Author's Note: Okay, I've never really liked David Sinclair. Dunno why, just didn't. But I decided to try and song-fic him slashy, (only a little bit. Little, tiny bit) to see if it helped.

This is "The Soldiering Life" by the Decemberists.


Ambling madly all over the town
The call to arms you likened to a whisper
I likened to a radio

Either Don was deaf, or the cellphone ring was filtering into white-noise as the other agent got tunnel-vision about his newest case. David rolled his eyes and answered it.

You were a brick bat, a bowery tuff, so rough
They called you from a cartoon
Pulled out of your pantaloons

David watched Don sleep on his desk for the third night running with a compassionate, if somewhat wry, smile on his face. All FBI agents were fit, but Donald Eppes' physicals made everyone else look like slouches. He still practiced for a number of sports – basketball, baseball, golf. His marksmanship was impeccable. And he lived for the live chases.

But You
My brother in arms
I'd rather I'd lose my limbs
Than let you come to harm

When Don was shot, David had thought that Charlie had to be the most distraught person he'd ever seen. And then when he got home, he looked into the mirror and had a hysterical nervous breakdown.

But You
My bombazine doll
The bullets may singe your skin
And the mortars may fall
But I
I never felt so much life
Than tonight
Huddled in the trenches
Gazing on the battle field
Our rifles blaze away
We blaze away

Even with the shock of Don's injury, it didn't stop the adrenaline rush on the next live arrest. Or the next. Don was definitely not the only one to enjoy the busts.

Corporal Bradley of regiment five
In proud array standing by the bathing
Soldiers and the stevedores
We laid on the mattress and tumbled to sleep
Our eyes aligned, swaddled in our civvies
Cradled in our dungarees

David still remembered an otherwise unremarkable stakeout. They'd had the wrong address and waited for hours, for nothing. Don had told poor rookie David to catnap for a while, as he drank his fourth cup of coffee. David's vision swam, and all he remembered after was the warmth of the car and the bulletproof vest under civvies being no match for the compassionate heat of Don's eyes.

But You
My brother in arms
I'd rather I'd lose my limbs
Than let you come to harm
But You
My bombazine doll
The bullets may singe your skin
And the mortars may fall

But I
I never felt so much life
Than tonight
Huddled in the trenches
Gazing on the battle field
Our rifles blaze away

We blaze away
We blaze away
We blaze away