Author's note: For the second challenge at gossipink on livejournal. My prompt was "perjury" (lying under oath).

IF EVER YOUR FAITH STARTS CRASHING DOWN

Part One: Down Range

Gunfire rained down. Bullets punched holes into banging metal and screeched through like gusts of wind past their ears. The stench of gun powder permeated the air, scalding his lungs.

Nate ducked as a bullet whizzed past over his head, missing its mark though not by far. Blood pumped hard and fast in his veins beneath his sweat-soaked camos. Dirt and grime stuck like glue to his face, an irritant that doubly chafed under the hot burn of the sun. He'd forgotten both a long time ago.

Crawling for cover behind the corner of a mostly blown brick hut, he then inhaled deeply, slowing his heartbeat, and peered around the corner on the other side.

All clear.

Nate took off, reaching the other hut just as pops exploded around his feet. Swinging his Colt around, he responded in kind automatically, instinctively, the bullets nearly grazing their quickly retreating mark but missing in his thudding-heartbeat retreat.

Just stay alive, he repeated to himself like a mantra. Except fate had plans that didn't involve answering his requests. The good thing was that he felt the movement. The bad thing was that he was too late anyway.

The blank punched into his side hard and he fell right there, gun forgotten. "Motherfucker!" Nate hissed, clutching himself. The damn thing would leave a baseball-sized bruise all week. He already felt it blooming.

Painted face stayed there shaking his head and grinning a second. "Too easy, man, too easy."

"Suck a dick, asshole," Nate gritted between his clenched teeth. Blood pumped right where it hurt and he felt it all acutely.

"Sorry, too busy," the other trainee grinned. "Got people to pop, a practice to finish, all that jazz." And with that, he was gone.

And Nate was dead. Crying fucking shame of his team.

***

Nate made designated marksman, which was the next best thing to a full-blown sniper. How the hell he got the title he had no idea. He'd gone hunting with Grandfather and his cousin Tripp several times as a kid, but he'd never once nailed an accurate shot. Then again, here there was no one breathing down his neck to accomplish perfection. If anything, Sergeant McMahon hadn't cared one way or another whether he made it out of training alive or not.

Seemed like recriminations – is this what the US Army's come down to, you nancies? Can't do a damn thing without some mommy figure cuddling you, huh, bunch of worthless little pricks? You're not damned fit to protect your goddamn country – worked like a charm on Nate's determination. Who would have known some shaking up was all he needed?

One shot, one kill, Nate told himself for the umpteenth time as he nailed the distant bull's eye again. Then he grinned in the creeping dusk. "Sweet." What better way to celebrate Sarge's grudging approval than to ditch the mess party and do this with other evening shooters?

Back in New York, his friends and family probably still couldn't believe his impulsive act, but Nate… No regrets. At all.

Damn, but he felt great about it all. Finally felt his skin loosen around his bones with relief and a sense of keen belonging.

***

Desert nights were cold, contrary to popular belief. The sun and the blistering heat that came with it simply disappeared come sundown, and as the dunes provided little relief and the lack of clouds failed to trap any residual heat, desert nights were especially cold for sweating, overworked bodies.

Yet this was not why he shivered or why he couldn't sleep. A true New Yorker at heart, he could have withstood the weather and dealt with it accordingly. Even folded into himself and with his army-issued blanket wrapped around himself up to his neck, he felt the cold penetrate insidiously into his very bones.

Private Joe Miller from Kentucky had been one of those younger guys, like him. First trip of his life, apparently. Five feet eight of badly wrapped excitement, out to prove something to the world and enthusiastic to the core. He'd even made Nate feel old and used up sometimes.

Oh yeah, let's take over this motherfucking town, baby. We can do it, guys, we can!

They could, and they did. Only, Joey had gone in headfirst but without his head. Bullet whizzed in, out, and Joe still rambled on as the corpsman attempted to stave off the blood rushing from the gaping wound.

Joey had bled to death, but not before he talked his head off through his sobs.

Nate still heard him now, the horror fraying his legendary cool. Ironic, considering his current shivers. Grief was a luxury around these parts. He would do well to remember that. Joe would not be the last, and the training had happened for a reason.

He would never be so easy a target again. Ever.

Nate closed his eyes, chasing sleep and another day of purpose.

***

He sometimes thought of home, past opportunities that smelled rank, turn-about decision made on a dime, and the people he left behind. Wondered how they fared, if they missed him, if they even still thought of him at all.

It'd been weeks since he'd touched base, longer still since he'd flown in from overseas. People tended to give up trying to stay in touch after a while. He only called his mother when he could, these days. Didn't talk much, couldn't say much, but it was a grip on some essential part of himself and it was enough to keep going on and looking for the real Nate Archibald underneath that had seemed so elusive many months ago but now seemed at arm's reach.

Lately he felt different. Guys took to calling him Tiger a few months ago, before A-stan. Crouching low, patient, quiet, almost lazy they said, but sleek when needed. He could outwait anyone. Could piss in his damn fatigues if it got him a shot at the end of the day. Or days.

Different. Nate knew he didn't inherently belong to this world of death and stifling heat, but these guys, no matter how people back home would balk at their crude manners and speech… they were the closest thing to home he had right now. Had seen too much together to ever forget the bond. He knew he never would.

It was okay to puke; it was okay to cry; it was okay to curse the very world itself; it was okay to hate everything under the sun because all that ever seemed to prevail down here was destruction. It was even okay to hate the war and wonder if it was even needed. In the end, humans would be humans and no one, not even the staunchest patriot, was immune to the horrors of the world or the horrors of their own doing. The strongest, though, those who picked themselves up and rooted for the mental blanket that allowed them to go on… those were the survivors, the veterans who came home maybe not whole and/or hearty, but alive in every aspect that truly mattered.

Grief was a luxury in these parts, but not prohibited. It healed, if anything.

Nate knew he would never be the same man that he had left several months ago in Manhattan. Grandfather could bite his ass. See if he cared.

***

He sat in the jet blackness and cradled the butt of his M16 – the designated watchman, as it were – while the rest of the squad grabbed some well-deserved shut-eye. Next was Vinnie's turn, and Nate could tell the guy's rest was in fact restless. Nothing much he could do about it.

Yawning, he trained his NVG's – night vision goggles – back onto the open stretch of sand beyond the little deserted oasis they were calling home for the night before daylight hit and they resumed their trek to the next town to secure. Nothing called to attention. He hunched deeper into the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and shifted infinitesimally against the thin palm tree trunk at his back. A little more weight, however, and the thing would crack and it'd be the least of his worries when eight men trained huge submachine guns on him.

Better than being choked to death if he woke one of them the wrong way, though, that was for damn sure. People got jittery around here.

He did, too. God knew it was a blessing as well as a curse.

***

He seldom dreamt anymore but when he did he saw sunshine. Softer than here. The light kind, like a balmy summer in the Hamptons spent frolicking at the beach in the gently rolling waves.

In his rare dreams he was nine and the sunshine laughed and filled him with the sort of freedom, happiness and lightness he'd envied so much in others all his life.

Daylight, harsh and forbidding, woke him now with emptiness stuck in his throat. Another day, another step into a world bitter with dirty greed on any side he looked, it seemed. Nate briefly pondered whether there even was a right kind of greed. He certainly had brushed up against all kinds in his life. It came with the van der Bilt name.

"Four days and a wake up to gettin' out of Dodge, Tiger," morning bird on his right informed him with a jolly wink and full caveman beard before digging into his rucksack for breakfast: dehydrated bread, peanut butter and jelly, and coffee. He'd keep the rest of the MRE – Meal, Ready-to-Eat – for later. Nate couldn't fucking wait for a real meal and lights out on a cot for a day or two. Oh, and a shave. He couldn't wait to get the itch off his face.

Before JFK delivered him to New York City.

"Yeah…" Nate murmured, suddenly unsettled by the thought. He drew himself up, blinked at the sunlight already pounding the sand. "Yeah, that'll be…" He trailed off. Hadn't considered his tour would be over so soon. Hadn't counted the days. He'd believed it would jinx the entire thing somehow.

Fuck him, he was going home.

***

Part Two: Real World

Serena stretched languidly on the floatable, letting the sun kiss her moist skin and warm her bones beneath.

It's only stress, she repeated to herself in a chiding tone. She could make it, she really could. If she could forget the fact that she'd be taking a giant leap of faith. In herself. Third time was a charm, right?

"We'll call each other every week," Blair was saying, sipping her strawberry smoothie – with a dash of gin for good measure – as she rambled and made tall plans as only she knew how. "You shouldn't be staying in a dorm, though. I swear those dormers are out to get us, but you'll of course figure it out soon enough and then you can thank me too late and tell me all about your new apartment away from those deranged plebeians."

"Uh huh," Serena filled in the expectant silence.

Blair tapped her chin thoughtfully, oblivious to her friend's lack of enthusiasm. "I'm sure I can wrangle a flight with the Bass jet from Chuck if things get tough for you. I'm only a phone call away, you know." Finally she looked over brightly, excitement oozing out of her in spades. "Oh, I'm so happy for you, Serena. Don't you dare back out this time!"

Serena was spared the trouble of figuring out what to respond with – uh, I'll try not to? – by the familiar musical ring of Blair's cellphone. Picking it up eagerly – probably hoping it was Chuck leaving a meeting in New York early – she then frowned at the small display window and answered guardedly. "Hello?" Then naked surprise shot into her face. "Nate?"

Surprised, Serena scooted over close to Blair, leaning in to listen, and heard Nate's faint but recognisable voice, garbled by wave interference. "Do you know where Chuck is? I tried to call him just now."

"Chuck's in a meeting right now. He can't take calls," Blair replied, still with that peculiar, curious expression. "What's… Where are you?"

Nate's deep chuckle shot over the airwaves. It shot through Serena, tearing a smile from her, though she detected restraint in his demeanor even over the phone. "I just got back. Home's empty and everyone's unreachable but you. Even my mom."

"She's in France with some friends," Blair imparted, ever in the loop of things.

"I know." The words didn't sound anything like an accusation, but obviously he'd kept in touch with his mother and… Blair hadn't, Serena could tell from her face, and neither had she. Or Chuck, it seemed. Some friends they were. She could really smack herself stupid right now.

"How… how are you?" Blair asked, guilt constricting her throat a tad. "You should come over. We're in the Hamptons."

"We?" he repeated curiously. Serena noticed he hadn't answered the question.

"Serena and I," Blair retorted as though it should be obvious. Then she added, meaning to convince him, "We're at Cece's."

There was a long silence as Nate considered Blair's offer. Serena held her breath, and so did Blair. Had they irremediably ruined a friendship with their lack of support and communication?

"Sure," Nate said at length. "I'll take the Jitney out of the city and meet you tomorrow."

The girls made a sudden, resounding sound of glee. "Chuck should be back tomorrow night," Blair said excitedly. "It'll be like old times! Oh my God, Nate, it's been so long. I can't wait to see you!"

The phone call soon ended, and the girls were left to trade guesses as to how much Nate had changed since he'd left New York a little over a year ago. Yet when Blair left the sun to retire and get things ready inside for Nate's homecoming tomorrow, Serena stayed behind to take a dip in the pool. Reveling in the lazy strokes and the sun playing bright havock on the blue pool floor, Serena relaxed and let her thoughts wander back to Nate.

How are you? Did you find what you were looking for?

***

Delegated to the task of welcoming and picking up Nate while Blair fretted over last-minute details with Cece's staff, Serena waited for the Jitney to empty with a kicking heart and music playing on the radio to keep from tapping her foot nervously. Instead, her fingernails tapped the beat against the hood.

Would she even recognise him? Everyone said the war changed people, in good and bad ways. Had he been injured? Would he still smile the same crooked smile, genuine and wistful at once?

Finally, familiar eyes sought her out, and she startled at the short-cropped sun-kissed hair, burnished golden skin and lean but subtly powerful build of his body. His cheeks were paler than the rest of his skin; he'd obviously not had time to shave overseas until just recently. He made eye contact, lifting a large rucksack over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing, and then making his way patiently amid the chaos of leaving and boarding passengers. T-shirt stretched over his broader chest and biceps that had seen slimmer days and old jeans slung comfortably over his hips, he reached the passenger side of her car and then greeted her a little awkwardly. "Hi."

"Hi," Serena replied automatically, a little shocked at the… well… this. She'd readied herself for differences but the real deal just commanded attention to all the new, small details that made the entire image of her childhood friend completely new. "Wow, sorry, it's just…" She pushed off the hood of her car, welcoming him in her arms. He even felt different. Harder, though he didn't use any of that strength on her. A stranger, and yet those eyes and that quiet presence were all the Nate she'd always known. "Welcome back," she murmured, holding him within the circle of her arms and feeling… confused. "How was the ride?"

"A blur," he replied with a light chuckle. "I dozed off every once in a while but then something would wake me."

Serena moved back. Somehow she sensed that had been a load of information, said so benignly. But she didn't dwell on it, especially when he rubbed his neck and looked away. Or so she told herself. "How long do you have here?" she changed the subject, though desperately wanting to keep on it.

"I have roughly a month's leave. I'm due back on base afterward. Fort Bragg," he added, volunteering the information freely even as he dumped his heavy back on the backseat of her convertible.

Serena got the subtle message and climbed behind the wheel in time with Nate. After a few minutes rolling through the village in silence, she glanced over to him, still mystified with… him. He watched the landscape with a small nostalgic smile, hungry eyes taking it all in as though he was rediscovering the country. "You like it in the army?" she asked suddenly, out of the blue.

Flicking a frank, piercing gaze to her, Nate smiled a little broader. "I'm good, Serena. Yeah, I do."

How? she wanted to ask, but once again didn't pry. One thing she was good at was understanding without needing a questionnaire's worth of answers. Some things simply were, and for others they might not make sense but no one could take those realities away. He was genuinely happy, and whether it made no rhyme or reason to her didn't matter.

"I hear you're trying Brown again," Nate ventured carefully, leaving her all the room to breathe.

Serena winced. "I figure this is the last time."

His piercing eyes bore into hers, seeming to consider her answer. "Do you want it?" he asked, and his question hit loudly within her, making her squirm with the near-intimacy of the question.

She gripped the steering wheel hard, keeping her eyes trained fiercely on the winding road to the heart of the Hamptons, to the heart of peace and quiet. "Yes."

"Then this time's the right one," he said simply, confidently.

Her chest filled and she wanted to cry but, most of all, she wanted to believe the boy who'd become a man when no one had been looking.

***

The shriek preceded the petite body and artfully curled dark hair out the door. "Nate!" Then the blur fairly collided with the wall of soft stone that was Nate's chest.

Barely winded at all, Nate patted Blair awkwardly between the shoulder blades but didn't let go immediately.

"Oh, how are you?" Blair went on again, dragging him into the living room with its waiting glasses of champagne and the wide array of tiny hors-d'œuvres… all his favourites. "When I heard you'd been sent overseas…" She blinked, shaking her head in consternation, but quickly covered it up with a cheerful grin. "But you're back!"

"I am back," Nate agreed, a bit overwhelmed at all the attention.

Blair shoved the hors-d'œuvre tray into his face. "Are you hungry? I had all your favourites cooked. I helped, too, you know."

"Really? Um, I ate on the way." Seeing the look of dismay on her face, he visibly changed his mind on a tailspin. "But these look delicious." Nate helped himself to a crusty, mini chicken pot pie, though he doubted Blair had done more than put the things in the oven and punch in the necessary digits. The thought had been there, though.

"This is good," he managed between two bites, and the happy glow on her face was enough, just enough, to feel just like old times when things were simple.

***

The water lapped at her feet, cool though touched by warmth, sluicing between her painted toes as she watched the play of light upon the surface. Time seemed to stretch on forever, a welcome balm for her nerves. More time, more time…

"There you are," Nate's quiet voice startled her out of her reverie. He hadn't even made a sound as he approached, testament to his newly-acquired skills. He joined her at the water's edge, removing his old sneakers and socks and dipping his feet next to hers. "I was wondering where you'd gone."

Serena looked over guiltily. "Sorry," she said, coloring under his polite scrutiny. "I must have seemed rude. I just needed…" She trailed off awkwardly, frustrated with herself, with her weakness.

Nate's smile was kind, patient, exactly as he'd always been. "To be away," he finished for her, gently kicking up crystalline water with a bare foot. "It's okay. Everyone needs downtime."

"You make it sound so easy," she accused softly, uncertain if he'd even heard. "To figure things out and take charge of life."

He shook his head, proving he'd heard every word. "It wasn't. It's not," he admitted, turning to her and gazing intently into her face. "But if you're scared and you let it take over, you're already handing your gun over." Sadly he brushed a hand through her hair, the rough calluses on his skin a stark contrast to his light touch. "It's okay to be scared, Serena."

"Were you? Over there?" she blurted out without thinking.

His eyes flickered, expression shuttering for an instant. Then he drew in a deep breath and seemed to plunge onwards. "The sane ones are," he answered enigmatically, almost dispassionately. Yet a far-off emotion played within his eyes.

How are you, Nate? she wanted to ask, scream, even, but couldn't for the life of her form the words aloud. Not when the air felt so heavy with something she couldn't describe with words.

"I'm sorry," Serena mumbled, moving to stand, because it was just too much now. Too much to think of what he'd gone through for all of them.

Nate's palm on her thigh suddenly stopped her movement, and she held her breath, at a loss. He tugged her into a one-armed embrace, yielding to her touch.

"It's okay. I'm fine, Serena."

Serena drew back, staring into the murky grey-blue pools of his eyes, and she knew instantly that he lied. She didn't reply, though, and watched as awareness of her knowledge seep subtly into his expression. Nate clamped his mouth shut and said nothing more as she gently disentangled herself and prepared to leave.

***

He didn't have to. Blair's second shriek of the day startled them both, followed by a giggle and a low voice that Nate could have recognised anywhere. With a parting, anxious glance at Serena, Nate escaped back inside to greet Chuck, who had evidently finished up a little earlier and translated this joy into a very intimate kiss hello to his girlfriend.

The smooching stopped as soon as he made his presence known, and Blair pulled back, smiling at Nate as he clasped Chuck's hand as though he hadn't seen it heading south of Blair's collar. "Hey, my man, how are you?" Sometimes it was just better to ignore life's strange inevitabilities. Like two abnormally deranged people finding love together.

"Business, business, and none of your business," Chuck replied easily, followed by a wink and subtle squeeze intended for an eye-rolling Blair. "Business finished earlier today, so here I am. I got your message that you were back on the ride over. So?"

The question mark hung between them, asking so much that Nate wasn't sure where to start answering. He supposed he should begin with the beginning of his supposed "random decision", as many people had at first called his decision to serve.

"So I enlisted."

"No shit," Chuck huffed impatiently. "How was it?"

Nate shrugged. "Training was a boot camp like in the movies."

Blair interjected, looking already horrified. And he hadn't even gotten to the bad parts. "In the rain? In the mud?" She looked him over thoroughly, obviously intending to find a smudge he might have missed all those many months ago. She'd have more chance of finding a fleck of sand as it was, but no, he'd showered. Back in A-stan. With running water! Ah, base amenities.

"I think it rained once or twice, yeah," he admitted, shrugging it off because, to be honest, there were and had been worse things.

Chuck slowly grinned, all teeth and his special brand of warmth mixed with amusement. "I still can't believe it. My Nathaniel's all grown up with a real bad ass gun in his hands." Turning to Blair, he explained though she probably didn't care, "He always used to beat me at Halo."

As Blair sniffed her distaste for the game, Nate grinned and turned on the pomp even more for the occasion. "Paid off. I'm a sniper. Or the closest thing to."

Chuck's jaw went slack. "You're kidding me," he guffawed, then clapped his friend on the back. "Well in that case, my young padawan, proud of you I am."

Chuckling, Nate shook his head at his antics. "Padawan my ass, fucker."

"He even talks like a grunting, blaspheming Cro-Magnon soldier," Chuck mused, visibly delighted by Nate's new army-speak. "Aw, you guys have swearing matches in the showers? You scrub me and I'll fuck you to Monday?" Chuck's cheek was rewarded with a punch on each shoulder. One definitely hurt more than the other dainty one. "Ow! Oh come on, tell me it didn't happen," he challenged.

"You are deranged, my friend."

Chuck sniffed. "I'm realistic." Then he paused, sobering as he rubbed the sore spot Nate had hit. "So…" he prompted, trailing off meaningfully.

The effect was instantaneous. Nate's good-natured smile fled, replaced by not-quite shadows. Cleverly hidden shadows. "So I'm back in one piece." He shrugged his nonchalance.

Chuck stared a moment longer, then nodded imperceptibly, the unspoken manspeak received loud and clear. I don't want to talk about it, Nate's words had meant. Grabbing Blair's hand, Chuck tugged her up the staircase after him, leaving Nate to his thoughts and corpses. This time.

Serena melted back into the sunshine. Next time… Next time he'd talk…

***

The farthest door thudded gently shut behind the exhausted couple. Serena glanced up from her book, straining to see out in the hall dimly lit by her bedside lamp. She squinted… A tiny shaft of light from the guest bedroom across from hers showed in the darkness. Nate had left the door slightly ajar. No sounds came from within. Either he had fallen asleep with the lights on or he was, like her, letting sleep do its liberally insomniac thing.

Serena marked the page, rolling to the balls of her feet to pad to the door. It creaked infinitesimally as she pushed it further open to accommodate her body, and she slipped out, padding again barefoot across to Nate's door.

Peering inside, she told herself she only wanted to check on him. Maybe he had nightmares. Maybe he'd tanked out and forgotten to turn off the light. Maybe he was wide awake.

On first glance, he didn't look awake. Laying on the still-made bed, one arm behind his head and the other on his slowly rising and falling chest, the angle told her his eyes were closed. He truly looked asleep, though in an awkward, too-stiff position to be comfortable. But then he cocked his head, pegging her with clear, perceptive eyes. "Serena?"

Blowing out a startled breath, Serena pushed the door open. "I saw your light," she explained with a hot flush that hopefully didn't show in the dimness. "I wanted to check on you, see if you were sleeping." Then she added, because it would lighten the mood, "Wouldn't be good to have you sleep-walking in the middle of the night."

Nate sat up, twisting his body to face her, and rubbed his eyes. "I'm still jet-lagged," he said, before his gaze cut to the clock on the nightstand beside him. "What are you still doing up?"

Serena shifted nervously on her feet. Aware of his piercing eyes taking in the thin material of her nightgown and her long legs peeking beneath. "I was reading. What time is it?"

"Oh three hundred. You went upstairs hours ago." Despite the words, there was only concern in them. "Can't sleep?"

"Yeah," Serena breathed, rubbing her arms from the chill she felt suddenly. Was it being alone with him after his transformation? Was it… Brown? She gulped. Most likely. Three's a charm, three's a charm, three's a charm, she chanted to herself for the umpteenth time.

Nate scooted sideways, patting the bed beside him. "Come here," he invited gently. Serena slowly complied, sitting down woodenly and bringing her gaze up to his. There was such open frankness there… "Tell me what scares you, S. About Brown." His warm hand slid up her back and under the heavy curtain of her hair, encouraging and soothing at once.

Serena ducked her head, shame filling her, and drew her knees up to her chest, the long fabric of her nightgown draping over her ankles. she rested her head on her knees as Nate methodically smoothed his hand over her back. "What if I'm not worth it? What if… you all change… and I don't?" Biting her lip, Serena restrained the barrage that would have spurted forth. She… couldn't meet his gaze. He'd stopped rubbing her back, and she feared there would be disdain there from this soldier for anything weak in his midst. But then he tugged her into his arms, warmth engulfing her, and she went willingly, so willingly.

"Serena…" He sighed, the sound one of deep regret. "You'll always be worth it. Always." He was silent a moment, during which he pulled away just enough to see her face. There, he took a deep breath, plunging into waters he hadn't planned to revisit again. "I wondered the same, you know. Whether I'd made a mistake to join the Armed Forces. Told myself I was an idiot and I'd never make it, until I realised that this was what everyone, including myself, had expected of me. Failure.

"That drilling sergeant was an asshole, but when I woke up at 0400 that second morning, I ran those goddamn miles and I did that obstacle course because I wanted the satisfaction to say in your face to everyone who'd thought I wasn't cut out for this. And you know what?" He paused, fierce and unyielding expression splitting into a beautiful, sunny smile. "It's worth it. I'm worth it."

Serena's chest filled up at his words and the conviction behind them. God, and she'd also dropped her jaw when she first heard he'd made it. It had been such an unexpected surprise. But look at him now.

Nate wasn't done. Holding her face and her gaze, making sure she was listening to him, he added in a low voice, "And everybody changes. Experiences make you grow, realise you've made mistakes, review who you are and what you've become. I'm definitely not the same person I was a little over a year ago."

She didn't want to ask, she didn't want to ask, she didn't want to ask… "I know," she whispered instead.

He swallowed audibly. "You'll come back from Brown a different woman," he said softly, studying her face as though committing its lines and curves to memory. "But don't ever lose your sunshine, Serena. Please."

The latter had been barely a husky murmur, but the breath was nevertheless knocked out of her lungs at the fierceness and supplication behind his words.

Leaning into the heat of his palms on her cheeks, Serena breathed, "I won't."

"Good. Because…" Nate's eyes followed the wandering touch of his fingers on her lip, then met hers, dark and yearning.

On impulse, she met him halfway, her mouth flattening against his in a frenzied wet collision that brought well-buried memories to the fore.

"Serena…" Nate moaned between bruising kisses, his tongue licking across the column of her neck as he lowered her onto his bed. "God. You kept me alive through it all."

Words that made her head swim and her heart thud painfully against her ribs as she welcomed the hot press of his body over her.

Oh…

***

Daylight crept into the guest bedroom the next… she supposed it was late morning. Footsteps had long come and gone down the hall and downstairs while she'd dozed somewhere between wakefulness and unconsciousness. The dimly lit cocoon of warm limbs and soft sheets had thus been left undisturbed for the remainder of the morning until pajama'ed legs moved and satin-covered bodies stretched luxuriously into each other. Sleepy eyes peeked into sleepy eyes.

"Morning," Serena murmured from her warm spot against Nate's side.

Nate needed only crane his neck a little bit, but he greeted her without words, lingering a moment against her mouth before drawing back and smiling in return.

"You okay?" she asked, brushing back a lock of his hair that had fallen into his eyes. Overseas, he'd told her, regulations weren't so strict. Overseas, too, reality wasn't a piece of cake.

It was true that Nate had changed. Shadows haunted his eyes, but unbelievable strength lay there as well. "Right now," he said, stroking her satin-covered back, "yeah."

And it was the truth.

"Thank you," Serena said, her heart somewhere in her throat or perhaps even in her eyes, "for letting me in."

He'd told her everything, or at least what he was willing or able to say of his so-vivid memories. As for her, she'd lain there and listened to Nate open his heart to her – she doubted he'd ever confided his deepest troubles to anyone – and held his hand through his morbid but sometimes lovely tale. Friends' deaths, little kids' lives saved, good time with the boys, blood on his hands… All of it.

"Thank you." Nate's heartfelt voice and his hand in her hair brought her back into the very alive man whose lazy smile evaporated the dreary and reeled in the sunshine in her bones.

She would be fine, too.

Author's note: I would like to dedicate this to my brother-in-law whose dedication to our country means the world. Not everyone is cut out for this life. Also, to Amy for sticking by him when the real going gets tough. Being an army wife is no piece of cake. Now here comes the gritty:

"Down range" is an expression for physically being in a combat zone. "Real world" is the equivalent of a return to civilian life.

My sister complains that everyone on base says "fuck/fucking" every other word. It's quite funny.

"all that jazz" : I'm sorry, I really had to do it. I watched Chicago way too many times. I swear I hear the song whenever someone says it in the vicinity.

A "designated marksman" is an unofficial sniper, meaning he didn't take the full course, but can mark pretty damn well. An M16 is a sniper rifle. I'd originally marked it as an MP5, but with research I found out those are used almost exclusively by the US Navy.

"is this what the US Army's come down to, you nancies? Can't do a damn thing without some mommy figure cuddling you, huh, bunch of worthless little pricks? You're not damned fit to protect your goddamn country" : watch Full Metal Jacket. No, really. And now I have "sucky sucky" stuck in my head. Thank you so fucking much.

"A-stan" is short-speak for Afghanistan. Armies are infamous for their overload of acronyms, expressions and abbreviations: BDU's, camos/fatigues, FUBAR, HUA, MEDEVAC, PT, MP, AWOL, ACU, etc.

"Better than being choked to death if he woke one of them the wrong way." FYI: Wake a sleeping soldier on tour or shortly after a tour overseas by touching their foot. Prodding their chests or even leaning close will get you in a bad place, fast, without their meaning to. Unfortunately, my sister made the mistake once. She learned her lesson.

I have eaten MRE's several times. It's pretty awesome. I do however understand the whining about please can we get real food?

I'm no expert on weaponry or anything, but through connections *points up and to the next paragraph* I get to hear or read snippets of information every once in a while about the technicalities of various things. Hooah! ;)

In the past few months, I've been gushing and waxing poetic about two series of books in particular that both have the same genre in common: military romance, with a focus on Navy SEALs especially. Two very talented authors are at the helm of these books: Marliss Melton and Suzanne Brockmann. I would say that perhaps Brockmann's are grittier in the romance aspect and perhaps involve more overseas action than Melton's, but tbh I'm happy to read any book by either. Anyway, if you didn't know that my brother-in-law is in the military profession (it's not like I wax poetic about men in uniform - I enjoy military movies and I respect the hell out of people I meet on base and elsewhere, but I'm no fangirl), then this might have been a hint to you. Unless you just skipped over my reviews ;) But yes, I was inspired by these awesome women.

Finally, the title for this fic was inspired by One Republic's song "All Fall Down". The words are in fact either "if ever your world starts crashing down" or "if ever your will starts crashing down". Though I did think the song relates well to Serena's fear, I wanted to focus especially on her faith here, or lack thereof, and Nate's will and faith in himself as well as in her. I had a lot of trouble coming up with a title, and in fact I had a lot of trouble with this fic, period. No problem writing it, per se, but fitting in my prompt was no riot. Argh!

So, yeah, I wanted to write something where Nate gets to get off his pretty hiney and become something else than a manwhore on speed. I also wanted to draw away from a primary Chuck/Blair relationship. Been there, done that, wanted to surprise! I have written this type of thing before, and I had been desperately trying to weave it a bit into the Gossip Girl world. Somehow, I always came back to Nate as the most likely one to make it into the army. Yeah, yeah, I know Chuck's the one who was sent to military school in the books, but I hear he never made it there. Nate would, imo, if given the incentive. The pressure of the high life would be it, I think, for him. And I think he can be Serena's rock, if she'll let him.