Noelia (noelia_g) wrote,

Fic: The unexpected tale of Combat Jack (Ray/Walt, PG-13)

Title: The unexpected tale of Combat Jack (it's not what you think).
Fandom: Generation Kill
Characters/Pairings: Ray/Walt, Brad, Nate, Combat Jack
Wordcount: 1241
Summary: Walt and Ray get a puppy. The end.
Disclaimer: based on fictionalised characters as seen on a tv show. All fiction.
A/N: mlekopijca kind of made me. And by 'made me', I mean that she mentioned it and I couldn't not write this. Credit for the dog's name goes to her. Lots of love goes to her as well. Lots of puzzlement, too.

It starts innocently enough. That cute blonde neighbour of Walt's has a dog. Well, three dogs, which Ray thinks is at least two dogs too many, especially considering that all the dogs look at him menacingly when he tries to flirt with their owner.

They look at him like he's fucking lunch, to be honest.

So, cute blonde neighbour, three dogs, one of those dogs has puppies.

That's not a bad thing. Walt likes dogs, he bonds over them with the cute neighbour, when she's walking them, and Walt goes to get the paper clad only in his pajama bottoms, which Ray appreciates and thinks the neighbour does too.

The dogs never look as if they wanted to kill Walt and then bury his bones in the garden. Oh, no, the fucking dogs fucking love Walt, think he's made of sunshine and daisies and tasty dog treats, or what the fuck ever.

One of those conversations ends up with Walt getting a puppy.

No, Ray can't get over it either.


Walt informs him that the dog is a flat coated retriever, which doesn't tell Ray all that much. What the dog is, is a ball of fluff with big, pretty eyes, which kind of makes sense, because, well, Walt's dog.

And Ray is going to kill any motherfucker who repeats this, because he would never describe Walt as having pretty eyes, because that would be truly, madly, deeply, Elton John worshipping, Judy Garland singing, dicksucking gay.

Speaking of dick sucking, having a puppy in the house is a definition of cockblocking.

The little bastard follows Walt everywhere. Even to the fucking bathroom. Even to the fucking bedroom, and the pun is very much not intended, because seriously, how much fucking can you do while there's a black little ball of fur curled up on your bed? None, zip, nada.

Ray had better chances of getting laid in the clusterfuck that was the OIF, and getting laid then usually meant a stained copy of Jugs, or that old picture of Reporter's girlfriend.

"I miss combat jacks," Ray tells the dog mournfully.

The dog tilts his head and whines.

"Huh," Ray says. "Combat Jack," he decides, and reaches out to pat Combat Jack's head, and the dog seems really happy with his new name.

Walt probably won't be, but fuck him.



Brad comes by on Saturday, as he usually does. It's all 'I'm in the neighbourhood', or 'I didn't have anything better to do than slum it with you retards', but Ray knows Brad misses them and cries himself to sleep every night because his pal Ray-Ray is not there to tuck him in.

So, Brad comes by, takes one look at the dog and laughs.

Ray glares at him. Sure, he doesn't care for the little fucker, but it's Walt's dog, so he probably shouldn't stand for anyone insulting him. Walt's his little woman and all that, except that Walt threatens to spank Ray whenever Ray refers to him in that manner. Ray is strangely fine with that.

"You better not be making fun of Combat Jack."

That, if anything, makes Brad stop laughing. "Combat Jack? Well, of course. I suppose it is a fucking blessing that you two hadn't decided to enhance your gay life with an actual spawn and instead decided to go the dog route. You'd probably insist on naming your progeny in the same way."

Ray shrugs. "Only if it was a girl."

Combat Jack, the fucking traitor, licks Brad's hand and tries to climb into his lap. Which Brad lets him do. He never let Ray do anything like that.

Ray would like to rescind the last remark.


Walt is absolutely crazy about the dog. Ray goes from thinking it's fucking adorable to going absolutely fucking nuts from all the obsessing about the right brand of the dog chow and the right collar and the right toys and the right fucking dog bowl.

The neighbour, who is still very cute, but who, Ray concluded, might actually be an evil hag trying to take over the world by supplying everyone with cute dogs, lends them books and reccommends the vet and the trainer to make sure Combat Jack doesn't grow up retarded and doesn't have all his doggie friends at the park laugh at him because he has two daddies or whatever.

Ray thinks the whole industry is retarded, he's pretty sure that when he was a kid all the dogs in his neighbourhood had one bowl and one squeaky toy and they fucking liked it.

Ray hides all the puppy snacks he bought for Combat Jack in a special box in the pantry. He's pretty sure Walt knows and is laughing at him, but Ray's fine as long as they pretend there's no box and Ray isn't head over heels in love with the little fluffy fucker.

He has some dignity.


Nate listens politely to the long tale of woe that's the story of potty training Combat Jack. He even tries not to smirk too much, because Nate is not only an officer, he is also a gentleman and shit.

He's also apparently rather immune to Combat Jack's charm.

"I suppose I'm more of a cat person," he tells them with an apologetic smile.

Ray can't believe this is actually the guy who got them through the OIF unscathed. What the fuck, really?


The trainer reminds Ray of Sixta.

No, really. She's nice, has long red hair up in a ponytail, and she speaks firmly but in a really pleasant voice, but there's something about her eyes that tells you she will fuck you up if you don't piss when she says you piss.

Combat Jack adores her. Ray thinks there's really no justice in the world.

He's growing up a proper dog, sits when he's told to, waits patiently for the chow and only drools a little (according to Walt, less then Ray does), and can roll over and play dead and fetch and generally, according to some people who shall remain nameless (Walt, the cute neighbour, Brad, Poke, Ray's Momma...), he's better behaved than Ray.

Doesn't fucking explain why he never, ever listens to Ray. Walt says sit, Combat Jack sits. Ray says sit, Combat Jack climbs all over him and drools all over his face, then continues climbing until Ray is laying flat on the carpet, with a face full of dog.

"You just have to be stern with him," the trainer tells Ray. Walt tells Ray. The cute neighbour (whose name Ray should probably learn, because every damn time she has to repeat it, she looks closer to smacking Ray over the head. It shouldn't be attractive, but then again, she's cute and blonde and likes dogs, and it's kind of like Walt, and Ray has this Pavlovian reaction...) tells Ray.

"But," Ray says, and really, this is his entire argument. Everyone just looks at him and sighs, but the fuckers can go fuck themselves (well, not the trainer, because she's kind of like Sixta and that's scary, but if the cute neighbour and Walt are so inclined, Ray wouldn't mind a threesome).

"There's no words for how retarded you are," Walt tells him and ruffles his hair and then actually tells Combat Jack to wait in the living room because Walt would like to suck Ray off.

And Combat Jack goes to wait in the living room. Ray can't even.
Tags: fanfic, generation kill, ray/walt

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