For those of you who friended me because of Five-0, Tour of Duty was my original fandom and still my first love.
Guardian (Someone to Watch Over Me)
Warnings: Pre-slash implied
Disclaimer: The Tour of Duty Characters do not belong to me, I simply love to play in their sandbox.
Summary: Myron knows there is always someone there to watch over him.
Notes: Merry Christmas, Mel!***
[Story behind the cut]
They'd just come back that morning from four days in the bush. Filthy, exhausted and a bit frustrated, Team Viking climbed off of McKay's slick. Shoulders rounded, Taylor muttering under his breath to Roo, Myron's men disappeared into the morning shadows as they went to their quarters.
Just as exhausted, Myron had pulled himself to the doorway of the slick and sat, legs hanging, rifle across his lap and head bowed. He didn't have to look up to sense Doc's presence, but the medic must have realized that Myron was fine, just tired and wanted to be left alone. He heard the murmur of voices, recognized McKay's and then Doc's reply accompanied by the sound of retreating boot steps.
The camp was still waking up, McKay having picked them up before dawn. Somewhere a door slammed, accompanied by the clang of pots and pans from the mess. The sun tipped the horizon, streaking it with pinks and oranges. But at the head of the valley, a storm gathered. It would rain within the hour.
Myron stripped the rag from his hair and rubbed it over his face, smearing the war paint. He needed a shower, a drink and some sleep.
A dull headache pounded behind his eyes. He listened to the ticking of the slick's cooling engine.
Fuck he was tired. With a sigh, he levered himself up. The ground tilted and he stumbled, catching his balance with a hand against McKay's bird.
"You okay, sir?"
Myron glanced up to see the crew chief watching him with honest concern. He'd been tying down the rotors before they'd strip the sixties and ammo cans out.
"Yeah, thank you, Sergeant." Myron nodded to him as he pulled himself up straight, his rifle hanging from numb fingers.
He stayed in the shadows on his way to his quarters. The headache throbbed, getting worse with each step, Myron doing his best to ignore it. The breeze picked up, slipping around him with the scent of rain, rustling duty rosters and announcements on the bulletin board outside the CP. A pair of Hueys flew low overhead, the sound of the rotors synching in time to the pounding in Myron's head.
He made it to his hooch, dragged himself up the steps and let the screen door slam shut with a bang behind him. The relative darkness welcomed him. Too tired to care, he sprawled face first on his bunk in full gear, rifle and all and passed out without another thought.
The rain came in with a crash of thunder that sent everyone scrambling for cover that morning. Zeke simply shook it out of his eyes as he made his way over to Goldman's hooch. He worried about the kid, it was his job to. He'd noticed Goldman wincing back from the sunlight the day before, how he sought out the dappled shade whenever possible.
The kid never complained—it wasn't in his nature. He kept it to himself but Zeke knew his young lieutenant all too well. He didn't miss that Hockenbury kept a careful eye on Goldman as well.
Zeke had followed the guys when they'd got in that morning, assuming the L-T would head straight to his hooch. The last thing he expected was for McKay's crew chief to come knocking on his door to tell Zeke his lieutenant almost took a header off the landing deck.
The L-T would never have stood for Zeke escorting him to his quarters, but that didn't mean Zeke couldn't have been nearby, making sure the kid was okay.
He jumped up the steps, ready to knock on Goldman's door then caught himself when he realized the L-T was sprawled across his rack, out cold. With a glance behind him, Zeke opened the screen door and went inside.
Sweet Christ, the kid was still in full gear including pistol, grenades, ka-bar, ammo and rifle. Outside the rain pounded down, creating a roar on the tin roof, spilling off like waterfalls from the eaves. With a great deal of care and gentleness, Zeke divested Goldman of his weapons, silently placing them on the desk.
Lightning flashed, bathing the small room in stark relief before plunging it back into shadows. Thunder boomed in response, Zeke noting a pair of officers as they jogged past the hooch door, swearing at the rain.
Grabbing the desk chair, Zeke set it beside the bed and straddled it as he normally did. Goldman didn't move, the soft sound of his steady breathing the only sign he was even alive. Zeke reached out, gentle, and carded his fingers through Myron's soft hair. He studied the handsome face, long lashes dark against a cheek still smudged with camo paint. The poor kid needed a shower and a shave but Zeke couldn't help thinking he couldn't look more beautiful than right at that moment.
Crossing his arms over the back of the chair, Zeke rested his chin there and kept a quiet watch. There wasn't a lot he could give Myron, but this he could.
Myron woke to a steady roar in his ears and the headache, if not gone, greatly diminished. Every muscle ached, though and he couldn't stop the soft groan. He flinched when thunder crashed overhead, then flinched again when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.
"Easy, kid. You're safe."
Myron recognized Zeke's voice, could hear his sergeant's concern. Myron let himself relax under Zeke's hand, drawing in a deep breath. Then he pushed himself up on his elbows enough to roll onto his back with a grunt.
He opened his eyes, then slowly looked over at Anderson. "What happened?" His voice sounded rough.
Zeke quirked a smile at him, those incredible blue eyes almost sapphire in the shadows of the hooch. Thunder grumbled this time, long and low. "Nuthin', L-T. I'm just here keeping watch is all."
"Keeping watch." It was a statement, not a question. He rolled his head back, covering his eyes with his arm and let out a steady breath. He was ready to fall back asleep and he knew he could, that he'd be okay because he had Zeke there to watch over him.
"Thank you," Myron murmured.
He didn't know when it had happened, probably as far back as Ladybird maybe, but somewhere along the line Zeke watched over him. A guardian of sorts in jungle fatigues. He never crowded Myron, never made him feel he wasn't capable of doing what he, as an officer and a team leader, needed to do. But in those times when Myron needed to collapse and let the walls down, there would be Zeke. Never far, silent and careful, always there at Myron's back.
Myron didn't think he deserved it but he was nevertheless thankful to have someone to watch over him.