Work Text:
Private First Class Cleary is sitting alone in what he assumes is the worst pub in Portsmouth, England, stewing with resentment because his constant "discipline problems" mean he never got promoted to Lance Corporal and his military career is doomed. A few too many drinks, a few drunken fistfights, his rage at some WM leading him on and he's gone from up-and-coming Marine to a disgrace with no real future, the same way he lost any hope of getting drafted into the NFL after not quite two seasons at SDSU.
He knows full well he won't be allowed to re-enlist when his contract is done in '09 so there's no point in trying, he's just waiting out the rest of his time coasting on bare minimum effort. His company First Sergeant is fed up and mostly just trying to assign him duties that keep him out of the way or he wouldn't have even been allowed to go on sea duty, never mind his dreams of going to one of the actual wars where at least he'd have something to brag about after he's discharged.
The resentment has receded a bit, at least temporarily, finally out from under the scrutiny of his platoon Staff Sergeant constantly ready to pounce on his next screwup, away from the overheard whispers of his so-called "brothers" calling him a shitbird behind his back, and he's had a few drinks in this dingy pub but here's this gorgeous woman who won't even give him the time of day despite his uniform and it's the last fucking straw.
He's almost boiling over and he follows her outside when she leaves but in the dark alleyway there's this pinching sensation and the next thing he knows he's... in the brig? In the infirmary, maybe, judging from the hospital gown?
No, he's definitely not aboard ship, the deck isn't moving with the familiar rhythm of the ocean swells; did he get arrested by the civvies? He can't remember but it doesn't seem likely, the fuckin' bobbies would've turned him over to the ship's contingent of military police to prevent an international incident. But where is this then?
It looks like what someone who's never been to the brig would imagine the brig is like, but he doesn't have that problem since he's been there more than once when some fuckin' swabbie pissed him off. The brig would be steel deck and bulkheads while this place is concrete on all but one side, and where the brig would have bars there's a clear wall of what's probably some kind of shatterproof polycarbonate. Where is this? He has no idea, but it's definitely trouble; same bullshit, different scenery.
Might as well go back to sleep on this cot that's honestly more comfortable than anything he's slept on during field exercises or at School of Infantry, and about equal to his cramped and claustrophobic bunk on the ship; awake or asleep, it's all just more "hurry up and wait" either way.