Fic: The Sound of Silence
The Sound of Silence
Pairings: Brad/Ray
Word count: ~5200
Characters: Nate, Poke, Hasser
Wildcard Crossover: Firefly
Prompt: There is nowhere else I would rather be / but I can't just be right here
Disclaimer: I neither own nor am associated with Generation Kill, the characters portrayed within, or the real people the characters are based on. This is non-profit speculative fiction.
Summery: Bravo Two had seen some bad, bad things. The Battle of Serenity Valley? Yeah, that got the glory, but Bravo Two had gone through half a dozen Serenity Valleys there at the end, blazing into ambush after ambush with no gorram air-support, no ammo, no ops, guns jamming…
Originally written for the YAGKYAS secret santa challenge. Fondly dedicated to schlicky (<333)
Ray didn’t know what he was even doing on this bullshit mission.
He took a gulp of the horse-piss the hole they were in sold and called beer, and looked around, scowling. He didn’t need to be here, it wasn’t like Brad and Poke and Walt couldn’t handle this shit without him. When the Iceman, a bad motherfucker like Poke and a goddamned heavy munitions expert couldn’t handle a deal without a pilot along for company, in Ray’s opinion there was something wrong in the universe.
What he wanted was to be back on board the Matilda with Doc and the LT, working on the take-off gear. He was this close to convincing the LT to shell out for a new disengagement thrust, the one they had was older than all of the crew combined and jerked like a motherfucker on lift-off every damned time. The LT was coming round, too, Ray could tell. Probably had something to do with the hot coffee he’d spilt all over himself every day for the past week, but hey, it wasn’t like Ray had deliberately timed shit to happen when he took a sip or anything, that was dirty pool.
Besides, that had been Walt’s idea.
So anyway, now instead of being back on the ship improving life for everyone, he was stuck here in this shitty tavern on this shitty outer-rim world because apparently he’d been deemed the best man to deal with their contact. Fuck that, let him deal with the Iceman or if that failed (which it wouldn’t because- Iceman), let him deal with Suzy, Walt’s favourite gun, which shot out rounds like asteroids and needed three people to move it around. Fuck. What did they expect Ray to do, talk at him until he went away?
“Yes Ray, that’s exactly it,” Brad said when Ray brought it up with him, like, a million times. “But until then I want you to shut the fuck up and watch your sector.”
“You know, Brad, you’re not actually my sergeant anymore,” Ray said conversationally, but they both knew that was a fucking lie. Yeah, the war was over and the Browncoats were gone - and maybe their relationship had, uh, progressed in certain areas - but Brad would always be Sergeant Colbert, same as the LT would always be the LT.
That’s what the Matilda was all about.
The war had ended hard for the Independents in Marine Corps Bravo Two, but Ray figured it had ended hard for everyone, except maybe the upper echelons of the Alliance, and there was no point in him whining about it. Yeah, the platoon had lost some men and women; a lot of men and women had been lost. They’d actually had it better than some, and that was thanks to Lieutenant Nate Fick, saviour of Bravo Two and practically a God in the eyes of his men. During those last desperate ambushes the LT had done everything in his power to get what was left of his platoon out alive, and after the end he’d fought hard to keep them together. The core of them still were together, running the Matilda, and that was really all that mattered to Ray. He fucking hated thinking about the gorram war, though he knew that some of them - the LT, Walt - lived those last days over and over again. Fuck that, that nasty shit was better off behind them. Bravo Two had seen some bad, bad things. The Battle of Serenity Valley? Yeah, that got the glory, but Bravo Two had gone through half a dozen Serenity Valleys there at the end, blazing into ambush after ambush with no gorram air-support, no ammo, no ops, guns jamming… Ray could still see Walt dragging the damned Mark .19 around, refusing to believe it was dead, ignoring Brad’s screams for him to just leave it and run, damnit… Man, by the time Serenity rolled around it was just another fuck-up. At least it was the last fuck-up.
So now they had the remnants of Bravo Two flying around with the LT on the Matilda, pretending that the war was behind them, but all effortlessly playing out their military roles like they were still at base camp. Ray was always gonna be the mouthy pilot, Brad was always gonna be the LT’s second, Walt was always gonna wanna play with the big guns… And they had Poke and Doc around to make sure they didn’t all kill themselves. Shit, with Rudy Reyes renting one of the shuttles it was almost like old times, cruising around getting shot at.
“Look alive,” Brad said, cutting through Ray’s thoughts. Oh, yeah. The mission. Fuck this, Brad had better be giving out blowjobs like candy for the next month to make up for this shit.
Ray looked up at the man - their contact? - walking towards them. Small, smarmy, bowler-cap-wearing POG, yeah, had to be Badger. He’d come alone, as asked, but Ray knew without a doubt that his men were surrounding the perimeter. He was a slimy piece of camel-spit by all accounts, but he was going to offload two thousand platinum worth of medical supplies in this backwoods system for them, and Ray figured he could handle him at least until they got their money. Which would be as soon as damn possible, if Ray had his way. Bullshit fucking mission.
“Yo, homes,” he called casually, leaning on the bar. “Heads up.”
Badger looked them up and down, didn’t seem too impressed. “I thought the captain would be here for this.” he said with narrowed eyes.
Ray blinked. “Captain? Who?”
“LT,” Brad supplied.
Now Badger looked puzzled. “Who?”
“Oh,” said Ray, getting it. “Captain LT.”
“You got a new captain? What happened to Fick?”
“Captain LT is Fick,” Ray said impatiently.
“What?”
“…What?”
They all stood around looking confused at each other for a moment until Brad coughed.
“Nate Fick is still our captain, Badger. We call him LT because he was our Lieutenant in the war. It stuck.”
Ray looked at Badger stonily. “So it’s Captain LT to you, buster.”
Badger shook his head. “Bloody Browncoats. I hate dealing with you crazy ex-military boneheads.”
“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river, homes,” Ray cut in, waving his hand. “So give us our platinum and we can all go our separate ways and be happy.”
At this, though, Badger sucked a deep breath in through his teeth and clicked his tongue. He looked deeply saddened. Ray shot a glance at Brad and rolled his eyes. More bullshit.
“Look, about that, gentlemen,” Badger started, shaking his head sorrowfully. “Seems there’s a bit of a glut on the market at the moment. We’ve had a few shipments come in at…bargain prices, and it seems demand is a lot lower than it was last time we spoke.” He shrugged, like, what are ya gonna do? “We’re going to have to renegotiate.” Ray had never wanted to slap someone so bad in his life.
“Fuck that, dude. We agreed on two thousand and we’re getting two thousand, right? And none of us are leaving this godforsaken planet or this piece of shit bar until that platinum is tucked nice and deep in our pockets. You understand that, you Nancy-faced cockney dick-suck?”
Badger held out his hands and took a step back, looking beseechingly at Brad, who was placidly sipping - well, it had come out of a bottle with ‘whiskey’ written on it, but Ray was reserving judgment. Brad just raised an eyebrow and cocked his head towards Ray. “What he said.”
“Whoa, now. I didn’t come here to be insulted by a little fish like this, Colbert.” Badger looked annoyed, but still like he thought he had control of the situation, which meant he was stupider than Ray had thought. “You better pull back your miniature pit-bull or the deal’s completely off,” he continued, “You understand that, you bunch of stupid jarheads?”
Okay, no. Seriously. Ray had had enough of this crap. He rapped his knuckles on the bar-top and stood up.
“Okay, I’m bored now. I only trade lame insults with the guys on my crew, not two-bit shyster crooks like you, Badger. Give us our gorram platinum now, or you’ll be leaving this dump in a body bag.”
Badger tried to grin, but it looked forced, there was murder in his eyes. Ray had that effect on people. “You’re all talk, little pup. My men-”
“Your men ain’t shit,” Ray cut in, and gestured to the bar’s only two exits. Poke had appeared at one, picking at his nails with a Ka-Bar and bristling with so many weapons he looked like he was about to fall over. Walt was at the other door, and he was only holding one - but being that it was about half the size of his body and shot rocket grenades, anything else would pretty much be over-kill.
Badger went pale. “Hey, what the hell is this? This bar has a no-arms policy.”
Brad smirked. “Maybe for plebeians like you, my prickly little friend, but we happen to know the owner.”
Ray grinned, and raised his glass to Garza, who stood frowning behind the bar. “Why you gotta insult my place so much, Person?” he asked moodily, and pointed at Walt. “And if he shoots that thing in here, I’m making you all pay for the damages and help me clean up. My grandma doesn’t need this at her time of life.”
“Relax, Garza,” Brad said. “Everything’s under control. Badger here is just gonna give us the platinum we agreed on and then leave.”
“Yeah, Walt’ll have to pop his cherry on that gun another day,” Ray added. “Because I’m sure Badger wouldn’t want to cause your poor gramma any grief by making a mess of himself all over her nice old tavern, now, would he?”
Brad shook his head. “No one’s firing any RPGs in here. Walt.”
Walt put down the grenade launcher with a disappointed noise, but then smiled sunnily and reached for something he had leaning against the door. He hauled it up, and Ray sighed inwardly. This one was only about a quarter of the kid’s body mass, and shot incendiary bullets instead of grenades - big improvement.
“No, Walt,” Brad said patiently. “Remember? When Ray has to use his indoor voice, you have to use your indoor weapons.”
Walt pouted and dropped the second weapon, picking up a perfectly ordinary sub-machine gun instead. “Better?”
“Much.”
Brad finally looked back at Badger, who seemed on the verge of passing out with rage, clutching at his bowler hat and glowering around himself as if he could set them all alight with the power of his mind or something. Ray had never actually had a chance to use the expression ‘hopping mad’ before, but he thought maybe if they gave Badger another couple minutes he’d be about there.
“Badger, we all know what’s going to happen here,” he said. “Just give us our money so we can all go home and let Garza’s grandmother get a good night’s sleep. God.”
“You’ll never work on this planet again,” Badger spat, giving in and pulling out a bag, counting out the platinum on the bar. “You’ll never work in this system again. Your reps are gonna be destroyed, you bunch of brain dead gorram Browncoats.”
“Actually, dude, I think you’ll find our reps just got a hell of a lot more badass,” Ray shot back, hefting the bag that Badger tossed him. Brad started backing towards Poke’s exit, so Ray shrugged and started sidling towards Walt. “Okay, so I guess it was nice doing business with you. Oh wait, no it wasn’t, it fucking sucked.”
“Ray, take Walt and get the ship ready,” Brad ordered, and took his assault rifle back from Poke, who’d been minding it for him. “Me and Poke are gonna see Badger off Garza’s land. We wouldn’t want him to outstay his welcome.”
“Aye-aye, Iceman!” Ray reached the door and picked up Walt’s grenade launcher for him, slinging it over his back and almost knocking himself out. “C’mon kiddo, let’s get outta here.”
Ray and Walt jogged out towards the Matilda, which had set down about a hundred meters away, guarded by the LT and Doc - Rudy was off on an assignment. They reached her just as the LT dropped the ramp, Doc riding it down and covering them as they ran up.
“S’all good, ladies,” Ray called as he raced over to the cockpit, throwing the LT the bag of platinum. “Ray-Ray is back on deck. Step aside, LT, I love you but you can’t fly for shit.”
“Brad and Poke?”
“Seeing off Badger. Fuck, that guy is like a class-A douche. I still don’t know why I had to fucking go on that mission, I feel all slimy just from being close to him.”
“You were right, LT,” Walt said, sauntering into the cockpit and grinning as they jerked into the air, just as the LT raised a cup of coffee to his mouth. Ray snickered, and Walt went on. “Ray talked the fuck out of him. The sneaky bastard couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”
Ray rolled his eyes and flew over Garza’s tavern, saw Brad and Poke casually following after Badger, guns raised, as he marched before them. “Asshole,” he muttered, and then saw the ambush - sorry, no, the piss-poor attempt at something resembling an ambush - in the trees up ahead. Ray knew from ambushes, and whatever that inadequately hidden assortment of dickheads and lowlifes was, an ambush wasn’t it.
The LT saw it, too. “Three o’clock,” he said, sounding almost bored. Walt glanced over and grinned.
“Fuck yeah, finally time to get out the grenade launcher,” he said happily, and grabbed it up from when Ray had dropped it beside his chair. “LT! Permission?”
The LT sighed, and Ray shot him a smile. “Brad wouldn’t let him use it inside,” he explained. “Let him play.”
“Okay, fine. Walt, ride the ramp and provide covering fire. Doc, drop the ladders, if Walt’s laying down that kind of arti we won’t be able to get close enough for Brad and Poke to board. Ray, swerve right and fly over the trees.”
Ray reached over to pop Walt a fist bump as he went out, then did as he was told, flying to the right of Brad and Poke, waiting for the ramp to drop before heading closer.
“Spotted, LT,” he said, as the men in the trees started opening fire. “Motherfuckers, they’re gonna scratch the paint.”
“Fly lower,” the LT ordered, leaning over Ray’s shoulder to watch the monitors. “Let Walt get closer-”
At that moment, a tree disappeared in a ball of fire, and they heard what could only be described as maniacal laughter as Walt played with his new toy. Brad and Poke were firing too, now, as Badger ducked off to the side, screaming for backup.
“LT, we need to get Walt a puppy or something,” Ray muttered as he dropped the ship lower, watching the rope ladder swinging over Brad and Poke’s heads. “I mean, he’s all sunshine and glitter until he gets a hold of any sort of heavy weapon and then it’s whoops! Hello evil-psycho-villain-Hasser, good to meet you.”
“He hasn’t gotten laid in a while. Maybe that’d do it.”
Ray laughed as another tree exploded. “Yeah, well, I’d offer to help out, but I don’t think the Iceman would appreciate me spreading this sugar around.”
The LT blanched and shook his head, but Ray had gotten good at reading his face, knew when he was hiding a smile.
“Quiet, Ray, and drop lower or you won’t be spreading your sugar anywhere. The ladder’s still too high.”
“Yeah, well if Walt would stop exploding every fucking thing…” Ray dropped the ship another few meters and watched the monitors as Poke grabbed the ladder, climbing up a few rungs before Brad followed.
“Okay, they’re up, fly, fly.” The LT ran out of the cockpit towards the hatch, and Ray flew off, dodging a couple of stray rocket blasts from one of the more resourceful of Badger’s men. He tuned out the commotion of Poke, then Brad being hauled up through the hatch, followed by Walt racing up the ramp as Doc shut it, and just concentrated on flying, engaging the thrust and getting them as far away from the planet as they could. None of them were idiots. Badger’s crew would be hot for them for awhile, best to find somewhere to loiter and lay low for a while.
Somewhere they could spend that platinum. Oh, fuck yeah.
Ray grinned to himself, and sped off into the stars.
~
He stayed in the cockpit for hours, until - as was becoming more and more common - the LT sent Brad in to set the autopilot and drag Ray off to bed. Ray hated the autopilot.
“You let Walt sleep in the armoury,” he said (they didn’t actually have an armoury. They had a storeroom where Walt kept his weapons, but Walt hadn’t thought ‘the storeroom where he kept his weapons’ sounded fancy enough), “So why can’t I stay here?”
“Well I don’t like that either, but if Walt falls asleep in the armoury he won’t accidentally fly us all into an asteroid belt,” Brad said. He looked sleepy, rumpled in nothing but his pajama pants, and Ray realised he’d probably been waiting up for him. He felt a flash of guilt. They’d had a long day, and they couldn’t all survive on coffee and catnaps the way Ray sometimes thought he could.
He sighed and finished plotting their course for the next few hours, mostly through open space, nothing out here anyway. They’d already picked up Rudy’s shuttle at their rendezvous. They had nowhere to be and nothing to do except stay off Badger’s - and the Alliance’s - radar.
“Fine. Come on, then,” he said, and hooked an arm around Brad’s waist. Brad frowned but didn’t wiggle out of his grasp, which Ray took as a positive sign. To say Brad wasn’t the touchy feely sort was a bit of an understatement. “Your place or mine?”
“Your cabin smells like the place dirty socks go to die,” Brad grumbled. “Mine.”
Ray shrugged and waved goodnight to the LT, who was sitting up with some paperwork in the galley, a mug of coffee at his elbow. Hypocritical bastard. “Whatever. Hey, why doesn’t someone drag the LT off to bed too? Unfair.”
“If we had someone to drag the LT off to bed, then I’d make sure it happened,” Brad said, shooting a worried glance over his shoulder. “He runs himself into the ground.”
“Yeah, nothing’s changed, huh?”
They entered the cabin, and away from the eyes of the rest of the crew, Brad gently pushed Ray up against the wall, bracketed him between his arms.
“Some things have changed,” he said, and Ray smiled, tipped his head up for a kiss.
Yeah, some things had.
They’d been close, during the war. They’d always worked together as a team, reading each other’s minds in the heat of battle, working in sync. Brad said they made a good team because he was the only one who could tune out Ray’s constant mouthing off, Ray said it was because he was the only one who could crack the Iceman’s weird, socially awkward shell. Whatever the reason, they’d been a unit, a set, but they hadn’t been more than that until after it was all over.
It was partly Walt’s fault, partly the LT’s. Brad and Ray had been so close that Walt had come up to Ray one day, not long after they got the Matilda up and running, and given him a funny look.
“Hey. Don’t punch me in the face,” he’d started, and Ray had shrugged.
“I’m not making any promises,” he’d said, but Walt had Suzy slung across his back, so it was pretty much a bluff. Walt ignored him.
“So you don’t have to answer, and I’d understand it if you didn’t, but…is Sergeant Colbert sly?”
Ray’s mouth had dropped open, and Walt had hurried on, waving his arms around. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! None of us would care! It’s just, you know, the way he…and look, the LT needs someone like Colbert. They’re probably really good for each other! It’s all cool.”
Ray had blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Wait. Wait, Brad and the LT?”
“Uh…yeah.” Walt had stared at him like an idiot. “Obviously.”
Oh.
Ray hadn’t thought it was obvious. Ray hadn’t thought of it at all. He’d figured he knew the difference between what Brad and the LT had - which, as far as he could see, was a bit of hero worship, a large dose of friendship, and a professional respect that ran very deep - with what Walt was on about. Ray was Brad’s best friend, damnit. They’d flown through the universe together, fought and lost a war together, were still together. He’d know, right?
He’d gone to Brad with it that night, leaning on the door to Brad’s cabin. “So Walt thinks you and the LT are bumping uglies,” he’d said bluntly, because, well, tact wasn’t exactly his strong point. He’d looked up into Brad’s face, not bothered to hide the hurt that must have been showing in his. “You would have told me, right? I mean, if you and LT were…”
Brad had looked at Ray with the same expression Walt had given him earlier. “Exactly how stupid are you?” he’d inquired, stepping up into Ray’s space. Ray had bitten his lip.
“I guess that’s open for debate,” he’d started, but Brad had cut him off with a palm across his mouth, still staring down at him.
“Walt’s mistaken,” he’d said calmly, and Ray had swallowed, tried to squirm out of Brad’s grip.
But Brad hadn’t let him. Instead, he’d leaned down, slow and intent, and replaced his palm with his mouth, kissing Ray until he was well and truly convinced that no, Brad wasn’t fucking the LT.
And years later, there they were in the same place, pushed up against Brad’s cabin wall while Brad leaned down, let his lips press against Ray’s. They didn’t have anything to prove, not anymore, they were comfortable with each other, with what they were. And yes, okay, what they were may have been slightly broken war vets who had turned to a life of crime to support themselves and their ship, but it didn’t matter.
They mattered.
“Come to bed,” Brad ordered as he pulled away. “To sleep,” he added as Ray started to grin.
Ray was going to protest, but it came out as a yawn, which kind of undermined any argument he might have had. “Fine,” he muttered, stripping down to his drawers. “But I expect some quality head after today, Bradley. I can’t believe you made me deal with that scumbag.”
“Quit whining. He’s the only person I’ve ever met who talked as much shit as you, me and Nate wanted to see what would happen when we got the two of you together in a room.”
“Oh, so I’m your little experiment am I, Colbert?” Ray slipped into the bed beside Brad, and what they were doing wasn’t snuggling, okay. It was fucking huddling for warmth. It got cold in space.
“Yes, Person, you’re pretty much an extended science project,” Brad muttered sleepily into his neck, and Ray smiled.
“But I won, right?”
He felt Brad smile back. “Yeah, Ray. You won.”
~
Ray didn’t relive the war over and over like some of them, but since it had ended he’d had trouble sleeping more than a few hours at a time. Mostly he just stayed in bed, awake next to Brad, waiting the night out. Sometimes he got up and wandered aimlessly around the ship, or went to the cockpit to stare out into the stars, watch the nothing fly past the Matilda.
And sometimes he went to the armoury and hassled Hasser.
He was there tonight, sitting on the floor with various gun parts laid out on a drop cloth before him. Ray was pretty sure that they had the cleanest weapons on any ship on the ‘verse, but it came at a price. Walt’s eyes were shadowed, his face pale, and the smile he put on for Ray was patently fake.
“Person. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“Shouldn’t you?” Ray sat down opposite him, picked up a soft rag and poured on some oil. “You get any sleep, Walt?” he asked as he started cleaning bullets that were already shining, spotless.
Walt shrugged. “Got a couple hours,” he said. “Too keyed up after today, you know.”
“Yeah.” Ray knew better than to push it. They’d all had a hard war, and Bravo Two had had it harder than most, but he sometimes thought Walt had had it hardest of all.
They worked in silence for a while, diligently wiping and scrubbing, until Walt was satisfied that none of the weapons were going to jam, none of them were going to let him down in the heat of battle ever again. It was pretty fucked up.
But at least Walt knew it.
“Doc wants me to try these meds,” he said eventually, leaning back against the wall and hooking a thumb through one of his suspenders. “Says they might cut down on the OCD bullshit.”
Walt was from an outer-rim planet, not too far away from where Ray grew up, actually, and he still had a low hick twang to his words that made everything he said sound softer than it was. Ray frowned at his hands as he listened.
“I know Doc wouldn’t steer me wrong,” Walt continued. “I trust him, I just…”
“Don’t trust the pills?” Ray asked, and Walt nodded. Ray understood. They’d tried to make him take sleeping pills for a while, but it hadn’t taken. He hated them, hated the way they took him away from himself. He didn’t need the sleep, or at least not that kind of messed up, chemical sleep. He’d rebelled, and the LT had eventually made them let up on it, backing him up against Brad and Doc. Ray’d been grateful for that, and now he tried not to pressure Walt, knew how frustrating it could be.
“Don’t take ‘em if you don’t want to, kid,” he said carefully. “But you should trust Doc.”
Walt just sighed, and started to take apart an assault rifle. Ray shook his head and gently took it away from him, set it back in its rack.
“Go to bed, dude,” he said. “Go to bed and stare at the ceiling until the LT gets us up for chow, whatever, but gorram it…let it go for the rest of the night.”
Walt tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “I feel like a crazy person sometimes,” he said ruefully. “But I know I’m not. I’ll be shiny.”
Ray stood up and reached down his hand, cuffing Walt upside the head when he didn’t open his eyes. “I’m the crazy one on this ship. Stop fucking moving in on my territory,” he said as Walt took his hand and hauled up to his feet. “Go the fuck to bed, kid.”
“All right, all right,” Walt muttered, but he looked a little grateful, like he’d been waiting for someone to force him out of it for the night. Ray knew sometimes it was the LT that did it, and he almost wished that the two of them were sly, so they could fall into bed and have the epic romance Ray thought they deserved. But Walt was a ladies man through a through, and as far as Ray could tell, the LT was above the pleasures of the flesh completely (“Don’t be so certain”, was all Brad had said about that), so that was out of the question. Still, it was good to know that the LT had Walt’s back when Ray didn’t.
Walt’s boots clanked up the corridor ahead of Ray as they went back to their cabins. Ray peeked into the galley on the way, and was gratified to find it empty, the LT gone off to bed too. He felt like a mother hen, gathering up all his little chicks, and smiled at the thought as Walt disappeared through his door. Mama Ray. That was just all kinds of wrong.
“Where’d you go?” Brad asked sleepily, as Ray crawled back in bed besides him.
Ray pressed against him, pushed his cold skin up against Brad’s warm chest. “Put Walt to bed. He was up cleaning the weapons again.”
“He been to see Doc about that?”
“Yeah. He’ll be fine.”
But Brad was already falling back asleep, and Ray didn’t want to put this on him anyway. Walt was his, or maybe his and the LT’s. Shit, they could have joint custody of the messed up little hillbilly, could work out some sort of timeshare agreement…
“Stop thinking,” Brad slurred then, throwing an arm over Ray’s chest. “G’sleep. Think mornin’”
“Okay, Brad,” Ray whispered, and patted his arm. He supposed he might be able to manage another few hours, if he gave it a shot.
The Matilda hummed around them, and he let her lull him into it. She cocooned them, the remaining men of Bravo Two, fucked up and hunted and damaged as they were. They weren’t much, and hell, the Matilda wasn’t really much either, but she was home.
They’d do what they had to keep it together. Mostly it meant pulling security, transporting goods - she was a Hummer Class, built like a flying fortress - but more and more often they were forced into the kind of bullshit they’d pulled today. The LT didn’t like it, none of them really liked it, but business was slow for a crew of ex-Browncoats, even with Rudy on board. If smuggling could keep them going for a while, then that’s what they’d do.
Even if it meant dealing with asswipes like Badger.
Ray rolled over, let Brad wrap himself around his back. He thought of Walt, lying awake in his bunk, eyes wide as he relived the moment his gun had jammed again, leaving Trombley without cover as the crazy bastard ran full-tilt towards an Alliance Roller. He thought of the LT, with the weight of the world on his shoulders, trying to hold them all up like it was his responsibility alone. He thought of Poke, who’d had a wife and kid, who never talked about his old life anymore at all. He thought of Doc who was so angry all the time, but who had more love in him than anyone Ray had ever met.
And he thought of Brad, who was the only thing keeping Ray going, sometimes, who was the best thing that had happened to him since the war, shit, since before the war, too.
Yeah, they were all messed up.
But he wouldn’t change a gorram thing.
Pairings: Brad/Ray
Word count: ~5200
Characters: Nate, Poke, Hasser
Wildcard Crossover: Firefly
Prompt: There is nowhere else I would rather be / but I can't just be right here
Disclaimer: I neither own nor am associated with Generation Kill, the characters portrayed within, or the real people the characters are based on. This is non-profit speculative fiction.
Summery: Bravo Two had seen some bad, bad things. The Battle of Serenity Valley? Yeah, that got the glory, but Bravo Two had gone through half a dozen Serenity Valleys there at the end, blazing into ambush after ambush with no gorram air-support, no ammo, no ops, guns jamming…
Originally written for the YAGKYAS secret santa challenge. Fondly dedicated to schlicky (<333)
Ray didn’t know what he was even doing on this bullshit mission.
He took a gulp of the horse-piss the hole they were in sold and called beer, and looked around, scowling. He didn’t need to be here, it wasn’t like Brad and Poke and Walt couldn’t handle this shit without him. When the Iceman, a bad motherfucker like Poke and a goddamned heavy munitions expert couldn’t handle a deal without a pilot along for company, in Ray’s opinion there was something wrong in the universe.
What he wanted was to be back on board the Matilda with Doc and the LT, working on the take-off gear. He was this close to convincing the LT to shell out for a new disengagement thrust, the one they had was older than all of the crew combined and jerked like a motherfucker on lift-off every damned time. The LT was coming round, too, Ray could tell. Probably had something to do with the hot coffee he’d spilt all over himself every day for the past week, but hey, it wasn’t like Ray had deliberately timed shit to happen when he took a sip or anything, that was dirty pool.
Besides, that had been Walt’s idea.
So anyway, now instead of being back on the ship improving life for everyone, he was stuck here in this shitty tavern on this shitty outer-rim world because apparently he’d been deemed the best man to deal with their contact. Fuck that, let him deal with the Iceman or if that failed (which it wouldn’t because- Iceman), let him deal with Suzy, Walt’s favourite gun, which shot out rounds like asteroids and needed three people to move it around. Fuck. What did they expect Ray to do, talk at him until he went away?
“Yes Ray, that’s exactly it,” Brad said when Ray brought it up with him, like, a million times. “But until then I want you to shut the fuck up and watch your sector.”
“You know, Brad, you’re not actually my sergeant anymore,” Ray said conversationally, but they both knew that was a fucking lie. Yeah, the war was over and the Browncoats were gone - and maybe their relationship had, uh, progressed in certain areas - but Brad would always be Sergeant Colbert, same as the LT would always be the LT.
That’s what the Matilda was all about.
The war had ended hard for the Independents in Marine Corps Bravo Two, but Ray figured it had ended hard for everyone, except maybe the upper echelons of the Alliance, and there was no point in him whining about it. Yeah, the platoon had lost some men and women; a lot of men and women had been lost. They’d actually had it better than some, and that was thanks to Lieutenant Nate Fick, saviour of Bravo Two and practically a God in the eyes of his men. During those last desperate ambushes the LT had done everything in his power to get what was left of his platoon out alive, and after the end he’d fought hard to keep them together. The core of them still were together, running the Matilda, and that was really all that mattered to Ray. He fucking hated thinking about the gorram war, though he knew that some of them - the LT, Walt - lived those last days over and over again. Fuck that, that nasty shit was better off behind them. Bravo Two had seen some bad, bad things. The Battle of Serenity Valley? Yeah, that got the glory, but Bravo Two had gone through half a dozen Serenity Valleys there at the end, blazing into ambush after ambush with no gorram air-support, no ammo, no ops, guns jamming… Ray could still see Walt dragging the damned Mark .19 around, refusing to believe it was dead, ignoring Brad’s screams for him to just leave it and run, damnit… Man, by the time Serenity rolled around it was just another fuck-up. At least it was the last fuck-up.
So now they had the remnants of Bravo Two flying around with the LT on the Matilda, pretending that the war was behind them, but all effortlessly playing out their military roles like they were still at base camp. Ray was always gonna be the mouthy pilot, Brad was always gonna be the LT’s second, Walt was always gonna wanna play with the big guns… And they had Poke and Doc around to make sure they didn’t all kill themselves. Shit, with Rudy Reyes renting one of the shuttles it was almost like old times, cruising around getting shot at.
“Look alive,” Brad said, cutting through Ray’s thoughts. Oh, yeah. The mission. Fuck this, Brad had better be giving out blowjobs like candy for the next month to make up for this shit.
Ray looked up at the man - their contact? - walking towards them. Small, smarmy, bowler-cap-wearing POG, yeah, had to be Badger. He’d come alone, as asked, but Ray knew without a doubt that his men were surrounding the perimeter. He was a slimy piece of camel-spit by all accounts, but he was going to offload two thousand platinum worth of medical supplies in this backwoods system for them, and Ray figured he could handle him at least until they got their money. Which would be as soon as damn possible, if Ray had his way. Bullshit fucking mission.
“Yo, homes,” he called casually, leaning on the bar. “Heads up.”
Badger looked them up and down, didn’t seem too impressed. “I thought the captain would be here for this.” he said with narrowed eyes.
Ray blinked. “Captain? Who?”
“LT,” Brad supplied.
Now Badger looked puzzled. “Who?”
“Oh,” said Ray, getting it. “Captain LT.”
“You got a new captain? What happened to Fick?”
“Captain LT is Fick,” Ray said impatiently.
“What?”
“…What?”
They all stood around looking confused at each other for a moment until Brad coughed.
“Nate Fick is still our captain, Badger. We call him LT because he was our Lieutenant in the war. It stuck.”
Ray looked at Badger stonily. “So it’s Captain LT to you, buster.”
Badger shook his head. “Bloody Browncoats. I hate dealing with you crazy ex-military boneheads.”
“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river, homes,” Ray cut in, waving his hand. “So give us our platinum and we can all go our separate ways and be happy.”
At this, though, Badger sucked a deep breath in through his teeth and clicked his tongue. He looked deeply saddened. Ray shot a glance at Brad and rolled his eyes. More bullshit.
“Look, about that, gentlemen,” Badger started, shaking his head sorrowfully. “Seems there’s a bit of a glut on the market at the moment. We’ve had a few shipments come in at…bargain prices, and it seems demand is a lot lower than it was last time we spoke.” He shrugged, like, what are ya gonna do? “We’re going to have to renegotiate.” Ray had never wanted to slap someone so bad in his life.
“Fuck that, dude. We agreed on two thousand and we’re getting two thousand, right? And none of us are leaving this godforsaken planet or this piece of shit bar until that platinum is tucked nice and deep in our pockets. You understand that, you Nancy-faced cockney dick-suck?”
Badger held out his hands and took a step back, looking beseechingly at Brad, who was placidly sipping - well, it had come out of a bottle with ‘whiskey’ written on it, but Ray was reserving judgment. Brad just raised an eyebrow and cocked his head towards Ray. “What he said.”
“Whoa, now. I didn’t come here to be insulted by a little fish like this, Colbert.” Badger looked annoyed, but still like he thought he had control of the situation, which meant he was stupider than Ray had thought. “You better pull back your miniature pit-bull or the deal’s completely off,” he continued, “You understand that, you bunch of stupid jarheads?”
Okay, no. Seriously. Ray had had enough of this crap. He rapped his knuckles on the bar-top and stood up.
“Okay, I’m bored now. I only trade lame insults with the guys on my crew, not two-bit shyster crooks like you, Badger. Give us our gorram platinum now, or you’ll be leaving this dump in a body bag.”
Badger tried to grin, but it looked forced, there was murder in his eyes. Ray had that effect on people. “You’re all talk, little pup. My men-”
“Your men ain’t shit,” Ray cut in, and gestured to the bar’s only two exits. Poke had appeared at one, picking at his nails with a Ka-Bar and bristling with so many weapons he looked like he was about to fall over. Walt was at the other door, and he was only holding one - but being that it was about half the size of his body and shot rocket grenades, anything else would pretty much be over-kill.
Badger went pale. “Hey, what the hell is this? This bar has a no-arms policy.”
Brad smirked. “Maybe for plebeians like you, my prickly little friend, but we happen to know the owner.”
Ray grinned, and raised his glass to Garza, who stood frowning behind the bar. “Why you gotta insult my place so much, Person?” he asked moodily, and pointed at Walt. “And if he shoots that thing in here, I’m making you all pay for the damages and help me clean up. My grandma doesn’t need this at her time of life.”
“Relax, Garza,” Brad said. “Everything’s under control. Badger here is just gonna give us the platinum we agreed on and then leave.”
“Yeah, Walt’ll have to pop his cherry on that gun another day,” Ray added. “Because I’m sure Badger wouldn’t want to cause your poor gramma any grief by making a mess of himself all over her nice old tavern, now, would he?”
Brad shook his head. “No one’s firing any RPGs in here. Walt.”
Walt put down the grenade launcher with a disappointed noise, but then smiled sunnily and reached for something he had leaning against the door. He hauled it up, and Ray sighed inwardly. This one was only about a quarter of the kid’s body mass, and shot incendiary bullets instead of grenades - big improvement.
“No, Walt,” Brad said patiently. “Remember? When Ray has to use his indoor voice, you have to use your indoor weapons.”
Walt pouted and dropped the second weapon, picking up a perfectly ordinary sub-machine gun instead. “Better?”
“Much.”
Brad finally looked back at Badger, who seemed on the verge of passing out with rage, clutching at his bowler hat and glowering around himself as if he could set them all alight with the power of his mind or something. Ray had never actually had a chance to use the expression ‘hopping mad’ before, but he thought maybe if they gave Badger another couple minutes he’d be about there.
“Badger, we all know what’s going to happen here,” he said. “Just give us our money so we can all go home and let Garza’s grandmother get a good night’s sleep. God.”
“You’ll never work on this planet again,” Badger spat, giving in and pulling out a bag, counting out the platinum on the bar. “You’ll never work in this system again. Your reps are gonna be destroyed, you bunch of brain dead gorram Browncoats.”
“Actually, dude, I think you’ll find our reps just got a hell of a lot more badass,” Ray shot back, hefting the bag that Badger tossed him. Brad started backing towards Poke’s exit, so Ray shrugged and started sidling towards Walt. “Okay, so I guess it was nice doing business with you. Oh wait, no it wasn’t, it fucking sucked.”
“Ray, take Walt and get the ship ready,” Brad ordered, and took his assault rifle back from Poke, who’d been minding it for him. “Me and Poke are gonna see Badger off Garza’s land. We wouldn’t want him to outstay his welcome.”
“Aye-aye, Iceman!” Ray reached the door and picked up Walt’s grenade launcher for him, slinging it over his back and almost knocking himself out. “C’mon kiddo, let’s get outta here.”
Ray and Walt jogged out towards the Matilda, which had set down about a hundred meters away, guarded by the LT and Doc - Rudy was off on an assignment. They reached her just as the LT dropped the ramp, Doc riding it down and covering them as they ran up.
“S’all good, ladies,” Ray called as he raced over to the cockpit, throwing the LT the bag of platinum. “Ray-Ray is back on deck. Step aside, LT, I love you but you can’t fly for shit.”
“Brad and Poke?”
“Seeing off Badger. Fuck, that guy is like a class-A douche. I still don’t know why I had to fucking go on that mission, I feel all slimy just from being close to him.”
“You were right, LT,” Walt said, sauntering into the cockpit and grinning as they jerked into the air, just as the LT raised a cup of coffee to his mouth. Ray snickered, and Walt went on. “Ray talked the fuck out of him. The sneaky bastard couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”
Ray rolled his eyes and flew over Garza’s tavern, saw Brad and Poke casually following after Badger, guns raised, as he marched before them. “Asshole,” he muttered, and then saw the ambush - sorry, no, the piss-poor attempt at something resembling an ambush - in the trees up ahead. Ray knew from ambushes, and whatever that inadequately hidden assortment of dickheads and lowlifes was, an ambush wasn’t it.
The LT saw it, too. “Three o’clock,” he said, sounding almost bored. Walt glanced over and grinned.
“Fuck yeah, finally time to get out the grenade launcher,” he said happily, and grabbed it up from when Ray had dropped it beside his chair. “LT! Permission?”
The LT sighed, and Ray shot him a smile. “Brad wouldn’t let him use it inside,” he explained. “Let him play.”
“Okay, fine. Walt, ride the ramp and provide covering fire. Doc, drop the ladders, if Walt’s laying down that kind of arti we won’t be able to get close enough for Brad and Poke to board. Ray, swerve right and fly over the trees.”
Ray reached over to pop Walt a fist bump as he went out, then did as he was told, flying to the right of Brad and Poke, waiting for the ramp to drop before heading closer.
“Spotted, LT,” he said, as the men in the trees started opening fire. “Motherfuckers, they’re gonna scratch the paint.”
“Fly lower,” the LT ordered, leaning over Ray’s shoulder to watch the monitors. “Let Walt get closer-”
At that moment, a tree disappeared in a ball of fire, and they heard what could only be described as maniacal laughter as Walt played with his new toy. Brad and Poke were firing too, now, as Badger ducked off to the side, screaming for backup.
“LT, we need to get Walt a puppy or something,” Ray muttered as he dropped the ship lower, watching the rope ladder swinging over Brad and Poke’s heads. “I mean, he’s all sunshine and glitter until he gets a hold of any sort of heavy weapon and then it’s whoops! Hello evil-psycho-villain-Hasser, good to meet you.”
“He hasn’t gotten laid in a while. Maybe that’d do it.”
Ray laughed as another tree exploded. “Yeah, well, I’d offer to help out, but I don’t think the Iceman would appreciate me spreading this sugar around.”
The LT blanched and shook his head, but Ray had gotten good at reading his face, knew when he was hiding a smile.
“Quiet, Ray, and drop lower or you won’t be spreading your sugar anywhere. The ladder’s still too high.”
“Yeah, well if Walt would stop exploding every fucking thing…” Ray dropped the ship another few meters and watched the monitors as Poke grabbed the ladder, climbing up a few rungs before Brad followed.
“Okay, they’re up, fly, fly.” The LT ran out of the cockpit towards the hatch, and Ray flew off, dodging a couple of stray rocket blasts from one of the more resourceful of Badger’s men. He tuned out the commotion of Poke, then Brad being hauled up through the hatch, followed by Walt racing up the ramp as Doc shut it, and just concentrated on flying, engaging the thrust and getting them as far away from the planet as they could. None of them were idiots. Badger’s crew would be hot for them for awhile, best to find somewhere to loiter and lay low for a while.
Somewhere they could spend that platinum. Oh, fuck yeah.
Ray grinned to himself, and sped off into the stars.
~
He stayed in the cockpit for hours, until - as was becoming more and more common - the LT sent Brad in to set the autopilot and drag Ray off to bed. Ray hated the autopilot.
“You let Walt sleep in the armoury,” he said (they didn’t actually have an armoury. They had a storeroom where Walt kept his weapons, but Walt hadn’t thought ‘the storeroom where he kept his weapons’ sounded fancy enough), “So why can’t I stay here?”
“Well I don’t like that either, but if Walt falls asleep in the armoury he won’t accidentally fly us all into an asteroid belt,” Brad said. He looked sleepy, rumpled in nothing but his pajama pants, and Ray realised he’d probably been waiting up for him. He felt a flash of guilt. They’d had a long day, and they couldn’t all survive on coffee and catnaps the way Ray sometimes thought he could.
He sighed and finished plotting their course for the next few hours, mostly through open space, nothing out here anyway. They’d already picked up Rudy’s shuttle at their rendezvous. They had nowhere to be and nothing to do except stay off Badger’s - and the Alliance’s - radar.
“Fine. Come on, then,” he said, and hooked an arm around Brad’s waist. Brad frowned but didn’t wiggle out of his grasp, which Ray took as a positive sign. To say Brad wasn’t the touchy feely sort was a bit of an understatement. “Your place or mine?”
“Your cabin smells like the place dirty socks go to die,” Brad grumbled. “Mine.”
Ray shrugged and waved goodnight to the LT, who was sitting up with some paperwork in the galley, a mug of coffee at his elbow. Hypocritical bastard. “Whatever. Hey, why doesn’t someone drag the LT off to bed too? Unfair.”
“If we had someone to drag the LT off to bed, then I’d make sure it happened,” Brad said, shooting a worried glance over his shoulder. “He runs himself into the ground.”
“Yeah, nothing’s changed, huh?”
They entered the cabin, and away from the eyes of the rest of the crew, Brad gently pushed Ray up against the wall, bracketed him between his arms.
“Some things have changed,” he said, and Ray smiled, tipped his head up for a kiss.
Yeah, some things had.
They’d been close, during the war. They’d always worked together as a team, reading each other’s minds in the heat of battle, working in sync. Brad said they made a good team because he was the only one who could tune out Ray’s constant mouthing off, Ray said it was because he was the only one who could crack the Iceman’s weird, socially awkward shell. Whatever the reason, they’d been a unit, a set, but they hadn’t been more than that until after it was all over.
It was partly Walt’s fault, partly the LT’s. Brad and Ray had been so close that Walt had come up to Ray one day, not long after they got the Matilda up and running, and given him a funny look.
“Hey. Don’t punch me in the face,” he’d started, and Ray had shrugged.
“I’m not making any promises,” he’d said, but Walt had Suzy slung across his back, so it was pretty much a bluff. Walt ignored him.
“So you don’t have to answer, and I’d understand it if you didn’t, but…is Sergeant Colbert sly?”
Ray’s mouth had dropped open, and Walt had hurried on, waving his arms around. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! None of us would care! It’s just, you know, the way he…and look, the LT needs someone like Colbert. They’re probably really good for each other! It’s all cool.”
Ray had blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Wait. Wait, Brad and the LT?”
“Uh…yeah.” Walt had stared at him like an idiot. “Obviously.”
Oh.
Ray hadn’t thought it was obvious. Ray hadn’t thought of it at all. He’d figured he knew the difference between what Brad and the LT had - which, as far as he could see, was a bit of hero worship, a large dose of friendship, and a professional respect that ran very deep - with what Walt was on about. Ray was Brad’s best friend, damnit. They’d flown through the universe together, fought and lost a war together, were still together. He’d know, right?
He’d gone to Brad with it that night, leaning on the door to Brad’s cabin. “So Walt thinks you and the LT are bumping uglies,” he’d said bluntly, because, well, tact wasn’t exactly his strong point. He’d looked up into Brad’s face, not bothered to hide the hurt that must have been showing in his. “You would have told me, right? I mean, if you and LT were…”
Brad had looked at Ray with the same expression Walt had given him earlier. “Exactly how stupid are you?” he’d inquired, stepping up into Ray’s space. Ray had bitten his lip.
“I guess that’s open for debate,” he’d started, but Brad had cut him off with a palm across his mouth, still staring down at him.
“Walt’s mistaken,” he’d said calmly, and Ray had swallowed, tried to squirm out of Brad’s grip.
But Brad hadn’t let him. Instead, he’d leaned down, slow and intent, and replaced his palm with his mouth, kissing Ray until he was well and truly convinced that no, Brad wasn’t fucking the LT.
And years later, there they were in the same place, pushed up against Brad’s cabin wall while Brad leaned down, let his lips press against Ray’s. They didn’t have anything to prove, not anymore, they were comfortable with each other, with what they were. And yes, okay, what they were may have been slightly broken war vets who had turned to a life of crime to support themselves and their ship, but it didn’t matter.
They mattered.
“Come to bed,” Brad ordered as he pulled away. “To sleep,” he added as Ray started to grin.
Ray was going to protest, but it came out as a yawn, which kind of undermined any argument he might have had. “Fine,” he muttered, stripping down to his drawers. “But I expect some quality head after today, Bradley. I can’t believe you made me deal with that scumbag.”
“Quit whining. He’s the only person I’ve ever met who talked as much shit as you, me and Nate wanted to see what would happen when we got the two of you together in a room.”
“Oh, so I’m your little experiment am I, Colbert?” Ray slipped into the bed beside Brad, and what they were doing wasn’t snuggling, okay. It was fucking huddling for warmth. It got cold in space.
“Yes, Person, you’re pretty much an extended science project,” Brad muttered sleepily into his neck, and Ray smiled.
“But I won, right?”
He felt Brad smile back. “Yeah, Ray. You won.”
~
Ray didn’t relive the war over and over like some of them, but since it had ended he’d had trouble sleeping more than a few hours at a time. Mostly he just stayed in bed, awake next to Brad, waiting the night out. Sometimes he got up and wandered aimlessly around the ship, or went to the cockpit to stare out into the stars, watch the nothing fly past the Matilda.
And sometimes he went to the armoury and hassled Hasser.
He was there tonight, sitting on the floor with various gun parts laid out on a drop cloth before him. Ray was pretty sure that they had the cleanest weapons on any ship on the ‘verse, but it came at a price. Walt’s eyes were shadowed, his face pale, and the smile he put on for Ray was patently fake.
“Person. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“Shouldn’t you?” Ray sat down opposite him, picked up a soft rag and poured on some oil. “You get any sleep, Walt?” he asked as he started cleaning bullets that were already shining, spotless.
Walt shrugged. “Got a couple hours,” he said. “Too keyed up after today, you know.”
“Yeah.” Ray knew better than to push it. They’d all had a hard war, and Bravo Two had had it harder than most, but he sometimes thought Walt had had it hardest of all.
They worked in silence for a while, diligently wiping and scrubbing, until Walt was satisfied that none of the weapons were going to jam, none of them were going to let him down in the heat of battle ever again. It was pretty fucked up.
But at least Walt knew it.
“Doc wants me to try these meds,” he said eventually, leaning back against the wall and hooking a thumb through one of his suspenders. “Says they might cut down on the OCD bullshit.”
Walt was from an outer-rim planet, not too far away from where Ray grew up, actually, and he still had a low hick twang to his words that made everything he said sound softer than it was. Ray frowned at his hands as he listened.
“I know Doc wouldn’t steer me wrong,” Walt continued. “I trust him, I just…”
“Don’t trust the pills?” Ray asked, and Walt nodded. Ray understood. They’d tried to make him take sleeping pills for a while, but it hadn’t taken. He hated them, hated the way they took him away from himself. He didn’t need the sleep, or at least not that kind of messed up, chemical sleep. He’d rebelled, and the LT had eventually made them let up on it, backing him up against Brad and Doc. Ray’d been grateful for that, and now he tried not to pressure Walt, knew how frustrating it could be.
“Don’t take ‘em if you don’t want to, kid,” he said carefully. “But you should trust Doc.”
Walt just sighed, and started to take apart an assault rifle. Ray shook his head and gently took it away from him, set it back in its rack.
“Go to bed, dude,” he said. “Go to bed and stare at the ceiling until the LT gets us up for chow, whatever, but gorram it…let it go for the rest of the night.”
Walt tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “I feel like a crazy person sometimes,” he said ruefully. “But I know I’m not. I’ll be shiny.”
Ray stood up and reached down his hand, cuffing Walt upside the head when he didn’t open his eyes. “I’m the crazy one on this ship. Stop fucking moving in on my territory,” he said as Walt took his hand and hauled up to his feet. “Go the fuck to bed, kid.”
“All right, all right,” Walt muttered, but he looked a little grateful, like he’d been waiting for someone to force him out of it for the night. Ray knew sometimes it was the LT that did it, and he almost wished that the two of them were sly, so they could fall into bed and have the epic romance Ray thought they deserved. But Walt was a ladies man through a through, and as far as Ray could tell, the LT was above the pleasures of the flesh completely (“Don’t be so certain”, was all Brad had said about that), so that was out of the question. Still, it was good to know that the LT had Walt’s back when Ray didn’t.
Walt’s boots clanked up the corridor ahead of Ray as they went back to their cabins. Ray peeked into the galley on the way, and was gratified to find it empty, the LT gone off to bed too. He felt like a mother hen, gathering up all his little chicks, and smiled at the thought as Walt disappeared through his door. Mama Ray. That was just all kinds of wrong.
“Where’d you go?” Brad asked sleepily, as Ray crawled back in bed besides him.
Ray pressed against him, pushed his cold skin up against Brad’s warm chest. “Put Walt to bed. He was up cleaning the weapons again.”
“He been to see Doc about that?”
“Yeah. He’ll be fine.”
But Brad was already falling back asleep, and Ray didn’t want to put this on him anyway. Walt was his, or maybe his and the LT’s. Shit, they could have joint custody of the messed up little hillbilly, could work out some sort of timeshare agreement…
“Stop thinking,” Brad slurred then, throwing an arm over Ray’s chest. “G’sleep. Think mornin’”
“Okay, Brad,” Ray whispered, and patted his arm. He supposed he might be able to manage another few hours, if he gave it a shot.
The Matilda hummed around them, and he let her lull him into it. She cocooned them, the remaining men of Bravo Two, fucked up and hunted and damaged as they were. They weren’t much, and hell, the Matilda wasn’t really much either, but she was home.
They’d do what they had to keep it together. Mostly it meant pulling security, transporting goods - she was a Hummer Class, built like a flying fortress - but more and more often they were forced into the kind of bullshit they’d pulled today. The LT didn’t like it, none of them really liked it, but business was slow for a crew of ex-Browncoats, even with Rudy on board. If smuggling could keep them going for a while, then that’s what they’d do.
Even if it meant dealing with asswipes like Badger.
Ray rolled over, let Brad wrap himself around his back. He thought of Walt, lying awake in his bunk, eyes wide as he relived the moment his gun had jammed again, leaving Trombley without cover as the crazy bastard ran full-tilt towards an Alliance Roller. He thought of the LT, with the weight of the world on his shoulders, trying to hold them all up like it was his responsibility alone. He thought of Poke, who’d had a wife and kid, who never talked about his old life anymore at all. He thought of Doc who was so angry all the time, but who had more love in him than anyone Ray had ever met.
And he thought of Brad, who was the only thing keeping Ray going, sometimes, who was the best thing that had happened to him since the war, shit, since before the war, too.
Yeah, they were all messed up.
But he wouldn’t change a gorram thing.