(no subject)
After he's checked in with Ray and Marissa and thoroughly made sure that Terry's fine, the next stop's a no brainer. In dry clothes (which might yet be a mistake), Brad sets off towards Nate's hut. His combat boots are pretty much damp right the way through at this point, and his pants soak through the knee pretty quickly. The sun's fucking beating down, making a lie out of yesterday, flushing him across the nose and cheekbones but the snow's drifted in places and it makes the going slow.
This is stupid, because he knows Nate will be fine. Because Nate's Nate and it takes more to stop a Recon Marine than a fucking blizzard. And yet he's going anyway, near naked woman in his bed or not. Because Nate's Nate, and Brad needs to see him.
"You'd better fucking be here," he calls, with Nate's hut finally in sight.
Jesus Christ, his feet haven't been this cold since Afghanistan, so Nate better be home.
This is stupid, because he knows Nate will be fine. Because Nate's Nate and it takes more to stop a Recon Marine than a fucking blizzard. And yet he's going anyway, near naked woman in his bed or not. Because Nate's Nate, and Brad needs to see him.
"You'd better fucking be here," he calls, with Nate's hut finally in sight.
Jesus Christ, his feet haven't been this cold since Afghanistan, so Nate better be home.