One Shot #7

August 19th 2014

Gallagher sat on his bunk awaiting the trumpet to sound signaling that it was First Call, that it was four thirty, and it was time for everybody to start getting ready for the long day ahead.

He sat there thinking of a boy who was a long ways away, who had captured his heart. A boy with dark hair, beautiful light blue eyes, and extremely expressive eyebrows.

He had been away at "Basic" for one month. One month since he had fled his home city of Chicago in effort to get away of his relationship with said boy with dark hair and piercing blue eyes.

He ran his fingers through his closely cropped carrot-colored hair and sighed as he envisioned that boy. He could swear that he had almost felt like he had been there that morning when he had woken up, that the boy had his arms around him like he had so many nights before Gallagher had left for Basic. Thinking of those eyes that always told Gallagher that the boy's mind was ticking away at the next plan for chaos or the next revenge scheme. He wished that he had taken a photograph with him that could serve as evidence that such a boy really did exist, and that he was even more attractive in real life.

The sound of a trumpet woke him from his thoughts and he urgently scrambled to get dressed in his uniform: camouflage pants, a brown tee shirt that so elegantly showed his six pack, tan hot weather boots, and his camouflage cap. He checked himself over in the 5-by-5 inch mirror that hung on the wall, making sure that his orange hair was completely covered by the camouflage patrol cap- thus fitting within army standards of the, 'If you can hid it under your cap and won't get in your eyes, you can keep it. Everything below must be cropped short, tapered off, and kept neat with horizontally cut sideburns.' motto. His hair had been the object of much discussion as it was so orange as the AR 670 -1 policy states that orange could be considered a distracting color. While the majority of the recruits attending "basic" at Fort Leonard Wood were busy getting their heads shaved into regulation styles during Reception Battalion (RECBN), Gallagher had been smart enough to do so before hand, thus getting to deal with officers harassing him about his hair color instead. Gallagher had since had many conversations with higher ranking officials who simply thought that his hair color was not natural. Eventually they realized that it was indeed his natural hair color and they did not make him dye it to fit within regulations so long as he kept it under his cap and no senior officers complained about it. Today he was in luck, he wouldn't have to fix his hair to fit within standards. Unlike the majority of the recruits, Gallagher was intent on fixing his own hair, and so long as it fit regulation he was allowed to do so. It wouldn't be an uncommon thing to every once and awhile find him in front of the 5-by-5 mirror clippering his hair down the way that looked best and also fit within regulation. He was incredibly vain when it came to his hair, so he would not put it in the hands of someone else.

His hand brushed against the short hairs on the back of his head, sending a little chill up his spine. He didn't like it so short all the time, and he knew that the boy with piercing blue eyes, his Mickey, wouldn't quite like it either. Too short for him to grab onto while they fucked. Mickey for sure wouldn't like it, but he wasn't there.

Gallagher grabbed his backpack that was tossed into the corner of the room and withdrew a small photograph. A photograph of Mickey, the boy with the blue eyes, who he missed very much. He thumbed the edge of the photograph, looking into the blue eyes that he had looked into many times before. His beautiful Mickey. Mickey Milkovich. He wondered what had happened to him, he had left in such a fit last time they had seen each other that it was a blur, and he hated that. Before he had left all he wanted to do was leave Mickey and go away to the Army and now he wanted the complete opposite. He would do anything for another moment in Mickey's bed, in his arms, being able to inhale his scent just one more time.

"Gallagher! Let's go!" The drill sergeant yelled from outside.

Ian Gallagher groaned and muttered, "I'm fuckin' coming." He stuffed the photograph into his pocket, flung open the door, and approached the platoon.

"Gallagher! You're late!" The drill sergeant yelled as he got close to the redheads face, spit hitting Ian's cheeks as the drill sergeant continued, "Why in God's name are you late recruit!?"

Ian straightened his back and looked the drill sergeant in the eye, "I had trouble getting ready, sir!"

"I'm not your mother! I will not wake you up every goddamn morning, recruit!" The drill sergeant yelled, spit flying. "Didn't your mother teach you to get ready!?"

"No, sir! She was absent from my life, sir!" Ian said as he tried to pretend like there was a rod in his back keeping him straight up.

The drill sergeant got even closer to Ian's face, so that their noses were nearly touching, "I didn't ask, recruit! I don't want to know your goddamn life story!" The drill sergeant turned to the group, "200 push ups! You can thank recruit Gallagher!"

Ian and the platoon got down on the floor and got into pushup position and started as the drill sergeant barked out the numbers.

By the time that that task was complete it was nearly five o'clock and time for Physical Training.

The drill sergeant led the platoon out to the training facilities and left them there to start their morning exercises of calisthenics and running the track.

Ian was one of the best runners in his platoon and so it was relatively easy for him to stay with the pace of the rest of the platoon. When the drill sergeant wasn't looking however he snuck away into the attached bathroom.

He found a window wide open and proceeded to climb the bathroom wall and climb through the open window.

Once outside of the training facility, Ian headed over to where the basic training choppers were kept. He didn't know why or even how but at some point he realized that he was sitting in the chopper, hot wiring it, "Shit." He said to himself as he burned his hand on a loose wire.

Within a moment he got the rotors going and he was lifting the chopper off the ground.

'Time to go find Mickey.' He thought as he touched the piece of paper in his pocket and reached approximately 40 feet in the air.

He really had no idea what he was doing and so it wasn't at all surprising that the chopper did not get very far up in the air and he ended up tipping it over, "Fuck!" Ian said as he woke up on his side completely stunned by the fact that he had done such a bad job flying the chopper.

He scampered out of the chopper and realized that he needed to run and he needed to do it fast, before anyone noticed that he was gone. And just like that he started running off base, leaping over all the fencing that he needed to in order to get to his ultimate goal. Mickey Milkovich, who at the present time was probably still sleeping in Chicago.

'I'm comin' for ya, Mick.' Ian thought as he ran.

He kept that thought in his mind as he continued running. Running for Mickey. To get home to Mickey. Until he finally made it off base and away from basic, away from where Army officials would go looking for him. By a road, waiting to hitchhike if he was lucky, and he was. A group of teenagers picked him up and drove him all the way to a train station that would help him start getting home. Home to Mickey.

I thought of this when I was sitting on the beach and saw Army choppers flying above my head. All I could think about was Ian's chopper accident. :P