hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2009-03-26 10:03 am
hackthis_archive) wrote2009-03-26 10:03 am
Entry tags:
GK - Traveling Soldier (comment!fic, Brad/Nate, Layla)
A too-long happy comment!fic for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sparky77.
Generation Kill
Nate/Brad, Layla
620 Words
Traveling Soldier
Nate's had the week from hell. One of his political clients had a personal disaster (read: one coked up hooker too many), which Nate had to fly to Albany to oversee personally.
His plane was delayed on the way there, and he had to stay three extra days because of a fucking blizzard.
Layla cried on the phone because he wasn't there to read her Peter Rabbit; Brad was upset (in his silent, stoic, displeasure-radiating-out-of-all-pores way) because Layla was upset, and then on the way home, Nate got detoured via fucking Miami, and a two-day trip has now taken seven days.
Nate used to love travelling. He used to love going to new places, and now, all he really wants is to stay at home with his daughter and Brad.
He left the Corps so he could stop flying miles from home to rescue people from someone else's mess. There has to be a more efficient way to provide for his family.
He's assured of this.
He rubs his face, two days of stubble rough against his palm, and digs in his pocket for his keys as the taxi pulls away from the front of the house.
It's barely seven in the morning on a Thursday, but Nate's been awake since Tuesday and he isn't a Recon Marine anymore.
He's still digging for his keys when the door swings wide open. "You're late," Brad says with a wry grin.
Nate snorts. "Hi, honey, I'm home," he says, stepping inside and letting Brad take his carry-on.
Brad pauses with Nate's bag in his hand and raises an eyebrow.
Nate rolls his eyes. "What? Compared to Iraq, I can't smell that bad."
"Bloodshot eyes. Messy hair. A loosened tie. Are you sure you weren't in Vegas spending next month's mortgage payment?"
"Yes, I confess. I was in Vegas doing lines off of trannies' implants. I took Ray in your place."
"That's not even a little amusing."
Nate quirks an eyebrow as Brad sets Nate's bag down and takes his coat.
"Okay, maybe it is a little bit," Brad concedes, hanging up Nate's coat.
Nate smirks and leans in for a kiss, but Brad pulls away.
"What now?" Nate bitches.
"You have stubble."
"And?"
"There was no stubble in Iraq."
Nate blinks. "You have an issue with my stubble."
"Only if 'I need to fuck you now' is an --"
Whatever Brad's about to say is cut off by a high pitched squeal, and Nate smiles at Layla peeking around the corner from the living room.
"DADDY!"
Nate's grin threatens to split his face in half as Layla runs down the hall as fast as her 19 month-old legs will take her.
He gets down on one knee to catch her when she launches herself: red tee-shirt, afro puffs, diaper and all, at him. "Hi, sweetie," he says, giving her a huge hug.
Layla pulls back and wrinkles her nose. "No," she says, patting his face.
"You don't like the stubble, huh?" Nate asks.
Layla shakes her head, completely unimpressed. "No leaving. Leaving is bad."
Nate scoops Layla up. She has food on her shirt, but her hair is perfect. How very Brad.
"Okay, no more leaving," he promises, and she beams at him.
"Leaving made Daddy sad," she says solemnly, looking at Brad.
Nate blinks and looks at Brad, who is looking just past Nate's shoulder. "My leaving made Daddy sad?" he prompts.
Layla nods very deliberately and then flings her arms around Nate's neck. "I love you, Daddy," she says.
Nate holds her that much tighter, looking over her head at Brad, who's watching them very intently.
"I love you too," he says.
Brad graces Nate with a small smile and nods his head.
sparky77. Generation Kill
Nate/Brad, Layla
620 Words
Nate's had the week from hell. One of his political clients had a personal disaster (read: one coked up hooker too many), which Nate had to fly to Albany to oversee personally.
His plane was delayed on the way there, and he had to stay three extra days because of a fucking blizzard.
Layla cried on the phone because he wasn't there to read her Peter Rabbit; Brad was upset (in his silent, stoic, displeasure-radiating-out-of-all-pores way) because Layla was upset, and then on the way home, Nate got detoured via fucking Miami, and a two-day trip has now taken seven days.
Nate used to love travelling. He used to love going to new places, and now, all he really wants is to stay at home with his daughter and Brad.
He left the Corps so he could stop flying miles from home to rescue people from someone else's mess. There has to be a more efficient way to provide for his family.
He's assured of this.
He rubs his face, two days of stubble rough against his palm, and digs in his pocket for his keys as the taxi pulls away from the front of the house.
It's barely seven in the morning on a Thursday, but Nate's been awake since Tuesday and he isn't a Recon Marine anymore.
He's still digging for his keys when the door swings wide open. "You're late," Brad says with a wry grin.
Nate snorts. "Hi, honey, I'm home," he says, stepping inside and letting Brad take his carry-on.
Brad pauses with Nate's bag in his hand and raises an eyebrow.
Nate rolls his eyes. "What? Compared to Iraq, I can't smell that bad."
"Bloodshot eyes. Messy hair. A loosened tie. Are you sure you weren't in Vegas spending next month's mortgage payment?"
"Yes, I confess. I was in Vegas doing lines off of trannies' implants. I took Ray in your place."
"That's not even a little amusing."
Nate quirks an eyebrow as Brad sets Nate's bag down and takes his coat.
"Okay, maybe it is a little bit," Brad concedes, hanging up Nate's coat.
Nate smirks and leans in for a kiss, but Brad pulls away.
"What now?" Nate bitches.
"You have stubble."
"And?"
"There was no stubble in Iraq."
Nate blinks. "You have an issue with my stubble."
"Only if 'I need to fuck you now' is an --"
Whatever Brad's about to say is cut off by a high pitched squeal, and Nate smiles at Layla peeking around the corner from the living room.
"DADDY!"
Nate's grin threatens to split his face in half as Layla runs down the hall as fast as her 19 month-old legs will take her.
He gets down on one knee to catch her when she launches herself: red tee-shirt, afro puffs, diaper and all, at him. "Hi, sweetie," he says, giving her a huge hug.
Layla pulls back and wrinkles her nose. "No," she says, patting his face.
"You don't like the stubble, huh?" Nate asks.
Layla shakes her head, completely unimpressed. "No leaving. Leaving is bad."
Nate scoops Layla up. She has food on her shirt, but her hair is perfect. How very Brad.
"Okay, no more leaving," he promises, and she beams at him.
"Leaving made Daddy sad," she says solemnly, looking at Brad.
Nate blinks and looks at Brad, who is looking just past Nate's shoulder. "My leaving made Daddy sad?" he prompts.
Layla nods very deliberately and then flings her arms around Nate's neck. "I love you, Daddy," she says.
Nate holds her that much tighter, looking over her head at Brad, who's watching them very intently.
"I love you too," he says.
Brad graces Nate with a small smile and nods his head.
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