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broadwritingTitle: "Forgiveness" 1/1
Author: Brenda
Fandom: "Black Hawk Down" FPS
Pairing: Todd "Hoot" Gibson/Matt Eversmann
Rating: PG
Summary: The weight of the world is a heavy burden. Sequel, of sorts, to "Aftermath".
Feedback: Yes, please.
Disclaimer: Not my playground. All rights belong to Mark Bowden, Scott Free Productions & Columbia Pictures.
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
acari, who requested more Eversmann/Hoot as a birthday fic. Sorry it's so ridiculously late. Love you, darling. *mwah*
"So let us not talk falsely now
The hour's getting late"
-- Jimi Hendrix
June, 1994
The small town of Pikeville, Kentucky looked like every other small town Matt had ever seen. Driving down the town's main street, he'd passed local diners and pretty, tree-lined sidewalks and bustling neighborhood shops competing with the nearby Wal-Mart. A friendly sort of town, this being the South, where neighbor waved at neighbor on the way to grab a coffee before work or stop for a bit of gossip while running errands. A pretty town, with the snow-capped Appalachian mountains rising majestically in the background, watching over sturdy, lovingly-tended houses and businesses.
Matt wondered how the hell a guy like Hoot fit into a place like this.
He found the rambling farm easily -- the waitress at the diner had given very precise directions -- and spent a minute in his rental car looking at the well-built house and endless fields. Looked like corn was growing, maybe, or...hell, he didn't know, really. If it wasn't cotton, he had no idea. The porch was one of those verandas that wrapped around the house, and the paint looked fresh. Matt tried to picture Hoot with a paintbrush in his hand and couldn't. Tried to picture Hoot growing up in this community, riding his bike with his friends, playing baseball on lazy Saturday afternoons, helping his Dad with the fields or mowing the lawn. Tried to picture Hoot as a schoolboy, in class, running touchdowns, losing his virginity to the head cheerleader. The only image he could see was Hoot in blood-spattered BDUs, M-16 in hand, quietly and efficiently getting the job done.
Matt walked slowly up the porch steps, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. All of the promises he'd made seemed to echo in the breeze blowing through the grove of maple trees in the side yard. He would see this through. He owed himself that much.
He knocked politely on the door, scrubbed a hand over his face. He felt so out of place in his dress blues, but it was a bit too late to back down now. He took off his cap, placed it under his arm, tried to control his racing heart. Nervous again, and he had no reason to be. He'd put that night at the base behind him months ago. Never even thought about it.
Then Hoot answered the door and Matt forgot not to think.
He tried not to stare, he truly did. Failed, of course, because not staring wasn't really an option around Hoot. It never was. Hoot looked leaner than he'd been in Somalia, rested, had quite the farmer's tan going on beneath a too-tight t-shirt that emphasized the muscles in his chest. Matt's eyes dropped lower for just a second, to a pair of faded, almost white cut-offs, to well-toned thighs and tight calves.
"Matt, what're you doing here?" Hoot looked confused, dark brows furrowing as he held the screen door open with the weigh of his body.
"I, um." All of the carefully rehearsed words Matt had planned to say froze in a locked throat. He was suffocating in his uniform, his shirt collar too tight, fabric of his jacket too heavy. "I shouldn't've come," he rasped. "I'm sorry for disturbing your day."
He'd taken the first step off the veranda before Hoot reacted. "Matt, wait." Matt half-turned, hat still under his arm. "Just...wait." The door banged shut as Hoot stepped onto the porch. "C'mon. Sit down. You came all this way for a reason."
Matt dropped on the top step and waited for Hoot to sit next to him. He could hear the television in the background -- some baseball game in progress. There was a faint scent of bacon in the air, from breakfast most likely, and it mingled almost pleasantly with the scent of Pine-Sol. Spring cleaning, Matt thought, and wished everything could be as easy as scrubbing dirt away with a brush and detergent.
"You drove?" Matt nodded, squinted as he stared out at his rental car. "How long did it take you?"
"Seven hours, give or take. Jamie's parents live just outside Indy." Matt rubbed a hand over his face again, loosened his tie a notch. He could still feel the vibrations from the road.
"Matt." He looked into a pair of warm, concerned eyes. "When's the last time you slept, man?"
Matt shrugged. "Forty hours, maybe. It's nothing," he said, and felt the grief -- and guilt -- threaten to swamp him again. "It's nothing."
He could feel the weight of Hoot's eyes on him. "Why're you here?"
Good question. "I dunno," Matt answered, stared out at the placid, endless fields. "I just thought it might help."
"You wanna come inside and talk about it?"
"No. Not really." The porch was nice. Safer.
"Alright." Matt could see Hoot nod out of the corner of his eye, glanced up when Hoot stood, lean body unfolding gracefully. "I'll be right back."
Matt waited as Hoot disappeared inside. Looked over the fields, took off the restricting jacket, felt the warmth of the sun as the game droned on in the background. Hoot appeared a few minutes later and dropped back next to him. "Here," he said, and pressed a coffee mug -- full and steaming hot -- into Matt's hands. "Figured you could use it."
"Turning into Grimesy now?" Matt asked, and the smile felt almost normal.
"Just don't want you falling asleep on me." Hoot returned the smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. Their knees brushed together companionably. It was nice. Safe, in an odd sort of way. Worlds away from... well, it was just different, is all.
Matt look out over the fields again. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah." Slow drawl as Hoot sipped from his own mug. "Yeah, go ahead."
"Why'd you do it, man? I mean, y'know. Us. Or whatever it was." It'd been bugging him since the night it happened, details etched into his mind like a tattoo. The feel of Hoot's mouth on his, the rough drag of his hands, the warmth and muscle of Hoot's body pressing him into the lockers, then onto the floor when standing had gotten to be too much to handle.
"Why'd you go see Smith's parents?"
Matt knit his brow, met Hoot's look with a frown. He cradled the coffee mug, forgotten, in both hands. "Because I promised," he said.
"And?"
"And..." He continued frowning, wondered why the fuck they were having this conversation. Hoot had yet to answer his question. "And I hoped it would...ease things. I guess."
"Ease your mind," Hoot said softly, voice holding none of the practical arrogance that was so much a part of him.
"Yeah." Something like that, anyway. Matt had no real clue what he'd been thinking, really. Just that he'd needed to do it.
"And did it? Ease your mind?"
Matt had no answer.
Hoot scooted closer, thighs locked tight against his, words soft across the exposed nape of his neck. "Did it ease your conscience to see them? To look them in the eyes and accept responsibility?"
Matt turned his head, lips practically touching Hoot's. He could smell the faint odor of smoke mixing with coffee on Hoot's breath. "Yeah," he whispered, felt the weight pressing into him again. Responsibility. A much safer word than guilt. "How'd you know?"
"Just do," Hoot replied. He didn't move. His eyes seemed larger than life this close, brown flecked with gold and green. "I've been there."
Matt swallowed, resisted the overwhelming urge to drop his head to Hoot's shoulder. To abdicate responsibility and liability. He still wasn't a leader, man, but he was a Ranger. And Rangers didn't run from peril. Ever. "How do you move on?" he asked, lips brushing, ever so slightly, against Hoot's. Kept holding the coffee mug as a ballast.
Hoot cupped the back of Matt's neck, and Matt felt the warmth clear to his toes. "Is that why you're here?" Hoot asked.
"Maybe." Another slight brush of lips. "Partially."
Hoot pulled back, but didn't move his hand. "Why're you here, Matt?"
And Matt maybe thought he might have an answer to that. It helped that Hoot's fingers were stroking his neck in slow, circular motions. Safety. Refuge in a world that still made no sense most days. "I think you know," Matt whispered. It was easy to close the minute distance between them. Hoot tasted just as he did last time -- smoke and coffee and oranges -- but without the acrid gunpowder bite.
Hoot licked his top lip and nodded once when they finally parted. "You wanna come inside now?" he asked. No judgment, no questions.
Matt smiled, a small curve of lips. Trust Hoot, man. "Yeah," he said. "I think I finally do."
***
Author: Brenda
Fandom: "Black Hawk Down" FPS
Pairing: Todd "Hoot" Gibson/Matt Eversmann
Rating: PG
Summary: The weight of the world is a heavy burden. Sequel, of sorts, to "Aftermath".
Feedback: Yes, please.
Disclaimer: Not my playground. All rights belong to Mark Bowden, Scott Free Productions & Columbia Pictures.
Notes: For
acari, who requested more Eversmann/Hoot as a birthday fic. Sorry it's so ridiculously late. Love you, darling. *mwah*"So let us not talk falsely now
The hour's getting late"
-- Jimi Hendrix
June, 1994
The small town of Pikeville, Kentucky looked like every other small town Matt had ever seen. Driving down the town's main street, he'd passed local diners and pretty, tree-lined sidewalks and bustling neighborhood shops competing with the nearby Wal-Mart. A friendly sort of town, this being the South, where neighbor waved at neighbor on the way to grab a coffee before work or stop for a bit of gossip while running errands. A pretty town, with the snow-capped Appalachian mountains rising majestically in the background, watching over sturdy, lovingly-tended houses and businesses.
Matt wondered how the hell a guy like Hoot fit into a place like this.
He found the rambling farm easily -- the waitress at the diner had given very precise directions -- and spent a minute in his rental car looking at the well-built house and endless fields. Looked like corn was growing, maybe, or...hell, he didn't know, really. If it wasn't cotton, he had no idea. The porch was one of those verandas that wrapped around the house, and the paint looked fresh. Matt tried to picture Hoot with a paintbrush in his hand and couldn't. Tried to picture Hoot growing up in this community, riding his bike with his friends, playing baseball on lazy Saturday afternoons, helping his Dad with the fields or mowing the lawn. Tried to picture Hoot as a schoolboy, in class, running touchdowns, losing his virginity to the head cheerleader. The only image he could see was Hoot in blood-spattered BDUs, M-16 in hand, quietly and efficiently getting the job done.
Matt walked slowly up the porch steps, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. All of the promises he'd made seemed to echo in the breeze blowing through the grove of maple trees in the side yard. He would see this through. He owed himself that much.
He knocked politely on the door, scrubbed a hand over his face. He felt so out of place in his dress blues, but it was a bit too late to back down now. He took off his cap, placed it under his arm, tried to control his racing heart. Nervous again, and he had no reason to be. He'd put that night at the base behind him months ago. Never even thought about it.
Then Hoot answered the door and Matt forgot not to think.
He tried not to stare, he truly did. Failed, of course, because not staring wasn't really an option around Hoot. It never was. Hoot looked leaner than he'd been in Somalia, rested, had quite the farmer's tan going on beneath a too-tight t-shirt that emphasized the muscles in his chest. Matt's eyes dropped lower for just a second, to a pair of faded, almost white cut-offs, to well-toned thighs and tight calves.
"Matt, what're you doing here?" Hoot looked confused, dark brows furrowing as he held the screen door open with the weigh of his body.
"I, um." All of the carefully rehearsed words Matt had planned to say froze in a locked throat. He was suffocating in his uniform, his shirt collar too tight, fabric of his jacket too heavy. "I shouldn't've come," he rasped. "I'm sorry for disturbing your day."
He'd taken the first step off the veranda before Hoot reacted. "Matt, wait." Matt half-turned, hat still under his arm. "Just...wait." The door banged shut as Hoot stepped onto the porch. "C'mon. Sit down. You came all this way for a reason."
Matt dropped on the top step and waited for Hoot to sit next to him. He could hear the television in the background -- some baseball game in progress. There was a faint scent of bacon in the air, from breakfast most likely, and it mingled almost pleasantly with the scent of Pine-Sol. Spring cleaning, Matt thought, and wished everything could be as easy as scrubbing dirt away with a brush and detergent.
"You drove?" Matt nodded, squinted as he stared out at his rental car. "How long did it take you?"
"Seven hours, give or take. Jamie's parents live just outside Indy." Matt rubbed a hand over his face again, loosened his tie a notch. He could still feel the vibrations from the road.
"Matt." He looked into a pair of warm, concerned eyes. "When's the last time you slept, man?"
Matt shrugged. "Forty hours, maybe. It's nothing," he said, and felt the grief -- and guilt -- threaten to swamp him again. "It's nothing."
He could feel the weight of Hoot's eyes on him. "Why're you here?"
Good question. "I dunno," Matt answered, stared out at the placid, endless fields. "I just thought it might help."
"You wanna come inside and talk about it?"
"No. Not really." The porch was nice. Safer.
"Alright." Matt could see Hoot nod out of the corner of his eye, glanced up when Hoot stood, lean body unfolding gracefully. "I'll be right back."
Matt waited as Hoot disappeared inside. Looked over the fields, took off the restricting jacket, felt the warmth of the sun as the game droned on in the background. Hoot appeared a few minutes later and dropped back next to him. "Here," he said, and pressed a coffee mug -- full and steaming hot -- into Matt's hands. "Figured you could use it."
"Turning into Grimesy now?" Matt asked, and the smile felt almost normal.
"Just don't want you falling asleep on me." Hoot returned the smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. Their knees brushed together companionably. It was nice. Safe, in an odd sort of way. Worlds away from... well, it was just different, is all.
Matt look out over the fields again. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah." Slow drawl as Hoot sipped from his own mug. "Yeah, go ahead."
"Why'd you do it, man? I mean, y'know. Us. Or whatever it was." It'd been bugging him since the night it happened, details etched into his mind like a tattoo. The feel of Hoot's mouth on his, the rough drag of his hands, the warmth and muscle of Hoot's body pressing him into the lockers, then onto the floor when standing had gotten to be too much to handle.
"Why'd you go see Smith's parents?"
Matt knit his brow, met Hoot's look with a frown. He cradled the coffee mug, forgotten, in both hands. "Because I promised," he said.
"And?"
"And..." He continued frowning, wondered why the fuck they were having this conversation. Hoot had yet to answer his question. "And I hoped it would...ease things. I guess."
"Ease your mind," Hoot said softly, voice holding none of the practical arrogance that was so much a part of him.
"Yeah." Something like that, anyway. Matt had no real clue what he'd been thinking, really. Just that he'd needed to do it.
"And did it? Ease your mind?"
Matt had no answer.
Hoot scooted closer, thighs locked tight against his, words soft across the exposed nape of his neck. "Did it ease your conscience to see them? To look them in the eyes and accept responsibility?"
Matt turned his head, lips practically touching Hoot's. He could smell the faint odor of smoke mixing with coffee on Hoot's breath. "Yeah," he whispered, felt the weight pressing into him again. Responsibility. A much safer word than guilt. "How'd you know?"
"Just do," Hoot replied. He didn't move. His eyes seemed larger than life this close, brown flecked with gold and green. "I've been there."
Matt swallowed, resisted the overwhelming urge to drop his head to Hoot's shoulder. To abdicate responsibility and liability. He still wasn't a leader, man, but he was a Ranger. And Rangers didn't run from peril. Ever. "How do you move on?" he asked, lips brushing, ever so slightly, against Hoot's. Kept holding the coffee mug as a ballast.
Hoot cupped the back of Matt's neck, and Matt felt the warmth clear to his toes. "Is that why you're here?" Hoot asked.
"Maybe." Another slight brush of lips. "Partially."
Hoot pulled back, but didn't move his hand. "Why're you here, Matt?"
And Matt maybe thought he might have an answer to that. It helped that Hoot's fingers were stroking his neck in slow, circular motions. Safety. Refuge in a world that still made no sense most days. "I think you know," Matt whispered. It was easy to close the minute distance between them. Hoot tasted just as he did last time -- smoke and coffee and oranges -- but without the acrid gunpowder bite.
Hoot licked his top lip and nodded once when they finally parted. "You wanna come inside now?" he asked. No judgment, no questions.
Matt smiled, a small curve of lips. Trust Hoot, man. "Yeah," he said. "I think I finally do."
***
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Very cool...
Date: 2004-07-06 08:24 am (UTC)Re: Very cool...
Date: 2004-07-07 07:39 pm (UTC)Thank you! I do have a weakness for this pairing, I must say. *clutches BHD OTP to bosom*
(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-06 08:29 am (UTC)Must watch the movie again - or read the book.
There's some great descriptive writing in there. I love it.
And I want to know what happens inside.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-07 08:12 pm (UTC)You need to watch it again. *nodnod* Best film ever, man.
(and I assume Hoot 'comforts' Matt *g*)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-06 03:23 pm (UTC)This is... I'm all teary-eyed over here. Crap, I shouldn't have watched BHD for the five
millionth time today. One of these days I will have an idea for this fandom. I want
Shughart/Gordon fic omg!
Anyway, I love the subtility and tenderness of this. You don't beat us about the head with
what everything means, but let it stand on its own. You let the readers draw their own
conclusions. I also like that you take your time setting up the mood and feel of this fic.
I think my heart began to ache when I started suspecting that the visit was about Jamie
(maybe it was the uniform, I can't quite pinpoint the exact moment), but this: Matt
shrugged. "Forty hours, maybe. It's nothing," he said, and felt the grief -- and guilt --
threaten to swamp him again. "It's nothing." was when my eyes began to seriously mist over.
I love Hoot in this, how matter of fact he is, offering support and consolation. It's just
something that he does, without losing many words about it or expecting anything in return.
It's very much how I see Hoot myself.
And your Matt feels very in-character, too. The guilt and how he seems a bit weighed down by
constantly thinking too much.
The idea of Matt being a younger, more idealistic version of Hoot I can believe very
much. I've always thought that Hoot knows exactly what Matt went through after
the Mog. You must be reading my mind again. *g*
The story rings very true to the characters I know from the movie. I've probably forgotten some stuff I
wanted to say. Just, I love this.
*kisses*
Thank you so, so much. This makes me almost forgive you the "greedy bint" comment. It must be something bad
since no dictionary is brave enough to tell me the meaning. *g*
PS. Someone sent someone else certain edits.
PPS. There is a donkey in BHD, too. Just sayin'.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-07 08:14 pm (UTC)Thank you, baby. <3333 Love you. Not just for getting the Harry/Orli or the Hoot/Eversmann, but for everything you are. I'd write you a million fics, if I could. *hugs*
PS. yay!!!!
PPS. *dies laughing* Poor Stan...
(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-09 09:04 am (UTC)I'd love to write Shughart/Gordon if only I had an idea. I love them.
I don't hear Stan complaining. But I won't bring the fandom down on me with bestiality fic, implied or not.
*eyes WIP and smirks*
(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-10 12:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-10 02:12 am (UTC)