Marching Home
Title: Marching Home
Author: ladygray99
Chapter: 1/1
Rating: FRT
Pairing:Alan/Margaret/OMC
Summery: Alan knew a soldier boy.
Disclaimer: If it's good enough to sue over give me a writing job.
Warnings: slash, angst
Notes: This is was written for n3_challenge May Memorial challenge. It's a prequel/sequel/extension of a fic I wrote called Soldier Boys but you don't have to read it for this to make sense. It stands fine on it's own. For this story I'm taking a stand and saying that Don was born in '68. Would really like feedback on this one.
Beta: riverotter1951
Marching Home
December 1, 1969
Alan squeezed onto the small couch between Margaret and Charlie, little Donnie on Charlie's lap, fingers in his mouth. The national evening news flickered on the little cheap TV screen.
'...lottery held today in Washington. All men born on September 24th between 1944 and 1950 will be the first to receive their letters...'
Alan's head snapped around to Charlie. Vivid green eyes met his. Charlie gave a lopsided grin and ran a nervous hand through honey blond hair. "If mom had kept her legs together five more minutes I would have been born on the 25th."
~
Alan sat in the car and watched as young men passed through dirty glass doors on the other side of the street. He turned to Charlie. "You don't have to do this."
Charlie waved a piece of thin paper. "Actually, yes I do."
"I could make out with you while you wait. That should get you out of it. They don't want men like us in the Army."
Charlie laughed and ghosted a thumb across Alan's lips. "As much as I hate to deny myself the pleasure, I've got to do this."
"Why?" Alan snapped. They'd been arguing it for weeks. "So you can go and get killed in the middle of some jungle by people who can't even find L.A. on a map!"
"If my country says go, I'll go." Charlie said softly. Alan leaned his head on the steering wheel and sighed.
~
Alan couldn't sleep. He didn't want to sleep. He wanted to hold every moment of this. Margaret pressed warm against his back, Charlie against his front before he shipped off to basic in the morning.
Charlie opened his eyes, their faces only inches apart. "I'll be OK." He whispered.
Alan squeezed his eyes shut.
~
There was a knock on the door. Margaret answered, Donnie toddling behind.
"Hey there soldier boy." She greeted.
"Hey beautiful." Charlie said giving her a full kiss before scooping up Donnie. "Hey there kiddo, you're getting big." He spun Don around getting squeals of glee. "Hey." he said to Alan, standing in the hall.
"They cut your hair."
Charlie ran his hand over the short blond fuzz on his head. "Yeah, it kinda clashed with the soldier suit."
"I don't like it."
"I'll be sure to pass your opinion on to the Pentagon."
*clink*
*clink*
*clink*
*clink*
Charlie's tags swung over Alan's throat, clinking in time to the clock on the wall, in time to their breath as Charlie moved in him, on him, around him.
*clink*
"Tell them you can't go!" Alan shouted.
"I can't."
"Tell them you're a pacifist, tell them you sleep with men, tell them you have a son."
"You don't know that." Charlie said softly.
"Neither do you. He looks a hell of a lot like his mother but he doesn't look a damn thing like me."
Charlie closed his eyes and lowered his head. "I'll be home by Christmas, I promise."
"Don't." Alan snarled. "Do not promise me that. Do not make a promise you don't know you can keep."
Charlie cupped Alan's face and kissed him gently. "I'll come home to you. I'll come home to all of you."
*clink*
Alan refused to open the letter that had arrived two days after the telegram. It sat on the table by the door for years.
*clink*
The nurse handed Alan the small bundle wrapped in blue. A tiny face looked at him with black eyes that already seemed to spark with intelligence.
"Hello Charlie."
*clink*
April 30, 1975
'...and even as the sound of helicopter blades fill the air over Saigon we must take stock. How many dead? How many wounded? How many missing or prisoner that we will never know? How many widows? How many orphans?'
Donnie pulled on his father's leg. "Daddy, why are you crying?"
"I'll tell you when you're older."
*clink*
Don found the photo in the back of an old album, as he was looking for some baby photos to show Robin.
"Hey Dad, who's this?"
"An old friend."
The man with his arm around his father's shoulders was in uniform. "Army. Doesn't that lose you hippy cred?"
"No."
Don flipped the picture over. "Alan and Charles." He read.
"Everyone called him Charlie."
Not Forget
Author: ladygray99
Chapter: 1/1
Rating: FRT
Pairing:Alan/Margaret/OMC
Summery: Alan knew a soldier boy.
Disclaimer: If it's good enough to sue over give me a writing job.
Warnings: slash, angst
Notes: This is was written for n3_challenge May Memorial challenge. It's a prequel/sequel/extension of a fic I wrote called Soldier Boys but you don't have to read it for this to make sense. It stands fine on it's own. For this story I'm taking a stand and saying that Don was born in '68. Would really like feedback on this one.
Beta: riverotter1951
Marching Home
December 1, 1969
Alan squeezed onto the small couch between Margaret and Charlie, little Donnie on Charlie's lap, fingers in his mouth. The national evening news flickered on the little cheap TV screen.
'...lottery held today in Washington. All men born on September 24th between 1944 and 1950 will be the first to receive their letters...'
Alan's head snapped around to Charlie. Vivid green eyes met his. Charlie gave a lopsided grin and ran a nervous hand through honey blond hair. "If mom had kept her legs together five more minutes I would have been born on the 25th."
~
Alan sat in the car and watched as young men passed through dirty glass doors on the other side of the street. He turned to Charlie. "You don't have to do this."
Charlie waved a piece of thin paper. "Actually, yes I do."
"I could make out with you while you wait. That should get you out of it. They don't want men like us in the Army."
Charlie laughed and ghosted a thumb across Alan's lips. "As much as I hate to deny myself the pleasure, I've got to do this."
"Why?" Alan snapped. They'd been arguing it for weeks. "So you can go and get killed in the middle of some jungle by people who can't even find L.A. on a map!"
"If my country says go, I'll go." Charlie said softly. Alan leaned his head on the steering wheel and sighed.
~
Alan couldn't sleep. He didn't want to sleep. He wanted to hold every moment of this. Margaret pressed warm against his back, Charlie against his front before he shipped off to basic in the morning.
Charlie opened his eyes, their faces only inches apart. "I'll be OK." He whispered.
Alan squeezed his eyes shut.
~
There was a knock on the door. Margaret answered, Donnie toddling behind.
"Hey there soldier boy." She greeted.
"Hey beautiful." Charlie said giving her a full kiss before scooping up Donnie. "Hey there kiddo, you're getting big." He spun Don around getting squeals of glee. "Hey." he said to Alan, standing in the hall.
"They cut your hair."
Charlie ran his hand over the short blond fuzz on his head. "Yeah, it kinda clashed with the soldier suit."
"I don't like it."
"I'll be sure to pass your opinion on to the Pentagon."
*clink*
*clink*
*clink*
*clink*
Charlie's tags swung over Alan's throat, clinking in time to the clock on the wall, in time to their breath as Charlie moved in him, on him, around him.
*clink*
"Tell them you can't go!" Alan shouted.
"I can't."
"Tell them you're a pacifist, tell them you sleep with men, tell them you have a son."
"You don't know that." Charlie said softly.
"Neither do you. He looks a hell of a lot like his mother but he doesn't look a damn thing like me."
Charlie closed his eyes and lowered his head. "I'll be home by Christmas, I promise."
"Don't." Alan snarled. "Do not promise me that. Do not make a promise you don't know you can keep."
Charlie cupped Alan's face and kissed him gently. "I'll come home to you. I'll come home to all of you."
*clink*
Alan refused to open the letter that had arrived two days after the telegram. It sat on the table by the door for years.
*clink*
The nurse handed Alan the small bundle wrapped in blue. A tiny face looked at him with black eyes that already seemed to spark with intelligence.
"Hello Charlie."
*clink*
April 30, 1975
'...and even as the sound of helicopter blades fill the air over Saigon we must take stock. How many dead? How many wounded? How many missing or prisoner that we will never know? How many widows? How many orphans?'
Donnie pulled on his father's leg. "Daddy, why are you crying?"
"I'll tell you when you're older."
*clink*
Don found the photo in the back of an old album, as he was looking for some baby photos to show Robin.
"Hey Dad, who's this?"
"An old friend."
The man with his arm around his father's shoulders was in uniform. "Army. Doesn't that lose you hippy cred?"
"No."
Don flipped the picture over. "Alan and Charles." He read.
"Everyone called him Charlie."
Not Forget