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This is adult material. If you are not of legal age to read adult material, bugger off.
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- Title: The Art of Carrying On
Author: prairiedaun
Fandom: Black Hawk Down
Pairing: Blackburn/Grimes
Rating: mature
Warnings: Written in the second person (sorry, I know some people hate that, but I just couldn't stop). Also, if we're taking into consideration what we know of the men after the battle, this is rather AU, and I hope that any OOC-ness is a result of that and not my horrible mangling of the characters.
Notes: Written for azewewish for the Black Hawk Down Ficathon challenge. I hope that you enjoy it, and don't want to shoot me afterwards.
The Art of Carrying On
Part One
What happens is that once you recover, you're discharged from the army. Honourably, but still. You're out. You're not entirely sure how you feel about it, but at least your mother is relieved.
For several months you putter around the home. It's after you spend three days playing video games that your father has enough, and gives you an ultimatum- either you go to college, or you go to work. You choose college, but end up working as well.
You head off to school- it's different. No one screaming at you all the time, but there's no one that you really trust anymore- it's not that you're suspicious of people, but rather that you're no longer entrusting others with your life. You're simultaneously glad and melancholy about that.
You enjoy meeting new people. For some reason, you don't mention your military service when talking with other students. When you do tell people that you served in the military, they look surprised and a little suspicious. They always ask if you've seen any action, and you tell them that you were in Mogadishu, but that you were out before you could actually do anything. One time some frat boy asks where the fuck Mogadishu was. You just gritted your teeth and smiled.
You love college. There's a whole freedom about it- not just the lack of pressure to succeed but freedom to learn about the world and yourself. You still want to kick some ass and change the world, but now you know why you're doing it. You've made yourself study the situation in Somalia, and now you understand why you were there. You think about how much the situation there now would be different if the U.S. hadn't pulled the main force out of there so soon, and how much of it would have been different if that RPG hadn't made you miss the fucking rope. After a while, you make yourself not think about it any more.
You love studying different cultures, both abroad and at home. When studying other cultures you find yourself drawn to learning about their views on warfare and their different methods. You worry about this enough to ask a teacher about it, and she tells you not to worry, to simply play to your own strengths, so you do. Once classes are over you run into your TA at a party, and he calls you a fucking war junkie. You call him a jackass and leave.
In college you're learning new things about yourself, things that end up surprising you. One spring break you head down to Florida to do the beach parties. It's there that you learn it's not just girls that grab you attention. Your first time with a guy you lie and tell him your name is Gregg. He's Jack, a skinny rocker with long dark hair and eyeliner.
You think you couldn't be further from army life if you tried.
When you're sucking him off he runs his fingers through your hair and says, "Man, it's like you're in the army or something." After that, you don't cut your hair for eight months, and that's only because you went home and your mom complained so much that you trimmed it to appease her. You kept it long enough to still have to push it behind your ears all the time.
When you start your last year you meet Janice. Awesome, goth, bisexual Janice. Janice is the one who introduces you to the Sandman comics, and you fucking love them. From there you move on to other graphic novels, and you're hooked. You vaguely remember Yurek having comic books in Mogadishu, but you hadn't been around long enough to read them, if you had even thought about reading something so geeky at the time. You wonder if he's read Sandman, and what he thought about Morpheus' progression and how it relates to Joseph Campbell's hero's journey. You're taken aback by your own geekery. When you tell her, Janice is impressed.
Janice's family lives in New York, and that Halloween while the both of you are attending her cousin's wedding, the two of you go to a party as Dream and Death. You think there's something weird about the two of you making out while dressed up as brother and sister, but you say nothing.
As you're leaving the hotel, you bump into a man dressed as G.I Joe. He looks familiar, and it hits you like a ton of bricks. It's fucking Sergeant Eversmann. You punch him on the shoulder, and then snap off a salute to him. He looks at you again, squints, and once he recognizes you he smiles that damn big smile of his.
"Blackburn! What the fuck are you doing here, man?" He hugs you, and for a second it's weird. You decide to go with it, and hug him back. You introduce Janice, and Eversmann actually kisses her on the hand, chivalrous prick. You smile, and the two of you make plans to meet up the next day. You have a lot to get caught up on.
The two of you had arranged to meet up at a coffee shop that Janice's cousin recommended to you the day before. The coffee is strong, the location is central and there's an open mike with a guy playing a guitar. All of it is pretty damn good and Eversmann is late. You're sitting near the front, keeping an eye on the door and an eye on the singer, who's singing something that sounds middle eastern, but you're not sure what language and don't want to sound like an ass by guessing wrong.
The singer's got everyone clapping along and it's damn good, even if you don't understand what's being said. You end up so enthralled that you don't notice that Eversmann has come inside, until he's sitting next to you. You wait until the song is over to speak with him.
"Sergeant Eversmann." You crook a smile at him, and tuck a curl of hair behind your ear. He smiles at you again, and rubs a hand over his buzz cut. You're sure that a psych major would have something to say about roles and how this was an unconscious reminder of the different paths that the two of you have taken, but you've always thought that psych majors were full of shit.
"Call me Matt, please. You're not in the service any more." He looks over to the singer who's begun a Smiths cover, and visibly relaxes, drumming his fingertips in time on the tabletop. You both sit in silence, using the music as an excuse not to speak. Eventually the silence between the both of you gets to be too much, and you just begin talking about yourself. Not everything, since you're certain that announcing your newfound bisexuality is not the best way to ease the conversation between the both of you. You tell him about school and about Janice. You mention your cousin who keeps dropping hints about you joining the police force with him, and Matt brightens.
"A lot of the guys have gone that way. Just seems natural, I suppose." He gets up and orders some coffee. He returns a few minutes later, and you look him over again.
"You keep up with a lot of the guys?" You never really got to know many of them, you weren't around long enough to really become friends with anybody, but still. You remember some.
"Some, yeah. We're planning a bit of a get together for next year. You want to come?" You don't, not really, but you don't want to show that to Matt. You take a drink of your coffee, and then end up finishing it off before you look at him again. Time to own it, you suppose.
"I'm not really sure man. I'm still not sure how I feel about everything still. And I never really knew anyone there-" Eversmann begins to say something, but you continue. "And I don't have any memories of it. I remember getting ready, being on the Black Hawk and then waking up later." Stunned, Eversmann collapses back into his chair, staring at you, almost not believing you. It's true, you remember nothing. While he's sitting there, you go up to the counter and order another coffee and treat yourself to a biscotti, something that Janice has gotten you hooked on. Settling back in at the table, you look at Eversmann again. He finally has something to say again.
"You should still come. I've talked with some of the other guys, and they remember you." You grimace, and think about that. They remember you as a kid, young and cocky, ready to take on the world. You're different now, and not in a great rush to confront that.
Seeing your face, Eversmann continues. "It could be good for you to go, talk to some of the guys there. What's that the specialists are always talking about, closure. Put an end to Mogadishu." You consider it, and finish off your biscotti. While you're wiping your hands on a napkin, Eversmann continues. "Also, we're planning to have a tribute for those that didn't make it."
You look at him and ask him when. You're not so sure about yourself, but you know you'll do it for them.
Part Two
You're at the reunion and you've had a headache since the plane touched down the day before. Everyone there is all manly hugs and "Man, we made it through hell/so glad to have served with you/ proud to have served with fallen heroes," and you begin to think, "this was a mistake."
Eversmann is busy the entire night, and he's the only one here that you've talked to at all, and you start to think that he's the only one who even wants to talk to you. You're pretty sure that the others blamed you in some way. You think, "fuck them" and wait until the crowd around the table with tributes to the fallen soldiers disperses before heading over.
You've read all the reports available to you about the mission and always felt a sense of detachment, but this is so very different Reading the notes left by the other guys, it hits you like a ton of bricks. You turn away from the table, and head off down to the nearby riverbank. You feel like you might be sick, and the last thing you want is to vomit over the tribute made by the other guys.
Lying down on your back, you throw an arm over your eyes. As you're gasping for air and trying not to cry; you wonder vaguely if this is the post-traumatic stress disorder your uncle the counsellor warned you about. You don't want the other guys to see you crying, the guy that fell out of the helicopter and missed everything, the guy that left the military as soon as possible. One upside to not being in the military (your brain chirps in "as well as having longer hair, no uniform and being able to have sex with men without worrying about losing your job") is that you don't have to buy into that manly macho bullshit. So you cry.
You're not sure how long you've been down by the river, but what Janice once called your Ranger-sense is tingling- someone is coming down to check on you. You sit up, wipe your eyes and look out at the river. The sun is setting and it's almost time to get back to your hotel. You think about phoning Janice, but remember that the two of you aren't actually dating anymore, so that probably isn't the best idea.
Eversmann is the only one here that you think would bother coming down to check on you, so you call out "Hey Matt, I'm fine. Go back up to the guys." You're looking down at the grass and find yourself comparing how green and lush it is to the grit and sand you remember from Somalia. You've never been as contemplative of Somalia as you've become since running into Eversmann, so you're mildly annoyed when he sits down next to you. Digging the heels of your hands into your eyes you say, "Matt, just go away. Please."
"See, I would but I'm not Eversmann. And I would like to talk to you." The voice is familiar, and something tingles at the base of your skull, so you look over at the other man. You squint and recognize him.
"Hey Grimes."
"If you're calling Sergeant Eversmann Matt, you may as well as call me John." He smiles at you. "Todd." You smile back. He offers you a beer, and you take it.
You're both sitting there on the side of the river, drinking the beers that John brought down with him. Despite saying he wants to talk, John hasn't actually said anything to you. You would normally enjoy the silence- you can usually judge how good a friend someone could be by how long comfortable silence can happen between you before someone speaks up, but this silence is off-putting. You wonder about Grimes and Eversmann, why their silence makes you uncomfortable. The sun is going down and the bugs are starting to come out and you hate this silence now.
"So John, what did you want to talk about?" You look him over. He is as tall as you are, muscular and blond. Not your usual type. You look away before he can catch you- there's no need to open up that can of worms here.
"Do you talk at all about the battle? I noticed that you tried to get away from every conversation about the battle going on tonight." He looks at you with concern. You're glad that someone noticed, and a part of you that is secretly a sixteen-year old girl is squealing that he was concerned about you. You wonder where that came from, and ignore it. You realize that he's looking at you, and remember that "oh yeah, this is the part where I'm supposed to say something." You're not too sure what you want to say, but you begin and then your voice takes over.
"Not really. I mean, I wasn't even really a part of it and I have no memory of it. I remember the helicopter, and I think I remember falling, but it could just be a memory of a dream about falling. And then I remember waking up in the hospital. It doesn't really make for a good war story." You almost feel apologetic. "Matt's the one that convinced me to come."
"Yeah, it's hard to turn down Matt. He's sort of like a big puppy that way." As John finishes his beer, you imagine Eversmann as a border collie. The image makes you laugh, and Grimes looks over at you with one eyebrow raised, and smiles. He seems to be remembering and his smile fades quickly.
"He was freaked when you fell. He covered it well, but he was so worried. I was freaked- I mean, I was just as eager as you to get out in the field. Five minutes in, and you're unconscious and I'm carrying you to the convoy." He's nervous, speaking quickly and rolling the empty bottle of beer between his hands. Your mouth is dry- after you woke up and were lying in your hospital cot, you replayed your first conversation with this man in your head countless times. "Well I'm here to kick some ass." You remember something from one of your classes.
"Hubris," you say quietly. Grimes looks over at you, so you continue. "Those whom the Gods would destroy they first make proud." You came across it in a philosophy class and it hit you square in the chest.
"College seems to have agreed with you. " Confused, you look at him. "Don't worry. Matt told me about you going to college," He explains and you smile. Either John asked Matt about you, which gives you a little thrill, or Matt told John in passing, which doesn't seem to make much sense. Before you can think about it any more an insect bites you on the arm, and you slap at it.
"Listen, we're going to be eaten alive out here. Let's go somewhere." You nod at him and make your way to the golf club's main building, and call a cab. Neither of you talk in the cab, and when it drops you off at your hotel, you go into the pub in the hotel.
The pub's name is the Gull and Sail, and it looks spectacularly awful. The two of you snag a booth and a woman in a mini-kilt hands you a menu. As she sashays away, the pleats on her kilt sway and you can't help but stare. There's a kick to your ankle and you turn in your seat to grin at Grimes.
He says, "I thought you were seeing someone." You have to take a moment to recover, and by the time you do the waitress is back to take your order. You get a Guinness and Grimes orders Heineken and this time you don't watch her walk away. You tell Grimes about Janice and how the two of you broke it off after she kissed a girl dressed as Desire at comic book convention. His eyes are wide and he looks like he's having trouble forming words.
"Comic books?"
"Yes. Well, graphic novels. It's a thing. Never mind." The waitress arrives with the drinks, and Grimes gets you to explain the Sandman series to him. You both order four rounds before you finish by saying "It's a really modern form of reinterpreting ancient myth. And fucking cool, man." You're sprawled in your booth, head propped up balanced on a fist, and the other hand is tracing shapes in the beer you spilled while explaining Desire. You get a little agitated when talking about Desire. You tell him this.
His eyes seem to darken and he says, "Yeah, desire's a tricky thing." You think that there might be something there, something deeper to that, but you're also aware that you've had four rounds of Guinness and you're definitely not at your best. You stand up and make your way to the washroom. You stop at the bar to take care of the tab, and while waiting to pay you turn your head and catch Grimes checking you out. This time you're sure there's something, and you think oh. Well then.
Sitting back down at the table, you say, "Well. Now that I've bored you with the history of Sandman, what did you want to talk about?" Grimes is staring at the table. You're prepared to sit in silence for as long as you have to now- this is ground you feel comfortable on. An eternity stretches out in the fifteen seconds that pass before he asks to go up to your hotel room with you. You're fairly certain this wasn't on his mind back at the river, but you understand not wanting to talk anymore.
Your room is up on the ninth floor, so the two of you make your ways to the elevator. It's empty, and on the way up you watch Grimes. He's avoiding looking you in the eye, and you think that this can only be bad. "Listen, John," you begin. He looks at you, so you continue. "If you don't want to do this, it's okay. You don't have to."
He gives you a nervous smile. "Just so we're clear, what exactly is 'this' that we're doing?" He's shoved his hands into his pockets, and is bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Standing in front of him, you kiss him gently and push him against the wall of the elevator with a hand on his shoulder. Your hand moves down his chest and then you hook your fingers into his belt loops, pulling him closer. You deepen the kiss before breaking it off. The door opens behind you.
"That's a good enough clue. You're a smart guy, I'm sure you can figure it out. If this is what you want, then come on." You walk out of the elevator, and he follows. You make your way to your door and pull out the key card. It takes you four tries to get it to work, because Grimes is standing right behind you, a hand on your hip and his breath on your neck. You open the door and make your way in, Grimes right behind you.
The two of you make your way to the bed, where you push him down and then straddle his lap. Kissing him thoroughly you unbutton his shirt and move your hands over his chest. In one smooth move heists up and rolls over onto his side and then on top of you. Your legs are now wrapped around his waist, and the two of you start rubbing against one another. You barely have the presence of mind to stop and take off your jeans and t-shirt, Grimes following your lead. Both of you are in your boxers now and you wrap yourself around him again. He holds on to you by your shoulders and begins thrusting now. You feel a whimper growing in your throat and you swallow it down. You're feeling strangely competitive, and there's no way you're going to start mewling before Grimes.
The boxers are too constrictive so you push down the waistband, and take yourself in hand. John's thrusts are becoming faster and more erratic; at first you try to time your thrusts as a counterpoint to his, but then you give in to wild abandon. John cries out your name as he comes, and then he slumps forward onto you just as you come as well. You lie there for a few minutes, breathing heavily and feeling the come sticking between the two of you.
Reluctantly you push him off you and you sit up. He begins to look upset until you get up and go to the bathroom and return with a wet hand towel. You already wiped yourself off in the bathroom, so you toss the towel to John and he does the same. He takes off his sticky boxers and doesn't seem to know what to do with them for a moment until he drops them on the floor behind him. He sits up as you sit down on the bed next to him at the head of the bed, backs to the wall. He hasn't said a word and he's staring at his feel.
You put your hand on his jaw and turn his head so that he's looking at you." Are you okay with this?" you ask, and when he nods you kiss him again, not roughly but firm enough to hopefully ground him in the moment. You pull away and ask him if you can blow him, and he nods wordlessly. You straddle him again and kiss him, running your fingertips over his shoulders and collarbone and then down his chest. You lower your hear and lick his neck and then down to the base of his throat. You gently twist his nipple and smile when you feel him gasp. You look up and see that he has a pleasantly bewildered look on his face, so you kiss him again and then shift both you bodies so that he's now lying on the bed beneath you.
You work your way down his body, running your fingers over his muscles and running a finger down the line of hair from his belly to cock. He's already half erect as you begin stroking him. He moans your name, so you look up to see him and he his head is lolled to one side and he's watching you. It's one of the sexiest things you've ever seen and you being to stroke him harder to see his reaction. His eyes close as his head rolls back, and an incoherent moan comes from his mouth.
You want to hear him loudly, so you lick along his lower belly. His hips thrust forward, so you decided to suck the same spot. He groans loudly, hips bucking wildly as your hand continues stroking with its steady pace. You feel some come on your hand and you take your hand away. John half sits up and grumbles a "What the fuck, Todd…" and you make sure he's looking into your eyes as you lick the come off your palm. He's staring at you like you're the most interesting thing in the world at the moment, and that's when you turn your head down to lick him from the base to the tip of his cock. You feel him fall back on to the bed, and you take him into your moth and begin sucking him off in earnest.
He begins thrusting again, and so you shift to try to hold him down more firmly. His hands are on you head and he tries to move your head in time with his aborted thrusts. You stop and glare at him for a moment, but give up when he threads his fingers through your curls. The two of you continue like this for a little while longer until his thrusts get more erratic. You take your mouth off of him and begin pumping him with a loose fist until he comes, arcing his hips off the bed. He shouts your name this time, and you feel satisfied.
John is quiet, as you lay down next to him. You are lying on your side, watching him. He looks up at you and looks as if he's about to ask you a question, before looking back down again. Curious, you poke him in the chest with an index finger. "I hate to sound like a girl," you begin, "but talk to me. You were going to say something."
A blush rises on John's cheeks, and he looks at you. "I was wondering if you wanted me to take care of you. I'm not really sure I'd feel comfortable doing that yet, but I don't know the etiquette for a situation like this." He sounds so worried that you laugh, but you stop when you see the hurt look on his face.
Quickly you tell him thank you, but you're all right. You smile and he smiles back. Silence descends again, turning to slightly awkward silence. You never really have gotten the hang of what to say afterwards, and you're getting the feeling that John still has something on his mind, so you ask him about it.
"How did you deal with it? With the battle, I mean. I keep reliving it, man. I'll be going through the day and then all of a sudden there's an RPG headed for me so I close my eyes and brace myself. When I open my eyes again, I'm back at the base, or the supermarket or wherever I'm supposed to be." He pauses, staring up at the ceiling. "When you got out, how did you readjust?" You take a moment to think about it.
"I don't relive the battle because for me it didn't happen. For me, the whole of the battle is us flying in, the rest of you roping in and me falling. I woke up the next day. All that I know about the battle comes from other people." You look over at John and see him watching you. "I did my physical therapy, I went home and sulked. My parents did their thing, and I went off to school. There's no secret to it, John. You just live your life and things happen."
John sits up and pulls his knees to his chest. "I'm thinking about leaving the army. I thought it was a 'for life' thing for me, but I can't see myself going into other combat situations with this hanging over my head."
You frown. "Aren't there counsellors you can talk to about this?" John shakes his head. "Yeah, and have it go on my record that I'm losing it."
"Or go on your record that you were having difficulties, and were responsible enough to take care of it," you reply. You sigh; you were never very good at solving your own problems, never mind those of other people. You get up and find the hotel pen and paper and write down your phone number and address for him. You hand John the sheet of paper.
"Here. If, when you need to talk or anything, call me. I probably won't be able to help much, but you do have a friend on the outside." He takes it and smiles. "Thank you, Todd." He gets up and begins collecting his clothes. You go into the bathroom to take a quick shower, and by the time you're done John is gone. You collapse on the bed and are asleep within minutes.
Part Three
You wake up the next morning, happy and with the sun is shining in your face. You get up, throw on some clothes and go out for a jog. On your way around the neighbourhood you think about the night before.
You feel as if something should have changed, but no. You're still the same slightly screwed up guy that you were before. If anything, you're more content to be that guy. You think of John Grimes, and hope that he gets himself straightened out. You're pretty sure he will, eventually.
Time has a habit of healing all.
I've no need in keeping flames alive,
someone's bound to end up getting burned
But I do believe time to time everybody should take a turn
Building a statue out of broken glass, and
Paying respect to all the things that have passed before.
I, as well, have had desire to up and leave
Now and then and often in between
But something keeps me grounded here and tpngue-ties.
It's the art of carrying on (Knowing time heals all)
-Novillero
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