Pardon Errors
Mar. 12th, 2006 09:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrI'm not really sure quite yet where precisely this story is headed, so pardon also how brief and vague shit is right now. I'm leaving room for the possibility of having to toss chunks or even pages completely. This should be fairly stable, though, my openings usually are. If anything, I'll just lengthen it. But for now, simple ^_^ To make up for the fact that I seem to have vanished, apearing only to wig out -_-;;;
The annoying thing about my laptop is that I have no program with which to make icons. Which I only think of b/c as this had decided to become a full-length monster of a story, it needs its own icon. If someone wants to make one for me, I will pay in ficbit of choice.
01
Teams aren’t chosen randomly. Fuck, just to get into SCAU you have to be invited.
SCAU ain’t popular, I think I’ve already made that crystal fucking clear. We do the bulk of the fucking work around here, but no one is ever going to thank us for it. So it’s a real fucking wonder, I guess, why anyone would accept a goddamn invitation to this party.
But that’s something else altogether. The invitation is the easiest fucking part, in the end. After that, you train and train to distract from the fact that you’re fucking waiting. Some of us wait a matter of hours, a matter of days, the rest of us might wind up twiddling our fucking thumbs for months or even years – though it’s only been that extreme a handful of times.
Because like I said, teams aren’t put together randomly. We’re matched according to compatibility. And it ain’t about matching personalities or other personal ad bullshit. Fuck no. It’s personality some, rhythms and preferences, but mostly it’s shit like brainwaves and fuckall. Don’t ask me the goddamn details.
There are two kinds of compatibility. The more common is called Learned Compatibility (LC). It’s interesting shit, really. Basically it means that people who might not have been compatible ten or five years ago, or even five minutes ago, have changed enough that now they are compatible. Anything and everything can affect this, and of course it can go the opposite way – compatibility can shatter, but that doesn’t happen with SCAU.
The rest of the fucking world is different. They don’t have the bond we do that makes compatibility sort of a permanent thing. People can be friends the entirety of their lives, but something traumatic or just plain stupid will tear them apart. Likewise, strangers or even enemies can be brought together by the same things.
Compatibility is measured on a scale of 100. You and the friend you’ve had since childhood? Probably have an LC level of about 80, give or take five. So too with close siblings, parents and all that. Bosses and coworkers? Most people don’t share a compatibility higher than 45 with coworkers and superiors. Spouses, lovers, these if you’re lucky will reach 85.
SCAU teams are not matched on anything less than 96 points of Learned Compatibility, and that only if SCAU is desperate – 98 is the preferred Compatibility Count (CC). So new soldiers are often waiting months while suitable teammates are found – or until the proper levels of LC are achieved between soldiers in the compound. Which happens a lot. A man you meet and barely know seven months later will be 98 points compatible. It’s very strange.
The other type of compatibility is Natural Compatibility – NC. This means people hit it off right from the start. People blather about true love and shit? Love at first sight? Fuck that. It’s just NC. For whatever fucking reason, some people are just born perfectly synchronized. My brother and I are NC, actually. That’s as rare between siblings as it is between people in general, believe it or not. It’s not exactly rare, but it’s not terribly fucking common either.
NC is preferred for SCAU soldiers. The best teams have at least one NC pair. Snow and Ice are NC, and I share 99 points of LC with each of them. We’re one of the best matched teams on the force, though like almost everyone we had a rocky start.
An ideal team would be NC on all sides; a perfect trinity. To date, there’s only been one. I’ll give you three guesses and the first two don’t motherfucking count.
“You look far more edible than our dinner will,” Rodney said with a grin.
Benson glared. “Don’t touch me; I just got out of the shower.”
“I can see that,” Rodney replied, smirk turning pure lecherous. His gray eyes examined Benson’s well-shaped form at leisure, lingering on his broad, smooth chest and what was hidden by cheap white terry-cloth. A pilot in his prime, though it was a pity the military kept his black hair trimmed short, Benson was ever easy on the eyes.
Despite the glower. “Back off, Rodney. We’ve got to report in less than an hour, which means I won’t have time for a second shower.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rodney said and waved for Benson to go on by – then reached out to snag him by the towel, which resulted in an outraged pilot attempting to keep said towel and instead only winding up spilled across his roommate. “Hey, sexy.” Not giving Benson a chance to voice any threats or profanities, Rodney dragged his head down and kissed him hard. “You taste like ice cream,” he said eventually. “Strawberries and cream. Breaking your diet again?”
“Fuck you,” Benson said, scrambling to get out of bed despite the fact that once Rodney had kissed him, he’d been more than willing to participate.
“That was my hope.”
“Oh, shut up.” Sighing heavily, as if dealing with Rodney were the greatest of chores, Benson stooped down to give him a kiss that left them both panting. “Get up, get dressed, and if you fucking behave I’ll fuck you senseless tonight.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but grabbed his lost towel and strode over to the wardrobe. Hanging from the door was his freshly pressed dress uniform, midnight blue with silver trim, looking exactly like the dress uniform of every member of the Grand America Military – with minor exceptions. There were no insignia of rank anywhere on it, save for a silver triangle the size of a bottle cap on the left breast. The mark of NW-P3 SCAU.
Benson dressed slowly, grimacing briefly at his right hand, which lacked a ring. Six months and so far he was just another trainee. He lifted his amber eyes to the mirror over his bureau, eyes locking on the reflection beyond his.
Rodney was humming along with the radio as he dressed. His hair, which growing up had been a mess of cinnamon curls, was now cut so short no hint of curl remained. Slender, but his perpetually boney frame had been forcefully filled out by the military. Now a full-trained SCAU, it never ceased to amuse either of the life-long friends that their completely different paths in the military had taken them to the same point. And if they could just find a third, they’d be a team.
He caught Rodney’s eyes in the mirror as the other man looked up, and they shared a smile. “So how long is this goddamn dinner?”
Benson rolled his eyes. “Three hours or so, just like every other welcome banquet.”
“I don’t see why we need a goddamn banquet to welcome all of five new people.”
“Shut the fuck up. One major asshole in the ranks is enough, and I seem to recall you enjoyed your welcome banquet a great deal.”
Rodney leered. “That’s because I ditched the banquet and fucked you senseless in the back room, buddy mine. Or did you forget that part?”
“No, I remember it quite clearly.” Benson shifted and turned his thoughts elsewhere. He glared at the smirking face in the mirror. “You had better behave, Rod.”
“Behave, behave. You nag more than the brass.” Rodney came up behind him, and nipped Benson’s ear with his teeth, watching their reflection with bright green eyes.
“Stop that,” Benson said with a groan. “We have to get going.” He turned around and grabbed, hauling Rodney close and kissing him hard enough to bruise their lips. “The more you behave, the more you’ll get later, all right? Jeez, I can’t wait to have someone else to help me handle you.”
Rodney snickered. “Unless I corrupt him first.”
“No fucking way will I let that happen. Now leave me the fuck alone,” Benson stooped, licked Rodney’s lips before kissing him properly, then shoved him back. “Get dressed and let’s go.”
“You’re such a bitch.” Rodney said, then flashed the grin that all too often got him out of serious trouble.
Benson sat to pull on his boots, knee high black leather polished to a mirror shine the previous night. “Just wait until tonight,” he said with a smirk as they left their room. “I’ll show you just who the bitch is around here.”
“Sounds like fun.”
Outside, the hallways of the barracks wing was full of soldiers in full dress, a mix of trainees and active teams, the only difference the rings worn by the latter group – plain bands of platinum worn on the right ring finger.
“Did I just hear you admit you’re a little bitch, Gray?”
Benson looked up as a tall man with black hair and dark brown eyes slithered up beside him. Though he had a build similar to Rodney’s, a slender, wiry, strength, his added height – just over six feet – gave the impression of a hungry snake, further enhanced by the rich color of his dark copper skin. “Go the fuck away, Black.”
Dakota Black snickered. “Still pissed I kicked your ass in practice, Gray?”
“Blow me, Black. I kicked your ass yesterday, I’ll kick it again tomorrow. You just got lucky.”
“Whatever.”
“Speaking of bitches, where’s the other loser?”
Dakota frowned, but it almost immediately vanished. “He had to go home, so you little bitches get my undivided attention tonight.”
“And by full attention you boys had better mean polite conversation,” a voice said behind them.
All three rolled their eyes, but immediately stopped, turned and saluted the man addressing them.e “Yes, Sir.”
The man, broad-shouldered and as tall as Dakota, eyed them doubtfully. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you, never doubt. Fucking hell, I can’t wait ‘til the three of you are facing Jackalopes. Maybe then we’ll actually have peace in the ranks.”
“More like pieces,” a man beside him said, stocky and gentle looking, hair a bit longer than regulation dictated. Behind them both another man, average of height and build, eyes a popping blue, snickered. The lull of silence said the three were talking, thinking, to each other.
These three were the team for CA Wicked Song – Siren, Banshee, and Mermaid, and the unit Commanders. Rodney grinned and snapped another salute. “We won’t get caught, sirs.”
Siren sighed. “I guess that’s something, anyway.” His teammates hid grins as they continued on past the trainees.
“Later, little bitches,” Gray said, and moved through the crowd of soldiers, too distinctive to blend into it.
Benson rolled his eyes and called out to make a threat as they reached an intersection in the hallway – and crashed into something small and hard, sending them both to the floor. Around them were snickers and laughter, a few taunting calls. “Fuck me, that hurt.” He shook his head.
Rodney laughed. “You dumbass.” He helped Benson and the unfortunate to their feet. “All right there, man?” He asked the stranger.
“Hey, you’re fresh meat,” Benson said, taking in the plain front of the man’s uniform. “What are you doing back here?”
The man blinked at them. “Wrong turn,” he said quietly, sounding somewhat dazed. A quick, shy smile. “I can read star maps in my sleep, but I get lost in my own room.”
Benson and Rodney laughed, Rodney slinging an arm around the man’s shoulders as they continued walking. “So who are you?”
“Jerry McCormick.”
“I’m Benson Gray, that’s Rodney Chambers.” Benson gripped his hand briefly in an easy handshake as they walked. “So why were you stupid enough to join up?”
“Same as everyone else, I guess.” That quick, shy smile again, a strange contrast with the light in his pale blue eyes, a light that spoke of the love/hate relationship they all shared with the war that seemed unending. A relationship twisted enough they’d join a team of fighters most of the world distrusted simply because it was also the best way to fight.
Benson nodded.
“I joined because I think military men are hot, but I don’t think that’s your motivation.” Rodney winked.
“Shut up, Rodney. You joined up because you made a shitty civilian and your dad was going to kick your ass if you didn’t start earning money somehow.”
“Well, yeah. Mostly I just like the way you looked in your uniform, first time I saw you in it. I had to make sure no one else got you without my permission.”
Between them, Jerry laughed. Joining in with their own chuckles, Benson and Rodney led him toward the banquet hall.
“Can we get drunk now?” Rodney said, voice taking on something that sounded an awful lot like a whine.
“I’ve got something you can drink, Chambers.” Dakota said from across the table, leering over his water glass.
“I know you fantasize, but I’ve got better taste than you, Black.”
Dakota looked at Benson with a sneer, then slid his dark eyes back to Rodney. “No, you don’t.”
Rodney laughed. “So what did you think of the fresh meat?”
“I hope something good comes out of it,” Black said sourly. “We’ve been sitting here doing fuck nothing for months now. How long have you little bitches been stinking up this place? Six months?”
“Benson’s been kicking your ass for six months, yeah. I’ve been making you pant for seven.”
Dakota grinned, amused. “You wish.”
“Christ, do you three ever shut the fuck up?” Siren came up behind Dakota, settling a hand on his shoulder. “Report to brass at seven hundred hours tomorrow, Black.” Siren then shifted his attention to Rodney and Benson. “You report to brass at eight hundred hours. If you’ve got thumb twiddling you’d like to finish up, gentleman, I suggest you take care of it tonight. Starting tomorrow, you bitches will actually have to earn your keep.” A wink and he was gone, sharing a smile with his two teammates across the room.
Silence descended around the crowded table, as nine men absorbed Siren’s words. Dakota, Rodney and Benson exchanged a look, then shared a rare grin. If there was some trepidation there, everyone ignored it.
“To answer your original question, my little bitch,” Dakota said to Rodney. “Yes, we can get drunk now.”
Benson shared a look with his oldest friend, who was ignoring Dakota’s jibes, then flicked his eyes toward the stage. He knew Rodney had done the same, both their gazed fastened on the man they’d met earlier, with whom they chatted for all of ten minutes. They’d already silently agreed to show Jerry “the sites” and for whatever reason, he sensed they’d all be learning a great deal more together now. He shared another look with Rodney, then put the thoughts away to rejoin the banquet.
Across from him, Dakota was also watching the stage, the faintest of frowns on his face. Like them, Dakota and another soldier has long ago been informally paired up, their compatibility good enough that it made no sense to put them elsewhere. All that lacked was a third, though lately Edan had been going home so often it seemed Dakota stood completely alone. Benson followed his gaze to a man sitting on the far end of the table, talking with what appeared to be great ease to the NW-P3 General. Fairly average looking, with skin remarkably pale in an area where everyone was perpetually tanned. He had dark red hair and Benson bet his eyes were green. Redheads always had green eyes, it was like a rule or something. Then he smiled, and Benson was struck by how unaverage he suddenly looked. Oddly…peaceful looking for Dakota, whose reputation for rough and rowdy spread beyond SCAU. It would be interesting to see how that trio developed.
“Let’s go, dickwads,” Dakota said, breaking into his thoughts. “If we’re going to drink, we’re going to do it with good stuff, not the shit that passes for alcohol around here. Last one to the bar has to drink everything I tell them to.”
A promise, not a threat. As the brass at the table finally dismissed the attendees after a last round of applause, the trainees at table thirty two all but ran to celebrate that by nine hundred hours tomorrow that table would be less three.
“Shoot me,” Rodney said with a moan.
“I should,” Benson said cheerfully, then both fell silent as the door of the General’s office opened and Dakota came out, followed by Edan and the redhead, whose name he still didn’t know. Not that it mattered, as they all had new names now. Real names. Combat Armor names. Benson felt his heart beat faster than ever and he hoped it wasn’t obvious how tightly he gripped the seats to still his restless hands. He nodded at the three of them, for once neglecting the usual taunts. “Serves you right for trying to drink more than Black, you goddamn idiot.”
“Gray. McCormick. Now.” General Rafferty vanished into his office. Benson and Rodney followed.
The office was a strange combination of simplicity and extravagance, minimal furniture but all of it of the highest quality – a massive oak desk that looked as though it could seat a dinner party of twelve, a leather couch nearly as large. An old grandfather clock and expensive-looking rug completed the rich furnishings, all of it accented by walls filled with awards and medals and CA memorabilia. Behind the enormous desk, General Rafferty waited silently with arms folded across his chest, his face lined with age but eyes far too sharp.
Snapping sharp salutes, Rodney and Benson stood at attention and waited for the General to speak.
A knock at the door, and it opened slowly at the General’s barked “Enter!”
Jerry slid inside, closing the door with a click behind him before giving a smart salute. “My apologies, General.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Rafferty said. “If you three don’t know why you’re here, I can’t imagine why you’re in SCAU at all. Jerry, I’m very sorry to do this to you but meet—“
“We’ve already met,” Rodney interrupted with a grin.
Beside him, Benson groaned and reached out to smack him.
“Do that again,” Rafferty said, eying Rodney in annoyance, smiling briefly when Benson smacked him a second time. “Maybe being an active soldier will knock some sense into that head of yours.”
“Doubt it,” Benson groused. “Our apologies, General.”
“Doesn’t matter. The point of this is obvious – you three are now a team.” The General shuffled papers on his desk. “I hope you weren’t expecting some big ceremony.”
Benson could not resist a grin, and pinched Rodney hard before the other man could say something stupid. He smiled at Jerry, who smiled back. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch. We’ve been waiting for you months now.”
“Sorry,” Jerry said with a laugh. “I got lost.”
The General rolled his eyes. “Kids,” he muttered. “Get the hell out of my office, and report to Wicked Song in the hangar.
“Yes, sir!” All three men chorused, barely managing to walk out of the office.
Outside, they kept to their brisk walk, Jerry once more between Benson and Rodney, an arm settled firmly across his shoulders. “Somehow,” he said. “I wasn’t terribly surprised.”
“Neither were we,” Benson said thoughtfully. “I’ve heard the guys talk about that sort of thing before. They say after awhile, you start to sort of pick up on who will fit with who – some of them suggest that our compatibility points are so much higher than the norm that you can’t help but notice who synchs with who.”
Their conversation died away as they reached the hangar, a building three or four times the size of the rest of the SCAU complex. The first sixth of it was exclusively offices, and it was to these that the trio reported.
“And here comes the other new bane of our existence.” Siren gave a long sigh as they entered his office. On either side of him Mermaid and Banshee snickered. “You’ll be getting married later this evening,” he said. “The chip-heads are tied up with some problem of panicked civis. But I can go ahead and show you all your machines.” He looked at Benson’s group, then flicked his eyes to wear Dakota’s group stood waiting. “Now that you’re all here.”
Beside him, Mermaid grinned. “We have to tell them their names first, Siren.”
“Do we?”
“Look, isn’t Dakota enough of an asshole for everyone?” Rodney complained.
“Dakota?” Siren said, lifting a thin brow. “Who the fuck is Dakota?” He smiled and pointed to the man in question. “You mean Plague.” He pointed to Edan, who was tall, skin so dark it might as well be black. If a CA would be made of flesh, it would like Edan. “Pestilence,” he said and then indicated the redhead. “And Pendemic. Team for CA Scourge.” He folded his hand together and leaned forward in his seat, looking at Benson, Rodney, and Jerry, then relaxed and finally pointed to each of them in turn. “Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod, team for CA Old Moon. Gentlemen, welcome to the team.”
The annoying thing about my laptop is that I have no program with which to make icons. Which I only think of b/c as this had decided to become a full-length monster of a story, it needs its own icon. If someone wants to make one for me, I will pay in ficbit of choice.
Never Afraid Are We
01
Teams aren’t chosen randomly. Fuck, just to get into SCAU you have to be invited.
SCAU ain’t popular, I think I’ve already made that crystal fucking clear. We do the bulk of the fucking work around here, but no one is ever going to thank us for it. So it’s a real fucking wonder, I guess, why anyone would accept a goddamn invitation to this party.
But that’s something else altogether. The invitation is the easiest fucking part, in the end. After that, you train and train to distract from the fact that you’re fucking waiting. Some of us wait a matter of hours, a matter of days, the rest of us might wind up twiddling our fucking thumbs for months or even years – though it’s only been that extreme a handful of times.
Because like I said, teams aren’t put together randomly. We’re matched according to compatibility. And it ain’t about matching personalities or other personal ad bullshit. Fuck no. It’s personality some, rhythms and preferences, but mostly it’s shit like brainwaves and fuckall. Don’t ask me the goddamn details.
There are two kinds of compatibility. The more common is called Learned Compatibility (LC). It’s interesting shit, really. Basically it means that people who might not have been compatible ten or five years ago, or even five minutes ago, have changed enough that now they are compatible. Anything and everything can affect this, and of course it can go the opposite way – compatibility can shatter, but that doesn’t happen with SCAU.
The rest of the fucking world is different. They don’t have the bond we do that makes compatibility sort of a permanent thing. People can be friends the entirety of their lives, but something traumatic or just plain stupid will tear them apart. Likewise, strangers or even enemies can be brought together by the same things.
Compatibility is measured on a scale of 100. You and the friend you’ve had since childhood? Probably have an LC level of about 80, give or take five. So too with close siblings, parents and all that. Bosses and coworkers? Most people don’t share a compatibility higher than 45 with coworkers and superiors. Spouses, lovers, these if you’re lucky will reach 85.
SCAU teams are not matched on anything less than 96 points of Learned Compatibility, and that only if SCAU is desperate – 98 is the preferred Compatibility Count (CC). So new soldiers are often waiting months while suitable teammates are found – or until the proper levels of LC are achieved between soldiers in the compound. Which happens a lot. A man you meet and barely know seven months later will be 98 points compatible. It’s very strange.
The other type of compatibility is Natural Compatibility – NC. This means people hit it off right from the start. People blather about true love and shit? Love at first sight? Fuck that. It’s just NC. For whatever fucking reason, some people are just born perfectly synchronized. My brother and I are NC, actually. That’s as rare between siblings as it is between people in general, believe it or not. It’s not exactly rare, but it’s not terribly fucking common either.
NC is preferred for SCAU soldiers. The best teams have at least one NC pair. Snow and Ice are NC, and I share 99 points of LC with each of them. We’re one of the best matched teams on the force, though like almost everyone we had a rocky start.
An ideal team would be NC on all sides; a perfect trinity. To date, there’s only been one. I’ll give you three guesses and the first two don’t motherfucking count.
“You look far more edible than our dinner will,” Rodney said with a grin.
Benson glared. “Don’t touch me; I just got out of the shower.”
“I can see that,” Rodney replied, smirk turning pure lecherous. His gray eyes examined Benson’s well-shaped form at leisure, lingering on his broad, smooth chest and what was hidden by cheap white terry-cloth. A pilot in his prime, though it was a pity the military kept his black hair trimmed short, Benson was ever easy on the eyes.
Despite the glower. “Back off, Rodney. We’ve got to report in less than an hour, which means I won’t have time for a second shower.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rodney said and waved for Benson to go on by – then reached out to snag him by the towel, which resulted in an outraged pilot attempting to keep said towel and instead only winding up spilled across his roommate. “Hey, sexy.” Not giving Benson a chance to voice any threats or profanities, Rodney dragged his head down and kissed him hard. “You taste like ice cream,” he said eventually. “Strawberries and cream. Breaking your diet again?”
“Fuck you,” Benson said, scrambling to get out of bed despite the fact that once Rodney had kissed him, he’d been more than willing to participate.
“That was my hope.”
“Oh, shut up.” Sighing heavily, as if dealing with Rodney were the greatest of chores, Benson stooped down to give him a kiss that left them both panting. “Get up, get dressed, and if you fucking behave I’ll fuck you senseless tonight.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but grabbed his lost towel and strode over to the wardrobe. Hanging from the door was his freshly pressed dress uniform, midnight blue with silver trim, looking exactly like the dress uniform of every member of the Grand America Military – with minor exceptions. There were no insignia of rank anywhere on it, save for a silver triangle the size of a bottle cap on the left breast. The mark of NW-P3 SCAU.
Benson dressed slowly, grimacing briefly at his right hand, which lacked a ring. Six months and so far he was just another trainee. He lifted his amber eyes to the mirror over his bureau, eyes locking on the reflection beyond his.
Rodney was humming along with the radio as he dressed. His hair, which growing up had been a mess of cinnamon curls, was now cut so short no hint of curl remained. Slender, but his perpetually boney frame had been forcefully filled out by the military. Now a full-trained SCAU, it never ceased to amuse either of the life-long friends that their completely different paths in the military had taken them to the same point. And if they could just find a third, they’d be a team.
He caught Rodney’s eyes in the mirror as the other man looked up, and they shared a smile. “So how long is this goddamn dinner?”
Benson rolled his eyes. “Three hours or so, just like every other welcome banquet.”
“I don’t see why we need a goddamn banquet to welcome all of five new people.”
“Shut the fuck up. One major asshole in the ranks is enough, and I seem to recall you enjoyed your welcome banquet a great deal.”
Rodney leered. “That’s because I ditched the banquet and fucked you senseless in the back room, buddy mine. Or did you forget that part?”
“No, I remember it quite clearly.” Benson shifted and turned his thoughts elsewhere. He glared at the smirking face in the mirror. “You had better behave, Rod.”
“Behave, behave. You nag more than the brass.” Rodney came up behind him, and nipped Benson’s ear with his teeth, watching their reflection with bright green eyes.
“Stop that,” Benson said with a groan. “We have to get going.” He turned around and grabbed, hauling Rodney close and kissing him hard enough to bruise their lips. “The more you behave, the more you’ll get later, all right? Jeez, I can’t wait to have someone else to help me handle you.”
Rodney snickered. “Unless I corrupt him first.”
“No fucking way will I let that happen. Now leave me the fuck alone,” Benson stooped, licked Rodney’s lips before kissing him properly, then shoved him back. “Get dressed and let’s go.”
“You’re such a bitch.” Rodney said, then flashed the grin that all too often got him out of serious trouble.
Benson sat to pull on his boots, knee high black leather polished to a mirror shine the previous night. “Just wait until tonight,” he said with a smirk as they left their room. “I’ll show you just who the bitch is around here.”
“Sounds like fun.”
Outside, the hallways of the barracks wing was full of soldiers in full dress, a mix of trainees and active teams, the only difference the rings worn by the latter group – plain bands of platinum worn on the right ring finger.
“Did I just hear you admit you’re a little bitch, Gray?”
Benson looked up as a tall man with black hair and dark brown eyes slithered up beside him. Though he had a build similar to Rodney’s, a slender, wiry, strength, his added height – just over six feet – gave the impression of a hungry snake, further enhanced by the rich color of his dark copper skin. “Go the fuck away, Black.”
Dakota Black snickered. “Still pissed I kicked your ass in practice, Gray?”
“Blow me, Black. I kicked your ass yesterday, I’ll kick it again tomorrow. You just got lucky.”
“Whatever.”
“Speaking of bitches, where’s the other loser?”
Dakota frowned, but it almost immediately vanished. “He had to go home, so you little bitches get my undivided attention tonight.”
“And by full attention you boys had better mean polite conversation,” a voice said behind them.
All three rolled their eyes, but immediately stopped, turned and saluted the man addressing them.e “Yes, Sir.”
The man, broad-shouldered and as tall as Dakota, eyed them doubtfully. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you, never doubt. Fucking hell, I can’t wait ‘til the three of you are facing Jackalopes. Maybe then we’ll actually have peace in the ranks.”
“More like pieces,” a man beside him said, stocky and gentle looking, hair a bit longer than regulation dictated. Behind them both another man, average of height and build, eyes a popping blue, snickered. The lull of silence said the three were talking, thinking, to each other.
These three were the team for CA Wicked Song – Siren, Banshee, and Mermaid, and the unit Commanders. Rodney grinned and snapped another salute. “We won’t get caught, sirs.”
Siren sighed. “I guess that’s something, anyway.” His teammates hid grins as they continued on past the trainees.
“Later, little bitches,” Gray said, and moved through the crowd of soldiers, too distinctive to blend into it.
Benson rolled his eyes and called out to make a threat as they reached an intersection in the hallway – and crashed into something small and hard, sending them both to the floor. Around them were snickers and laughter, a few taunting calls. “Fuck me, that hurt.” He shook his head.
Rodney laughed. “You dumbass.” He helped Benson and the unfortunate to their feet. “All right there, man?” He asked the stranger.
“Hey, you’re fresh meat,” Benson said, taking in the plain front of the man’s uniform. “What are you doing back here?”
The man blinked at them. “Wrong turn,” he said quietly, sounding somewhat dazed. A quick, shy smile. “I can read star maps in my sleep, but I get lost in my own room.”
Benson and Rodney laughed, Rodney slinging an arm around the man’s shoulders as they continued walking. “So who are you?”
“Jerry McCormick.”
“I’m Benson Gray, that’s Rodney Chambers.” Benson gripped his hand briefly in an easy handshake as they walked. “So why were you stupid enough to join up?”
“Same as everyone else, I guess.” That quick, shy smile again, a strange contrast with the light in his pale blue eyes, a light that spoke of the love/hate relationship they all shared with the war that seemed unending. A relationship twisted enough they’d join a team of fighters most of the world distrusted simply because it was also the best way to fight.
Benson nodded.
“I joined because I think military men are hot, but I don’t think that’s your motivation.” Rodney winked.
“Shut up, Rodney. You joined up because you made a shitty civilian and your dad was going to kick your ass if you didn’t start earning money somehow.”
“Well, yeah. Mostly I just like the way you looked in your uniform, first time I saw you in it. I had to make sure no one else got you without my permission.”
Between them, Jerry laughed. Joining in with their own chuckles, Benson and Rodney led him toward the banquet hall.
“Can we get drunk now?” Rodney said, voice taking on something that sounded an awful lot like a whine.
“I’ve got something you can drink, Chambers.” Dakota said from across the table, leering over his water glass.
“I know you fantasize, but I’ve got better taste than you, Black.”
Dakota looked at Benson with a sneer, then slid his dark eyes back to Rodney. “No, you don’t.”
Rodney laughed. “So what did you think of the fresh meat?”
“I hope something good comes out of it,” Black said sourly. “We’ve been sitting here doing fuck nothing for months now. How long have you little bitches been stinking up this place? Six months?”
“Benson’s been kicking your ass for six months, yeah. I’ve been making you pant for seven.”
Dakota grinned, amused. “You wish.”
“Christ, do you three ever shut the fuck up?” Siren came up behind Dakota, settling a hand on his shoulder. “Report to brass at seven hundred hours tomorrow, Black.” Siren then shifted his attention to Rodney and Benson. “You report to brass at eight hundred hours. If you’ve got thumb twiddling you’d like to finish up, gentleman, I suggest you take care of it tonight. Starting tomorrow, you bitches will actually have to earn your keep.” A wink and he was gone, sharing a smile with his two teammates across the room.
Silence descended around the crowded table, as nine men absorbed Siren’s words. Dakota, Rodney and Benson exchanged a look, then shared a rare grin. If there was some trepidation there, everyone ignored it.
“To answer your original question, my little bitch,” Dakota said to Rodney. “Yes, we can get drunk now.”
Benson shared a look with his oldest friend, who was ignoring Dakota’s jibes, then flicked his eyes toward the stage. He knew Rodney had done the same, both their gazed fastened on the man they’d met earlier, with whom they chatted for all of ten minutes. They’d already silently agreed to show Jerry “the sites” and for whatever reason, he sensed they’d all be learning a great deal more together now. He shared another look with Rodney, then put the thoughts away to rejoin the banquet.
Across from him, Dakota was also watching the stage, the faintest of frowns on his face. Like them, Dakota and another soldier has long ago been informally paired up, their compatibility good enough that it made no sense to put them elsewhere. All that lacked was a third, though lately Edan had been going home so often it seemed Dakota stood completely alone. Benson followed his gaze to a man sitting on the far end of the table, talking with what appeared to be great ease to the NW-P3 General. Fairly average looking, with skin remarkably pale in an area where everyone was perpetually tanned. He had dark red hair and Benson bet his eyes were green. Redheads always had green eyes, it was like a rule or something. Then he smiled, and Benson was struck by how unaverage he suddenly looked. Oddly…peaceful looking for Dakota, whose reputation for rough and rowdy spread beyond SCAU. It would be interesting to see how that trio developed.
“Let’s go, dickwads,” Dakota said, breaking into his thoughts. “If we’re going to drink, we’re going to do it with good stuff, not the shit that passes for alcohol around here. Last one to the bar has to drink everything I tell them to.”
A promise, not a threat. As the brass at the table finally dismissed the attendees after a last round of applause, the trainees at table thirty two all but ran to celebrate that by nine hundred hours tomorrow that table would be less three.
“Shoot me,” Rodney said with a moan.
“I should,” Benson said cheerfully, then both fell silent as the door of the General’s office opened and Dakota came out, followed by Edan and the redhead, whose name he still didn’t know. Not that it mattered, as they all had new names now. Real names. Combat Armor names. Benson felt his heart beat faster than ever and he hoped it wasn’t obvious how tightly he gripped the seats to still his restless hands. He nodded at the three of them, for once neglecting the usual taunts. “Serves you right for trying to drink more than Black, you goddamn idiot.”
“Gray. McCormick. Now.” General Rafferty vanished into his office. Benson and Rodney followed.
The office was a strange combination of simplicity and extravagance, minimal furniture but all of it of the highest quality – a massive oak desk that looked as though it could seat a dinner party of twelve, a leather couch nearly as large. An old grandfather clock and expensive-looking rug completed the rich furnishings, all of it accented by walls filled with awards and medals and CA memorabilia. Behind the enormous desk, General Rafferty waited silently with arms folded across his chest, his face lined with age but eyes far too sharp.
Snapping sharp salutes, Rodney and Benson stood at attention and waited for the General to speak.
A knock at the door, and it opened slowly at the General’s barked “Enter!”
Jerry slid inside, closing the door with a click behind him before giving a smart salute. “My apologies, General.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Rafferty said. “If you three don’t know why you’re here, I can’t imagine why you’re in SCAU at all. Jerry, I’m very sorry to do this to you but meet—“
“We’ve already met,” Rodney interrupted with a grin.
Beside him, Benson groaned and reached out to smack him.
“Do that again,” Rafferty said, eying Rodney in annoyance, smiling briefly when Benson smacked him a second time. “Maybe being an active soldier will knock some sense into that head of yours.”
“Doubt it,” Benson groused. “Our apologies, General.”
“Doesn’t matter. The point of this is obvious – you three are now a team.” The General shuffled papers on his desk. “I hope you weren’t expecting some big ceremony.”
Benson could not resist a grin, and pinched Rodney hard before the other man could say something stupid. He smiled at Jerry, who smiled back. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch. We’ve been waiting for you months now.”
“Sorry,” Jerry said with a laugh. “I got lost.”
The General rolled his eyes. “Kids,” he muttered. “Get the hell out of my office, and report to Wicked Song in the hangar.
“Yes, sir!” All three men chorused, barely managing to walk out of the office.
Outside, they kept to their brisk walk, Jerry once more between Benson and Rodney, an arm settled firmly across his shoulders. “Somehow,” he said. “I wasn’t terribly surprised.”
“Neither were we,” Benson said thoughtfully. “I’ve heard the guys talk about that sort of thing before. They say after awhile, you start to sort of pick up on who will fit with who – some of them suggest that our compatibility points are so much higher than the norm that you can’t help but notice who synchs with who.”
Their conversation died away as they reached the hangar, a building three or four times the size of the rest of the SCAU complex. The first sixth of it was exclusively offices, and it was to these that the trio reported.
“And here comes the other new bane of our existence.” Siren gave a long sigh as they entered his office. On either side of him Mermaid and Banshee snickered. “You’ll be getting married later this evening,” he said. “The chip-heads are tied up with some problem of panicked civis. But I can go ahead and show you all your machines.” He looked at Benson’s group, then flicked his eyes to wear Dakota’s group stood waiting. “Now that you’re all here.”
Beside him, Mermaid grinned. “We have to tell them their names first, Siren.”
“Do we?”
“Look, isn’t Dakota enough of an asshole for everyone?” Rodney complained.
“Dakota?” Siren said, lifting a thin brow. “Who the fuck is Dakota?” He smiled and pointed to the man in question. “You mean Plague.” He pointed to Edan, who was tall, skin so dark it might as well be black. If a CA would be made of flesh, it would like Edan. “Pestilence,” he said and then indicated the redhead. “And Pendemic. Team for CA Scourge.” He folded his hand together and leaned forward in his seat, looking at Benson, Rodney, and Jerry, then relaxed and finally pointed to each of them in turn. “Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod, team for CA Old Moon. Gentlemen, welcome to the team.”
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Date: 2006-03-13 03:18 am (UTC)And you do need an icon, but unfortunately all I can see, still, are three cute little boys in PJs and nightcaps. ^^;;;
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Date: 2006-03-13 03:21 am (UTC)LMAO. Someone needs to draw them that way, holding a mecha plushie or something *dies giggling*
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Date: 2006-03-13 03:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 03:28 am (UTC)*encourages*
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Date: 2006-03-13 03:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 03:47 am (UTC)Awww, I tried so hard to put description in the story *SIGH* I just suck at it I guess -_-;;;
Winkin: Pretty typical military build, on the musclely side but not excessive. Tall but not towering, short black hair (they all have short hair, that whole military thing, alas), and amber eyes. Umm...I guess he's what you'd call striking. The sort of guy that looks good always, and looks three times hotter in uniform.
Rodney: Brown hair, bright green eyes. Good looking, almost boyishly cute. Very skinny, but stronger than he looks, mostly from dealing with heavy equipment and all b/c he's the mechanic.
Nod: Fairly average all around, youger than the other two by a couple of years, sort of 'school boy' handsome and is definitely a geek (which obviously isn't known yet). Pale blue eyes, and I think I might've forgotten his hair - it's like a platinum blonde.
Did that help at all? So need to go back and put all this ine >_< I tend to neglect description when a story is still confounding me, if not altogether >_> though it's never on purpose.
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Date: 2006-03-13 03:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 03:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 03:51 am (UTC)pesterencourage, but you've already decided! *does happy dance* ^_^no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 03:53 am (UTC)Besides, it means I can take a break from packing. ^^;
*_________________________________________*!!!
Date: 2006-03-13 03:21 am (UTC)That aside, dude...you're incredible. (as an aside, I don't think I'll ever get over that, but you are. You're amazing.)
I LOVE their personalities. I love how Rodney and Benson are together and I can't wait to see what they're like with Jerry.
Still love the swearing, and the way you can throw all the military strappings in there and make it seem so real and so natural to their world.
And the dialogue!!!!! *________________________* So mad envy. Mad, mad envy. You fucking rock. *tackle glomps*
I love this. *hearts madly*
Re: *_________________________________________*!!!
Date: 2006-03-13 03:28 am (UTC)*grins* So do you this story has strong element of masculinist phallic worship. Or that it's an escape mechanism, utilised almost as a kind of 'identify with the oppressors' tactic... A response to socially institutinalised marginilisation? *falls over laughing* I'm sorry, I'm done now. ^^;;;
Heh. My military upbringing is making itself useful, finally, though it could probably use a lot of touching up.
*loves you*
Re: *_________________________________________*!!!
Date: 2006-03-13 03:35 am (UTC).... there are enough typos in that sentence that my brain is strugging to figure out WTF you said. *nod* ^.^
Re: *_________________________________________*!!!
Date: 2006-03-13 03:39 am (UTC)It's a joke with Sky, which I couldn't resist dragging up here. Suffice to say fp.com provides all the amusement one could ever want.
Re: *_________________________________________*!!!
Date: 2006-03-13 03:41 am (UTC)Re: *_________________________________________*!!!
Date: 2006-03-13 03:47 am (UTC)*slinks away* I think faster than my fingers can keep up, I think *idiot*
Re: *_________________________________________*!!!
Date: 2006-03-13 03:50 am (UTC)Re: *_________________________________________*!!!
Date: 2006-03-13 03:47 am (UTC)though it could probably use a lot of touching up.
You could never prove it by me. I'm still trying to figure who's higher seargent connel major...O_o;;
*loves back* ^_^ This is story is so...Eieeee! *hearts and then scampers off to
peer pressureencourage Tygati* ;3Re: *_________________________________________*!!!
Date: 2006-03-13 03:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 05:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 05:17 am (UTC)SO MUCH LOVE FOR YOU
DORK!!!!! <<<3333no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 02:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 09:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 02:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 09:29 am (UTC)And uh oh, FORESHADOWING! *glomps you*
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Date: 2006-03-13 12:51 pm (UTC)Hee hee.
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Date: 2006-03-13 12:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 12:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 01:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 02:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 04:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 06:06 pm (UTC)Hee ^__^ I outta hit you up sometime to help me further militarize it, I'm only going on my memories and I know those aren't terribly accurate.
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Date: 2006-03-13 05:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 07:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-14 05:00 pm (UTC)You have no idea how hard I laughed when you told us that Dakota is Plague. XD
Do I even have to say that I can't wait for more?