the delicious wolves

7: old bloody orange

Pat Bishop woke up that morning feeling energized. He was getting married today. He was getting married to his childhood sweetheart. He was getting married to the love of his life. He'd wanted a small wedding, and that's what he was getting.

It would be a simple ceremony. Sam Clarke would be his best man, his parents and sisters were invited, of course. Some of his close veteran friends would be there as well, like Fatty Billings - even though being around Fatty still irked him. But who could hold a grudge on such a beautiful day?

He washed and shaved his face, wondering the entire time what was to be done about their names. Of course when a man and a woman married, the woman took on the man's name, but what if two men were married? Who took whose name? It was such a silly little detail, but one that made Pat pause and stare at his reflection.

When he walked down the aisle that afternoon, would Will take his name, or he take Will's?

"Ouch," he pulled the blade from his soapy face, and a bright drop of blood welled. He quickly grabbed a hand towel, pressing it to his face, swearing under his breath. Just what he needed, a nice big cut on his chin the day he married Will Brand.

There was a knock on the door, still holding the towel to his face he walked down the hall to the front door.

"Come in! It's open!"

The door opened, the bright morning sun flooding into the hall, nearly blinding him. A tall figure walked inside, slim but imposing. The tall man moved forward, and Pat began to make out the features of his face. His long unkept dark hair, the stubble on his strong jaw, his intense blue eyes.

"My friend," he said, underneath his posh accent Pat could just make out his German accent.

Pat couldn't find the words. He had imagined this happening so many times - too many times, if he were being honest with himself.

"Schreiter," he finally managed to whisper.

Schreiter didn't look any different since he'd last seen him in the war. In fact, he still wore the exact same rags. His face and hands were still muddy from the battlefields in Northern France they'd crawled through.

"You're bleeding" Schreiter grabbed him by his shoulders, and they weren't standing in the house he shared with Will in Sarehole anymore. They were in the dark woods.

Pat winced as Schreiter touched the bullet wound on his arm.

"I have some gauze," Fatty said excitedly to Will, they stood back with the horse they'd managed to get away from the barn with.

"Will, you shouldn't be here," Pat protested. "You're supposed to be getting ready for the wedding."

Will's eyes were blank, his face expressionless. "There isn't going to be any wedding, Patty."

"What are you saying-?"

Schreiter pulled Pat close, staring deeply into his eyes. Pat could feel the heat from his breath. "He's not the one," he whispered, leaning down to kiss him.

"No, I don't want this!" Pat pushed away. Schreiter let him go, and he fell into the cold wet mud.

"Of course you do!" Schreiter laughed cruelly, but he wasn't Schreiter anymore. He was a dark shadow. He was every horrible thought that had ever drifted through Pat's mind. "You want everything! You want to live in sin with Will. You want a happy family with Diamond. You want to fantasize about Schreiter when you drift off to sleep."

"Be quiet!" Pat covered his ears and closed his eyes.

"If you can't pick one, you don't deserve any!" the voice growled.