The Ghost of Him |WWII Frerard AU|

-52-

"Ah, just the two I wanted to see.  Mind if I cut in for a minute?"

Both Patrick and Pete glance up as I enter the room.  It's a quaint little room tucked away in the back of an old church, one we turned into a makeshift hospital ward during our travels.  Thankfully, not many of the rooms are filled up, but just to make sure Patrick's miraculous recovery is as smooth as possible, we decided to give him a small room of his own.

"Not at all,"  he says with a warm smile, gesturing for me to come in with his good arm.  The other is wrapped in a flimsy cloth sling.  Ryan had said that if he limited his movement in his left arm, then the stitches in his shoulder would heal much faster; who wouldn't want that?

Sometimes I still marvel at his recovery.  He lost so much blood in that clearing. I thought for sure that it was the end of the line, but after Ryan dug out those broken bullet pieces, he wrapped the wound up and rushed Patrick back to our camp.  By the time the rest of us returned, he was already a brand new person, just like that.  His skin was back to its normal color.  A smile was back on his face.  It was like he'd never been shot.  It was insane.  I still can't quite wrap my head around it.

Nonetheless, I can't be more relieved at the fact that he's alive and well.  I don't know what we would've done if that night had turned sour.  The thought of it alone is enough to make me sick to my stomach.

As for Colonel Dobie's men, they managed to make it back to their own camp unharmed.  I overhead that Colonel Dobie met up with them after escaping the impromptu fight that no one put an end to.

That's probably for the best, though.  We were clearly outnumbered in that dark sea of trees, and I wouldn't want to lose anyone in a battle that couldn't be won.

"What's up?"  Pete asks.  I don't think he's left Patrick's bedside since he was put in this little room, but not that I blame him.  If it had been Mikey or Frank back in that clearing, I would've lost my mind.  He's handling the whole situation pretty well, considering his closest friend could've very easily bled out that terrible night.  I'm proud of him.

"Armstrong wants a small patrol to scan the perimeter of the town before twilight,"  I say.  "He told me to get you out of the church for a little while, so here I am."

Pete exchanges a glance with Patrick, a faint smile still painted on his tired face.  "What, he doesn't think spending an entire week inside is healthy?"  he jokes, but he doesn't hesitate to rise to his feet with a colossal stretch.  "All right, fine.  I'll tag along."

"It won't take long,"  I reassure.  "You'll be back in this stuffy little room before you know it, doing whatever it is you two were doing."

It's nearly impossible for me to bite back a smile when I see a tint of pink flush onto both of their cheeks.

"Don't party too hard while we're gone, Patrick,"  I say with a simper as Pete joins me at my side.  "We'll be back soon."

"I'll be here,"  he replies, a feeble smile of his own lighting up his flushed face.

I do believe I've found myself a conversation to strike up during our evening patrol.

*  *  *  *  *

The setting sun paints the sky with magnificent hues of honey, rouge, and mauve, and it decorates the earth like an elegant watercolor.  Traces of wispy clouds look like lilac swirls of strewn cotton candy, so tantalizing that it makes me want to reach up and take a chunk right out of the dazzling sky.  It's a beautiful evening, one I've never quite experienced before, and a small part of me wants it to go on forever.