The Ghost of Him |WWII Frerard AU|

-26-

You know that feeling of regret after you do something you know you probably shouldn't have?

Yeah, that feeling is hitting me pretty hard right now, and it's taking the form of a splitting migraine.

As soon as I had returned to mild consciousness back in the field, it was just in time to see nearly every single drill sergeant in the camp breaking up the fight.  I barely even had a second to catch my breath before Sergeant Gioia rounded up Frank and me and sent us straight to his office.  Now here we are, more than likely awaiting the worst punishment of our lives.

Although, I'm starting to think my swollen nose and intense migraine is punishment enough.

I keep my gaze fixed on the floor, my stomach whirling and my vision still painted with faint spots.  I can hardly look around the room without feeling like I'm going to pass out again, or vomit all over my shoes.  Crawford got me good.  I'll admit that, but it doesn't mean he and his goons won.  I think Frank and I got the win.  Easily.

I can't think about it too much, though.  Too much thinking only makes my nausea worse.

My head in my hands and my nose caked with crusty blood, I take a deep breath as footsteps approach me.  When I dare to worsen my nausea and peek at whoever it is, I see that Frank is holding out a small ice pack; I take it without hesitation.

"Thanks,"  I grumble, wincing as I press it to my throbbing head.  God, it feels like my brain is trying to split itself in half.

"Don't mention it,"  Frank replies, his voice soft in the silence of the small office.  He heaves a sigh as he takes a seat next to me, his arms crossed over his chest.  He doesn't look too beaten up, other than a gash in his lip.  I must look like a trainwreck compared to him.

And just when I thought I was starting to get better at combat.  Damn.

I squeeze my eyes shut as another wave of violent nausea washes over me.  My ears ring, each rapid beat of my heart sending another pulse of pain to my head.  I don't think I've ever experienced so much agony before, and I'd give anything for it to go away.  I'm not sure how much longer I can put up with it.

As I take another deep, steady breath, trying to calm the hurricane in my stomach, I hear Frank let out a soft chuckle.  Even something as quiet as that seems to make my head pound harder.

"That was some fight,"  he remarks.  "I can't believe you took on three guys by yourself.  Well, at least for a minute, anyway.  Then it kinda went downhill."

"Shut the hell up, Frank."  I put more pressure on the ice pack as I swallow the bile threatening to rise in my throat.  "I don't feel good.  I'm really not in the mood for talking about how I got my ass kicked."

I hear him scoff, another piercing noise in my ringing eardrums.  "Someone doesn't handle a headache very well,"  he says, but his tone is lighthearted.  "No, I'm joking.  You did good for trying to fight three guys on your own.  You got a few good hits in, too, before you got knocked on your ass."

"You mean before that guy punched me out of consciousness,"  I correct, daring to open my eyes to raise an eyebrow at him.

A coy smirk passes over his face.  "See, when you say it like that, it sounds really harsh and lame,"  he says.  "More like....he sent you off to see Jesus for a few seconds.  That sounds a lot more entertaining."

"Well, I'm glad my pain and suffering is entertaining for you, Frank."  I wince as an intense wave of pain closes around my head.  "God, that jackass got me good.  This is the worst migraine I've ever had."