Chapter Text
There was nothing more exciting than a pre-mission briefing.
Said no one ever.
Throwing himself into the uncomfortable metal chair, Petty Officer First Class Pete Wentz huffed out a breath in frustration and boredom and the pre-op jitters that never failed to show up for the party. His best friend, Petty Officer Barney Garcia jostled him as he scooted by to sit down and made sure to shake his ass in front of Pete’s face, which of course meant he had to slap it playfully. Before anymore shenanigans could take place, the distinctive voice of their intrepid Squad leader rang out.
“Alright, yeh idiots! Shut yer fuckin’ holes and pay the fuck attention.”
Pete sighed melodramatically, making Barney laugh silently, before he directed his attention to the front of the room…and the smirk froze on his face at what he saw. Longish brown hair that was just a bit out of regulations. Blue eyes that were hidden between thickly-rimmed black glasses that had equally thick lenses. An Air Force uniform that fit well, the sleeves rolled up to show slender arms and elegant fingers. Pale skin that looked like it hadn’t seen the sun in years but that reminded him somehow of his grandma’s china…and oh God. The plumpest, most beautiful lips he had ever seen.
“Hello, um. I’m Staff Sergeant Stumph, and I’ll, uh, be giving you your site survey brief.” Pete noticed the guy’s hands were shaking as he used the clicker to move to the next slide. “A C-130 flying at 35,000 feet will take you to the site, for your insertion the landing zone, which is field about 1/4 of a mile from the target.” He pointed light grey square in a grainy satellite image. “Winds are light and favorable, and we’ve calculated there are no obstructions to your jump within 500 yards. As to the objective, the main entrances are here, here, and here.” As he spoke, his voice became more and more confident, and his hands stopped shaking. “We’ll have a drone flying overwatch to catch any movement within the compound, but we’ve estimated that the total number of hostiles will be around twenty. We don’t have any indications that they have anything beyond small arms, but there’s always a chance for surprises.” He clicked to the next slide. “Chatter indicates that they are planning an attack to coincide with the end of the holy week, but we don’t know what form that will take. So be prepared for anything, but especially for the possibility of explosives in the secondary building, here, which we assess to be their main staging area.”
He took them through the HVTs, or High Value Targets, that were assessed to be staying in the compound, as well as what to look for as far as explosives went. Moving through well-organized slides, he outlined the compound’s composition, possible choke points, and the best ways to move through it. He pushed his glasses up and looked back at them, turning his back to the slides. “Please remember we’ll have an EOD team on standby if you do find explosives. Do not attempt to disarm anything you find on your own.” His eyes swept over the group, and seemed to linger on Pete as his closing statement left those gorgeous lips. “I have your prep packets here…and good luck.”
There was the sudden burst of noise as the various operators began to talk about gameplans, insertion maneuvers and bets on what would break first—the plane or the radios. Pete waded through the press of bodies to the front of the room to approach the young Sergeant, who held a stack of red folders like a shield in front of him.
“Hey.” He was surprised at how soft the word came out, and he cleared his throat. “I’m Pete. Nice brief.” The answering flush and stammered thanks was everything he could have hoped for and more, and he couldn’t help the grin that split his face. “I haven’t seen you before, you new?”
The young man nodded. “Um, new to here. I was up at Kabul for the last four months, but…something happened to the guy’s wife who was here before, so they transferred me.”
Pete nodded. “Ahhh…well, welcome to Camp Bastion, home of the sexiest SEAL team and more crumpet-eaters than you can shake a stick at.”
“Thanks.” The young man’s eyes were even more beautiful up close, but Pete couldn’t quite look away from any part of his face. He was gorgeous and totally out of place in the rough-and-tumble world of knuckle-dragging Marines, oddball British military and cocky SEALs that were buzzing around them in the command tent. “It’s…definitely unique.”
A barking laugh jumped from Pete’s lips before he knew it. “We’re all unique here. I think you have to be as a prerequisite. That guy—“ He pointed to a dark-haired young man in Royal Air Force fatigues, “—he’s the straightest dude I’ve ever met who loves dicks more than all the drag queens in Vegas put together. Ask him to show you his daisy chain if you don’t believe me. And Captain Cost over there is the reigning hot sauce shot champion, and Colonel Veyera—“ He pointed to a short-haired, pinch-faced female in Army camouflage, “—I’m pretty sure has the biggest balls of anyone here.”
A smile finally flitted across SSgt Stumph’s lips, and Pete felt like punching the air in celebration. His mouth tucked into a smirk that made Pete’s heart’s do something wierd—he’d have to ask the doc to check him out for some sort of murmur or palpitations or something—before asking Pete in a wry tone, “And what’s unique about you?”
Pete couldn’t help the grin that split his lips. “Well…that’d be no fun if I just out and told you. Guess you’ll have to figure that out for yourself.”
“Petty Officer Wentz! Quit your fuckin’ yapping and get a fuckin’ move on! We don’t got all day!” The thickly-accented voice of his team leader cut through Pete’s brain as he tried to think of how in the world he had thought that was a good thing to say, and he turned to see that the tent was nearly empty.
“Aye, Chief!!”
Pete gave what he hoped was a cunning mock salute to the pale guy and turned to leave. Something tugged on his arm, and he turned back to see a shy smile blooming on the young SSgt’s face as he held out the red folders. Pete took them, trying not to shiver when his hand brushed the other man’s and his mind instantly began trying to figure out if it was on purpose or not.
“I’m Patrick, by the way.” His eyes flitted down to the folders tucked under Pete’s arm. “I hope the prep helps…let me know if you guys want them built any different and I’ll make them that way next time.”
Pete couldn’t help the way his earnest tone made him want to take stupid chances. “So if they suck, I get to come back and tell you? Well shit, Patrick, if that isn’t a date I can’t wait to keep.” He winked as his new crush blushed furiously and turned away, already doing summersaults in his head.
Oh man…I’ve got it bad, for a nerdy briefer no less!
~//~
Pete made sure to go back and tell Patrick that the mission packets were great, but he hadn’t been at his desk. So he left a sticky note that said They sucked! (kidding—they were awesome). He had deliberated for a few seconds before he gave a mental shrug and scribbled a little winky-face.
He came to look forward to the briefing as much as he did the adrenaline-rush of the operation. Patrick’s preparation was always thorough, and he always seemed to have the answers to any question that the team threw at him. It became Pete’s thing to go get the packets from him each time, and each time he did somehow their fingers would end up brushing for the briefest of moments.
The third briefing that Patrick gave them was for a night mission, so they were all kitted out with night vision goggles and night scopes on their rifles. He jogged up to the front of the room to get the folders, and noticed the dark circles under Patrick’s eyes, hidden behind his glasses from far away, but visible now that he was close.
“Not sleeping well?”
Patrick gave an ironic huff and roll of his shoulders. “Sleeping isn’t the problem, finding time to sleep is. I’ve been here since 0300.”
“What the fuck? Why?” Pete felt like he should yawn in sympathy.
“Mmm…there was a lot to do for this one, and my people didn’t…” He petered off for a moment, an annoyed look flashing over his face. “…Well, let’s just say they aren’t me.”
“Well…thanks for being you, I guess. It was a great brief.” The words were out of Pete’s mouth before he could stop them, but Patrick didn’t seem to mind. The grin he gave Pete was sincere but adorably dopey, and it made his heart do that weird fluttering thing again.
“Here you go.” He handed over the packets and their fingers brushed as the stack of red folders settled into Pete’s grasp, making lightning skitter over his backbone. “The top folder is yours.”
Pete gave him an inquisitive look, but Patrick only smiled again and walked away. The top of his blouse hung down below his belt, but not so long that Pete couldn’t see his ass, and appreciate the hint of curve that was visible through the thick fabric. Shaking himself, he turned away and headed out of the tent. Settling into the helo, he strapped in and pulled the red folders from his backpack. He handed the first one to Garcia, and then yelped when he remembered Patrick’s words.
“Hey give me that one back.” Garcia eyed him suspiciously.
“Why? This your lucky folder or some shit like that?”
Pete gave him a superior glare, trying to look nonchalant. “Maybe it is? Give it back, dumbfuck. Don’t mess up with my night-op juju.”
Shaking his head, Garcia handed the folder back. “You’re a weird one, you know that, white boy?”
Pete threw the second folder at him, laughing as he reached down to cup where his package was under the protective gear. “My mama’s Jamaican dummy, so I’m black where it counts!” Garcia rolled his eyes, and Pete couldn’t help sliding in one more joke before the helicopter’s blades started rolling and speaking became a near-impossibility. “Besides, what kinda cholo name is Barney??? It's so cute your mom named you after a purple dinosaur!”
Garcia’s good-natured protests about where he should stick it were drowned out as the engine roared to life and the helicopter lifted off the ground. In the roaring silence, Pete leaned his head back and let the darkness envelop him as he tried to shift the flow of his thoughts into the appropriate mindset for murder and mayhem. Then he remembered—the packet.
Pulling on his goggles, he flipped on the night-vision and opened it. There was a sticky-note on the first page, and a small part of Pete’s mind noted that the handwriting was masculine but bordered on girly with its neatness and the small flourishes. Be safe. I’d hate to not see your smile when you come to tell me how much these suck.
The grin that split Pete’s face felt like it had enough wattage to light all of Afghanistan.