The Ghost of Him |WWII Frerard AU|

-35-

"You look lonely over there, Gerard!  Come join in on the fun!  We don't bite, but I can't say the same about the soup!"

The sound of Ray's laughter snaps me out of my trance.  The faint glow of a lantern illuminates the faces of Delta Company as they all sit in a circle, bowls of moderately warm soup in their hands.  Night fell a while ago, and now, they're only giving us a couple of hours to rest up and eat before we head south, undoubtedly toward our next fight; I'm not sure how long I can keep up with this.

But hey, why not go join them?  Might take my mind off things for a while.

"There's the man of the hour!"  Brendon says with a grin as I take a seat among the circle.  "I knew you couldn't resist this outstanding soup for long.  One of the best things I've ever tasted."

"Are you sure about that, Brendon?"  Patrick asks.  A frown adorns his pale face as he glances at Brendon with a quizzical glint in his eyes.  "It's not very good.  At least in my opinion, anyway."

Silence falls over the group, leaving only the chirping of crickets in its wake.  Brendon blinks, his lips pursed and his brow ever so slightly furrowed.  "It's sarcasm, Pat,"  he says slowly.  "I was being sarcastic."

"Oh.  Never mind."

Goosebumps prickle my skin as a cold breeze passes through the camp.  It's a quiet night.  Stars twinkle in the inky black sky above.  The only sound is that of subdued chatter and hushed crickets in the bushes.  Even the explosions in the distance have lessened as the moon rises higher and higher into the cloudless sky, but still, they never completely come to a stop, and I doubt they ever will.

Nothing like this is ever going to come to an end.

I almost jump out of my socks when Mikey suddenly moves, passing me a fresh bowl of soup; as much as I'd like to take it, I don't think I'll be able to stomach anything after the day's events.

"No thanks, Mikey,"  I tell him.  I barely recognize the frailness of my own voice.  "You can give it to someone else who wants it."

A concerned frown passes over my brother's face.  "Are you sure?"  he asks.  "You haven't eaten anything all day.  You need the nutrients."

"Yeah, the delectable nutrients of this lukewarm soup,"  Pete says with a chuckle, but when he realizes no one else joins in on his laughter, his expression falls.  "Uh, right.  Not a good joke.  Sorry."

Ignoring his comments, Mikey keeps his worried eyes fixed on me.  "Are you okay, Gerard?  You look sick."

Is it really that bad?  I mean, maybe it's just the muted light from the lantern.  I can't look that dreadful, can I?

"Yeah, you're paler than a ghost,"  Pete butts back in, slurping up the last of his soup.  "Come on, bud.  Tell Papa Pete what's wrong."

"Never say that again,"  Jon deadpans.

Now everyone in Delta Company is staring at me, their eyes glinting with concern and confusion.  What am I supposed to say?  We were all there in that battlefield, dodging bullets and barely escaping with our lives.  Nothing is a secret in this disjointed family.  And who knows?  Maybe I'm actually getting sick.  We haven't exactly been sanitary these past few days, and the unwieldy amount of stress coursing through my system isn't helping in the slightest.

So I keep my response simple, because I don't know what I could possibly say to ease their worries for me.  "Nothing.  Just....long day."

Dallon scoffs, stirring his tepid soup with an old spoon.  "Understatement of the century,"  he says.  "This was the longest day of my life.  Ever."