The Ghost of Him |WWII Frerard AU|

-54-

The evening is cold, but the aura surrounding Patrick as he stands by the rippling creek is even colder.

I didn't want to be the one to talk to him.  I really didn't.  After his outburst in the shed, a painful silence hung over the rest of us like toxic fumes, keeping us from speaking for what felt like forever.  When someone finally decided to break the deafening quiet, though, it was anything but good news.

One of us needed to talk to Patrick, and I drew the short straw.

I might as well deem myself the company therapist at this point.  Whenever a situation like this arises, it always seems to be me who tries to defuse the tension.  It's not a horrible job, but in this specific circumstance, I'd rather do anything else than try to talk to Patrick after what happened back there.  I'm afraid he'll rip my throat out.

A frigid gust of wind bites at my skin as I take a deep breath and make my way toward the edge of the creek.  The frosty ground crunches beneath my feet, fuels the fearful migraine in my skull.  Not once does Patrick glance up as I approach.

Here goes nothing, I suppose.

Before I even have a chance to open my mouth--or come to a complete stop, for that matter--Patrick beats me to it, and his harsh tone is far from welcoming.

"What do you want?"  he snaps, his icy gaze fixed on the babbling creek below us.  "Unless you're here to tell me the plan, consider me uninterested."

Well, this conversation is off to a flying start, isn't it?

The blood red sky darkens as the sun continues to dip beneath the horizon, as I heave a trembling sigh and try to soothe the nerves coursing through my veins.  He has every right to be angry and upset.  I know that, but it doesn't make his venomous words any easier to listen to.

"I'm not here to tell you the plan,"  I say gently.  It's best to be honest, considering how poorly he reacted to being lied to before.  "Listen, Patrick, I just wanna t--"

"I don't wanna fucking hear it, Gerard!"  he cuts me off, his irritated voice ringing through the still air around us.  "Just leave me alone until you assholes figure out a plan.  I'm done listening to your cock and bull stories."

I should probably take that as an invitation to leave, but my sympathetic heart doesn't want to abandon him in his current state.  As much as he denies it, he shouldn't be alone right now.

"Everyone's worried about you,"  I go on, daring to take a step toward him.  "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he flashes me a fleeting, bitter scowl.  "Yeah, I'm peachy,"  he retorts.  "How about you check in with me again after you put together a rescue mission?"

I heave a sigh, the frigid air freezing my lungs and turning my blood to ice.  "You're being irrational, Patrick,"  I tell him.  "Going with us in the condition you're in isn't safe.  We're just looking out for you."

"Yeah, and you're doing a real bang-up job of it, too."

His spiteful sarcasm cuts deep, and every word stings like acid.

"I'm sick of being the passive nice guy,"  he continues, teeth gritted as he stares at the rippling water below us.  "All it's caused is unnecessary pain.  I'm going on this rescue mission, and you can't stop me."

Lifting my shoulders in a shrug, I take another step toward him, sparing a glance down at the gun at his feet.  "Maybe I can't,"  I say, "but that doesn't mean I won't caution you.  This mission is gonna be dangerous.  We're gonna need everyone to be in their best condition if we wanna get out of there alive, and you're still recovering from your gunshot wound.  It might be hazardous for you to go in the state that you're in, both mentally and physically."