NEW! "Hazard Pay" (Noah/OMC)
Title: “Hazard Pay”
Author: WillWork4Dean
Pairing: Noah/OMC shamelessly based on a RP
Rating: M for Language
Prompt: Action!Noah in action!
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em. Don’t make no money.
link
Shit, yeah, another story. God only knows how many chapters this one will be. I know I shouldn’t start a new one, but I was so inspired by rebop’s Action!Noah in “Skookum” that I had to write about him, in a slightly different context, of course.
Hope you like.
***
”Hazard Pay”
As the helicopter banked over the ravaged city, Noah felt a familiar surge of adrenaline. No matter how many missions he went on, these last few minutes were always the same - three parts excitement, one part terror. He did a final check of his gear, knowing that both survival and success lay in preparation.
Satisfied that everything was in order, Noah glanced over at the pale, freckled face of the young recruit sitting opposite him. The kid looked barely old enough to shave, let alone be in uniform. His brown eyes were wide under his too-big helmet, his breath coming in short bursts as he clutched his weapon for dear life.
Noah grabbed on to a strap for balance and leaned across the aisle. “Don’t forget to breathe.”
The recruit stared at him, clearly not comprehending. “Sir?”
Noah raised his voice to carry over the noise of the chopper. “Breathe in,” he ordered.
The recruit obeyed automatically.
“Hold for two, exhale long.” Noah demonstrated as he spoke. “Breathe in, hold for two, exhale long.”
He repeated the instructions as the recruit followed along. Gradually, the boy’s features relaxed as his panic eased.
“Better?” Noah asked.
The recruit blinked in surprise. “Yes, sir.”
“Keep it up and you’ll be fine.”
The recruit bobbed his head. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Noah turned away, uncomfortable with thanks as always, and caught Jeff looking back over his shoulder at him, smirking.
Noah blushed in embarrassment and gave him the finger. Jeff laughed, his perfect white teeth gleaming in his battle-grimed face.
“Here we go!” someone yelled.
Everyone tensed, and Jeff turned to the front again, his pale eyes narrowing in anticipation. With a sudden, stomach-turning lurch, the hilo stopped its descent. The doors were ripped open, and a blast of hot desert air rolled in, carrying the stench of burning oil. The muffled thunder of the blades rose to an ear-shattering roar, punctuated by distant gunfire and explosions. As the soldiers poured out the doors, howling, Jeff turned back one last time. His eyes met Noah’s and they shared a fierce, silent grin. Then Jeff winked and dove out of the helicopter, disappearing into the swirling dust below.
As he hoisted his camera to his shoulder and followed, Noah found himself thinking about his father. If Winston Mayer could see his son now - jumping out of a military helicopter into the hottest combat zone on the planet - would he finally be proud? Would he acknowledge, reluctantly, that he’d been wrong? Or would he still see nothing but disappointment and loss, failure and shame?
More importantly, Noah mused as he ran down the road past bombed-out houses, what would Luke think? Would he be interested to know what became of his erstwhile ex-boyfriend? Would he be impressed? Hell, would he even care?
A bullet whizzed by Noah’s ear, bringing him back to the present with a start. Ahead, Jeff crouched in the shelter of an ancient stone wall now pock-marked by bullet holes and scarred with graffiti. He beckoned to Noah, who knelt a few feet back and readied his camera. His senses heightened by danger, he could feel the sharp rocks of the roadway pressing painfully into his knees, the itchy trickle of sweat as it ran down the length of his back, and above all, the ever-present heat pushing against his skin, as dense and palpable as a living thing. He heard a whistling sound and felt his entire body tense.
The whistle rose to a scream, and an explosion hit nearby, shaking the ground. Both men ducked as a shower of shrapnel and rock flew overhead, but neither left their position. As Noah held up three fingers, then two, then pointed at Jeff, the reporter quickly swiped a hand across his brow, shoving his trademark, prematurely silver hair under his helmet. Confident that his trusted cameraman would capture every second of footage, he began his report, his famously handsome features grim and determined. “This is TNN’s Jefferson Carter, reporting from Basra, Iraq, on the deadliest week of combat so far in this beleaguered city..."
Likewise, Noah pushed aside his troubling thoughts and focused on filming. There was no use wondering about his father, about Luke, about anything or anyone in his past. Only the present mattered. Only survival, and doing his job.
Besides, Noah thought, as he ignored flying debris, roiling smoke, and distant screams to push in for a close-up, he already knew the answer to all his questions.
Hell, no.
***
To be continued? Y/N?
Author: WillWork4Dean
Pairing: Noah/OMC shamelessly based on a RP
Rating: M for Language
Prompt: Action!Noah in action!
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em. Don’t make no money.
link
Shit, yeah, another story. God only knows how many chapters this one will be. I know I shouldn’t start a new one, but I was so inspired by rebop’s Action!Noah in “Skookum” that I had to write about him, in a slightly different context, of course.
Hope you like.
***
”Hazard Pay”
As the helicopter banked over the ravaged city, Noah felt a familiar surge of adrenaline. No matter how many missions he went on, these last few minutes were always the same - three parts excitement, one part terror. He did a final check of his gear, knowing that both survival and success lay in preparation.
Satisfied that everything was in order, Noah glanced over at the pale, freckled face of the young recruit sitting opposite him. The kid looked barely old enough to shave, let alone be in uniform. His brown eyes were wide under his too-big helmet, his breath coming in short bursts as he clutched his weapon for dear life.
Noah grabbed on to a strap for balance and leaned across the aisle. “Don’t forget to breathe.”
The recruit stared at him, clearly not comprehending. “Sir?”
Noah raised his voice to carry over the noise of the chopper. “Breathe in,” he ordered.
The recruit obeyed automatically.
“Hold for two, exhale long.” Noah demonstrated as he spoke. “Breathe in, hold for two, exhale long.”
He repeated the instructions as the recruit followed along. Gradually, the boy’s features relaxed as his panic eased.
“Better?” Noah asked.
The recruit blinked in surprise. “Yes, sir.”
“Keep it up and you’ll be fine.”
The recruit bobbed his head. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Noah turned away, uncomfortable with thanks as always, and caught Jeff looking back over his shoulder at him, smirking.
Noah blushed in embarrassment and gave him the finger. Jeff laughed, his perfect white teeth gleaming in his battle-grimed face.
“Here we go!” someone yelled.
Everyone tensed, and Jeff turned to the front again, his pale eyes narrowing in anticipation. With a sudden, stomach-turning lurch, the hilo stopped its descent. The doors were ripped open, and a blast of hot desert air rolled in, carrying the stench of burning oil. The muffled thunder of the blades rose to an ear-shattering roar, punctuated by distant gunfire and explosions. As the soldiers poured out the doors, howling, Jeff turned back one last time. His eyes met Noah’s and they shared a fierce, silent grin. Then Jeff winked and dove out of the helicopter, disappearing into the swirling dust below.
As he hoisted his camera to his shoulder and followed, Noah found himself thinking about his father. If Winston Mayer could see his son now - jumping out of a military helicopter into the hottest combat zone on the planet - would he finally be proud? Would he acknowledge, reluctantly, that he’d been wrong? Or would he still see nothing but disappointment and loss, failure and shame?
More importantly, Noah mused as he ran down the road past bombed-out houses, what would Luke think? Would he be interested to know what became of his erstwhile ex-boyfriend? Would he be impressed? Hell, would he even care?
A bullet whizzed by Noah’s ear, bringing him back to the present with a start. Ahead, Jeff crouched in the shelter of an ancient stone wall now pock-marked by bullet holes and scarred with graffiti. He beckoned to Noah, who knelt a few feet back and readied his camera. His senses heightened by danger, he could feel the sharp rocks of the roadway pressing painfully into his knees, the itchy trickle of sweat as it ran down the length of his back, and above all, the ever-present heat pushing against his skin, as dense and palpable as a living thing. He heard a whistling sound and felt his entire body tense.
The whistle rose to a scream, and an explosion hit nearby, shaking the ground. Both men ducked as a shower of shrapnel and rock flew overhead, but neither left their position. As Noah held up three fingers, then two, then pointed at Jeff, the reporter quickly swiped a hand across his brow, shoving his trademark, prematurely silver hair under his helmet. Confident that his trusted cameraman would capture every second of footage, he began his report, his famously handsome features grim and determined. “This is TNN’s Jefferson Carter, reporting from Basra, Iraq, on the deadliest week of combat so far in this beleaguered city..."
Likewise, Noah pushed aside his troubling thoughts and focused on filming. There was no use wondering about his father, about Luke, about anything or anyone in his past. Only the present mattered. Only survival, and doing his job.
Besides, Noah thought, as he ignored flying debris, roiling smoke, and distant screams to push in for a close-up, he already knew the answer to all his questions.
Hell, no.
***
To be continued? Y/N?