Notes: A fic that explores the volitile relationship between Goldman and McKay after they become hooch-mates. The story is set in season three, after Ruiz and Taylor have returned from being MIA and while Pop is away dealing with his son. This was a little something that hit me over my brief break from college. No betas were sacrifi... err, consulted for this. All mistakes are my own.

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm not making money off them. I love them dearly and promise to give them back in the same condition I found them. Don't sue me, it's not worth the effort.

Consequences, Part 02
-by Nati_A

McKay slumped down onto his bunk, stunned. He'd always suspected Goldman's caustic behavior was due to jealousy over some quality the Lieutenant though he lacked, but now... now he knew different. Johnny risked his life shuttling the teams out into the bush; he bushed his ass daily and took risks that often benefited Team Viking. Usually, Goldman appreciated that, but today he only saw his friend as a self-serving sideliner.

He had a lot to think about after this verbal barrage. He should be angry, but he'd grown a thick skin. He pissed people off with his unwavering optimism and distinct McKay charm. He'd also expected the fight, but usually the things Goldman yelled were a bit more impersonal. Deep down, he was truly hurt by the tirade, but he knew that holding this against his friend would serve no purpose. Refusing to help him might actually do the most harm.

This insane schedule that Goldman was keeping had to stop. McKay wondered how much time his buddy had left to serve. He was beginning to think that despite all Myron had endured, he wouldn't make it to the end without burning out. If Stringer kept using him for his own personal whipping boy, Johnny didn't think Myron had much chance at all.

After a few minutes spent indecisively pacing, he decided that the best way to help was to give Goldman some personal space. The pilot grabbed his hat and headed out to help Purcell and Taylor search the base. Myron would cool off after a while and everything would return to normal... well, mostly normal. He admitted to himself, that he wasn't above using this little episode to coerce Goldman into something later.

Goldman stood under a tepid shower spray trying to let the cool water energize him. He really wanted a long hot soak, but knew that he'd end up asleep in the stall despite the slimy floor. He didn't have time for that right now. In the bush, he'd been running on adrenalin alone and that had long since dissipated. The nicotine rush from the smoke he'd had while walking across the base had helped, but it wasn't enough to sustain him for very long. That was the problem with stimulants like caffeine and nicotine; you built up a tolerance to then much too quickly.

Myron thought about a myriad of things: the previous mission, the upcoming mission, the letter he had to write home for his two KIA, the report that was expected by morning. He went over everything he could to avoid thinking about what he'd just said to McKay. Half of what he'd said he'd done purely for spite, and the other half... well, he knew a great deal of it was untrue. McKay was a good pilot; he was faithful to Team Viking; and he really did seem sincere when he offered to help.

Certain things McKay did were so against the grain of everything Goldman had been taught. His father had instilled a great many things into Myron at an early age. One of those things was the need for a respectable public demeanor. Officers did not act like McKay in his Father's Army. The pilot was the antithesis of everything Colonel Goldman identified as proper behavior for an officer. He was flirtatious, prideful, loud, devious, disrespectful of authority, and just plain irritating.

However, McKay was also one of the best pilots at Barnett, and his primary duty was to Team Viking. Goldman acknowledged that, and had been grateful for it on numerous occasions. But he also wanted to strangle the oblivious ass for so many other things he did. Myron had finally realized that most of his problems with the pilot were due t their conflicting personalities. He was beginning to realize that many were also due to the unattainable expectations hi father had browbeat into him when he was young and impressionable. Usually, he tried to see around the narrow filter of protocol that he'd grown up believing in, but sometimes it was hard.

Myron laughed aloud when he thought of his father here in this place. This was no gentleman's war; it was combat. It was a hellish place, and people died daily. With that harsh, ever- present reality, barely a handful of men here fit into his father's tidy standards. Hell, his most trusted friend was Zeke, and he knew his father would hate him if he'd been here two years ago. Myron had tried and almost succeeded in hating Anderson, but eventually the two had developed a strong partnership. Anderson had subtly (and sometimes not so subtly) molded his green, young lieutenant into a fine CO. Myron liked to believe Zeke at least had good source material to work with.

Colonel Goldman always prided himself on his ability to bond with his men and gain their support. Myron had secretly begun to believe fear had played a major role in his success at that endeavor. Either that, or his father treated his men with more kindness and understanding than he did his own family.

Myron couldn't envision his father gaining Taylor's respect or Ruiz's trust. He dreaded to think of how he'd have dealt with Hockenbury's pacifism or Baker's vegetarian lifestyle. He'd have dropkicked Purcell from the unit at the first indication of a drug problem. And Belle, lord only knew what he'd have down with there. No, his father would have culled the misfits from his platoon immediately, but it was the diversity that leant strength to Team Viking.

He may be his father's son, but he was slowly beginning to accept his life and judge the world around him on his own terms. He just needed to learn to give McKay the same breaks he did with everyone else.

Feeling slightly better with himself for having found the root of his anger, Goldman realized he'd spent far too much time in the showers. Cursing, he grabbed his things and made his way back to his hooch. At least he'd made arrangement for a jeep to be delivered before he dawdled in the shower. Hopefully, the guys wouldn't realize how distracted he really was. After-all, long periods of quiet introspection were a health hazard over here.

Taylor, Purcell, and Griner made their way to LT's room a few minutes earlier than he'd demanded. They'd looked everywhere they could think of for the little Puerto Rican and couldn't find him. A few people had seen him walking towards the West gate earlier. They didn't think Alberto was the sort of guy to go AWOL, but it looked like he'd slipped off despite orders to the contrary.

It was a good thing that the trio wasn't any earlier; otherwise, they'd have caught their CO scurrying about trying to get dressed. As it was, he was just sitting down onto the hood of the jeep to tie his boots, looking mildly annoyed. The men didn't realize that he was more angry with himself and the world around him, than with any of his men.

Taylor took a good long look at his CO and didn't like what he saw. He'd been in-country long enough to recognize when a man's mind took a vacation and his body continued to function without it. That got men killed, and it was extremely disconcerting to see it in his own LT. He'd have to try to see Sarge before tomorrow's mission; he'd know Goldman's 'normal' moods better than anyone.

Goldman looked exhausted. His eyes were shadowed and the dark circles normally hidden by greasepaint were plainly visible. He'd cleaned up and shaved, so he didn't look as grim as he had earlier in the day. However, Taylor did see one thing that he'd never noticed before. LT looked thin. He'd never paid much attention to his CO's physique, but he was a Sergeant now. He was supposed to look out for his men. Anderson considered the Lieutenant one of 'the men' and watched out for him like the rest. Marcus figured that his Sarge knew what he was doing; he'd lived through more than three tours. So he'd follow Anderson's lead and monitor the situation while Sarge was tied up in the Dispensary.

Goldman had never been a large man, but Taylor remembered the first look they'd gotten at him when he showed up. He'd still had a boyish look about him with softer features and a bright face. Now, he'd lost that. His face was leaner and more angular. His body had been pared down; it was all long lines and wiry strength. He didn't look ill so much as tired, so Taylor couldn't quite pinpoint what was wrong. He just knew something was off, he could feel it. That feeling was rarely wrong; it'd saved his hide on more than one occasion.

"LT, man. No luck. Lotsa people've seen him ov'r near the West Gate." Taylor reported. "But we couldn't find him anywhere."

"Alright. Load it up. We'll head into town and look around quietly. We don't even know if he's run off; hell, we don't ever know if he's off base, do we?"

"Nah, sir. Guards didn't see him leave. Nobody's seen him for hours though," Danny replied. "I don't... I don't think he'd run out on us, but he's short..." he hesitated.

"I know. I don't want to believe it either. But he's real superstitious sometimes, and with everything that's happened... being MIA, loosing his girl, then all this..." Goldman waved his arm as if to indicate everything around him. "...this shit with Fontaine. Anything's possible. Let's move." Goldman hopped down from the hood and climbed behind the wheel.

Griner stood there quietly through the discussion. Since loosing Belle, he'd felt a bit alone with these guys. He wasn't entirely sure why they were searching for someone that wasn't technically missing. As far as he could tell, Ruiz just wasn't hanging with his buddies tonight.

He didn't understand what all the fuss was about, and would rather be catching a nap than helping with this pointless search. However, Griner simply accepted what the guys said and did as he was told; it was safer that way. He was slowly being included in their little family, and he didn't want to endanger that. He hopped up into the jeep next to Danny and hung on as Goldman tore off towards town, leaving a swath of brown dust in his wake.

McKay got back to the hooch in time to see Goldman dash off with a loaded jeep. He resisted the urge to shout after them, knowing that Myron had seen him coming. Goldman had fled before his guys were even fully settled in. He'd thought the new one, Griner, was going to tumble out the back when the vehicle suddenly lurched forward.

It looked like his bunkmate wasn't quite ready to face him yet. He was either too angry, too embarrassed, or just too damn proud. McKay didn't pretend to understand Goldman, but he did read him pretty well at times. Right now, he was firmly in denial-mode. If he didn't have to acknowledge the problem, then he didn't have to deal with it. It was funny to see a platoon leader avoid confrontation, but he guessed that Myron had to fight enough in the war itself. He was allowed to run from some things, even if it was usually only his roommate.

McKay thought for a moment and decided on a new course of action. He could always get another jeep and follow the group into town, but he didn't think Myron would appreciate that right now. Instead, he'd head over to the Dispensary and talk to Anderson. He figured he'd touched base with the Sergeant, then he'd go see Stringer. If he reported his concerns, especially if Anderson echoed them, maybe the Colonel would consider sending out a different team out on tomorrow's mission.

It wasn't the best plan in the world, and he was certain Goldman would burst a blood vessel if he knew someone was challenging his fitness for duty, but the pilot just didn't care. He'd endure another tongue lashing without batting an eye, as long as his friend was able to do it himself.

[TBC...]