Title: Dulce Et Decorum Est, Pro Patria Mori
Author: Steph
E-Mail: filia_85@yahoo.com.au
Feedback: Yes!
Genre: Angst/Romance
Rating: PG-13 for language and sensual situations.
Spoilers: Well, this isn't so much a spoiler, but if you haven't seen Platoon you won't have a clue what's going on.
Disclaimer: I'm not making money from this.....*sings* This is just a tribute. Elias belongs to Oliver Stone. Linda is mine....though she's not much of a character if you ask me, so you're free to borrow her if you ask. Dulce Et Decorum Est was written by the late Wilfred Owen and so belongs to him.
Author's Note: So here it is....my first (and most likely only) go at writing a fic. Can't say much except I hope you enjoy it and that I hope that Linda doesn't seem to Mary Sue-ish. ^_^; This is pretty much a one-shot fic anyway, though I've toyed with the idea of a collection of correspondance between Elias and Linda. But I digress...on with the fic!
***************************************************
I waited three years for Elias to return from Vietnam.
Did he return?
Yeah, he returned from 'Nam. In a fucking wooden box draped with the stars 'n stripes that he'd adored so when he left.
I still remember so much.
Elias Kenneth Grodin and I had been together for three years and one month when the recruiting posters went up around town.
Serve your country. Glory and lots of pretty shiny medals guaranteed.
Elias' Dad served in the Korean War. He was a surgeon at one of the hospitals. My parents knew the Grodins. They said Ed Grodin returned from there a changed man. And Elias....well, he looked up to the guy as a hero. But Elias' Dad wanted none of it. He didn't want Elias' Mom either, so he packed up and left about two or three years after he returned, throwing away the glory and the medals.
But Elias kept them.
So when the US army recruiters came, he signed up as soon as he could.
"Linda, I'm goin' to Vietnam." he announced to me quietly one day.
"Jesus, what the fuck are you doing?!" was not the reaction he'd expected.
I forgave him though. I always did. He was so passionate about it. I listened to him talk about how honorable it was to fight for one's country. And I argued against it. Hell if I was letting him go out there and return only to leave me like his Dad did with his Mom.
And this continued right until the end. I endured it. His poor Mom didn't. I think that's what killed her.
Yeah, I remember the night before he left. It was an Indian summer night. The kind where the crickets chirp a symphony at six in the evening. It was a Sunday night. People slunk on their porches, drinking their beer, trying to stay cool by any means.
That's what Elias and I were doing anyway. We were at his place. Except we weren't drinking beer. We were on the porch of his house, the house he grew up in. On the porch swing, my head resting in the crook of his elbow and lap while he sat. Elias and I never said that much when we were alone together.
"I'm gonna miss this." he murmured. "I'm gonna miss you, Lin."
I said nothing to this, but I let him do the talking. He told me about the platoon he was joining, where they were supposed to be going and stuff. We spent most of the early evening talking about what he might see there. We talked memories. I'd known Elias since the grass was taller than me. We grew up together. We went to school together. We beat each other up. We were each other's first kisses.
"Have we known each other that long?" he asked at one point.
I chuckled softly. "More than twenty years, Elias," I said, grinning. "And look at us now." I added, a little more wistfully.
He was silent then....and after a moment he sat me up, took my hand and led me inside.
We made love most of that early hour of the night. There was desperation in his movements. He clung onto me afterwards as if he was drowning. I rolled away when I thought he was napping, not being able to look him in the eye any longer.
"Lin...." my name rolled off his tongue. "...what are you looking so down about?"
I could barely bring myself to look at him, but I turned. And there he was, his wiry body entangled in the sheets, arms folded behind his head. His relaxed look underlied the concerned expression that had crossed his face, but a slight smile played upon his features. That knowing smile. That insinuating smile.
He propped himself up on one elbow, his chin resting upon his hand. We locked stares for a few minutes, and I desparately tried to imprint a picture of him upon my mind before he left.
His eyes.....that were capable of blazing with so many emotions. His mouth, curved in that beautiful smile. His nose. His cheekbones. His hair. His neck. His lean body, strengthened by the months of military training. His strong arms. His hands. His fingers.
After what seemed like a few good minutes, he pulled me into his arms, dropping a kiss on my forehead. I felt him sigh.
"You didn't have to go-" I was cut off.
"This war needs to be fought." he said, his voice gaining a hard edge to it. "They need guys like me."
"It's fuckin' pointless.....please, Elias." I said, hoping that some last minute coaxing might make him stay.
His answer was firm. "No."
He was silent for a moment, and almost instinctively I tightened my arms around him before craning my neck to kiss him. I felt him kiss back, and my mind sighed in relief. He wasn't gone yet....he would still be around a few more hours.
We made love again, while Pete Townsend sang about his generation on the radio and we lay there afterwards, sated and laced with sweat.
Finally, he broke the silence.
"I'm sorry I'm goin' Lin. But I want to do this. Y'know Dad was in Korea. I'm doing him justice."
"Since when did a son have to live up to his Father?"
"Since my Dad......look, you don't understand." he shook his head, a sigh of frustration escaping his lips. "Just leave it, Linda. I'm leaving tomorrow. I know what I'm doing."
When I looked away, felt his hand cup my chin, directing me under his gaze again.
"I will come back. In. One. Piece."
Jesus wept, I wanted to believe him then. His eyes were so determined....it was like he was going to make sure he came back in one piece. But something....something deep in the pit of my stomach said the chances of that weren't good. Oh, if he did.....
He pulled me close to him again, his mouth against my ear.
"I'm comin' back. I promise."
Then, reaching over to his bedside table, he picked up the dog tags that he'd be wearing. The small pieces of metal on their chain, along with that crucifix that he'd always worn. I watched him kiss the crucifix and then smiled as he kissed me on the corner of my mouth.
"I love you." he told me. "Remember that and I'll remember you when I'm fighting for us."
I think I might've cried afterwards, when he had drifted off. The salt stung my eyes and I just kind of lay there in his arms, tears slipping down my cheeks onto his shoulder. Christ, right then and there, I was going to miss him. I was going to miss nights like this where we'd do nothing but stay in each other's arms. I was going to miss the sound of my name on his lips. Or watching him watch me.
I didn't sleep that night. I stayed awake, watching him. And what I felt....all the bitterness and resentment that he was leaving....it was the most terrible feeling. It almost frightened me that I could feel so much. I guess having been with Elias for the time I had, I kind of took him for granted. I wish I hadn't now. It only made me feel worse.
Morning came too soon for me. He woke, and we exchanged no words. I helped him get dressed in his uniform. I put his tags around his neck. He finished off what more packing he needed to do. Then, he drove me home.
He shuffled his feet, glancing at them momentarily before pulling me into a hug, the faintest of sad sighs escaping him.
"God, Lin....." he began, shaking his head. ".....I really will miss you. Will you wait for me?"
"Of course." I replied automatically, kissing him. I stroked his cheek, trying to keep my emotions in check. "Look at you.....all dressed up in your uniform. You look so handsome."
"Mom and Dad would be proud." he said softly.
"They would." I lied.
We stayed like that for a while, just holding onto each other. I couldn't go with him to the airport, so our goodbyes were said there.
"I promise I'll write," he said finally, releasing me reluctantly from his arms. "tell you all about what it's like over there."
"Yeah....I'll write too." I replied, wondering if there was anything worth writing to him about.
He nodded, kissing me a final time. When he drove off, his final words being 'I love you', I must've sat in the dust and cried for ages. I felt like a part of me was dying.
Three years later.....now. It has died. It died when he came back in that wooden box and I was given a collection of his possessions. Old letters that I'd written to him, dirtied with the stains of war. A bandana he must've worn, stained with his blood and the dried mud of Vietnamese jungles. His tags and crucifix.
Ha. So much for medals and glory. Elias got neither. Especially when he deserved it.
: : My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.: :
Author: Steph
E-Mail: filia_85@yahoo.com.au
Feedback: Yes!
Genre: Angst/Romance
Rating: PG-13 for language and sensual situations.
Spoilers: Well, this isn't so much a spoiler, but if you haven't seen Platoon you won't have a clue what's going on.
Disclaimer: I'm not making money from this.....*sings* This is just a tribute. Elias belongs to Oliver Stone. Linda is mine....though she's not much of a character if you ask me, so you're free to borrow her if you ask. Dulce Et Decorum Est was written by the late Wilfred Owen and so belongs to him.
Author's Note: So here it is....my first (and most likely only) go at writing a fic. Can't say much except I hope you enjoy it and that I hope that Linda doesn't seem to Mary Sue-ish. ^_^; This is pretty much a one-shot fic anyway, though I've toyed with the idea of a collection of correspondance between Elias and Linda. But I digress...on with the fic!
***************************************************
I waited three years for Elias to return from Vietnam.
Did he return?
Yeah, he returned from 'Nam. In a fucking wooden box draped with the stars 'n stripes that he'd adored so when he left.
I still remember so much.
Elias Kenneth Grodin and I had been together for three years and one month when the recruiting posters went up around town.
Serve your country. Glory and lots of pretty shiny medals guaranteed.
Elias' Dad served in the Korean War. He was a surgeon at one of the hospitals. My parents knew the Grodins. They said Ed Grodin returned from there a changed man. And Elias....well, he looked up to the guy as a hero. But Elias' Dad wanted none of it. He didn't want Elias' Mom either, so he packed up and left about two or three years after he returned, throwing away the glory and the medals.
But Elias kept them.
So when the US army recruiters came, he signed up as soon as he could.
"Linda, I'm goin' to Vietnam." he announced to me quietly one day.
"Jesus, what the fuck are you doing?!" was not the reaction he'd expected.
I forgave him though. I always did. He was so passionate about it. I listened to him talk about how honorable it was to fight for one's country. And I argued against it. Hell if I was letting him go out there and return only to leave me like his Dad did with his Mom.
And this continued right until the end. I endured it. His poor Mom didn't. I think that's what killed her.
Yeah, I remember the night before he left. It was an Indian summer night. The kind where the crickets chirp a symphony at six in the evening. It was a Sunday night. People slunk on their porches, drinking their beer, trying to stay cool by any means.
That's what Elias and I were doing anyway. We were at his place. Except we weren't drinking beer. We were on the porch of his house, the house he grew up in. On the porch swing, my head resting in the crook of his elbow and lap while he sat. Elias and I never said that much when we were alone together.
"I'm gonna miss this." he murmured. "I'm gonna miss you, Lin."
I said nothing to this, but I let him do the talking. He told me about the platoon he was joining, where they were supposed to be going and stuff. We spent most of the early evening talking about what he might see there. We talked memories. I'd known Elias since the grass was taller than me. We grew up together. We went to school together. We beat each other up. We were each other's first kisses.
"Have we known each other that long?" he asked at one point.
I chuckled softly. "More than twenty years, Elias," I said, grinning. "And look at us now." I added, a little more wistfully.
He was silent then....and after a moment he sat me up, took my hand and led me inside.
We made love most of that early hour of the night. There was desperation in his movements. He clung onto me afterwards as if he was drowning. I rolled away when I thought he was napping, not being able to look him in the eye any longer.
"Lin...." my name rolled off his tongue. "...what are you looking so down about?"
I could barely bring myself to look at him, but I turned. And there he was, his wiry body entangled in the sheets, arms folded behind his head. His relaxed look underlied the concerned expression that had crossed his face, but a slight smile played upon his features. That knowing smile. That insinuating smile.
He propped himself up on one elbow, his chin resting upon his hand. We locked stares for a few minutes, and I desparately tried to imprint a picture of him upon my mind before he left.
His eyes.....that were capable of blazing with so many emotions. His mouth, curved in that beautiful smile. His nose. His cheekbones. His hair. His neck. His lean body, strengthened by the months of military training. His strong arms. His hands. His fingers.
After what seemed like a few good minutes, he pulled me into his arms, dropping a kiss on my forehead. I felt him sigh.
"You didn't have to go-" I was cut off.
"This war needs to be fought." he said, his voice gaining a hard edge to it. "They need guys like me."
"It's fuckin' pointless.....please, Elias." I said, hoping that some last minute coaxing might make him stay.
His answer was firm. "No."
He was silent for a moment, and almost instinctively I tightened my arms around him before craning my neck to kiss him. I felt him kiss back, and my mind sighed in relief. He wasn't gone yet....he would still be around a few more hours.
We made love again, while Pete Townsend sang about his generation on the radio and we lay there afterwards, sated and laced with sweat.
Finally, he broke the silence.
"I'm sorry I'm goin' Lin. But I want to do this. Y'know Dad was in Korea. I'm doing him justice."
"Since when did a son have to live up to his Father?"
"Since my Dad......look, you don't understand." he shook his head, a sigh of frustration escaping his lips. "Just leave it, Linda. I'm leaving tomorrow. I know what I'm doing."
When I looked away, felt his hand cup my chin, directing me under his gaze again.
"I will come back. In. One. Piece."
Jesus wept, I wanted to believe him then. His eyes were so determined....it was like he was going to make sure he came back in one piece. But something....something deep in the pit of my stomach said the chances of that weren't good. Oh, if he did.....
He pulled me close to him again, his mouth against my ear.
"I'm comin' back. I promise."
Then, reaching over to his bedside table, he picked up the dog tags that he'd be wearing. The small pieces of metal on their chain, along with that crucifix that he'd always worn. I watched him kiss the crucifix and then smiled as he kissed me on the corner of my mouth.
"I love you." he told me. "Remember that and I'll remember you when I'm fighting for us."
I think I might've cried afterwards, when he had drifted off. The salt stung my eyes and I just kind of lay there in his arms, tears slipping down my cheeks onto his shoulder. Christ, right then and there, I was going to miss him. I was going to miss nights like this where we'd do nothing but stay in each other's arms. I was going to miss the sound of my name on his lips. Or watching him watch me.
I didn't sleep that night. I stayed awake, watching him. And what I felt....all the bitterness and resentment that he was leaving....it was the most terrible feeling. It almost frightened me that I could feel so much. I guess having been with Elias for the time I had, I kind of took him for granted. I wish I hadn't now. It only made me feel worse.
Morning came too soon for me. He woke, and we exchanged no words. I helped him get dressed in his uniform. I put his tags around his neck. He finished off what more packing he needed to do. Then, he drove me home.
He shuffled his feet, glancing at them momentarily before pulling me into a hug, the faintest of sad sighs escaping him.
"God, Lin....." he began, shaking his head. ".....I really will miss you. Will you wait for me?"
"Of course." I replied automatically, kissing him. I stroked his cheek, trying to keep my emotions in check. "Look at you.....all dressed up in your uniform. You look so handsome."
"Mom and Dad would be proud." he said softly.
"They would." I lied.
We stayed like that for a while, just holding onto each other. I couldn't go with him to the airport, so our goodbyes were said there.
"I promise I'll write," he said finally, releasing me reluctantly from his arms. "tell you all about what it's like over there."
"Yeah....I'll write too." I replied, wondering if there was anything worth writing to him about.
He nodded, kissing me a final time. When he drove off, his final words being 'I love you', I must've sat in the dust and cried for ages. I felt like a part of me was dying.
Three years later.....now. It has died. It died when he came back in that wooden box and I was given a collection of his possessions. Old letters that I'd written to him, dirtied with the stains of war. A bandana he must've worn, stained with his blood and the dried mud of Vietnamese jungles. His tags and crucifix.
Ha. So much for medals and glory. Elias got neither. Especially when he deserved it.
: : My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.: :