Fic | GK | This Just In
Generation Kill | Brad/Nate | PG13
The call comes at 8:47 a.m., minutes after Brad's team has finished the morning debrief.
The city police are the first on the scene, an unfortunate patrol having witnessed the incident almost from the start, and they are scared shitless of high-ranking casualties and worse publicity on top of the usual bad one. They can't get HRT to come in fast enough.
In the car they get the specifics. Senator Fick had been crossing over the square with a take away from his favorite coffee house en-route to his office; now he is held at gunpoint at the empty plaza, panicked civilians gawking on the scene from behind the barricade tape, some of them crying in simple hysterics, some in premature grief for their beloved senator, a darling of the whole city almost spanning party lines since his impressive rise to the senate at the near unprecedented age of 28 the year before.
Brad's heard a few of the senator's speeches, mostly on television, a couple of times when he's happened to be at a function they've had Fick on. He thinks that, for a politician, Fick is rather solid, intelligent and down-to-earth. If he's completely honest with himself, he thinks Fick's the best thing to have happened to the city in a long damn time.
He'll be damned if his team allows anyone to have any reason to grieve this morning.
The police still haven't finished digging their heads out of their asses when Brad arrives in the middle of the chaotic clusterfuck with his men. Intel is a wet dream at this point; they don't know who the guy is, not his agenda. He hasn't responded to the initial negotiation attempts; far as the good detective now giving over control of the operations to HRT can tell, the subject is intent on homicide and possibly a lot of media coverage. Brad takes a look at the man pushing the revolver into the thin skin of Fick's neck and wishes they had the snipers in position already.
The attacker looks unremarkable, like they so often do, the only thing setting him apart from any ordinary sacless 9-to-5 loser the enraged grimace on his face; that, and the .38 with which he's threatening someone who Person often jokingly calls "Brad's Favorite Civilian" and, sometimes when he's being particular obnoxious, "Brad's Big Crush".
Brad is all about buying a little time and giving Espera the go-ahead as soon as he hears Tony's got the shot, but then he happens to glance at senator Fick's face, which he has been trying to avoid doing.
Fick's lips are moving. He looks calm, and collected, and he's fucking talking to the crazy fucker who's crushing his wind pipe with his arm and pointing a gun at his head.
They're far enough that Brad can't make out the words, and the distance's a bit much for lip-reading as well, but he can almost guess what the senator is saying just from the earnest expression; likely as not, he's telling the lunatic that it's okay, everything can be worked out, communication is the key and a lot more bullshit in the same vein-
And then suddenly the man, the unremarkable, insane would-be-murderer that Brad would really like to get his hands on alone in an interrogation room with the recording switched off, is suddenly crumpled in the ground, his arm twisted behind his back and his own revolver pointed to the back of his head as senator fucking Fick forcibly presses him down, still with the same calm expression on his face.
Brad is running before he knows it, wholly against protocol with questions and warnings exploding back and forth on the radios, but unable to wait, to believe the situation is actually over, that things couldn't change again in a flash, that the muzzle of the damn gun couldn't just as easily change directions back.
He comes up on the other side of the perp; falls heavily, a sharp knee in the back ensuring the man stays prone on the concrete, and almost shoves Fick to the side as he pulls the bastard's arms backwards and slaps the cuffs on him.
"Thank you, but the situation was well in hand," Fick's dry voice penetrates the haze of adrenaline that Brad's only now acknowledging when it seems things are, in fact, okay.
"What the fuck," Brad says, "what the fuck, senator, you have a fucking death wish?"
Fick seems taken aback for a second, and then the motherfucker starts to laugh, tipping forward like it's the best damn thing he's heard all week. It goes on for a while. Long enough for Brad's team to jog up to them and take Bastard Shithead away. Person's got a shit-eating grin splitting his face in half as he looks from Brad to senator Fick. He keeps sneaking glances back at them all the way, even flashing a thumbs-up that is as far from surreptitious as it's possible to get. Brad's jaw is working.
"Appreciate the concern," Fick says finally when they're alone again for the moment, obviously still amused, "but I was in the Marines before I decided to become a liberal pussy politician; I can take care of myself. I'm only sorry this had time to escalate into such a circus. Admittedly, the way your team's intimidating presence distracted him made it a lot easier."
Brad… doesn't have words for how much his day is beginning to remind the twilight zone. He wants to wring Fick's pretty little neck. Then again, he also sort of wants to haul the senator close by his perfectly ironed shirt and kiss the hell out of him.
"You seemed to be doing fine with the distracting on your own," he grumbles. "What were you saying to Bastard Shithead anyway?"
"That a new fancy code for John Doe?" Fick grins, looking gorgeous and very much not like your average politician.
Brad swallows. "No, just my personal, pissed-off code for morons who go after politicians I think might actually do some good in this country."
"Don't forget to mention," an infernal nasal drone pipes up as Ray bounds back up to them, "politicians who look so fucking fi~ine that they make the Iceman himself want to attend political functions."
Brad is going to kill Ray. He really is.
Ray sidesteps the swat Brad sends at his head, grabs Fick's hand and pumps it enthusiastically. "Ray Person, HRT, pleased to be of service - for once. Not that you needed our services, but maybe Brad here can offer some other-"
"I'm really sorry about this," Brad interrupts, his hand on Ray's face muting the demon disguised as his team member only slightly as he starts inching Ray away from Fick, whose full lips are stretched in a grin so wide and tempting it's seriously fucking with Brad's ability to think. "I'll just help him look for his misplaced meds, the ones for hyperactivity, not the ass-backward retardedness for which there is no cure-"
"Hey," Fick says, catching Brad's eye and slowing his less-than-subtle retreat, "hey, Brad, right?"
"Brad Colbert, senator."
"Nate is fine," he says. And keeps smiling in a way he really, absolutely shouldn't. "Buy you a cup of coffee some time? As thanks."
"Thanks for what? You had the situation in hand," Brad hears himself saying, because sometimes he's a fucking idiot. Ray apparently agrees, if the hard kick in Brad's shin is any indication.
Senator-Nate lifts one shoulder, suddenly supposedly all demure even though he's still grinning. "For being a good distraction for Bastard Shithead?" He quips.
"Yeah," Brad says after a pause that isn't really a pause since it lasts about a fraction of a second, "yeah, okay. I can live with that."
Nate's grin blooms into something even more delicious, and Brad finds the side of his mouth twisting up in answer.
Next to them, Ray is whooping and possibly exclaiming "get some!", but they find him easy enough to ignore.
The call comes at 8:47 a.m., minutes after Brad's team has finished the morning debrief.
The city police are the first on the scene, an unfortunate patrol having witnessed the incident almost from the start, and they are scared shitless of high-ranking casualties and worse publicity on top of the usual bad one. They can't get HRT to come in fast enough.
In the car they get the specifics. Senator Fick had been crossing over the square with a take away from his favorite coffee house en-route to his office; now he is held at gunpoint at the empty plaza, panicked civilians gawking on the scene from behind the barricade tape, some of them crying in simple hysterics, some in premature grief for their beloved senator, a darling of the whole city almost spanning party lines since his impressive rise to the senate at the near unprecedented age of 28 the year before.
Brad's heard a few of the senator's speeches, mostly on television, a couple of times when he's happened to be at a function they've had Fick on. He thinks that, for a politician, Fick is rather solid, intelligent and down-to-earth. If he's completely honest with himself, he thinks Fick's the best thing to have happened to the city in a long damn time.
He'll be damned if his team allows anyone to have any reason to grieve this morning.
The police still haven't finished digging their heads out of their asses when Brad arrives in the middle of the chaotic clusterfuck with his men. Intel is a wet dream at this point; they don't know who the guy is, not his agenda. He hasn't responded to the initial negotiation attempts; far as the good detective now giving over control of the operations to HRT can tell, the subject is intent on homicide and possibly a lot of media coverage. Brad takes a look at the man pushing the revolver into the thin skin of Fick's neck and wishes they had the snipers in position already.
The attacker looks unremarkable, like they so often do, the only thing setting him apart from any ordinary sacless 9-to-5 loser the enraged grimace on his face; that, and the .38 with which he's threatening someone who Person often jokingly calls "Brad's Favorite Civilian" and, sometimes when he's being particular obnoxious, "Brad's Big Crush".
Brad is all about buying a little time and giving Espera the go-ahead as soon as he hears Tony's got the shot, but then he happens to glance at senator Fick's face, which he has been trying to avoid doing.
Fick's lips are moving. He looks calm, and collected, and he's fucking talking to the crazy fucker who's crushing his wind pipe with his arm and pointing a gun at his head.
They're far enough that Brad can't make out the words, and the distance's a bit much for lip-reading as well, but he can almost guess what the senator is saying just from the earnest expression; likely as not, he's telling the lunatic that it's okay, everything can be worked out, communication is the key and a lot more bullshit in the same vein-
And then suddenly the man, the unremarkable, insane would-be-murderer that Brad would really like to get his hands on alone in an interrogation room with the recording switched off, is suddenly crumpled in the ground, his arm twisted behind his back and his own revolver pointed to the back of his head as senator fucking Fick forcibly presses him down, still with the same calm expression on his face.
Brad is running before he knows it, wholly against protocol with questions and warnings exploding back and forth on the radios, but unable to wait, to believe the situation is actually over, that things couldn't change again in a flash, that the muzzle of the damn gun couldn't just as easily change directions back.
He comes up on the other side of the perp; falls heavily, a sharp knee in the back ensuring the man stays prone on the concrete, and almost shoves Fick to the side as he pulls the bastard's arms backwards and slaps the cuffs on him.
"Thank you, but the situation was well in hand," Fick's dry voice penetrates the haze of adrenaline that Brad's only now acknowledging when it seems things are, in fact, okay.
"What the fuck," Brad says, "what the fuck, senator, you have a fucking death wish?"
Fick seems taken aback for a second, and then the motherfucker starts to laugh, tipping forward like it's the best damn thing he's heard all week. It goes on for a while. Long enough for Brad's team to jog up to them and take Bastard Shithead away. Person's got a shit-eating grin splitting his face in half as he looks from Brad to senator Fick. He keeps sneaking glances back at them all the way, even flashing a thumbs-up that is as far from surreptitious as it's possible to get. Brad's jaw is working.
"Appreciate the concern," Fick says finally when they're alone again for the moment, obviously still amused, "but I was in the Marines before I decided to become a liberal pussy politician; I can take care of myself. I'm only sorry this had time to escalate into such a circus. Admittedly, the way your team's intimidating presence distracted him made it a lot easier."
Brad… doesn't have words for how much his day is beginning to remind the twilight zone. He wants to wring Fick's pretty little neck. Then again, he also sort of wants to haul the senator close by his perfectly ironed shirt and kiss the hell out of him.
"You seemed to be doing fine with the distracting on your own," he grumbles. "What were you saying to Bastard Shithead anyway?"
"That a new fancy code for John Doe?" Fick grins, looking gorgeous and very much not like your average politician.
Brad swallows. "No, just my personal, pissed-off code for morons who go after politicians I think might actually do some good in this country."
"Don't forget to mention," an infernal nasal drone pipes up as Ray bounds back up to them, "politicians who look so fucking fi~ine that they make the Iceman himself want to attend political functions."
Brad is going to kill Ray. He really is.
Ray sidesteps the swat Brad sends at his head, grabs Fick's hand and pumps it enthusiastically. "Ray Person, HRT, pleased to be of service - for once. Not that you needed our services, but maybe Brad here can offer some other-"
"I'm really sorry about this," Brad interrupts, his hand on Ray's face muting the demon disguised as his team member only slightly as he starts inching Ray away from Fick, whose full lips are stretched in a grin so wide and tempting it's seriously fucking with Brad's ability to think. "I'll just help him look for his misplaced meds, the ones for hyperactivity, not the ass-backward retardedness for which there is no cure-"
"Hey," Fick says, catching Brad's eye and slowing his less-than-subtle retreat, "hey, Brad, right?"
"Brad Colbert, senator."
"Nate is fine," he says. And keeps smiling in a way he really, absolutely shouldn't. "Buy you a cup of coffee some time? As thanks."
"Thanks for what? You had the situation in hand," Brad hears himself saying, because sometimes he's a fucking idiot. Ray apparently agrees, if the hard kick in Brad's shin is any indication.
Senator-Nate lifts one shoulder, suddenly supposedly all demure even though he's still grinning. "For being a good distraction for Bastard Shithead?" He quips.
"Yeah," Brad says after a pause that isn't really a pause since it lasts about a fraction of a second, "yeah, okay. I can live with that."
Nate's grin blooms into something even more delicious, and Brad finds the side of his mouth twisting up in answer.
Next to them, Ray is whooping and possibly exclaiming "get some!", but they find him easy enough to ignore.