me the fuck up, ya' know? Ain't gonna decide nothin'. Fuckin' too at risk of gettin' diseased without a fuckin' spleen. M'still too fucked in th'head. Fuckin' shrink thinks I'll be a fuckin' danger. Me! A fuckin' danger! M'a fuckin' sniper, dude! M'always a fuckin' a danger!" The ice cube flicked out of the glass and bounced across the bar and fell over the otherside. Rob watched the place it disappeared from forlornly, as if it was a deep tragedy he had just lost the ice cube.
Mike nodded, even if he wasn't sure what he was agreeing to anymore. Rob was talking, that was a start. Well, he was sort of talking, if you could pluck the rational comments out between the slurring and the expletives. "Jus' coverin' their asses, dude. They gotta, ya' know. Ya' get out there an' get killed, it's on their heads," he tried to reason. He placed an order with the barman for another round and got out his wallet to pay.
"An' offered me a fuckin' trainin' place. Can ya' sherioishly fuckin' see me as a Drill Sergeant?" Rob snorted, shaking his head as he threw back the last few drops of his drink. "Ain't gonna happen. M'a fuckin' fighter! I do m'fuckin' thing out there, ya' know? In th'fuckin' heat an' disease an' fuckin' blood an' fuckin' bombs an' dead fuckin' friends! Lyin' in ya' own piss an' fuckin' vomit... shootin' an' survivin'. Tha's what I do, dude! I do that!" he insisted with a groggy nod, pointing to himself. "S'me. M'done for. S'over. Fuckin' damaged, like we all try t'damn well never happen 'cause ya' just know ya' only a friggen number. Useless if ya' fucked. Ain't no fuckin' place f'wounded soldiers. Ya' get more respect when ya' get ya' fuckin' head blown off! Ya' fuckin' wife even gets a friggen flag! A flag!" He saluted Mike succinctly. "Sorry, we blew ya' fuckin' husband up, have a fuckin' flag!"
Mike placed an order with the barman for another round and got out his wallet to pay. He knew Rob was primed, and he had every right to be. Mike couldn't actually disagree with anything coming out of Rob's mouth. He just couldn't directly understand the front line fighting. It had never been his job, nor had he ever been injured in-service. "Yeah, I could see ya' as a Drill Sergeant with that mouth, dude," he joked. The only way to deal with pain like this was humour. Rob was trying to grieve the best way he could, trying to process that his life as a frontline soldier could well be over with.
Rob gave Mike's hand a nudge and tried to get his own wallet out of his pocket as he got up off the bar stool and stumbled, crashing into the unconscious guy sitting beside him. Rob just smacked the guys back and leaned over him, yelling, his brain not connecting that the guy was passed out and not deaf. "Sorry, dude! Buya round, k?" He waved at the barman, still trying to yank his wallet from the back pocket of his camo pants. "Hey... hey... mate... dude... man. Gotta buy th'dude a drink, and I wanna bottle. Wh'tever ya' got." He squinted behind the bar at the rows of booze, trying to see what was there, swaying woozily and hiccuping as he tried to decide. "Ah fuckit, jus'... jus' gimme scotch, biggest an' strongest ya' got. Got cash. See?" He finally got the wallet out and peeled it open, revealing a large wad of cash before he snorted with a drunken laugh. "Got blown'up. Fuckin' pay ya' good if ya' get blown up. Fuckin' loaded, I am," he said arrogantly, but had to lean on the bar so he didn't fall over.
Mike scratched at the back of his head wryly and then closed his hand over Rob's wallet, shooting the barman a warning look that he really didn't want to try anything on with a couple of soldiers, boozed up or not. Rob was too drunk to realise flashing his cash in a place like this was risky. "Jus' give us the bottle, pal," he requested and handed over enough of the cash that would cover it, but held onto Rob's wallet himself for safekeeping. He downed the last of his own drink, and paid the guy a generous tip just to be on the safe side.
It was an easy enough transaction, and once Rob had the bottle in his clutches, it seemed he had decided it was time to leave. "Gonna get laid. By my wife!" he declared as he wove his way out of the pub in a few messy stumbles, nearly castrating himself on one of the tables and barely even noticing. He was giggling by the time they exited the crappy pub and threw his arms up in the air. "I LOVE LEILA JACKSON!" He turned to Mike, pointing at him with the bottle of scotch, smirking at his friend. "S'all her, ya' know. All of it. She's my angel, sh'was there with me. I was dyin', but sh'saved me. Got fuckin' awesome tits, man. S'soft an' warm..." He trailed off and took a swing from the bottle, turning to start the walk home. "Might b'fuckin' fucked in th'head, but my cock still fuckin' works," he said determinedly. He didn't have the capacity to consider that the condition he was in would be a huge turn-off and Leila would be nuts to fuck him in this state.
Mike was smirking again in response, and gently nudge Rob in the other direction. It would help if they walked the right way home. This was also more evidence why not going to Luke's bar was a sound idea. The things coming out of Rob's mouth weren't for the faint-hearted, and while Luke probably would have understandably tolerated the misery about getting blown up and being damaged, Mike didn't think declarations about Leila's tits would go down as well. He also knew trying to get the bottle off Rob was pointless. Rob was a strong bastard and he would probably knock Mike down in an effort to keep the booze in his possession. "So, what happens now?" he asked, slurring a little himself. He had no clue how much of this he would remember in the morning, and he knew he was already headed for a hell of a hangover, may as well make the night worth it. He briefly took the bottle off Rob to have his own swing and then tucked it back into Rob's hand, pressing his lips together as the strong, straight liquor burned his throat going down.
Rob threw his arm around Mike's shoulders and held the bottle up like some sort of trophey. It was lucky Mike was a tall, well-built guy because Rob suddenly needed him as a crutch when his own feet tried to fail him. "Ya' a good mate, mate. Fuckin' best ever. Ya' awesome and I love ya'," he slurred and then gave Mike a hug, becoming weepy. "Love ya', man." He repeated. "Ya' a fuckin' dick for givin' that chick... Raylene... Ramen? Whathefuckever. Tha'chick! Ya' a dick for givin' her the flick, but I fuckin' love ya'! Like a fuckin' brother. Would die f'ya', dude." His arm was still around Mike's shoulders when he took another swig of the scotch as they made their way slowly back to wherever it was they were supposed to be going. "The roooooad is loooooooooooooooooong! With many a winding turrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrn! That leads us to who knows whereeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Who knows wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!" He paused in the off-key, loud and slurred singing to swallow down more booze. "But I'm stroooooooooooong! Strong enough to carrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-rry him! He ain't heavy, he's my brotherrrrrrrrrrr!"
Mike laughed, shaking his head in amusement. Singing. Rob's point of no return. "Likewise, man," he said quietly, even though he knew Rob wouldn't hear him, and held firmly onto Rob's arm so he wouldn't fall. "Ain't heavy at all."
Word Count | 2,338
Pride and Glory
Co-written with tacticalmind
There was a light snow laying that morning from a fall the night before. It was cold, but nothing that Mike couldn't handle. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them, shaking some snow off his heavy booty as he watched the familiar-looking Army building that Rob had disappeared into a good hour ago. This was Mike's first time at Fort Hamilton, but he had basically made it impossible for Rob to refuse to let him come along for moral support. Out of respect, Mike was in uniform, even if he wasn't technically here in an official capacity like his friend was. Rob, adorned in a similar uniform but of Sergeant ranking, was here to hear of his service fate, the day finally coming for his medical specialists to meet minds with his commanding officers to decide whether he could be fit to return to service any time soon. Leila wouldn't have been allowed in this part of the brig, so Mike became a hemorrhoid and didn't take no for an answer when Rob said he was fine to come to the meeting alone. On the outside, he had seemed fine, albeit reserved. He didn't say much, though, and didn't make much eye contact either. Mike knew this meant Rob was worried and nervous inside, just trying not to make a big deal out of it. Who wouldn't be nervous or worried? Everything he had worked for and achieved could be on the chopping block, especially when Rob himself knew he still wasn't right after the trauma in Afghanistan.
It wasn't long before Rob exited the main building and came storming across the court yard, a deep-set frown on his features. His foot falls were heavy in the snow, and seemed to be only glancing up to make sure he didn't plough into anyone. Mikes pushed away from the wall he had been leaning against and met Rob about half way across the court yard, easily falling into step beside him and looking at his face anxiously. "Well, what'd they say? Ya' headin' back?" It was probably a stupid question. Physically, Rob still had some minor ailments. He wouldn't be allowed back just, but surely it couldn't be that far off?
Rob didn't answer and just kept walking. He barely even noticed how cold it was. There was an angry heat burning in his face, and he just wanted to get off the base as quickly as he could. He had a firm grip on a bundle of papers in his hand and he knew if he spoke immediately, he would probably say something he would regret, even if he would just be unfairly projecting his emotions onto his friend.
Mike's forehead creased and his eyes narrows slightly in thought. He kept at the same pace as Rob, staying beside him as they headed back towards Rob's car. "Wanna talk 'bout it?" he murmured.
There was no hesitation. "Nope," Rob answered shortly, eyes still trained directly ahead of him and there was no hesitation in his heavy strides.
"Wanna go get drunk?" Mike offered.
Another slight, succinct nod from Rob. He pushed past some people at the exit, uncharacteristically not even apologising when he bumped into them. "Yeah."
* * * *
Mike initially considered taking Rob to The Bondi for the booze up, but thought twice about it. This wasn't a scenario that called for a trendy, busy bar. It definitely wasn't a scenario that called for Rob getting trashed in front of his cousin-in-law. In fact, Mike figured it was best they go somewhere where there was the least chance of running into anyone they knew. Rob respected Leila's family, Mike knew he wouldn't want any of them to see him in the state he was about to potentially get himself into. Happy celebratory drunk was one thing, depressed sorrow-drowning angry drunk was a whole different story, and Mike had seen Rob in both states. Instead, after the car was left back at Rob and Leila's, Mike found a seedy, mostly-deserted pub in a back street that was in walking distance to home. He didn't want to have to pay for valeted if Rob hurled all over the back of a cab. As it was, Mike ended up tossing more than a few back himself and it didn't take long for them to both be drunk, Rob had just headed straight into doubles while Mike stuck safely to singles. He didn't want Leila to kill him for bringing Rob home dead.
Rob gestured messily with his glass and the amber liquor sloshed over the side on the glass and onto his hand. "Sis'months..." he slurred with a snort. "Fuckin' sis'months, man! Fuckin' unfit f'fuckin' s'vice f'sis fuckin' months!" he growled with emphasis and took another sharp gulp from the glass, licking the spilt booze from his hand after it. "'least," he added, looking down at the bar woozily.
"Sucks, dude," Mike agreed with a nod. "Can ya' go back then? Six months, back t'the sand pit?" He waved the barman down for another round, the guy having absolutely no issue serving drunk people like some of the more trendy places would. Clearly boozed up blokes were his biggest customers, if the patrons littered around the pub were anything to go by, some of which were unconscious and face down on the bar.
"Fucked if I fuckin' know," was Rob's dismissive answer as he tried to unsuccessfully fish an ice cube out of his glass, chasing it uncoordinatedly around the edge. "Jus' gave me sis'months t'shut me the fuck up, ya' know? Ain't gonna decide nothin'. Fuckin' too at risk of gettin' diseased without a fuckin' spleen. M'still too fucked in th'head. Fuckin' shrink thinks I'll be a fuckin' danger. Me! A fuckin' danger! M'a fuckin' sniper, dude! M'always a fuckin' a danger!" The ice cube flicked out of the glass and bounced across the bar and fell over the otherside. Rob watched the place it disappeared from forlornly, as if it was a deep tragedy he had just lost the ice cube.
Mike nodded, even if he wasn't sure what he was agreeing to anymore. Rob was talking, that was a start. Well, he was sort of talking, if you could pluck the rational comments out between the slurring and the expletives. "Jus' coverin' their asses, dude. They gotta, ya' know. Ya' get out there an' get killed, it's on their heads," he tried to reason. He placed an order with the barman for another round and got out his wallet to pay.
"An' offered me a fuckin' trainin' place. Can ya' sherioishly fuckin' see me as a Drill Sergeant?" Rob snorted, shaking his head as he threw back the last few drops of his drink. "Ain't gonna happen. M'a fuckin' fighter! I do m'fuckin' thing out there, ya' know? In th'fuckin' heat an' disease an' fuckin' blood an' fuckin' bombs an' dead fuckin' friends! Lyin' in ya' own piss an' fuckin' vomit... shootin' an' survivin'. Tha's what I do, dude! I do that!" he insisted with a groggy nod, pointing to himself. "S'me. M'done for. S'over. Fuckin' damaged, like we all try t'damn well never happen 'cause ya' just know ya' only a friggen number. Useless if ya' fucked. Ain't no fuckin' place f'wounded soldiers. Ya' get more respect when ya' get ya' fuckin' head blown off! Ya' fuckin' wife even gets a friggen flag! A flag!" He saluted Mike succinctly. "Sorry, we blew ya' fuckin' husband up, have a fuckin' flag!"
Mike placed an order with the barman for another round and got out his wallet to pay. He knew Rob was primed, and he had every right to be. Mike couldn't actually disagree with anything coming out of Rob's mouth. He just couldn't directly understand the front line fighting. It had never been his job, nor had he ever been injured in-service. "Yeah, I could see ya' as a Drill Sergeant with that mouth, dude," he joked. The only way to deal with pain like this was humour. Rob was trying to grieve the best way he could, trying to process that his life as a frontline soldier could well be over with.
Rob gave Mike's hand a nudge and tried to get his own wallet out of his pocket as he got up off the bar stool and stumbled, crashing into the unconscious guy sitting beside him. Rob just smacked the guys back and leaned over him, yelling, his brain not connecting that the guy was passed out and not deaf. "Sorry, dude! Buya round, k?" He waved at the barman, still trying to yank his wallet from the back pocket of his camo pants. "Hey... hey... mate... dude... man. Gotta buy th'dude a drink, and I wanna bottle. Wh'tever ya' got." He squinted behind the bar at the rows of booze, trying to see what was there, swaying woozily and hiccuping as he tried to decide. "Ah fuckit, jus'... jus' gimme scotch, biggest an' strongest ya' got. Got cash. See?" He finally got the wallet out and peeled it open, revealing a large wad of cash before he snorted with a drunken laugh. "Got blown'up. Fuckin' pay ya' good if ya' get blown up. Fuckin' loaded, I am," he said arrogantly, but had to lean on the bar so he didn't fall over.
Mike scratched at the back of his head wryly and then closed his hand over Rob's wallet, shooting the barman a warning look that he really didn't want to try anything on with a couple of soldiers, boozed up or not. Rob was too drunk to realise flashing his cash in a place like this was risky. "Jus' give us the bottle, pal," he requested and handed over enough of the cash that would cover it, but held onto Rob's wallet himself for safekeeping. He downed the last of his own drink, and paid the guy a generous tip just to be on the safe side.
It was an easy enough transaction, and once Rob had the bottle in his clutches, it seemed he had decided it was time to leave. "Gonna get laid. By my wife!" he declared as he wove his way out of the pub in a few messy stumbles, nearly castrating himself on one of the tables and barely even noticing. He was giggling by the time they exited the crappy pub and threw his arms up in the air. "I LOVE LEILA JACKSON!" He turned to Mike, pointing at him with the bottle of scotch, smirking at his friend. "S'all her, ya' know. All of it. She's my angel, sh'was there with me. I was dyin', but sh'saved me. Got fuckin' awesome tits, man. S'soft an' warm..." He trailed off and took a swing from the bottle, turning to start the walk home. "Might b'fuckin' fucked in th'head, but my cock still fuckin' works," he said determinedly. He didn't have the capacity to consider that the condition he was in would be a huge turn-off and Leila would be nuts to fuck him in this state.
Mike was smirking again in response, and gently nudge Rob in the other direction. It would help if they walked the right way home. This was also more evidence why not going to Luke's bar was a sound idea. The things coming out of Rob's mouth weren't for the faint-hearted, and while Luke probably would have understandably tolerated the misery about getting blown up and being damaged, Mike didn't think declarations about Leila's tits would go down as well. He also knew trying to get the bottle off Rob was pointless. Rob was a strong bastard and he would probably knock Mike down in an effort to keep the booze in his possession. "So, what happens now?" he asked, slurring a little himself. He had no clue how much of this he would remember in the morning, and he knew he was already headed for a hell of a hangover, may as well make the night worth it. He briefly took the bottle off Rob to have his own swing and then tucked it back into Rob's hand, pressing his lips together as the strong, straight liquor burned his throat going down.
Rob threw his arm around Mike's shoulders and held the bottle up like some sort of trophey. It was lucky Mike was a tall, well-built guy because Rob suddenly needed him as a crutch when his own feet tried to fail him. "Ya' a good mate, mate. Fuckin' best ever. Ya' awesome and I love ya'," he slurred and then gave Mike a hug, becoming weepy. "Love ya', man." He repeated. "Ya' a fuckin' dick for givin' that chick... Raylene... Ramen? Whathefuckever. Tha'chick! Ya' a dick for givin' her the flick, but I fuckin' love ya'! Like a fuckin' brother. Would die f'ya', dude." His arm was still around Mike's shoulders when he took another swig of the scotch as they made their way slowly back to wherever it was they were supposed to be going. "The roooooad is loooooooooooooooooong! With many a winding turrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrn! That leads us to who knows whereeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Who knows wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!" He paused in the off-key, loud and slurred singing to swallow down more booze. "But I'm stroooooooooooong! Strong enough to carrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-rry him! He ain't heavy, he's my brotherrrrrrrrrrr!"
Mike laughed, shaking his head in amusement. Singing. Rob's point of no return. "Likewise, man," he said quietly, even though he knew Rob wouldn't hear him, and held firmly onto Rob's arm so he wouldn't fall. "Ain't heavy at all."
Word Count | 2,338