Emily (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2011-07-09 07:09 pm
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2011-07-09 07:09 pm
Gordon - Some People Who Don't Dream at All
Fandom: Original
Title: Some People Who Don’t Dream at All
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
iluvroadrunner6
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Riley Gordon, Andrew Westen, Nicky and Jackie Wallace, William Mason, Leo Haddington.
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
thenewpub Prompts:
Content Warning: N/A
Summary: Riley reflects on his relationship with his father.
Author’s Note: Part of the same universe that I wrote last week, but with different character. Let me know what you think.
Disclaimer: Mine. No stealing.
“And what was Napoleon’s mistake, Riley?”
Pride.
It was always pride. Every military commander in history, the only reason they ever failed was pride. They bit off more than they could chew, launched themselves into a battle they knew they couldn’t win, and in the end, they lost. Their men died, they landed in the history books in a manner befitting idiots, and the rest of the world remembered them for their misdeads and misfortunes as oppose to what they accomplished.
No one remembered that Napoleon was a brilliant tactical commander. All they remembered was the caricature that was left behind, of the short man who tried to over compensate with a large army and a thirst for power.
These were the facts that had been drilled into his mind since the day he was old enough to understand military history, by a father who wanted an officer and a leader. He wanted the history books to show that the Gordon family, the Gordon legacy was that of winners and leaders. If Riley had been the kind of child to talk back, he would have pointed out that Colonel Donald Gordon was just as much a victim of pride as Napoleon was.
But his father ran their household like an army outpost. And when you’re in the army, you don’t talk back to the C.O.
Riley Gordon had been the good son. He did as was expected by his father—studied the military history, learned to be a tactician and to think on his feet. He soaked up everything that the colonel taught him like a sponge, and half of it with a grain of salt. By the time he had gotten through his first three years as a member of the collective’s army, he’d learned that no amount of study could prepare you for the feel of a rifle in your hand, the sound of bullets exploding around you, or the pain of actually being hit by one. It took getting shot to do that, and in the end, it was probably the best thing that ever happened to him.
It got him here after all.
“You still with us, Gordon?”
The sound of Mason’s voice in his ear was enough to snap him out of his reprieve. He was sitting in the back seat of their army issue all-wheel truck, with Haddington and Jackie, one of the outlier brothers, in the front seats, and Mason sitting on the bench seat with him. He blinked for a moment, before shaking his head and snapping himself out of it.
“Sorry, sir.”
“Damn, son. I haven’t seen you space like that since boot camp,” Haddington said, glancing back at his friend through the rearview mirror. “Know where your mind was at?”
He gave a half-shrug. “Waterloo,” he said simply. “1815.”
“I hope you’re not considering that an omen, Lieutenant.”
“No, sir,” he said, flashing Mason back a small smile. “Just—thinking.” His eyes wandered to the windshield again, and he couldn’t help but see it. The position of the road, the mud, the rain—it calls him back to that place in history, that point in his mind, just as he envisioned it so many times.
“Picture their losses, Riley. See their weaknesses and you’ll be able to keep them from seeing yours.”
If only that were as easy as it sounded.
Jackie’s eyes were on him, focusing intently as though trying to read him, and he glanced away. The man needed eye contact to see clearly, but even if he won’t get it, he’s still intent. Still watching. Still unnerving the fuck out of him.
“How much father to camp?” he asked, glancing over at Haddington and skipping the opportunity to meet Jackie’s eyes completely.
“Bout another two clicks,” Haddington replied. “Why?”
Riley just shrugged, before pushing himself up. “Pull over. Think I’ll ride in the back.”
Never let it be said that he had an issue with getting a little wet.
***
“If you’re out here, does that mean I still have to stay out here, getting soaked?”
“Yes.”
Nicky smirked. Westen grumbled his annoyance. Riley just say down on one of the boxes of supplies, trying to gain some kind of shelter from the downpour. There was a large canister resting between them in the bed of the truck, and for the most part, Gordon just stared at it, still curious as to what was inside. The army wasn’t going to tell them, and he had a feeling that Reverend Warner wasn’t going to let them know either. They weren’t supposed to know, that was the problem. They were just a delivery system.
It was almost as though the government thought that if they knew, they wouldn’t take it where it needed to go.
Regardless, Riley sat there in the rain, staring at the ruins of what was left of the world, beyond the technology and science of their compound. Living underground since the day he was born, he’d never been to the surface before this, and after this he probably would never be again. It wasn’t that the planet was unable to support them—it was clear that there was plenty of room, and the human population hadn’t expanded that much underground. It was just the fact that it was their’s. The outliers. They were the ones who were supposed to have it.
It was almost as though that even though they were, in fact, and advancement of their species, they didn’t seem to understand the fact that technology would make their lives easier. He glanced over at Nicky, who seemed completely undisturbed by the rain, and Westen, who seemed to have taken on the appearance of a drowned rat, and made the assumption that some people just weren’t meant to deal with things like weather.
Then again, maybe weather was worth dealing with if you still had the opportunity to feel something like the sun.
There was a single, pregnant pause in his thoughts, and just as that was completing, there was a large crack of lightening that landed directly in the path of the truck.
Haddington swerved, nearly toppling them over, but as soon as they were still, Riley and Westen were up on their feet, guns braced and searching for the signs of the threat.
“Easy now,” Nicky said slowly. “It’s just the weather. Lightening does that sometimes.”
“Bullshit it does,” Westen snapped. “They’re out there.”
Gordon kept quiet, eyes trying to peer through the sheets of falling water to try and get a sign of their attacker. He knew that his experience was limited when it came to actual weather, but there was something about this that wasn’t right.
At all.
His eyes moved to scan the treeline above them, looking for some sign, when it came again, a streak of lightening, heading right for the bed of the truck. “Get down!” he shouted, grabbing Westen’s arm and diving off the side of the truck into the mud, and dragging the other man with him. As soon as he was down, he rolled up gun poised to fire, but watching as the metal bed of the truck sparked and fizzed.
“Does that look like actual fucking weather to you, Wallace?” Westen shouted over the crack of thunder and Gordon’s fist flew out, smacking the other man in the chest, before his fingers formed a quick fist to hold. Westen did as he was told, eyes glancing around sharply. “Where are they?”
“I don’t know,” Gordon replied. “But they’re coming.”
***
“Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it was destroyed in one.”
It was his father’s favorite phrase. Things took time to build, to become what they were meant to be, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be taken away just as easily. They had had relative smooth sailing so far in their journey to Warner’s camp, but that didn’t mean that every once in a while, they would be attacked for what they’d done. For what they were.
There was a part of Riley’s mind that knew that it was fair—they had done the same to them after all. However, that also didn’t mean he was any more ready to die. If the army had taught him anything, it was that survival was paramount. You couldn’t do any good if you didn’t survive. Victory didn’t mean anything if you aren’t there to celebrate it.
This outlier appeared out of the rain, shirtless and barefoot, feet planted firmly into the ground. As he approached the rain came down harder, making it more difficult to see where he was. But he was there. Riley knew he was there, and he wasn’t going to be getting far.
“You think you and your guns can stop me?”
There was another crack of thunder, a flash of lightening, and Riley suddenly felt like his hands were on fire. The automatic weapon dropped to the ground and he surged away from it, feeling the burns on his hands get soothed by the cool press of the rain. There was that dull sting that came with the pressure, and he could feel the swelling, but his eyes were still on the outlier. This man could control the weather. They were so beyond FUBAR.
“Wet gunpowder doesn’t light. But metal still transmits electricity. Even better when it’s wet.”
Westen was in front of him before he could even register what was happening, gun still poised, almost as if he was daring him to burn his hands as well. There was no doubt that the outlier would do it, Riley’s hands held the evidence of that, but that didn’t matter. And that was who Westen was.
For once, Riley was grateful.
“Try me,” he sneered, looking at the man with enough fury to make a sane man run. “I dare you.”
There was the slam of a car door behind them, and they both turned in time to see scrawny Jackie Wallace, standing there and watching them. He glanced over at the two men, his two brothers in arms, and then he turned back to the outlier, who was just standing there, daring him to try. It was over the minute Jackie met his eyes.
The outlier screamed, hands coming up to clutch at his head, and for a moment, the storms intensified. But he couldn’t look away, couldn’t break the link until he was done downloading everything that Jackie was forcing into his brain. It took all of five minutes, and he collapsed down into the mud, his body occasionally twitching and spasming in response.
The two soldiers turned back to Jackie, watching him for a moment, but careful not to make eye contact. Jackie didn’t say a word, just stared back at them for a moment, before turning and climbing back into the car. Westen just watched him go for a moment, before reaching down and taking Riley’s arm.
“C’mon,” he said softly, gently. “Let’s get you back in the cab.”
***
They all float through his head as he sits in the back of the cab. The Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, all those great military victories that were written by the winners, so that people wouldn’t bother to look below the dirt on the surface. They were bright, gleaming stories, and Riley Gordon was fairly certain that he was the only man with a father who made him learn those who surrendered just as clearly as he did those who won.
In fact, he put more emphasis on those who surrendered. They were the people he wanted Riley to learn. He wanted to keep him from making those mistakes. Riley wasn’t entirely sure he could.
They put him back into the cab of the truck, hands swollen and blistered, and Mason reached for the first aid kit. “You alright there, kid? Did the lightening get you directly?”
He shook his head. “Just the gun. I’m okay.”
Mason nodded, taking his hands and pulling them closer, before starting to apply the salve. Cool to the touch and it soothed a bit of the pain, but all he could hear was his father’s voice in his head, and that close brush to failure, where he almost didn’t survive. He could have died.
He could have died.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he murmured softly.
“Sorry for what, Lieutenant?”
“I made a bad choice.” He was seeing the angles now. The way things could have been different. “If I had stayed in the cab, the powder in my gun would have been dry, and I wouldn’t have—”
“Gordon, don’t you dare start.” He bandaged his hands, wrapping them in white linen, and then releasing them. “I’m fairly certain if you hadn’t reacted when you did, Westen would have been burned to a crisp. I’ll take a man with burned hands over a corpse any day of the week.” Mason pushed the first aid kit back into it’s spot under the seat, and then nodded. “Stay in the cab, keep those dry, and keep your eyes on the road. I want your instincts where I need them.”
Riley relaxed back against the seat, taking a breath and trying to let the doubts slip away. Mason was proud of him. That should be what mattered.
“And where was Napoleon’s downfall, Riley?”
Riley only wished that that were still true.
Title: Some People Who Don’t Dream at All
Author:
iluvroadrunner6Rating: PG-13
Characters: Riley Gordon, Andrew Westen, Nicky and Jackie Wallace, William Mason, Leo Haddington.
thenewpub Prompts:The Battle of Waterloo The Age of Enlightenment The decline and fall of Rome The War of 1812
Content Warning: N/A
Summary: Riley reflects on his relationship with his father.
Author’s Note: Part of the same universe that I wrote last week, but with different character. Let me know what you think.
Disclaimer: Mine. No stealing.
“And what was Napoleon’s mistake, Riley?”
Pride.
It was always pride. Every military commander in history, the only reason they ever failed was pride. They bit off more than they could chew, launched themselves into a battle they knew they couldn’t win, and in the end, they lost. Their men died, they landed in the history books in a manner befitting idiots, and the rest of the world remembered them for their misdeads and misfortunes as oppose to what they accomplished.
No one remembered that Napoleon was a brilliant tactical commander. All they remembered was the caricature that was left behind, of the short man who tried to over compensate with a large army and a thirst for power.
These were the facts that had been drilled into his mind since the day he was old enough to understand military history, by a father who wanted an officer and a leader. He wanted the history books to show that the Gordon family, the Gordon legacy was that of winners and leaders. If Riley had been the kind of child to talk back, he would have pointed out that Colonel Donald Gordon was just as much a victim of pride as Napoleon was.
But his father ran their household like an army outpost. And when you’re in the army, you don’t talk back to the C.O.
Riley Gordon had been the good son. He did as was expected by his father—studied the military history, learned to be a tactician and to think on his feet. He soaked up everything that the colonel taught him like a sponge, and half of it with a grain of salt. By the time he had gotten through his first three years as a member of the collective’s army, he’d learned that no amount of study could prepare you for the feel of a rifle in your hand, the sound of bullets exploding around you, or the pain of actually being hit by one. It took getting shot to do that, and in the end, it was probably the best thing that ever happened to him.
It got him here after all.
“You still with us, Gordon?”
The sound of Mason’s voice in his ear was enough to snap him out of his reprieve. He was sitting in the back seat of their army issue all-wheel truck, with Haddington and Jackie, one of the outlier brothers, in the front seats, and Mason sitting on the bench seat with him. He blinked for a moment, before shaking his head and snapping himself out of it.
“Sorry, sir.”
“Damn, son. I haven’t seen you space like that since boot camp,” Haddington said, glancing back at his friend through the rearview mirror. “Know where your mind was at?”
He gave a half-shrug. “Waterloo,” he said simply. “1815.”
“I hope you’re not considering that an omen, Lieutenant.”
“No, sir,” he said, flashing Mason back a small smile. “Just—thinking.” His eyes wandered to the windshield again, and he couldn’t help but see it. The position of the road, the mud, the rain—it calls him back to that place in history, that point in his mind, just as he envisioned it so many times.
“Picture their losses, Riley. See their weaknesses and you’ll be able to keep them from seeing yours.”
If only that were as easy as it sounded.
Jackie’s eyes were on him, focusing intently as though trying to read him, and he glanced away. The man needed eye contact to see clearly, but even if he won’t get it, he’s still intent. Still watching. Still unnerving the fuck out of him.
“How much father to camp?” he asked, glancing over at Haddington and skipping the opportunity to meet Jackie’s eyes completely.
“Bout another two clicks,” Haddington replied. “Why?”
Riley just shrugged, before pushing himself up. “Pull over. Think I’ll ride in the back.”
Never let it be said that he had an issue with getting a little wet.
***
“If you’re out here, does that mean I still have to stay out here, getting soaked?”
“Yes.”
Nicky smirked. Westen grumbled his annoyance. Riley just say down on one of the boxes of supplies, trying to gain some kind of shelter from the downpour. There was a large canister resting between them in the bed of the truck, and for the most part, Gordon just stared at it, still curious as to what was inside. The army wasn’t going to tell them, and he had a feeling that Reverend Warner wasn’t going to let them know either. They weren’t supposed to know, that was the problem. They were just a delivery system.
It was almost as though the government thought that if they knew, they wouldn’t take it where it needed to go.
Regardless, Riley sat there in the rain, staring at the ruins of what was left of the world, beyond the technology and science of their compound. Living underground since the day he was born, he’d never been to the surface before this, and after this he probably would never be again. It wasn’t that the planet was unable to support them—it was clear that there was plenty of room, and the human population hadn’t expanded that much underground. It was just the fact that it was their’s. The outliers. They were the ones who were supposed to have it.
It was almost as though that even though they were, in fact, and advancement of their species, they didn’t seem to understand the fact that technology would make their lives easier. He glanced over at Nicky, who seemed completely undisturbed by the rain, and Westen, who seemed to have taken on the appearance of a drowned rat, and made the assumption that some people just weren’t meant to deal with things like weather.
Then again, maybe weather was worth dealing with if you still had the opportunity to feel something like the sun.
There was a single, pregnant pause in his thoughts, and just as that was completing, there was a large crack of lightening that landed directly in the path of the truck.
Haddington swerved, nearly toppling them over, but as soon as they were still, Riley and Westen were up on their feet, guns braced and searching for the signs of the threat.
“Easy now,” Nicky said slowly. “It’s just the weather. Lightening does that sometimes.”
“Bullshit it does,” Westen snapped. “They’re out there.”
Gordon kept quiet, eyes trying to peer through the sheets of falling water to try and get a sign of their attacker. He knew that his experience was limited when it came to actual weather, but there was something about this that wasn’t right.
At all.
His eyes moved to scan the treeline above them, looking for some sign, when it came again, a streak of lightening, heading right for the bed of the truck. “Get down!” he shouted, grabbing Westen’s arm and diving off the side of the truck into the mud, and dragging the other man with him. As soon as he was down, he rolled up gun poised to fire, but watching as the metal bed of the truck sparked and fizzed.
“Does that look like actual fucking weather to you, Wallace?” Westen shouted over the crack of thunder and Gordon’s fist flew out, smacking the other man in the chest, before his fingers formed a quick fist to hold. Westen did as he was told, eyes glancing around sharply. “Where are they?”
“I don’t know,” Gordon replied. “But they’re coming.”
***
“Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it was destroyed in one.”
It was his father’s favorite phrase. Things took time to build, to become what they were meant to be, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be taken away just as easily. They had had relative smooth sailing so far in their journey to Warner’s camp, but that didn’t mean that every once in a while, they would be attacked for what they’d done. For what they were.
There was a part of Riley’s mind that knew that it was fair—they had done the same to them after all. However, that also didn’t mean he was any more ready to die. If the army had taught him anything, it was that survival was paramount. You couldn’t do any good if you didn’t survive. Victory didn’t mean anything if you aren’t there to celebrate it.
This outlier appeared out of the rain, shirtless and barefoot, feet planted firmly into the ground. As he approached the rain came down harder, making it more difficult to see where he was. But he was there. Riley knew he was there, and he wasn’t going to be getting far.
“You think you and your guns can stop me?”
There was another crack of thunder, a flash of lightening, and Riley suddenly felt like his hands were on fire. The automatic weapon dropped to the ground and he surged away from it, feeling the burns on his hands get soothed by the cool press of the rain. There was that dull sting that came with the pressure, and he could feel the swelling, but his eyes were still on the outlier. This man could control the weather. They were so beyond FUBAR.
“Wet gunpowder doesn’t light. But metal still transmits electricity. Even better when it’s wet.”
Westen was in front of him before he could even register what was happening, gun still poised, almost as if he was daring him to burn his hands as well. There was no doubt that the outlier would do it, Riley’s hands held the evidence of that, but that didn’t matter. And that was who Westen was.
For once, Riley was grateful.
“Try me,” he sneered, looking at the man with enough fury to make a sane man run. “I dare you.”
There was the slam of a car door behind them, and they both turned in time to see scrawny Jackie Wallace, standing there and watching them. He glanced over at the two men, his two brothers in arms, and then he turned back to the outlier, who was just standing there, daring him to try. It was over the minute Jackie met his eyes.
The outlier screamed, hands coming up to clutch at his head, and for a moment, the storms intensified. But he couldn’t look away, couldn’t break the link until he was done downloading everything that Jackie was forcing into his brain. It took all of five minutes, and he collapsed down into the mud, his body occasionally twitching and spasming in response.
The two soldiers turned back to Jackie, watching him for a moment, but careful not to make eye contact. Jackie didn’t say a word, just stared back at them for a moment, before turning and climbing back into the car. Westen just watched him go for a moment, before reaching down and taking Riley’s arm.
“C’mon,” he said softly, gently. “Let’s get you back in the cab.”
***
They all float through his head as he sits in the back of the cab. The Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, all those great military victories that were written by the winners, so that people wouldn’t bother to look below the dirt on the surface. They were bright, gleaming stories, and Riley Gordon was fairly certain that he was the only man with a father who made him learn those who surrendered just as clearly as he did those who won.
In fact, he put more emphasis on those who surrendered. They were the people he wanted Riley to learn. He wanted to keep him from making those mistakes. Riley wasn’t entirely sure he could.
They put him back into the cab of the truck, hands swollen and blistered, and Mason reached for the first aid kit. “You alright there, kid? Did the lightening get you directly?”
He shook his head. “Just the gun. I’m okay.”
Mason nodded, taking his hands and pulling them closer, before starting to apply the salve. Cool to the touch and it soothed a bit of the pain, but all he could hear was his father’s voice in his head, and that close brush to failure, where he almost didn’t survive. He could have died.
He could have died.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he murmured softly.
“Sorry for what, Lieutenant?”
“I made a bad choice.” He was seeing the angles now. The way things could have been different. “If I had stayed in the cab, the powder in my gun would have been dry, and I wouldn’t have—”
“Gordon, don’t you dare start.” He bandaged his hands, wrapping them in white linen, and then releasing them. “I’m fairly certain if you hadn’t reacted when you did, Westen would have been burned to a crisp. I’ll take a man with burned hands over a corpse any day of the week.” Mason pushed the first aid kit back into it’s spot under the seat, and then nodded. “Stay in the cab, keep those dry, and keep your eyes on the road. I want your instincts where I need them.”
Riley relaxed back against the seat, taking a breath and trying to let the doubts slip away. Mason was proud of him. That should be what mattered.
“And where was Napoleon’s downfall, Riley?”
Riley only wished that that were still true.