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aeroport_artTwo chapters in two days! Pow pow, I'm on a roll. AKA this 'verse is nomming my brain. *sigh* One day, perhaps, I'll regain full usage of my own head. In the meantime, here's the danderfluff coming out of it.
Chapter 1 | 2 | 3
Nate slips out of bed, trying to remain quiet as he hastily pulls on a shirt and trousers, shoving his feet into well-worn boots. He casts one last look at the other bed and the form beneath the covers, Brad’s long body curled on his side and facing the window.
Good—still asleep.
Nate slides out of the room. He doesn’t have far to go, however.
“Gunny,” Nate hisses, rapping the back of his index finger on the painted wood housing the room next door. “Gunny.”
The door swings open, but it ain’t Gunny behind it. Deputy Marshal Christeson blinks at Nate blearily, smacking his mouth before realizing it’s his superior officer before him. Christeson straightens up.
“Sir,” he says, voice sleep-thick. “Do you need—“
“Can you give us a moment?” Nate interrupts. He doesn’t mean to be rude, but he needs to talk to his partner in private.
“Yes, sir. Of course,” he says, stepping outside as Nate edges in, then closes the door behind him.
Gunny’s sitting up in bed, rubbing his face. It’s a familiar sight and calms Nate somewhat.
“Nate, what is it?” Gunny asks roughly. He peers out the window, checking for sun-up but he won’t find it. Only a wan, blue light seeps into the room, along with a damp morning breeze. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. I just need to talk to you. Wanted to talk yesterday, actually, but couldn’t find a moment.”
Gunny hides a huge yawn behind his hand, but when he’s done blinking it away his eyes look more alert. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know what you mean. Never thought this job was going to entail babysitting.”
Nate cracks a smile. “No kidding. I thought Walt was going to stab Ray through the chest during dinner.”
“I’m still surprised he didn’t,” Gunny agrees, but doesn’t add anything else. He’s clearly waiting for Nate to explain why he’s woken him up at the ass-crack of dawn.
“It’s about the mission,” Nate finally broaches. “I don’t think I should be the one going under cover.”
“Nate.”
“You understand, Gunny,” Nate says, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. “You know what’s at stake for me here.”
Gunny leans forward, crossing his legs Indian-style under his blanket as he looks at Nate in concern. “Damn it, Nate. You can’t let all that shit keep haunting you.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Nate asks. “If ‘all that shit’ wasn’t haunting me, why the fuck are we even out here, in the middle of nowhere?”
“San Francisco’s not nowhere.”
“It might as well be,” Nate counters with more vehemence than intended. He forces himself to take a deep breath and sits down on Christeson’s rumpled bed, which is still vaguely warm. Nate grabs the pillow and puts it on his lap, picking out loose feathers and letting them float to the ground.
“Sorry,” he says after awhile. “I’m not trying to be difficult. I just…don’t think it’s the smartest thing for me to go under cover as—as a queer.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Nate,” Gunny says. “I get it. I know you’re still worried about Ferrando. And you’re right, there are Marshals all over the country who could say something. But you have to remember, you did nothing wrong.”
Nate stills his hand. There’s a small pile of feathers at the base of his feet. “Gunny,” he says. Fuck, this is hard, but it’s about time his partner learned the entire truth. It’s been bugging Nate across the country, this one fact he’s kept bottled up all these months.
“Maybe I didn’t do anything wrong,” Nate says evenly. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”
There’s a long, pregnant pause where Nate wants to rip the pillow in his hands to shreds, but he doesn’t want to deprive Christeson of that as well this morning. Kid’s probably sitting in the hallway, wearing nothing but his union suit.
“You’re telling me, what Captain McGraw saw…”
“Didn’t happen,” Nate cuts in, turning a wild-eyed gaze to his partner. “I swear it. Eric—I mean, Kocher would never jeopardize our jobs like that, and you know I wouldn’t either. I’m just saying—“
“You don’t have to defend yourself to me.”
“I want to. I’ve been—fuck, I’ve been thinking about this ever since Stamford,” Nate says heatedly. “I need you to know we never slept together. Jesus, we didn’t even so much as touch each other. I don’t know if McGraw was hallucinating, or just trying to get my ass fired after Ferrando put me in charge of the Stamford job. I don’t even care. I just.”
Nate runs his hand through his hair, which is longer than how he usually keeps it. His favorite barber’s back in Maryland, but so much for that. “I just want to see this through,” Nate sighs. “I’m not going to pretend there aren’t parts of this job I could do without, but if they discharge me before we end this thing with Cocheta…”
At Gunny’s long silence, Nate ventures a glance up. Even though he’s pretty sure Gunny would take this all in stride, it doesn’t make the relief any less palpable when he sees his partner looking at him with not disgust, but sympathy.
“I know we’re playing with fire, putting you in this position,” Gunny says gently.
“There are eyes all over this city,” Nate adds. “Even if the Service knows I’m under cover, do you really think that’s going to stop them from pointing the finger again once everything’s taken out of context?”
“I'm not disagreeing with you,” Gunny replies. He doesn’t sound completely convinced, but at least his voice is nonjudgmental when he asks, “What would be an alternative, though? You said out there, back in Patterson’s briefing room—this is probably the best bet we have in finding Cocheta.”
“I don’t know,” Nate says. The effort in having this conversation hits him suddenly, like getting thrown off a braking horse. Nate feels exhausted. “Someone else, maybe.”
“I suppose we could get Walt trained up,” Gunny says, scratching his chin with an audible scrape. “He’s young, he’s blond. Though I can’t tell if he’s attractive or not. What do you think, Fick?”
The playful lilt to Gunny’s question doesn’t go unappreciated, Nate unable to help a small smile. It quickly fades, though, when Nate actually considers what his partner’s suggesting.
Sending Walt out to entice Roth? Fuck that. Walt’s just about the last person Nate wants to serve up to the lions like a sacrificial lamb and furthermore, Nate would never let a civilian take the fall for an operation he’s perfectly capable of conducting himself.
He quickly runs through his other options. Mike? Too old. Ray? Too…Ray.
Christeson would get gobbled up faster than Walt, even, and Stafford couldn’t act anything less than disreputably heterosexual if his life depended on it.
Brad? Nate wonders, diplomatically…but just the thought of it makes Nate want to break something.
Nate meets his partner with a resigned look. He grumbles, “Do you always have to be right about everything?” and throws his pillow at Gunny, which bounces off his face and onto the floor. In response, Gunny just yawns again and lies back down.
“It’s settled, then. You’ll be fine,” Gunny says, burrowing underneath his covers. “Now, if you don’t mind, sun ain’t even up. Wake me when it’s breakfast.”
“I’m not saving you anything,” Nate says waspishly, but the fact of the matter is, he feels ten times lighter than when he woke a half hour ago.
He hops up from the bed and heads into the hallway, squatting down to pat Christeson on the shoulder to jostle him awake before getting back inside his own room.
-----
Nate enters the room, shutting the door behind with as little noise as possible. When he turns around, the first thing Nate notices is that he needn’t have bothered. Brad’s awake, sitting up in bed.
The second thing he notices is that behind Brad’s shoulder, the window’s ajar. Nate had opened it last night for the air.
Fuck, Nate thinks as he searches Brad’s face, finding the vestiges of guilt in Brad’s round eyes and parted lips. Before he can call him on it though, Brad shutters his expression away, only a slight frown marring his otherwise placid features.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’s heard everything.
Torn between fury at Brad’s chronic eavesdropping and horror at having Brad know things Nate never wanted him to know, Brad removes any need for decision-making as he swings his legs out of bed and grabs something from his nearby bag.
Nate watches with a sinking feeling as Brad quickly dresses, the brilliant ink of his tattoos disappearing behind dull flannel.
“Brad,” Nate starts, though he doesn’t know what he’s trying to say.
Brad stands up, stepping into a pair of sand-worn jeans and jerking them up over his legs. He stays mute, just works his jeans on, hopping a little as he yanks the waistband up to the right level, loose belt jingling.
“Brad,” Nate says tersely, his patience wearing thin. Across the room, Brad freezes, but neither does he turn around. Nate continues anyway. “I know you heard us next door.”
He lets the air hang with heavy silence. It’s Brad’s chance to defend himself if he wants, but all Brad does is slowly begin tucking his shirt into his jeans. Nate wishes he could see his face, get a read on something at least. Looks like he’s going to have to go into this blind.
“Fuck, Brad,” Nate sighs, leaning back on the door behind him. Lets his eyes drop to the ground. “If you don’t want to talk, fine. Just…tell me this doesn’t change anything.” Nate rubs his mouth with one hand. “That you’ll still work this case.”
He doesn’t know what he’s said that sets Brad off, but the sight of Brad’s bare toes in his line of vision has Nate jerking his head back up.
“You should’ve said something,” Brad glowers, hands coming down to either side of Nate’s head. Fuck, Brad’s unsettling when he gets like this—when he gets upset. “I’m not trying to get you fired by doing…” Brad breathes in audibly through his nose, like he’s steeling himself. “Whatever it is we’re doing.”
The hairs on Nate’s arms and neck stand up, Brad’s intensity rolling off him in waves. Nate chokes, “We aren’t doing anything.”
“Like you didn’t do anything with your friend back east?” Brad rushes angrily. “Well, look how that turned out—“ Brad stops, then starts again, his voice thinly controlled. “I just…I hate the idea of you trying to get into the pants of some scumbag,” he says slowly. “Especially knowing it could put your job at risk.”
Nate blinks. “I’ll be fine, Brad.”
“I’ll do it instead,” Brad blurts. “I want to do it.”
“Now you’re just being illogical,“ Nate frowns. He has more to add, but the sudden sight of Brad licking his lips has him momentarily stumped.
“It's not illogical,” Brad argues. “Infiltrating Roth’s cartel is just as feasible whether or not it’s you or me going in. Don’t tell me you think I ain’t capable of putting on a fucking smile to get in good with fat-cat jerk-offs. I’ve been under cover before. I can do this.”
“Brad—“
“We can tell the others when we meet,” Brad barrels on, like he’s convinced he’ll change Nate’s mind if he just keeps going. “We’ll tell them we talked it through and decided you were better placed to organize the operation, not to perform it like some fucking circus chimp in an act. You’re heading this mission and we can’t throw our biggest asset into the line of fire.”
Nate sends him a skeptical look. Brad adds, “This isn’t an emotional reaction, sir. It makes. Sense.”
Brad runs out of ammo then, leaning back and looking suddenly unsure of himself. He pulls his hands back from the door and crosses them under his armpits, waiting.
The newfound breathing room clears Nate’s head. “It’s already been decided,” Nate says, putting steel in his voice. “I don’t want to have to order you to listen to me, Brad.”
“And I don’t want you to have to jeopardize your career because of this,” Brad says quietly, his eyes a silent plea.
“The condition of my career isn’t any of your fucking concern, Special Deputy,” Nate snaps. It’s not that he doesn’t know Brad means well, but the fact is Brad shouldn’t even know Nate’s job is on the line. He has no fucking right to use Nate’s conversation with Gunny against him like collateral.
Brad holds his ground for the length of a heartbeat, but soon lowers his eyes and takes a step back. Nate keeps watching him, though—can’t help himself. He’s practically vibrating with anger, and there’s nowhere to direct the excess energy but at Brad.
For his part, Brad turns around wordlessly and heads for the gap between their beds. He sits down briefly to pull his boots on, then reaches out to swipe his keys and wallet off the nightstand. When he returns to the entryway, Nate moves aside for Brad’s passage. He listens, eyes falling shut, to the sound of Brad shutting the door behind him.
Chapter 1 | 2 | 3
Nate slips out of bed, trying to remain quiet as he hastily pulls on a shirt and trousers, shoving his feet into well-worn boots. He casts one last look at the other bed and the form beneath the covers, Brad’s long body curled on his side and facing the window.
Good—still asleep.
Nate slides out of the room. He doesn’t have far to go, however.
“Gunny,” Nate hisses, rapping the back of his index finger on the painted wood housing the room next door. “Gunny.”
The door swings open, but it ain’t Gunny behind it. Deputy Marshal Christeson blinks at Nate blearily, smacking his mouth before realizing it’s his superior officer before him. Christeson straightens up.
“Sir,” he says, voice sleep-thick. “Do you need—“
“Can you give us a moment?” Nate interrupts. He doesn’t mean to be rude, but he needs to talk to his partner in private.
“Yes, sir. Of course,” he says, stepping outside as Nate edges in, then closes the door behind him.
Gunny’s sitting up in bed, rubbing his face. It’s a familiar sight and calms Nate somewhat.
“Nate, what is it?” Gunny asks roughly. He peers out the window, checking for sun-up but he won’t find it. Only a wan, blue light seeps into the room, along with a damp morning breeze. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. I just need to talk to you. Wanted to talk yesterday, actually, but couldn’t find a moment.”
Gunny hides a huge yawn behind his hand, but when he’s done blinking it away his eyes look more alert. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know what you mean. Never thought this job was going to entail babysitting.”
Nate cracks a smile. “No kidding. I thought Walt was going to stab Ray through the chest during dinner.”
“I’m still surprised he didn’t,” Gunny agrees, but doesn’t add anything else. He’s clearly waiting for Nate to explain why he’s woken him up at the ass-crack of dawn.
“It’s about the mission,” Nate finally broaches. “I don’t think I should be the one going under cover.”
“Nate.”
“You understand, Gunny,” Nate says, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. “You know what’s at stake for me here.”
Gunny leans forward, crossing his legs Indian-style under his blanket as he looks at Nate in concern. “Damn it, Nate. You can’t let all that shit keep haunting you.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Nate asks. “If ‘all that shit’ wasn’t haunting me, why the fuck are we even out here, in the middle of nowhere?”
“San Francisco’s not nowhere.”
“It might as well be,” Nate counters with more vehemence than intended. He forces himself to take a deep breath and sits down on Christeson’s rumpled bed, which is still vaguely warm. Nate grabs the pillow and puts it on his lap, picking out loose feathers and letting them float to the ground.
“Sorry,” he says after awhile. “I’m not trying to be difficult. I just…don’t think it’s the smartest thing for me to go under cover as—as a queer.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Nate,” Gunny says. “I get it. I know you’re still worried about Ferrando. And you’re right, there are Marshals all over the country who could say something. But you have to remember, you did nothing wrong.”
Nate stills his hand. There’s a small pile of feathers at the base of his feet. “Gunny,” he says. Fuck, this is hard, but it’s about time his partner learned the entire truth. It’s been bugging Nate across the country, this one fact he’s kept bottled up all these months.
“Maybe I didn’t do anything wrong,” Nate says evenly. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”
There’s a long, pregnant pause where Nate wants to rip the pillow in his hands to shreds, but he doesn’t want to deprive Christeson of that as well this morning. Kid’s probably sitting in the hallway, wearing nothing but his union suit.
“You’re telling me, what Captain McGraw saw…”
“Didn’t happen,” Nate cuts in, turning a wild-eyed gaze to his partner. “I swear it. Eric—I mean, Kocher would never jeopardize our jobs like that, and you know I wouldn’t either. I’m just saying—“
“You don’t have to defend yourself to me.”
“I want to. I’ve been—fuck, I’ve been thinking about this ever since Stamford,” Nate says heatedly. “I need you to know we never slept together. Jesus, we didn’t even so much as touch each other. I don’t know if McGraw was hallucinating, or just trying to get my ass fired after Ferrando put me in charge of the Stamford job. I don’t even care. I just.”
Nate runs his hand through his hair, which is longer than how he usually keeps it. His favorite barber’s back in Maryland, but so much for that. “I just want to see this through,” Nate sighs. “I’m not going to pretend there aren’t parts of this job I could do without, but if they discharge me before we end this thing with Cocheta…”
At Gunny’s long silence, Nate ventures a glance up. Even though he’s pretty sure Gunny would take this all in stride, it doesn’t make the relief any less palpable when he sees his partner looking at him with not disgust, but sympathy.
“I know we’re playing with fire, putting you in this position,” Gunny says gently.
“There are eyes all over this city,” Nate adds. “Even if the Service knows I’m under cover, do you really think that’s going to stop them from pointing the finger again once everything’s taken out of context?”
“I'm not disagreeing with you,” Gunny replies. He doesn’t sound completely convinced, but at least his voice is nonjudgmental when he asks, “What would be an alternative, though? You said out there, back in Patterson’s briefing room—this is probably the best bet we have in finding Cocheta.”
“I don’t know,” Nate says. The effort in having this conversation hits him suddenly, like getting thrown off a braking horse. Nate feels exhausted. “Someone else, maybe.”
“I suppose we could get Walt trained up,” Gunny says, scratching his chin with an audible scrape. “He’s young, he’s blond. Though I can’t tell if he’s attractive or not. What do you think, Fick?”
The playful lilt to Gunny’s question doesn’t go unappreciated, Nate unable to help a small smile. It quickly fades, though, when Nate actually considers what his partner’s suggesting.
Sending Walt out to entice Roth? Fuck that. Walt’s just about the last person Nate wants to serve up to the lions like a sacrificial lamb and furthermore, Nate would never let a civilian take the fall for an operation he’s perfectly capable of conducting himself.
He quickly runs through his other options. Mike? Too old. Ray? Too…Ray.
Christeson would get gobbled up faster than Walt, even, and Stafford couldn’t act anything less than disreputably heterosexual if his life depended on it.
Brad? Nate wonders, diplomatically…but just the thought of it makes Nate want to break something.
Nate meets his partner with a resigned look. He grumbles, “Do you always have to be right about everything?” and throws his pillow at Gunny, which bounces off his face and onto the floor. In response, Gunny just yawns again and lies back down.
“It’s settled, then. You’ll be fine,” Gunny says, burrowing underneath his covers. “Now, if you don’t mind, sun ain’t even up. Wake me when it’s breakfast.”
“I’m not saving you anything,” Nate says waspishly, but the fact of the matter is, he feels ten times lighter than when he woke a half hour ago.
He hops up from the bed and heads into the hallway, squatting down to pat Christeson on the shoulder to jostle him awake before getting back inside his own room.
-----
Nate enters the room, shutting the door behind with as little noise as possible. When he turns around, the first thing Nate notices is that he needn’t have bothered. Brad’s awake, sitting up in bed.
The second thing he notices is that behind Brad’s shoulder, the window’s ajar. Nate had opened it last night for the air.
Fuck, Nate thinks as he searches Brad’s face, finding the vestiges of guilt in Brad’s round eyes and parted lips. Before he can call him on it though, Brad shutters his expression away, only a slight frown marring his otherwise placid features.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’s heard everything.
Torn between fury at Brad’s chronic eavesdropping and horror at having Brad know things Nate never wanted him to know, Brad removes any need for decision-making as he swings his legs out of bed and grabs something from his nearby bag.
Nate watches with a sinking feeling as Brad quickly dresses, the brilliant ink of his tattoos disappearing behind dull flannel.
“Brad,” Nate starts, though he doesn’t know what he’s trying to say.
Brad stands up, stepping into a pair of sand-worn jeans and jerking them up over his legs. He stays mute, just works his jeans on, hopping a little as he yanks the waistband up to the right level, loose belt jingling.
“Brad,” Nate says tersely, his patience wearing thin. Across the room, Brad freezes, but neither does he turn around. Nate continues anyway. “I know you heard us next door.”
He lets the air hang with heavy silence. It’s Brad’s chance to defend himself if he wants, but all Brad does is slowly begin tucking his shirt into his jeans. Nate wishes he could see his face, get a read on something at least. Looks like he’s going to have to go into this blind.
“Fuck, Brad,” Nate sighs, leaning back on the door behind him. Lets his eyes drop to the ground. “If you don’t want to talk, fine. Just…tell me this doesn’t change anything.” Nate rubs his mouth with one hand. “That you’ll still work this case.”
He doesn’t know what he’s said that sets Brad off, but the sight of Brad’s bare toes in his line of vision has Nate jerking his head back up.
“You should’ve said something,” Brad glowers, hands coming down to either side of Nate’s head. Fuck, Brad’s unsettling when he gets like this—when he gets upset. “I’m not trying to get you fired by doing…” Brad breathes in audibly through his nose, like he’s steeling himself. “Whatever it is we’re doing.”
The hairs on Nate’s arms and neck stand up, Brad’s intensity rolling off him in waves. Nate chokes, “We aren’t doing anything.”
“Like you didn’t do anything with your friend back east?” Brad rushes angrily. “Well, look how that turned out—“ Brad stops, then starts again, his voice thinly controlled. “I just…I hate the idea of you trying to get into the pants of some scumbag,” he says slowly. “Especially knowing it could put your job at risk.”
Nate blinks. “I’ll be fine, Brad.”
“I’ll do it instead,” Brad blurts. “I want to do it.”
“Now you’re just being illogical,“ Nate frowns. He has more to add, but the sudden sight of Brad licking his lips has him momentarily stumped.
“It's not illogical,” Brad argues. “Infiltrating Roth’s cartel is just as feasible whether or not it’s you or me going in. Don’t tell me you think I ain’t capable of putting on a fucking smile to get in good with fat-cat jerk-offs. I’ve been under cover before. I can do this.”
“Brad—“
“We can tell the others when we meet,” Brad barrels on, like he’s convinced he’ll change Nate’s mind if he just keeps going. “We’ll tell them we talked it through and decided you were better placed to organize the operation, not to perform it like some fucking circus chimp in an act. You’re heading this mission and we can’t throw our biggest asset into the line of fire.”
Nate sends him a skeptical look. Brad adds, “This isn’t an emotional reaction, sir. It makes. Sense.”
Brad runs out of ammo then, leaning back and looking suddenly unsure of himself. He pulls his hands back from the door and crosses them under his armpits, waiting.
The newfound breathing room clears Nate’s head. “It’s already been decided,” Nate says, putting steel in his voice. “I don’t want to have to order you to listen to me, Brad.”
“And I don’t want you to have to jeopardize your career because of this,” Brad says quietly, his eyes a silent plea.
“The condition of my career isn’t any of your fucking concern, Special Deputy,” Nate snaps. It’s not that he doesn’t know Brad means well, but the fact is Brad shouldn’t even know Nate’s job is on the line. He has no fucking right to use Nate’s conversation with Gunny against him like collateral.
Brad holds his ground for the length of a heartbeat, but soon lowers his eyes and takes a step back. Nate keeps watching him, though—can’t help himself. He’s practically vibrating with anger, and there’s nowhere to direct the excess energy but at Brad.
For his part, Brad turns around wordlessly and heads for the gap between their beds. He sits down briefly to pull his boots on, then reaches out to swipe his keys and wallet off the nightstand. When he returns to the entryway, Nate moves aside for Brad’s passage. He listens, eyes falling shut, to the sound of Brad shutting the door behind him.
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no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 03:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 03:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 04:34 am (UTC)Even as I'm SO DAMNED CURIOUS, here's the thing I love: they talk about this scandal of his like real people would, without repeating what each already knows for the reader's sake. It maintains the air of mystery (and makes me want to know rightthissecond), but it's also so wonderfully authentic that I flail.
“You should’ve said something,” Brad glowers, hands coming down to either side of Nate’s head. Fuck, Brad’s unsettling when he gets like this—when he gets upset. It makes the hairs on Nate’s arms and neck stand on end, Brad’s intensity rolling off him in waves.
GOD, I love the imagery...BUT! Okay, now I'm confused. What does Brad think Nate should've told him? Just that he's got a bit of a scandal hanging over him? Or that it has to do with other guys?
And that's a...mean place to end it. ::sniffs::
no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 02:55 pm (UTC)Okay, now I'm confused. What does Brad think Nate should've told him?
Meep, that's such a good point. i meant it as Brad wanting Nate to tell him his job was in danger so that brad would stop hitting on him and pressuring him so goddamned much. I'll make that clearer the next time i open up my word doc <3
you're the best \o/
no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 03:25 pm (UTC)Well, that's no fun. No, wait! Brad should be all conflicted and not wanting to put Nate's job in danger by hitting on him and stuff, only he just. can't. help. himself. That's fun. And pretty. Yes.
Obviously I have my priorities in order.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 04:43 pm (UTC)mostly, i needed brad to have a reason to keep his hands off nate for this fic, because i'm pretty sure nate wouldn't have been able to hold out for that long if brad was being all sexy up in his face. besides, brad's the emotionally constipated one, not nate. i feel like the dynamic makes more sense when nate's the pursuer, not the pursuee.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 11:36 pm (UTC)But not wanting to endanger his job works, don't get me wrong. Now I'm just rambling...
no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 09:05 am (UTC)have I mentioned already how much do I appreciate that you're writing this second part as nate's POV? it keeps the things more intriguing changing the perspective of the narrative..
and loved how you gave us info about what happened back east in bits and pieces, just how a real conversation would go, not too much exposition!
no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 03:03 pm (UTC)aww, thanks hon! After all the plot pushing of the previous chapter, this was so much fun to write. It probably shows in the fic, haha. I just wanted a scene where nate and gunny were bffs :D
how much do I appreciate that you're writing this second part as nate's POV
Hee hee I know, no way would i want to stay in brad's head for another 30k words. it's so angsty in there o_o i was like "NATE, YOU BEAUTIFUL, WELL-ADJUSTED MAN. COME HERE NOW"
no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 04:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 04:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 05:49 pm (UTC)Me too!!
Poor Nate!
no subject
Date: 2010-10-02 06:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-29 01:22 pm (UTC)“I suppose we could get Walt trained up,” Gunny says, scratching his chin with an audible scrape. “He’s young, he’s blond. Though I can’t tell if he’s attractive or not. What do you think, Fick?”
I find this idea surprisingly hysterical. PROBABLY BECAUSE I AM A BAD PERSON.
no subject
Date: 2010-10-02 06:53 pm (UTC)Yeah, I'm gonna keep having a lovefest for Gunny Wynn this fic. Gunny:Nate :: Ray:Brad!
no subject
Date: 2010-10-17 08:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-09 12:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-09 01:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-08 04:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-09 12:21 am (UTC)Thanks for the comment though, every bit is like a kick in the pants!