#hoa x reader

By the time you got to high school, you had both been through various boyfriends - but above all else, you had each other

Lots of dumb adventures when you were teens,,,, going to supermarkets past midnight,,, concerts in far off towns,, even swimming in the freezing sea in september

by the age of seventeen,, most people had decided you were probably a little more than "best friends"

and maybe they were right - maybe your first kiss (and the only kiss that would ever matter to you) was at 4.32 AM in the empty waiting room of an Accident and Emergency Unit after you had fallen and broken your ankle

or maybe they weren't and you were just really good friends

who knew????

When Rachel had joined up with the marines - you were pretty heartbroken (as was she)

lots of tearful giggling and tight hugs on the day she left

Promise you'll come back?

Well, duh, you can't get rid of me that easily.

Pinky promise me?

Of course.

And she did come back - as often as she could - and you'd spend those few precious days talking non-stop

When she met Eric you were happy for her (really!)

She just smiled so widely when she watched him speak; listening to him rambling on about some piece of tech that you didn't understand

At first he was a little weirded-out by Rachel and you's relationship

but it's normal for girls to be super touchy and hold hands all the time, right? (right??)

You got along well with him nonetheless and you always had the pair over for dinner whenever they were back from service

But then things started to go wrong

It started with a bit of tension between the two; then suddenly Rachel was staying at your place

It took her a while for her to open up about what happened in the accident

(You felt really bad about egging Eric's car after that)

(he still does not know who did it to this day)

A lot of late nights sat opposite one another on the kitchen floor talking about everything

A lot of you talking her down when she starts to spiral

Sometimes terrible things happen, I guess.

But I should've been more careful-

Oh fuck that! It was an accident. Accidents happen.

But Eric-

Eric told you it's okay.

But I-

Rachel. We're all still here, aren't we? You could have both died. But you're here - and one day this won't hurt so much. I promise you.

The point when you actually started dating is blurry to say the least

like there was definitely an awkward period where everyone around you was like,,,, o k a y I don't think best friends are that close

jokes on them you guys were best friends AND dating

After like six months of her living with you, kissing each other goodbye, holding hands constantly and her wrapping her arms around your waist while you were trying to cook - you finally had a conversation about it

As she left for service

It was at the airport, as you hugged her tightly

Hey, Rach

Hm?

Are we dating?

Sure, why not.

Okay, just checking.

...

I love you.

There’s an itch to slam his laptop closed. At times, you’re sure you two fool around too much to be considered trained marines, but between the threat of being killed every time you walk out the door and the mental problems you're all ignoring for the time being, you couldn't give a shit if you’re acting the part of a proper soldier.

You’re humans. You need time to socialize and fuck around. 

Why Joey’s version of that is “your mama” jokes, you have yet to understand and you hope you never will.

An aggravated sigh cuts through the silence of the room as you tilt your head back, throwing your glasses up over your forehead to sit in your hair. 

You carefully rub away the tension in your eyes, fingers brushing over sore spots with care. All this reading and filing they have you doing, you wouldn't be surprised if you ended this tour with even worse eyesight. It’s not like you’re losing an arm or a leg, but damn are you sick and tired of the strain that comes with paperwork. How Joey thrives in this mess, you will never know.

“Headache?” 

You grunt, tilting back towards the table; the action nearly sends your glasses flying off. You catch them effortlessly by the bridge. If they break you’re useless for long range until you get replacements. 

You flip your specs back down before you come to regret anything else and promptly curse. Your hair always has to get stuck in the damn nose pads. 

“Fuck me,” you growl. 

Joey snorts, “That’s what your mama told me last night.” 

This time you listen to your instincts and close his laptop. Just reach over and slap that shit shut with one hand as the other focuses on your current dilemma. 

“Oh, come on!”

He groans as he flips it open. You bet it’s a black screen, but you know full well these government techs auto save. He’s just being dramatic.

“Damn, Van Gogh, learn to take a joke.”

“Yeah?” you huff, fingers picking at the twisted streaks of hair. “Be funny for once, then.”

“Ice cold,” he breathes, waiting for it to boot up. “Ice. Cold.”

You’re in the middle of untangling yourself when a sharp whistle cuts through the room from the open hall behind you. 

In front of you, Joey perks up, all wide-eyed and ready to listen like the trained pup he is. You’re still a bit preoccupied, but you know that signal anywhere and call back a greeting.

“Gimme a sec,” you say, struggling to figure out which way your hair has wrapped around the pad arm. “I gotta cut this shit or bite a bullet and invest in contacts.”

His rich laughter is suppressed to a titter, footsteps sounding off closer behind you before you feel him standing at your side, strong legs in your periphery. He always gives off warmth like a damn furnace.

“Hope it’s not an emergency.”

Your eyes cross in your desperation to focus on your task. This doesn’t help the stress on your eyes from reading those tiny inked-words for the last two hours, but hell if you are going to lose to your own glasses. 

“Nah,” Jason says, all soft and buttery with that southern drawl, “just a little surprise s’all.”

“Take it from the only woman who deals with your asses when Queen Bitch isn’t around,” you yank your glasses free and look up at your lieutenant with a playful grin on your lips, “surprises tend to worry me, sir.”

His dark eyebrows rise in amusement, the corner of his lips twisting into that simper you’re much too fond of.

“Really?”

“Mm-hm.” You place your specs back in their rightful place on your nose, sitting back to stare up at him.

“Even if it’s a birthday gift?” he asks, expression going all sly and smug as your jaw drops. 

“You’re shitting me. We celebrated last week with beers, that’s plenty.”

He shrugs, shifting his weight onto his right leg as he glances back down the way he came. 

“They weren’t even cold. C’mon. It’s late but it’s here and waitin’ for ya.”

You glance at Joey who is already waving you on with a knowing grin.

“You’ve done enough. I got it from here.”

“Have I ever said how much I fucking love you?” you sigh, standing. “Because I do, man.”

“Careful now,” he laughs, flexing his fingers for your work, “you might make someone jealous.”

“The fuck you mean?” you laugh, thoroughly amused as you shuffle your papers into a neat pile and hand them over. “Your mama’s a world away, handsome.”

Joey shakes his head, giggling under his breath. “Damn, I’ll give you that one. Fuck, I wish Merwin could’ve heard—that was good.”

Jason starts out of the room; you know he won’t go far.

“Yeah, take notes.” 

You holler a goodbye as you follow after Kolchek. Joey wishes you a belated birthday as you do.

Walking side by side with Jason down the halls, you take in the sunset through a passing window as your footsteps reverberate through the space.

It had been a slow day, calm and drowsy for everyone alike at the base. It’s days like these that are scarce on the backend of war. 

“It’s the glasses, ain’t it?” 

You fix your attention on the man next to you as he gestures to the bridge of his nose. You can see the teasing glint in his eyes. 

“Joey has ‘em, too.”

“You think my preference for men hinges on glasses?” you piece together, squinting dubiously as you cross your arms. “You serious?”

His dimples peek out the slightest bit as he looks ahead of you two, hands lifting at his sides before going back into a natural swing as he walks.

“Callin’ it like I see it, marine.”

“Maybe you’re the one who needs glasses, Lieutenant,” you chuckle, letting your arms fall to sway with his, the slightest hope that maybe you’ll brush knuckles, brush anything. “Joey’s a sweetheart—brotherly. Not my type.”

“That so?”

Something in his voice sends your heart stumbling over its racing beat. An unanswered question of “what is, then?” somewhere under the lilt.

There’s no use trying to calm your pulse with him around, still, you do well in your acting. Always have. That’s why when his tone drops and that niggling feeling of hope curls around the base of your ribs, you shut it down before it can latch on for good.

You know better. He’s your lieutenant after all.

“What is this, a debriefing?” you puff, brushing your shoulder free of the casual back and forth he's much too good at. “I thought I was promised a present?”

He shakes his head, but he’s still grinning. You don’t let your eyes linger on it long. 

“It’s in here on the right.” 

He stops and gestures for you to head into the room first.

You curl around the doorway, suspicious. You find Nick watching you from up against the back wall. His gloved finger breaks away from his crossed arms to point out a package on the table next to him.

“Come on birthday girl lets see some hustle,” he calls as you shuffle in.

You throw your head back and laugh, giving him the finger as he hums the birthday song under his breath.

Jason takes up the space next to Nick on the wall, their eyes on you as you rip the safety tape free of cardboard seams. The bubble wrap delays your curiosity, but a glance inside shows there are multiple things, all wrapped individually and safely.

You can tell by the haphazardly placed tape that the security check had a time with this.

You go for the object on top, about the size of your hand. You can't see through all the plastic until the first few layers are off, but when they are all playfulness is wiped clean from your expression.

You hurry to get the rest off, hoping it is what you think it is.

“Holy shit.” It comes out as a whisper, near breathless. 

In your hand, you clutch your tattoo gun like a lifeline. You know it’s yours by the little gold star sticker on the metal frame, faded but still fighting on after all these years away.

You can feel the water building in your eyes and clear your throat. 

“Hey,” Jason alerts.

You look up, holding in the tears to the best of your ability. He shakes his head, gaze tolerant. 

“It’s just us,” he nudges Nick who nods next to him, “you don’t gotta pretend you ain’t over the moon.”

You laugh, full and free as the tears slip. You’re quick to wipe them away, pushing your glasses up to do so and sigh, beaming down at the culmination of your old life back home. 

“Thank you.” You sniff, looking between them. Really, truly looking. “I mean it.”

“Man, thank your buddies back at the shop! They sent all your shit here in one box and followed the instructions to a T,” Nick says, astounded. “Hell, if it weren’t for the shipping delay for the routine restriction search, it would’ve even gotten here on time. They don’t mess around!”

“I can’t believe they let this through,” you admit, sorting through the other supplies. You find an envelope, ripping it open to find a picture of all the staff. On the back are little notes in different handwriting, all of them coming to the same message of “Love you, miss you.”

They sent you everything you could need and way too much ink. You doubt you’d be tattooing anyone but yourself. Maybe some of the boys, if they’re up to the challenge and have some trust in your abilities.

They didn’t nickname me Van Gogh for nothing. 

“I knew you were a tattoo artist and all,” Nick says, coming up to look at the spread, “but you don’t even have that many. All I’ve seen is the back piece peeking out.”

He pinches the back of your neck and you yelp, turning around to smack his arm as he bursts into chuckles. 

“Aren’t tattoo artists supposed to be covered in shit? It can’t just be the back piece.”

“Hope that’s all you'll ever see, jackass. You wouldn’t know art if it grabbed you by the balls.”

Jason chuckles at that. You smile as he turns away to regain composure, wiping a hand down his face. 

“Damn,” he breathes in his corner. Nick just complains, whining.

“C’mon, one back piece? That’s it?” 

“All my shit is on my legs,” you explain, catching both men as their gazes drop to your cargo-covered calves. “My eyes are up here, boys.”

“There’s no telling what you got,” Nick hums, scratching at his nose as he shrugs. “With all that stuff you draw in your journal, you could have a clown juggling dicks and I wouldn't be surprised.”

“You only see the pieces I want you to see,” you’re quick to remind him, putting all your things back into the box, “and most of those are doodles I know you school boys will get a kick out of, which always happens to have a dick somewhere in the mix.”

“Now, that ain’t true,” argues Jason.

You raise a brow at him, waiting as he shakes a finger at you.

“That caricature of Merwin was pretty damn funny.”

“Oh, fuck, I forgot about that,” you admit, grinning at his sharp memory. “That was pretty good.”

“What? I didn’t see it!” Nick pipes up, squinting at Jason before turning to you again. “When did you draw that?” 

“When we were waiting on our ride a few weeks ago.” 

Everyone had been dead on their feet that day, Merwin snoring and laying up against a wall.

You found it the perfect time to sit and sketch. With everyone either dozing or doing their own thing, you hadn’t thought to show your masterpiece off like you usually do with the joke pieces. 

Jason had been hovering behind everyone that day, jumpy after a close call earlier that morning. No one had been overtly injured, thank God, but he seemed to keep near you after a bullet had skimmed your arm. It was barely a scratch, but he had you wrapped up in no time.

You hadn’t even realized he was watching you draw until he’d snorted.

You had just finished Merwin’s big mouth—it must’ve clicked for him after that.

Suddenly, you remember how that one sound made you realize how physically close he actually was to you after that. Your arms kept skimming one another’s as you drew. He never moved away, not even once.  

The nerves of being watched as you sketch is one thing, but being watched by him? A whole different story and then some. 

“Anyone looking for a tattoo? Parlor’s open,” you say, carrying your box out into the hall. Both men trail after you. 

“Maybe another day. I got things to do,” Nick excuses and you give him a scowl as he passes by, shoulder knocking into yours in encouragement.

He knows you know what he’s doing. Again.

“Careful,” he had warned you days prior, catching sight of one of your Jason drawings before you could shut the journal in time, “you slip up and the lieutenant might get some new intel on his favorite soldier.”

Fuck him and his romantic nature. He was just assuming things and got lucky.

Despite the real threat looming of being found out, you know you can trust Nick with that information. He’s well-versed in keeping secrets, even from his closest friends. How thankful you are for that. 

“I’ll bite.”

You pause, eyes widening as you look back. Jason’s warm eyes meet your own.

“If you’re still offering’, of course.”

Searching for your usual wit, you find none as he flashes you that war-ending smile. 

“I’ll whip you up something real special, then,” you promise, nodding in the direction of the hub where there’s better lighting and spare seats. “Any idea what you might want?”

He hums, thinking for a moment. Eventually he just shakes his head.

“I trust ya, Van Gogh.”

“For that, you’re gonna need at least three hours. If you want a nice piece, I mean.”

“I got the time if you do, marine.”

“All right,” you say, shrugging. “Let’s get this started, then. Got a specific place in mind?”

“I’ll leave the leg tattoos to you and stick with something above the waist, thanks.”

That pulls a huff of mirth from you because he’s so like the male clients you had back in the states. Rarely did they want anything under the belt and color always went either way.

Like it or not, he’s getting color. You want to work with it again after almost three years of black pen sketches, sometimes blue and red if you could get your hands on them. But, knowing Jason, he won’t want anything too saturated. You’ll stick with one color after the outline, maybe two. 

Getting setup is quick work in the hub. Plenty of tables to choose from. You tell him to get comfy in a chair as you grab your journal from its designated pocket.

You started something a while back that he might like. Even after all this time away from the shop, the tattoo ideas still come to mind and flow too easily onto paper. 

Ah, there it is. You take it in for a second, considering. Yeah, he’ll like this piece. It just screams Jason.

Refreshed on the design, you decide his left forearm will be the easiest to maneuver around. Having his shirt off is not an option as much as you would like it to be. You’d get far too distracted.

Maybe another time if he comes asking for a third piece. Hopefully you’d have better control over yourself, then.

Getting the skin clean and prepped, you slip into your old role without much thought. It’s still second nature snapping on a pair of rubber gloves, fiddling with the gun’s smaller pieces and checking everything is in order. If you close your eyes, you can almost imagine the parlor. All your posters up on those vibrant green walls, vinyl stickers coating the door that’s rarely closed unless your client prefers the privacy. 

“You done a lot of free hand on people?” 

You blink, falling from the memory and back into the present. Now’s not the time to daydream.

You start the gun up. 

The whirring of the machine echoes into the room as you move closer to his arm laid out on the table. When you look at Jason again, you find not even a hint of hesitancy on his face.

“More than you would think,” you answer. “Had a lot of wild regulars back home.” 

You dip the needle into your ink, the basic outline clear in your mind’s eye. 

“Now, I know you’re a big boy, sir, but if you get light-headed or need a break, don’t keep it to yourself.”

He rolls his eyes—again so like your old male clients—but he nods in agreement.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He stares at you as he says it and you ignore the heat crawling up your neck as you begin on the piece. It’s not too terribly difficult of a design. The hardest part is keeping the line thickness consistent. The letters will be a close second. 

The conversation flows smoothly throughout the session, but you have yet to glance up at him once, too centered around not fucking up. 

He doesn’t make one sound of discomfort throughout the outline. It’s when you get to the coloring you can feel his arm tense up every once in a while. He’s not immune to pain, but he definitely has a high tolerance from the shit you’ve seen. 

Joey passes through as you’re adding in the first color. He derails from whatever he is doing to stand and watch for a moment, interested in the new setting. 

“Can't believe you guys can just put this shit on without second guessing yourself. It’s permanent, man. No going back.”

“Ah, really?” Jason laughs, shifting in his chair as you go for another dip in ink. “Didn't think to ask.”

“Y’all crazy,” he quips right back, heading off. “Insane.”

“I’ll talk you into one, Joey,” you vow, focus remaining on your work.

“Yeah, keep dreaming!”

Rachel stops by shortly after the exchange, humming and nodding over your shoulder before continuing on.

“Be thinking about what you want!” you call after her, goading. 

“Not a chance in hell, marine.”

You and Jason chuckle quietly to yourselves as she disappears. You pause to wipe down the fresh blood off his arm again and go back in with some more gray.

“Man, I was hoping she’d want a tramp stamp or something,” you sigh. “Guess, I’ll leave that for Merwin.”

You pick up your gun before Jason barks out a laugh, pride blooming in your chest as he turns his head away to fix his cap.

At least he finds you funny, if anything. 

Curling your spine back straight, you realize just how long you’ve been hunched over his arm and sigh, popping your neck as you power the gun down.

The lid snaps closed on the yellow ink as you check the time. Almost three hours. Not bad with how long it’s been off the field. It also helped that he hadn't needed any breaks. 

“All right, Lieutenant. Take a gander.”

You meet his eyes when you look up from your wrist and wonder just how long he’s been watching you. 

He lifts his forearm as you turn to get the safety wrap ready.

“Holy shit,” he chuckles, twisting his elbow up to get a better look at the artwork. “That's awesome. The details on the eagle are fuckin’ spot-on.”

“Glad you like it,” you breathe, endlessly relieved. Holding up the wrap, you gesture with your head to bring his arm close again. 

As you’re finishing up, you remind him about the aftercare steps and so on and so forth. Luckily, your friends packed your favorite ointment, all too aware you’d likely do another self-session. It’s the big shit, too.

You make sure to tell him he can borrow it once the protective layer comes off. 

“Think you can handle Merwin if he comes asking for one?” he teases, skin warm against your hands as you smooth the wrapping around the edges of the tattoo. 

“You can just sedate him for me if it’s a bigger piece.”

As you pull away, your eyes cross paths again. You notice his mouth open and freeze, waiting, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he closes his mouth and just smiles. 

Suddenly, you feel like you’ve missed out on something important.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, tipping his hat towards his arm. “Grateful to have some of your kickass artwork on me, Van Gogh.”

“Make sure to come to my parlor after all this shit is over and done,” you say, heartbeat rapid and face aching from how much you’ve been smiling. “I’ll give you a free touch-up. Maybe bully Nick into something, too, if he tags along.”

“You got it.” He clears his throat and stands. “Better get back to it.”

“Have fun,” you chuckle, diving into the old habit of cleaning your equipment from top to bottom. He laughs as he leaves. 

“Not likely.”

Nick gives you a hard stare as you catch him in the hall, your hand clutched tight around his arm. 

You’d just finished up a meeting with Rachel and he’s heading back in the direction you’re leaving.

Whatever fling they have going on, it’s reaching its time limit. The last thing you want to see is him hurting after the fuck-up he and Jason went through three weeks ago. He deserves better. 

“You really about to go see her when her husband is landing in a couple of hours?”

“You really about to talk shit with your two-year crush and counting?”

As soon as the words are out in the open, you can see the regret in his eyes.

You don’t give him the chance to speak, letting go of his arm and continuing on down the hall. He calls after you.

“Fuck off, Nicky,” you scoff, chest burning. “Don’t come crying to me if she tosses you out on your ass.”

The air flowing through the new base is hot, leaving you sticky with sweat as you march down the corridor with all the rage of a bull.

You should know better than to try and help the men around here; they don’t give two shits about a woman’s opinion. Especially the pig coming up on your left. 

“What’s got your panties in a twist, princess?” Merwin cackles, pausing in his reps. “That time of the month again?”

You stop, tilting your head down as he smirks up at you. The ring on his left hand glitters in the sunlight streaming in. 

“Better pray you learn some respect,” you begin, voice slow, “before you get back to whatever poor thing married you.”

He whistles, low and long as you walk on, laughter boisterous and crashing against your back as you exit. 

“Damn, girl. They aren’t twisted—they’re knotted to hell!”

You ignore him, walking through the next room where Joey sits doing paperwork.

Stripping out of your long sleeve to air out your tank underneath, you toss it under the table with the rest of your shit and grab your journal you’d left out. 

“How’d the meeting—” 

You zip by before he can finish the question. He watches you storm back out of the room and gives a low whistle. 

“Bad, then. Damn.”

You find peace on the roof, away from the hustle and bustle of base-setup. You sketch to your heart’s content in the protection of the shade the looming archway provides, head pounding and jaw clenched. 

In a few hours, your team will all be caught up in a debrief for your next mission. You have to pull yourself together before then, get this anger down to dwindling before it jeopardizes your focus.

Shouldn’t be hard; you’ve spent the last three years of your life with dickheads on every side of you. If you’ve made it this far, then you’re doing something right. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

You jump before you can catch yourself and your pen slips free of your fingers. It goes rolling, bumping into the boots standing a few feet behind from where you’re seated. 

Inwardly, you cringe as Jason bends down to grab it. He comes up next to you, proffering it with a gentle smile. 

Like a caffeine addict who hates black coffee, he’s both the last and only person you want to see right now. 

“What?” you ask, missing his question as you take back the utensil. How deep in thought were you to miss his heavy steps? Stuff like that could get you killed now if you aren’t careful. 

“I said, you wanna talk about it?” he repeats, pointing to your journal as he shoulders the wall of the archway opposing yours. “Now, I could be wrong, but seems like you tend to draw scenery when you’re upset.”

You gawk at him, attempting to keep a level expression as he shrugs, scratching his jaw.

“Could also hear the pen scratchin’ down the hall. Heh, surprised that thing ain’t broken, yet.”

“Thanks,” you say, turning back to your artwork. “For the offer, I mean, but I’ll pass. I can cool off by the time King gets here.”

“So ten minutes?” 

Your brow furrows as you check your watch. Jason chuckles. 

“He’s comin’ in early. Just got word.”

“Well, fuck,” you mutter, capping your pen.

There goes your break. You need to get back to Joey to get another look at those prep lists Rachel asked for. 

“Was it Merwin again?”

You almost smile. As hard as the lieutenant can be on the team, he always does his best to look out for everyone. You wonder when he has the time to check himself these days.  

“He was being his usual misogynistic self but no. I’m used to his shit by now.” You get to your feet with a grunt, dusting off your pants and turning to face your superior. “I’ll be fine. Hope everything goes smoothly with King.”

You pat his arm as you go by, the one you inked. It had healed phenomenally well, colors keeping. The sun is brutal here so it’s likely to fade at some point during the tour, but that’s where you come in if needed. 

Still gotta bully Joey into one. You slide your pen behind your ear as you start for the steps, pocketing your journal, too, for safekeeping. 

“You can talk to me, you know.”

Your foot skims the first step. When you turn around, he’s still facing the roof, but you have a good look at his side profile.

His eyes aren’t on you with the way he’s angled, but you can see him looking back this way regardless. 

“I know I ain’t Nick or Joey, but I’d like to help when I can.”

That niggling feeling comes back in full force, squeezing all the air from your lungs. Nick’s shitty tone returns with it. 

Two years went by quick here. 

That’s why you’re angry. Because he isn’t wrong—it’s a lot of time to spend pining over someone even if it technically isn’t the whole two years.

You know the exact moment this whole mess began and that was nearly a year in. Nick wouldn’t know shit like that, so while his words hurt, they’re still valid.

Besides, who are you to judge his love life when you can’t even escape the fear of admitting to your own feelings? He didn’t hesitate to get with the commander and you’re fawning over a lieutenant. Hell, you should be taking a page from his book.

Still, it’s different when those two are both clear and upfront about what they want. Not the best thing, when Rachel is already taken, but that isn’t any of your business. 

In the end, you’ve never been the type of person to go after someone. You’d rather just ignore the entire debacle and deal with the lingering emotions on your own.

You’re stubborn. Takes you forever to drop your walls long enough to ask for help let alone ask if someone return your affections.

You’d sat on asking someone else to do your back piece for months simply because you couldn’t. The artist had been a good buddy of yours for years and was insanely happy to do it, but you still wish you never had to ask. That it could’ve been done singlehanded. 

And you were worried for nothing. Their skills are top notch, far above your own. You anger yourself every time you remember the doubt you’d held in back then.

Everything going on now just reflects your shit from back home. No escape, even in war.

Give you a gun, some targets and orders, you’ll do just fine but opening up? Being vulnerable to the one person you’ve found an attraction to since your school days? Fuck that.

You’d rather face off with the enemy alone. Romance isn’t your scene.

But dammit. This man and his kindness makes you want to be vulnerable, in Iraq of all places. He always lends an ear, always goes out of his way to be helpful. It’s infuriating as it is enticing.  

“You with me, marine?”

No, you think, I’m not. 

“With all due respect, sir,” you begin, fixing your glasses as they slide down your nose, “I don’t think you need any more weight on your shoulders.” 

You give him a smile even though he isn’t looking at you, praying you don’t sound as timid as you feel. 

“Especially mine. But I appreciate it, sir.”

More than you’ll ever know.

With a firm salute, you head back to Joey to help him in his endeavors. 

Jason sticks to the doorway of the roof as the sound of helicopter blades grow in the distance. It’s time. 

“Wouldn’t mind havin’ yours,” he murmurs to himself, facing the heat as the helo flies in for landing. 

As the dust shifts and spirals up into the air, he’s brought back to your arrival.

It feels so long ago now that you’d hopped out of a chopper just like this one, duffle back hanging over one shoulder and your gun on the other. 

Lord, she wears glasses just like Joey, had been his first thought, then, hopefully she’s a better shot than he is.

He and the commander were there for your reception. She had been adamant about being present and showing you around. He assumed it had to do with you being a woman or what not. 

Honestly, Rachel’s gravitas toward you is something he still admires to this day. You two aren’t even close after two years of working together, but there’s a sense of loyalty there and he knows damn well why. 

Meeting you, it took some time to see it. You were tired that first week, reserved but not cold like the commander.

Nick had made a few comments. “She’s cute,” and all that. Jason agreed but never made it known, being your superior and all. Rachel would rip him and anyone else a new one if shit like that started so early into your arrival.

But, damn it all, you made it hard not look. The way you knew how to take Merwin’s unfortunate humor and spin it back around on him? There was a raging wit hidden there that had surprised every single one of them. Hell, Jason hadn’t heard so much laughter in the base until you had started opening up a bit more. 

And then the time came to see you out in action and he knew why Rachel acted the way she did with you. 

You’re a damn good marine. One of the best, he’d say, if someone asked him.

You’ve got a deadly aim, a controlled mind in the midst of chaos. Where others stalled, you revved on and kept a fire lit under your ass. He’d underestimated you back then and hasn’t since. 

“What is it?” Rachel had asked. His curiosity had gotten the best of him, and the only one who knew shit about you yet was her.

“Said she was a tattoo artist back home,” he stated, incredulous. “She acts like she’s been doin’ this for years.”

It was one of the first times he had ever seen his captain amused. 

“Her dad was a general. Best of the best.”

That explained some of it, but he still wasn’t sated. There was more he felt like he needed to know.

You just showed up out of nowhere and knocked the breath out of him, with your quick comebacks and keen eyes. You made the room a bit brighter every time you walked in. Something about it all bothered him; he couldn’t grasp it. 

Two months in, he saw you get clocked during a mission. The fucker’s gun went off before Jason could take him down and fuck--it’s over just like that. You were going to be gone or bleeding out as soon as he reached you. And when he did, you were gasping for every breath he couldn’t get in himself. 

Your eyes found his in that moment, wide and somehow still clear and you were smiling. Why the fuck were you smiling? An insane woman, surely.

It’s only when you opened your jacket to reveal the bullet embedded in your vest that he knew in his crippling relief:

He’s soft on you. Wants to know every little thing that you’re made up of and more because you don’t bother him, you make him nervous.

It’s a dangerous bridge to cross.  

“Fuck, Van Gogh, almost gave me a heart attack there.”

And you'd just laughed like it was your last, pumped with just as much adrenaline and relief as he was.

You hadn’t felt the aftermath of that bullet until you were back in the helo. You mentioned the bruising, he thinks you might’ve sketched the image somewhere in your journal. But fuck, that laugh stayed with him. 

You have a beautiful laugh, he keeps thinking, ears sensitive to every little noise you make now, waiting to hear it again and again.

He smiles to himself, squinting through the settling dust as the colonel steps down with a guest right behind him.

As he greets them he can’t help but hope he’ll hear that laugh again.