GK Fic: Mr Frosty Part IV

[lunasky]

Allentown, PA

Brad didn't think he'd fallen asleep, but when the image of Ray in his mind morphed into a small, yappy dog who tried to piss on Godfather's leg, Brad started awake. The magazine had slipped to the floor and the sun was bright in the sky.

He checked his watch. It was noon.

"He's alive!" Ray squealed from the driver's seat. Walt was behind him at the computer station shooting zombies.

With a groan, Brad tried to go back to sleep, tried to focus back on Ray being a dog, but the dream slipped through his fingers like sand. Instead, his diffuse thoughts focused on their dick-suck of a situation.

"Where are we?"

"Well, we're waiting here in Allentown. For the Pennsylvania we never found..."

Brad held out a hand to stop him. "Ray."

"What? It's Billy Joel."

"What the fuck are we doing here?"

Ray passed him a plastic bag. Knowing he was probably going to regret it, Brad looked inside. Sure enough, there was an Allentown souvenir snow globe. Brad closed the bag and tossed it back to him.

"I thought I said no more snow globes," Brad said, staring at the already crowded dash.

Ray flashed him a grin. "I found an empty spot on the ice machine. And don't go getting your panties in a knot. I also bought double sided tape for proper mounting..."

Brad forced himself not to look in the back, not to check on Nate and see how he was doing. His head still felt like it was filled with cotton. He tried to focus on his train of thought before had Ray had turned into a Chihuahua.

"Where's Godfather right now?"

Ray shrugged, then got on the radio to HQ. After some back and forth, he hung up and turned back to Brad. "Meeting with the Boston police commissioner after lunch and then flying to Washington tonight."

"Good," Brad said, rubbing his face and then straightening up. He looked at the GPS on the dash and plotted the route back to Boston. "We're going back to Boston. Get us there ASAP."

"Iceman's got a plan?"

Brad swung around so that he could check out the situation in the back. Meesh was lying on the floor, drooling on his chest, and Nate was sitting on a crate of ammo, purposefully not looking at Brad. He must be completely exhausted, but Brad could find no hint of it on him. Brad ignored Nate and kicked Meesh's foot until he woke.

"Huh? What? What time is it, dude? Where the fuck are you taking me?"

Brad gave him a dry, meaningless smile. "Good question. Since it's beyond my pay grade to determine which one of you is lying, I'm taking you both to Godfather. And after explaining everything to him and his cronies, I'm going to leave both of you in his capable hands. And as much as I have issues with some of his decisions, I know one thing about Godfather. He doesn't tolerate traitors."

Meesh paled. "Now, look, Brad. You don't want to do anything rash. Godfather doesn't always approach these things in a cool and logical manner. Not like you. He doesn't wait to uncover the truth, he just acts. You don't want anything rash to happen to us, do you?"

Nate finally turned toward them. "Speak for yourself, Meesh. I'm not worried about what Godfather will say."

"Because you've got it made!" Meesh cried out. "But I don't have senators in my back pocket. He's going to cut off my balls because he can't touch you."

Brad's eyes were drawn to Nate, but Nate's jaw was set and righteous indignation poured out of him. Nate offered no explanation about senators or why he was untouchable.

"Maybe because I didn't do anything wrong," Nate said to Meesh.

"Look," Meesh said, getting up on his knees and pleading. "Just don't turn me in to Godfather. It wasn't my call. The CIA told me to make sure the Leon cartel felt they were being given solid intel from an inside source so they could use me to set up a raid. It's the fucking spooks. They want the glory for themselves."

"And you felt the need to give it to them?" Nate asked, lurching himself at Meesh. They both ended up sprawled on the floor as Nate tried to pin him with his shoulder. "You were willing to sacrifice us to appease some fucking egos?"

Immediately, Brad and Walt were on their feet, Brad grabbing Nate and hauling him off Meesh, while Walt pulled Meesh out of harm's way and aimed his side arm at his head.

"So this bullshit you were spinning about Nate," Brad said, putting the pieces together, "is stuff you planted?"

Meesh didn't say anything and Nate tried to attack him again.

"Nate, calm down," Brad said as Nate fought against him. Nate eventually stilled, but he was anything but calm. His whole body was tight with tension. When Brad was sure Nate wouldn't jerk away, he reached for his knife only to realize he'd left it impaled on the roof of Meesh's car. Fuck.

Brad reached into a side compartment, removed a box cutter and cut Nate's cuffs. As soon as Nate realized he was free, he bolted out of Brad's personal space, turning around to face him while rubbing his wrists.

"Sorry," Brad said, finally. Meesh was blubbering in the background, testing Walt's patience but Brad's focus was completely on Nate.

Nate didn't acknowledge him, but rather went up front to see Ray. "Pull into the service station up ahead." Nate's tone allowed for no discussion and for once Ray didn't offer any. As they pulled into the gas station, Nate checked on Walt, told him to secure Meesh properly and then exited the vehicle, heading toward the washrooms.

"He's fucking pissed, Brad."

Brad tried not snap. "Yes, Ray, I know. I'm not a fucking idiot."

"Well, go talk to him."

Biting off the scathing remark that was on the tip of his tongue, Brad did as he was told. Ray ordering him about was the last fucking thing he wanted to deal with right now, but there was a small spark of logic to Ray's suggestion that Brad didn't want to admit. He forced himself to swallow the curse words and the insults, and mostly his pride, and exited the door before he changed his mind.

The cool breeze blew across the mostly empty parking lot.

The service station had a large men's room with a row of toilets on one side, and urinals and sinks on the other side. It smelled like piss. Brad caught up with Nate as he was splashing water on his face. Nate ignored him, continued washing, running his wet hands through his hair before turning off the tap and grabbing a paper towel.

"What do you want, Brad?" Nate asked eventually, looking at him through the dirty mirror.

"I-" Brad stared at Nate's face, at the hard lines that were a consequence of Brad's mutiny and felt the nausea return. As much as he and Kocher had talked about incapacitating Captain America so he couldn't fuck things up for them, what Brad had just done was much worse. He'd betrayed Nate in the worst possible way a subordinate could and he'd lost a lot more than just his KA-BAR doing so. "I'm sorry."

"What? You want me to say that it's fine. No big deal?"

"No," Brad said, unable to say what he really wanted. Did he want forgiveness? Understanding? Mostly, all he really wanted was for Nate to stop looking at him that way.

"You really think I could sell the Leon cartel information? Those bastards killed my brother-in-law." Nate turned to face him, raw pain in his eyes as his voice cracked at the end.

"You don't have to explain."

"No, Brad, apparently, I do. You wanted to know how I went from being your hostage, to being your boss, then let me tell you. Two years ago, just as I got back from Afghanistan, my brother-in-law was working as an undercover cop, trying to infiltrate the cartel. They found out and had him killed. You wanted to know why I had wire transfers from my account? Because every few months I try and send something to my sister so she can make ends meet. Why was I in your fucking park? Because last week, my sister called me sobbing. Those assholes have been targeting my nephew, trying to get him and his friends to deal. She wanted to move her family. So I came down here to help and got my nephew to take me to the park where he was usually harassed. Funny enough, when I got there, I ran into a man in an ice cream truck who wasn't what he appeared to be.

"You wanted to know why I thought you should grab some sleep instead of driving down here? You want to know why I left the Corps? Because I try and take care of my men. Because the mission is important, but not at the expense of their lives. Not for shit like this. If you're going to get yourself killed in a job like this, it better not be because Ray fell asleep at the wheel and drove you everyone head first into a Mack truck."

Brad swallowed hard.

"You want a reference? Here," Nate pulled out his cell phone and held it out to him. "Call Mike Wynn. Because that's who I called to find out about you. Mike was my Gunnery Sergeant, and I called him on a hunch that he might have known you back when you were in the Corps. He knew you alright. Said you were the hardest warrior around, that you were honorable and that I could trust you with anything."

Brad gave him a weak smile. "Mike's a good guy."

"Yeah, well. Maybe he can give you the low-down on me, so we can move past this and do our fucking jobs."

"You'll have no further problems with me, sir. I promise," Brad said, meaning it with everything he had. There was nothing else he could give Nate except his word, even if the trust between them was shattered.

Nate paused, sizing him up. After a moment he let out a sigh. "Then let's get out of here and find out what else Meesh knows."

Brad gave him a nod and followed him out the door.

~~~

When Brad opened the side door to the truck, he was hit with a smell so thick it was like walking into a brick wall head on. Worse than the smell of the urinals and unwashed floors in the washroom back there. Blinking the smell out of his eyes, he tried not to choke as he hauled himself inside. "Ray, what the fuck did you do?"

"Why are you assuming it's me?" Ray said in an entirely unconvincing way.

"He broke a ninety dollar bottle of Chanel Number 5," Meesh wailed from the corner, the skin around his wrists raw from struggling with the tie.

Brad's eyes travelled to the driver's seat and sure enough, there was liquid everywhere. "Ray..."

Nate pushed past him and manually rolled down front the windows. "Walt, open the serving window," he ordered.

Walt did as he was told, but the small breeze didn't help.

The headache moved right into the center of Brad's forehead as he turned back to Meesh and Ray.

"...Three ounces of that shit," Meesh was carrying on. "I can't believe you're such an idiot!"

Reaching under the compressor for the wrench, Brad grabbed it and turned to Meesh, grabbing his collar with the other hand, his temper reaching its breaking point.

"Enough. You're going to start talking, or I'm going to remove your testicles through your fucking throat. Where can we intercept the Leon brothers? We know there was a meeting out there, somewhere. You're going to tell us where, when, and what was on the fucking menu."

"Brad," Ray called from the driver's seat with the radio headset hanging off his ear.

Brad let go of Meesh and turned around. "What the fuck do you want, Ray?"

"The Leon brothers are meeting at the Hilton in Boston this evening. Orders just came down from Godfather."

~~~

There was silence as Nate spoke on the radio.

Brad tossed the wrench aside and took a seat on a pile of boxes, rubbing his head with his hands. The stench was making his headache worse. Without comment, Walt handed him a bottle of aspirin which Brad quickly and gratefully opened and swallowed two dry.

"You're not going to believe this," Nate said, coming into the back with a smile. "But we're back in the game. Ray assures me we can be in position by 2000 hours-"

"We're gassed up and ready to go!" Ray shouted from the front.

"What about the clusterfuck in Long Beach?" Brad asked. "What about Meesh?"

Nate shrugged. "It was all a red herring. The cartel was trying to lead us away from the meeting point and apparently we let them. It was all a feint, part of the plan to throw them off our trail. If they thought we were chasing a phony meeting on a yacht, then they would feel secure in carrying on with their original meeting plan."

"In Boston?"

Nate nodded. "Full circle."

"Right."

"You onboard?" Nate asked, and at least for now, the guarded expression that had taken hold of his face since Brad tied him up the second time was gone.

Brad nodded. "I'm onboard, sir."

"Get your motor runnin','" Ray started belting out as he turned over the engine and pulled them back on the road. The tension melted away as everyone started pulling out map sheets and GPS readings, finding out everything they could about the location of the meeting.

"There are five possible insertion locations," Walt said as he brought up the white board from behind the freezer. "Bravo-three-one scouted the location last week."

"Head out on the highway...“

Brad stood up and reached for the knife holding the Idaho bumper sticker to the wall. He tucked it into the slot meant for his KA-BAR. It would have to do.

"Godfather reports that the power grid for the block is hacked," Nate updated, the radio back against ear as he received the sit-reps.

Against all odds, it looked like this takedown was finally going to happen.

Brad pulled out his satellite tracking system, watching the lights come up as all of Godfather's assets were uploaded. With a smile, he saw Poke's team already in location and the TAD frequencies coming through as well. They actually had air support for this. Go figure.

For the first time in almost three days, things were looking up, even despite the stench-though that was becoming less noticeable as the receptors in his nose started to choke and die off.

Ray's turned back and gave them a wicked grin over his shoulder. "Born to be wild..."

Sixty stories up, Boston, MA

"You guys reek, man. What'd you do, open up fire in a fucking whorehouse?" Lovell asked as he pulled Brad's harness, tightening it enough to cut off circulation to Brad's balls.

The moon was high in the sky and Brad slapped Lovell's hand away and adjusted it himself. It's not that he ever really wanted to have children, but still. He had no desire to sing falsetto, either. "Ray lost an argument with a perfume bottle in the truck. We all have to suffer as a result; it's only fair to inflict our stench on the bad guys as well."

Lovell gave Brad's gear a final once over and then started on Nate who was standing next to him, on the edge of a sixty story building across the block from the Hilton. Cars travelled on the road below oblivious to them. "They're gonna smell you coming a mile away."

"Which is why Ray is on the street driving the truck," Brad replied.

"Maybe they'll think whores are coming to entertain them," Poke offered up. "Better practice shaking your booty, Brad."

"You sure you don't want to come for a ride?" Brad asked Poke who was standing a safe distance from the edge.

Poke looked at Brad, glanced down at the street below and then raised his eyebrow. "Trust my life on the white hands that made those plastic ropes? No thanks, dawg. Plus, the wife feeds me well and I want to enjoy her meals again someday soon. I'll let you two have all the fun."

"I think you have trust issues, Poke."

Poke laughed. "I trust gravity, Brad. That's enough for me."

Beside him, Nate finished adjusting his radio, strapping the transmitter to his throat while the receiver was tucked behind his ear.

Rudy and Pappy were lying prone, Pappy looking though his sniper rifle while Rudy guided him around with the scope. They were the eyes of the operation. The Leon brothers had chosen a hotel room in the middle of the building, with only a small window to minimize the chance of unexpected surprises. Exactly what Brad and Nate were hoping for. However, on the off chance that the Leon brothers made the stupid mistake of walking past their window, Rudy and Pappy were ready to make it an even shorter op.

"Hey boss," Poke said, turning to Nate. "Any news from Bravo-Three? No one's seen them since they were released from police custody."

Nate shook his head. "No. Godfather's been trying to raise them on comms all day and he's fucking pissed. Guess that'll be our next mission, after tonight."

Brad smiled at Nate's words. This mission could be over tonight. All three Leon brothers were supposed to be at this meeting and Godfather had cleared them to eliminate anyone in that room. If they could take them out, then they would effectively put an end to the Leon drug cartel for good.

This was one mission Brad would be happy to put behind him.

Another thought occurred to Brad just as quickly. Nate obviously had a vested interest in completing this mission, but would he stick around in his new job once it was over? The smile slowly faded from Brad's face. He was in it for life. This is what he was meant to be doing. But Nate...would Nate be willing to give up whatever life he had before working in this circus?

"So, you never finished your story," Brad said, trying to make conversation after they had deployed to their hold position a half-hour later. Nate was swinging a foot away from him on his own zip line. They were suspended between buildings, diagonally slung between the roof of the sixty-six floor building and the window of a hotel room two hundred meters away. Traffic zoomed relentlessly beneath them as their descenders held them securely in place.

"Which story would that be?" Nate asked, his knuckles white where he was gripping his harness. His legs dangled in front as he shifted and tried to find some way to brace them.

Brad spared a glance at the people below, clueless as to what was going on around them. "After you spoke to Mike, how'd you find out about Godfather? How'd you get a hold of him and get this job?"

"After I got out of the Corps, I went to work for Senator Rundle in Washington. When I got off the phone with Mike, I went to Rundle with what I knew about the operation. He went to the oversight committee and pulled a few strings. He got on the committee and I got my interview with Godfather."

"Working for a senator, huh? Sounds cushy."

"Are you implying I let myself go soft?"

Swallowing his reply was probably the wisest course of action. "Is he expecting you back?"

Nate's face was impassive. "I don't know. We hadn't discussed the future. But if you're sick of me already..."

"I'm not sick of you, sir," Ray interrupted over their headsets.

There was laughter over the comms as Brad rolled his eyes. "Glad to know none of you have anything better to do."

"Shut up, Ray. Let the two of them have their moment," Poke added.

"Well, sir," Brad drawled, continuing his conversation with Nate and holding down the talk button on his receiver, effectively jamming the channel, "the plebeians around here are allowed far too much personal freedom to do fuck all during a mission while those of us in positions that demand action are often hogtied and left to be fucked raw."

After thirty seconds, he released the button and found the chatter had died off. "I was just wondering why you'd willingly work with this bunch of retards, if you had a nice, easy desk job you could go back to."

The wind picked up a little, rocking them back and forth. Nate gripped the rope attaching him to the zip line a little tighter, but otherwise appeared calm. "I don't know. Turns out I'm not very good at sitting behind a desk. Plus, fresh air is supposed to be good for you. Look at all the fresh air we're getting, just hanging around."

Nate flashed him a small smile and Brad gave him a nod. "True. We don't sit behind a desk much."

"We did sit under a desk that time in Tampa," Ray offered up.

"Yes, Ray, but we wouldn't have been stuck in the office in the first place if you had put out to the secretary down the hall."

"She was nasty, Brad. Even I have standards."

There was more laughter on the comms as various people called Ray out as a liar.

"Since we're just hanging around chatting," Nate said as things lulled again, meeting Brad's eyes. "Can someone explain to me why Brad never took my job? Godfather said he turned it down several times."

Everyone was silent as Brad waited to see who would snitch. He kept his face serene; Nate hadn't directed the question at him after all. He was actually surprised Ray waited this long.

Instead, Ray went a different route. "They don't call Brad the Iceman for nothing, but there's a lot to be said for avoiding situations that might trigger unpleasantness. Brad prefers to keep a safe distance between his weapon and command. Figures it's a win-win, situation."

"Na, man," Poke said, following Ray's lead. "The Iceman's no gentleman. Can you imagine him sipping tea with the rest of those officers? Fuck no."

More jokes and outlandish theories were tossed around, all skirting the answer neatly. Brad was pleasantly surprised by the loyalty.

"So, why don't you tell me," Nate asked when the jokes were done and he realized he hadn't gotten his answer.

"And spoil the fun?"

"Humor me."

It was no great secret why he'd turned Godfather down-most of the guys were from Afghanistan and knew what had gone down-but still Brad was reluctant to voice the words. So he took the out Ray and the guys had offered him. "I thought I could best serve my team by being down in the trenches with them, sir."

"You don't like planning and organizing do you?"

"I don't like policy meetings and brainstorming sessions. You could say that discussions on the pros and cons of buying three-hole punched paper or buying regular paper and hole-punching it in-house irritate me."

"Fuck yeah," someone added, and everyone broke into laughter again. Brad tried to hide his own smile. Schwetje had never made the mistake of forcing him to go to a management meeting again.

"I see movement." Rudy's voice cut through the jokes and everyone was instantly silent. Brad lifted the scope of his rifle up to his eye, all extraneous thoughts gone from his head. Someone was entering the hotel room.

"All tangos are accounted for. There are five within the room, counting the three targets of interest."

"Ray, clear us with HQ," Nate ordered, sliding a round into the chamber of his rifle.

Thirty seconds later, Ray came back on the line. "You are cleared to advance hot."

At that, Brad tightened the grip on his M4, securing the butt of it in the soft part between his arm and chest, pointing the barrel toward his feet. Then he turned to Nate to wait for his orders.

Nate gave him a nod. "Let's do it."

They released the brakes holding them midway between buildings, Nate delaying his by a second so that Brad was slightly ahead. Immediately, gravity took over, accelerating them down the steep angle as they continued their slide toward the Hilton. The side of the building approached fast and at twenty feet out, Brad opened up on the window with automatic fire.

Glass shattered everywhere as his feet followed the bullets through the window. Timing his movement perfectly, Brad hit the release on his harness just as the slider reached the anchor point in the wall, and propelled himself through the window. He landed in a crouch on the floor with bullets flying everywhere. Nate followed a split second later as Brad dove behind the bed to take stock of the situation. Leaning over the side, two bodies were visible on the carpet, blood pooling beneath them.

Brad aimed his rifle over the bed, providing suppressive fire while Nate made his way behind an overturned table across from him. When Nate was in place, Brad took the opportunity to recon the rest of the room.

There would be no covering up this op. There was broken glass all over the floor and bullets holes sprayed across the walls. One of the bodies on the ground was definitely Antonio Leon, the middle brother, and logistical manager of the cartel. Antonio had had the good grace to fall backwards when he died, making identification easier and Brad had committed their faces to memory a long time ago. The man beside him was an assistant Brad had seen in an intel briefing. Someone was on the other side of the bed-Brad noticed a head pop up when Nate paused his fire.

There were two more tangos in the washroom off to the right, near the entrance of the hotel room and a laptop was lying sideways on the floor.

Brad took a deep breath, put the scope of his rifle up to his eye and waited; his M4 resting just above the tacky, floral bedspread for the next hint of skull.

Brad didn't have to wait long. Iago Leon poked his head up, holding a pistol in each hand which was very foolish. That shit only worked in the movies. Iago didn't get a chance to fire off either one and even if he had, his aim would have been completely off. Brad hit him directly in the forehead before ducking back behind the bed, keeping his breathing under perfect control.

There was cursing from the bathroom and a spray of bullets flew around the room.

When Brad risked a look, he saw that the laptop was now gone, presumably in the bathroom with the two remaining targets. He considered using a grenade. Since all the gunfire would be impossible to cover up anyway, what was an extra explosion if it would secure the scene? But grenades were messy, loud and in the worse case scenarios, were sometimes lobbed back.

"Gabe, Q-Tip get ready. One's going to come your way," Brad said into his comms, as he noticed movement. Feet were shuffling, and orders were being bandied around in rapid Spanish. Gabe was waiting in the hall in case anyone tried to make a break for it and Q-Tip wasn't far behind.

"Affirmative," Gabe responded. "I'm coming in."

As Gabe kicked in the door, bullets started spraying again. Brad ducked around the side of the bed, where Manuel, the eldest of the Leon brothers, started firing toward the new movement. Gabe went down and Brad was pinned as the other man lunged toward him.

Brad ducked behind the bed. When the other man, who was likely just a security guard, was less than a foot away, Brad stood up, aiming his rifle at the center of his body. The man stumbled, surprising Brad by diving for the window instead of grabbing him or Nate, flailing his arms around as he staggered toward it.

Manuel Leon was still shooting so Brad switched his attention to him, ending the shootout out with a well placed bullet through an eye. Brad heard the scream of the security guard falling through the open window in the background.

Brad stared at the lifeless bodies in front of him-the three Leon brothers dead and then at Gabe who was lying motionless on the floor. Brad dove toward him, slapping his face while calling out his name.

"Gabe! We got a man down," Brad shouted into the comms. There was no blood on the floor, just three or four bullet holes visible in Gabe's shirt as Brad turned him over. He hoped that the vest had caught them all.

Brad vaguely heard Nate's voice asking about rope lengths.

Gabe groaned as Doc came running up to them, medical kit at the ready. Q-Tip, Lilley and Christopher were close on his heels, Christopher hauling a stretcher and a blow torch.

"Where's boss going?" Lilley asked, pointing behind Brad. Brad glanced over his shoulder in time to see Nate's head disappearing out the window and a ton of fucking chatter on the comms.

"What the fuck's going on?" Brad demanded, stepping over bodies and moving to the broken window. Nate was already ten meters down, and descending fast.

"We got intel that they have people on the ground," Poke responded. "They're moving into position to pick up whatever's left of the guy who just took a nose dive."

Brad glanced into the washroom and saw the laptop shattered. "That guy had some data from the cartel. Probably operational data. We need to secure it."

"Already on it," Nate replied, a little out of breath.

Brad stuck his head out the window. They were only sixteen stories up and Nate was almost at the ground. With tires squealing, he saw a sports car pull around the corner, gunning in Nate's direction.

With a fluid motion, Brad pulled out the longest spare rope he had on his pack and threaded it through the anchor already above the window sill. Securing it to his harness, Brad jumped off the ledge, trusting his life to the miracle of nylon rope.

He was not leaving Nate down there without any backup.

"Where the fuck is Ray?" Brad said, squeezing the descender open so he could reach top speed.

"Coming!" Ray shouted. "There are three victors in pursuit. I'm tied up with the Hummer."

The ground was approaching fast, but not fast enough. A handful of people were standing around, pointing and yelling at the scene until the sports car skidded towards them, making them scatter. Someone hopped out of the car and ran toward the body. Brad aimed his rifle and started shooting, careful not to hit any of the bystanders still trying to get away. The driver poked his head out the window and started firing back.

Nate reached the ground, disengaged from his rope and started sprinting toward them.

The man located what he was looking for and started running back to the car. Brad switched his aim to the vehicle, aiming at the engine block as best he could with one-hand.

The man switched his course and made a break for the side of the building, down the alleyway in the back. Nate followed.

Rudy and Pappy worked their magic and a shot from 200 meters away dropped the driver to the ground. Brad hit the ground running, practically disengaging his rope while he was still several feet in the air. Gravity worked fast though and quickly, Brad was racing as fast as possible in the direction Nate had gone.

"Two victors are coming your way," Poke said calmly. "Ray's close behind on the second but the first is coming down Third Street. It's going to try to cut you off."

"Roger," Nate said as he put forth a burst of speed and threw himself at the man, tackling him to the ground. It was hard to see in the darkness; the streetlights didn't penetrate very far into the alley.

Brad got there as Nate picked up the man's shoulders and slammed his head into the ground with a thud. The man's face was covered in blood and he didn't get up again. Nate picked up the flash drive that had fallen to the ground just as a van pulled into the alley ahead of them.

Bullets started spraying again and Brad pulled them behind a dumpster. A crash of metal against metal made Brad turn around as a second car, this one a Hummer, came in the alley from the opposite direction, effectively boxing them in.

"Fuck," said Brad under his breath.

"Aim for the tires," Nate replied, and standing back-to-back, tucked up against the dumpster, they opened fire on the two targets coming at them from opposite directions.

There was almost a surreal feeling to it all, Brad noticed. Nate was solid and true against his back, and it was very easy to concentrate on the Hummer barreling toward them. Even set to automatic, where aiming was low on the priority, Brad watched as he blew out, one-two-three tires. The Hummer veered right, then left as it over-corrected and then crashed into the wall fifty meters out. The engine burst into flames.

Brad turned around, ready to help Nate when he saw that the van was practically on top of them. The front right tire was gone and so was the windshield, but that allowed the driver and passenger to fire directly at them.

Tires squealed behind them and Brad got ready to unload again. He recognized the shape of the truck just in time-the distinctive shape of a turret on top as Mr. Frosty showed up on the scene.

"Walt, give them what you got!" Brad shouted.

"They're fucking danger close! I can't shoot without hitting you guys."

"Then don't fucking miss," Nate yelled, spinning out of his position and pulling Brad with him. Nate pushed him in the direction of Mr. Frosty and they both took off as fast possible, trying to put more distance between them and the van.

Walt lobbed off a 202 round, barely over their heads. The explosion blew them to the ground, Brad getting a face-full of concrete as Nate landed on top of him.

Several more rounds were fired, and they stayed on the ground with their heads tucked down as the fireworks exploded all around.

A few minutes later, Brad realized all he could hear was the ringing in his ears.

"We came, we saw, we kicked their ass," Ray's voice was jubilant over the comms. The ringing changed to the sound of sirens in the distance.

"Ray," Brad managed to croak out. It was hard because his throat felt like he'd swallowed a fire stick. Also possibly, all the air had gotten knocked out of his body because Nate was heavier than he looked. "Get the truck out of here. We'll extract on foot."

"You sure?" Ray asked.

"Go," Brad ordered, finally getting more air in his lungs as Nate shifted off him. The last thing they needed was for the police to detain them all.

Ray put the truck in reverse, and within seconds, he'd maneuvered out of the alleyway.

"Are you okay?" Nate asked, sitting up.

Brad rolled over onto his back and took inventory of the issues. He was pretty sure he was intact, not missing any limbs or leaking internal organs. Overall, considering the shit that had just gone down, he was willing to put this one in the win column. He looked up at Nate with a grin.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Brad teased, trying to sit up. His hands were shaking and he suddenly felt cold all over. Damn the adrenaline high.

Nate laughed loudly, nervously, as he stood up. "For a big guy, I do seem to knock you on your ass a lot. Come on. We gotta go if we're going to slip out of here unseen."

Brad got to his feet. Peeling off their harness and battle gear they tossed them into the fire that was consuming the van. The last things to go were the grenades, which were harder to hide. As much as Brad hated to waste them, he threw all except one into the burning van.

Brad motioned toward the closest door in the alleyway, sticking the lock with his knife. He pulled the pin on a remaining grenade, tossed it into the van and before the count of five, he'd used the pin to finish picking the lock, pulled Nate into the back room of warehouse and shut the door before the grenades blew up with a bang.

They stood there, not speaking, catching their breaths.

Nate leaned against some pallets of dried dog food. "We should split up. We're still conspicuous when we're together. We can radio for pick-up as soon as we find secure locations."

Brad hesitated. Not because he disagreed with Nate, but because suddenly he wasn't eager for the op to be over. It had been a long time since he'd had this high.

"Right. Of course. You want this," Nate said in the continued silence that followed, holding out the flash drive. "You were worried I was going to take off with it and carry it back to the cartel."

"What?"

Nate tossed him the drive. "Go on, take it. That's why you followed me down into the alley, isn't it. You still don't trust me."

Brad looked down at the flash drive and then back up at Nate, finally understanding what the fuck he was talking about. Brad held the flash drive back out to Nate. "I followed you down here because there was no way I was going to lose another platoon commander because I didn't have his six. It's a question of trust, sir, but not of how much I trust you."

Nate stood there staring. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Brad replied tersely. When Nate didn't move, Brad grabbed his hand, warm and solid, and put the drive in his palm.

Nate finally accepted it back. "Brad. Tell me."

Brad started winding his way through the darkened storage room. "You're right, we should get going. It's not going to take the cops long to figure out where we went."

"Brad." Nate stopped him with a firm grip on his arm, turning him back around.

"What do you want from me?" Brad replied. "I just wanted to make sure you were alive and well enough to go back to your former life when this was all over."

"You're that eager to get rid of me?" Nate asked with a hurt expression on his face.

"I didn't say that."

"Then what makes you think I'm leaving?"

Brad paused as he reached the loading dock. There was another exit there that came out on the other side of the block. They could be picked up as soon as it was clear.

"Brad?"

Brad paused after he'd checked that they wouldn't set off any fire alarms. "Why would you stay?"

"You're fucking driving me crazy, you know that right?" Nate said, pinning him up against the wall, slowly sinking toward him until they were barely inches apart. "Can't you answer the fucking question?"

Nate smelled like sweat and cordite. Brad swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Yes."

"Why do you think I'm leaving?"

"Platoon commanders don't seem to stick around too long with me."

Nate's brow crunched up in thought. "When? Afghanistan?"

Escape seemed unlikely. Brad could probably push Nate aside, though he wasn't entirely sure they would both leave unscathed. Nate seemed to have this steel stubborn core within him that was exerting itself more and more. Or maybe Brad was only starting to really know him. Either way, standing this close to him, trapped by Nate's stare, Brad finally nodded.

The memories of that night slowly seeped back into his consciousness. The name escaped his mouth as if drawn by silent command. "Captain Morrison."

Nate's face relaxed in understanding. "I heard about it. I hadn't realized that was your unit."

"It's a small world." The flashes of artillery fire still played behind Brad's eyes, the chatter of helicopter blades and machine guns still echoed in his ears.

"Maybe. But that wasn't your fault. I read the analysis on the mission afterward. You guys were outnumbered five to one. You're damn lucky to have gotten out alive."

"It doesn't matter. He wasn't supposed to be the one clearing the alleyway; not alone."

With a sigh, Nate ran a finger across Brad's jawline. "I'm not leaving, Brad. Maybe I should, maybe this thing between us is so fucked up, it'll interfere with our jobs, but I hope not. I think for the first time in my life, I have exactly what I want-as long as I'm not too chicken-shit to take it."

Brad stilled. Nate's breath was warm against his neck, slowly drawing him out of the nightmare, the proximity as intoxicating as the words, slowly lessening the tightening in his chest. "Say again?"

"Which part? About me being chicken-shit?" A crooked smile played on Nate's lips.

"The part about what you want."

"The part about you?"

Brad finally dared to bring his hand up to Nate's face, grabbed him with enough force to leave bruises tomorrow and brought him forward; lips and sweat and dirt all mingling together as he kissed him. Nate's lips were dry and warm and inviting.

When Nate finally eased back, Brad rested his forehead on Nate's head. "Then what the fuck was that about last night? You blew me then you push me away?"

Nate gave him a small, nervous laugh. "Then you tied me up. Can we call it even and start over?"

Brad grabbed Nate's chin and brought his lips back. This kiss was deeper, Brad's tongue flicking Nate's lips, teasing him until Nate responded with a shudder.

Threading his fingers through Nate's short hair, Brad grabbed and held on, turning them around until Nate was the one pinned against the wall. Brad leaned toward Nate's ear. "You don't get off easy, either. Why did you freak out on me?"

"I ..." Nate said, stuttering as Brad brought his hand down and started rubbing Nate's cock through his pants. He was already so hard, Brad ached to touch him. "You know. Don't ask, don't tell, don't do, don't touch. I tried to fit in."

"We're a fine, fucked up pair," Brad said with a laugh. "I have abandonment issues and you're still half in the closet."

Nate groaned into Brad's shoulder as Brad palmed his cock. With his heart hammering harder than in any firefight, Brad opened Nate's pants and slid his hand in, feeling the length of Nate's erection so hot and hard, never taking his eyes off Nate's face. "Let me do this for you."

The look on Nate's face almost wrecked Brad completely. There was want and desperation there, but more. "We have to go. The cops..."

Nate had a core of steel; Brad had no doubt about that. There was no questioning his integrity. But somewhere mixed in with it was this last self-denial, this last seed of self-doubt demanded from years of service that Brad suddenly needed to obliterate from existence.

"They won't start the search until they get the fire under control. I can get us out."

Nate swallowed and then gave a curt nod as Brad raked his hands down Nate's legs, dragging his pants down as he went. Brad broke eye contact only so he could trace the hard curve of Nate's cock with his lips, from tip to base. The tremble in Nate's thigh broke something deep inside Brad's chest.

Nate swore as his body shook, then grabbed the back of Brad's head and dragged him up.

"I want to look at you," Nate stammered. "I want to feel you come too, I want to do this with you."

Brad quickly undid his pants, guiding Nate's hand down to his own cock before sliding his hand back on Nate's.

They fell against each other as they stroked, Nate's dick, hard and amazing in his hand, Nate panting in his ear, and the heat all around them, gathering them up and bringing them together.

Nate's eyes were so dark, so fixated on Brad's, that there was nowhere else to look.

"Brad," Nate panted, half begging, half asking, and with his other hand, Brad cupped Nate's balls, lined their bodies up so he could hold both their cocks in one hand and jerk them off together. Nate's hands encircled his own as Nate bit back a scream, his whole body convulsing, spilling hot, warm wetness all over Brad's hands, driving Brad that last bit over the edge until they were falling apart together, desperately clinging to each other.

And the devastation didn't end.

"That was..." Nate trailed off, as they leaned against each other, panting.

Brad nodded in response, unable to feel his legs, because it felt like he was fucking floating. "Yeah."

They stood there for minutes, Brad's eyes tracing the lines of Nate's face, Nate content to let Brad do his recon, offering up new territory and contours with every minute shift of his body.

Returning back to the present, Brad realized that, judging by the sounds, there was a lot of activity on the street outside. "I think our escape is blocked for now."

"You mean we get to hole up in here for a while?" Nate asked, a wicked grin slowly spreading across his face.

Brad eyed the warehouse and the offices on a level above. "I think we can probably find somewhere suitable to lay low for a bit."

~~~

Next - Part V

Index
Part I * Part II * Part III * Part IV * Part V