Author:miss_m_cricket on LJ
Fandom: Doom (movie)
Rating: R for implied child abuse
Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
Summary: Everyone else had buggered off to enjoy their furlough and sure he was going off too in a few minutes but they had all gone off together and he was going to be on his own...again...
A/N: Inspired by the Doom novel, which mentioned this holiday but without any real details. Yes Portman was a bit of a dick in the movie, but how did he get to be like that? And why was Mac the only one who never ragged on him?
A/N2: For those non military savvy like me, a Furlough is a period of leave.
Corporal Dean Portman was alone in the barracks of RRTS 6 stuffing one of his brightly coloured Hawaiian shirts into his leather bag with suppressed violence. Everyone else had buggered off to enjoy their furlough and sure he was going off too in a few minutes but they had all gone off together and he was going to be on his own.
Sure he was the new guy in the team. Reaper and Jumper had known each other since Boot Camp, Duke and Destroyer had fuckin' grown up together, Sarge favoured Destroyer and Reaper above everyone else, Goat wasn't disliked either, freak that he was, and he had bonded with fuckin' Reaper and Duke and Destroyer on some stupid mission over on the main European continent. He was heading off with Destroyer for some relaxation fishing. Reaper, Jumper and Duke were probably going to go have some fuckin' orgy for their holiday together. But no one had invited him.
"Swearing about it won't help you."
Portman looked around to glare at the man who had spoken. Katsuhiko Kumanosuke Takahashi, or rather Mac to everyone, gazed inscrutably back at him, no emotion on his face whatsoever. Mac was another newer addition to the squad, arriving at the same time as Goat, before Portman. He didn't have all the history that the others had either, and unlike Goat who was primarily a combat soldier, Mac was a technician, a fuckin' genius with machinery and computers. So Mac didn't tend to go on those firefight missions that the others went on to bond.
"Whaddya want Mac." He grunted turning back to his gear and shouldering it up onto his back, "Goin' to be fuckin' late for the Transporters in a minute."
"I am heading home for this furlough." Mac said voice quiet but firm and Portman looked at him. Mac hadn't moved, hadn't shifted, but his eyes were on the Corporal's face. "Was wondering if you would like to come with me? Chase some skirts over in Tokyo?"
Black eyes, cold eyes, but there was something in them, a slight touch of warmth. Mac was giving him a chance, one chance at friendship, which was more than those other fuckers had given him. Mac wouldn't tell anyone if he brushed him off, but he would lose the possibility of a mate in this otherwise unfriendly squad.
Rather than say anything Portman nodded, and was rewarded by a small smile from the Asian Marine. He headed out to the Transporter, ignored Jumper's bitching about his lateness and sat down next to Mac, feeling like this holiday would be the best he had ever had.
A few hours later and they were in Tokyo, none of the other guys there to bitch and whine at them, and Mac seemed to come alive as he entered the streets of his home city. He kept glancing over at the other man, surprised to see the small smile curling up the Asian man's lips, Mac never smiled, and couldn't help marvelling that actually Mac was an okay looking guy when he smiled.
They crashed at the flat that Mac rented, slept a few hours until night fell and then staggered up and out onto the streets once more.
They ended up at an old fashioned Sake Bar which Mac had persuaded him was going to get him plenty drunk and relaxed. And Mac hadn't been lying. They drank together, perched on the counter, and Portman found himself talking more than he had in months, years maybe. Mac was a good listener, watching him intensely as he spoke, but not saying anything that would interrupt his flow and not showing even a small measure of pity in those dark eyes as Portman confided in him about his fucked up past.
And then Mac shared, in that soft spoken, man-of-few-words way. Told Portman all about his childhood in the city, his ambitious father, money hungry mother, told him about being pushed into college. "That's why I left," he admitted, "Couldn't stand being their experiment anymore."
"Fuckin' parents." Portman growled low under his breath, thinking of his own father who had had his own views on a father/son relationship, and his mother who hadn't believe him, even when he had come to her with bruises on his skin and his arse red raw.
Mac had lifted his delicate cup in a salute and drank the potent drink down with a single gulp.
They staggered home at something close to 2:30am, after forcing the barman to stay open. It turned out that Mac's .45 was an excellent incentive for the man to keep the alcohol. Portman had been impressed by the other mans initiative and had paid for the next round of drinks.
They just managed to make it up to Mac's apartment, leaning on each other like they were the only two solid things left in the world. That was probably how they both ended up in Mac's bedroom and both crashed out on the bed, shedding layers of clothing drunkenly and then collapsing in a tangled heap of limbs.
Portman woke up the next morning, mouth feeling like a desert, and the feeling that his pillow was rolling like the sea. He groaned and the sound was echoed nearby.
Slowly he cranked his eyes open.
It took him a few long moments to remember that he was in Mac's flat in Tokyo, and another few to realise that he wasn't in the guest bedroom where he had dropped his stuff yesterday. It took his pillow shifting slightly to realise that he was lying curled up with his head resting comfortably against Mac's warm smooth chest.
"Fuck." He groaned, and heard a soft chuckle from further up the bed. He didn't move his head, feeling rather comfortable like this, and knowing that the instant he moved his head would ache something awful. So he stayed where was, and a few moments later he felt slow solid fingers run through his hair.
It was different from having a woman stroke it, women had delicate long fingers, with nails to really get in there and massage. Mac's hands were far from delicate but the fingers were still wonderfully there and making his entire body feel like a content cat.
"Why do you put so much gunk in your hair?" Mac murmured, "It's actually quite nice like this. Makes you look like a grease ball the other way."
Another chuckle, and the fingers stilled, "You sure you want that Portman? I kind of think you like me petting you."
"You make me sound like a fuckin' pussy,"
"Maybe you are one." Was the purred response. Portman sat up so fast his head spun and ached like he had whacked a hot poker across his forehead.
Mac laughed and Portman realised that it was the first time that he had ever heard the man really laugh, openly laugh. It made him feel absurdly pleased that he had been the one to cause it. "Lie back down Portman." Mac said finally, a mock serious expression on his face, "I promise not to call you a pussy."
"Well that's alright then." And he lay back down, feeling instantly better as he rested his cheek against smooth olive skin and felt the gentle, blunt fingers smoothing his hair once more.
It ended up that he only used the guest bedroom that was supposed to be his for that one nap when they had first landed. For the rest of the furlough he always seemed to end up in Mac's bed, something he wasn't going to complain about.
They didn't fuck, although Portman kind of wanted to. Mac had really listened to him that first night, when he spoke about his dad and his past, and the Asian man never pushed sexual things on him. In fact it usually ended up with Portman having to fuckin' demand it from Mac, before the man would stop giving him that serious dark eyed look and go for it.
He appreciated the care, and the unflappable nature of the other Marine, and although a part of him thought wistfully about letting Mac take him in that way, the bigger part of him shied away from letting anyone have that kind of power over him again. Mac knew that, Mac could see that, and Mac accepted that.
They made it back to base, wandering into the barracks to raucous calls of greeting for Mac, and a few sneered jibes for Portman from the men who had already returned.
Reaper was in the back corner of the room, polishing his rifle, a favourite activity of his, and something that Portman often jibed him about with all sorts of sexual innuendo. Reaper's fault for being so biased towards Duke, Sarge and Jumper. Destroyer was sprawled on his bed, looking relaxed and comfortable in his casual gear, Goat was nearby, packing his gear back into his locker. Duke was lying on his belly, proudly telling a not listening Jumper, about his newest acquisition in his gaming obsession. An old style hand held game console.
Mac wandered easily over to his own locker, unloading his own bag and efficiently repacking his gear into the metal structure. It left Portman alone by the stairs, unaccountably feeling a little overwhelmed by being back. Jumper saw his hesitation and instantly was up, with a wicked smile on his face, wandering over to other man.
"Did you have a good furlough Portman?" the red head jibed, slinging a mock friendly arm about his shoulders, "How many women turned you down this break?"
"Fuck off asshole." Portman sneered back, shrugging off the arm and moving away from the other man into the room.
"Well you will be glad to know none of us missed you." Jumper rejoined as he rejoined Duke on the floor, "Gee it was such a nice holiday from not only here but..."
"Jumper, shut it."
Everyone looked at Mac with surprise, but the Asian man had those intense dark eyes focused on Jumper's green ones. Jumper's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to speak but Mac spoke first, his voice sharp in the silent room. "No, Jumper." Mac turned towards Reaper sitting, watching from the back. "Hazing is over Reaper."
The second in command looked at Mac and then Portman thoughtfully, before nodding. "That's enough Jumper."
Jumper scowled, but turned deliberately away from Portman and towards Duke. Reaper met Portman's eyes and nodded, before turning back to his rifle.
Portman let out a breath.
"Listen up men!" Sarge's voice barked from the stairs and they twisted to look at him. "Welcome back. Hope you all had a good time off, because it's straight back into it for some of you. UAC have a cache of weapons being delivered on a Pacific island. Navy are making the drop but they asked that half a squad of Marines be there to supervise in case the local insurgents cause any trouble. Reaper!" the big man nodded as Reaper stood, "Pick a squad, and meet me in the briefing room."
The man left and everyone turned to Reaper, waiting for his decision. Finally he nodded at Destroyer, Duke and Goat and headed for the stairs, the three men following eagerly. Jumper scowled and scrambled up too following Reaper, clearly planning on demanding an explanation.
It left Portman and Mac alone in the room and the fair haired man walked over to the other, hesitantly.
"Hey man," he said awkwardly, "Um, for what happened..."
"Sure thing Portman." Mac responded, giving him a small hint of a smile. "Anytime."
"Dean." Portman heard himself say, "Dean, not Portman."
That elicited a true smile from the quiet Marine who moved forward and brushed a hand over Portman's hair, which he had left unslicked. "Anytime Dean." Mac said softly, "Anytime."