Finding You, Finding Me Read online

  Giordano snorted. “First time I ever get to see you smile is when I’m banged up? I’m insulted.”

  Henry smiled wider. “Can you take your pants off? It will be easier to bandage your thigh with them down.”

  To Giordano’s credit, he didn’t hesitate. His customary bad attitude and surly sarcasm won out as his hands moved to his fly. “Yeah, yeah, and never mind sayin’ ‘hey Giordano’, or even, ‘how ya doin?’” He dropped his pants and sat back down on the cot with a wince.

  “Hello, Sergeant,” Henry said, smiling sweetly at Giordano. “It’s a pleasure to see you here today, in the field hospital of dreams and nightmares.” He waved his bandage roll. “How can I help you today?”

  Snorting, Giordano batted him away. “Yeah, okay, that was terrifyin’. Don’t ever smile like that again. Go back t’ being grumpy.”

  Henry winked and dropped to his knees, peering at Giordano’s cut. He’d have to clean it, disinfect it, and then bandage it tight. “I have to go grab some supplies. I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure thing, Doc.” Giordano was already turning, lying back on the cot and closing his eyes. “Take your time.”

  Henry pushed through the hanging tarp surrounding Giordano’s cot. The private cots, for private injuries or higher ranked personnel, were all in the back of the field hospital. Giordano, being the platoon sergeant and having ignored his gash for so long, scored one of the private cordoned-off areas.

  Rolling his neck as he headed toward the supply cabinet, Henry didn’t see the hand snake out of the curtain down the line until it grabbed his arm and pulled him into the private exam area. Stumbling, Henry cursed and tried to push away, but strong arms wrapped around him and held tight.

  “What the— Will!” Henry cursed again, trying to twist in the grip. “This isn’t the time! I’m busy!”

  A face pressed into Henry’s neck, inhaling deep. He felt someone’s nose dig into his skin, felt hands grip down on his wrists, too tight.

  Henry froze. That wasn’t Will. “What the fuck!” He tried to thrash, desperation racing through him. “Who are you?”

  He didn’t get an answer. Instead, he was thrown down face-first on the exam cot, hard enough to get the wind knocked from his chest. Gasping, Henry tried to move, but his captor jumped him, lying full out on his body, and pinning his hands over his head. That face was back, snuffing at the back of his neck, and Henry felt hips grinding into his ass.

  Coughing, he managed to find his voice again, after dragging in a draught of air. “No!” Henry tried to shout, but his captor clapped one hand over his mouth. He still held both of Henry’s wrists in one of his own, and his larger body seemed to swallow Henry whole. The man was massive, easily overpowering him, and Henry whimpered under the weight of his assault. He tried to bite the hand, but the man pressed it over Henry’s mouth harder, over his nose, too, until Henry couldn’t breathe. All he could do was wheeze, desperate for air, and he finally managed a gasping breath when the hand loosened the barest bit.

  His captor’s hand gripped at his pants, trying to tug his uniform down his ass. Thrashing again, Henry tried everything to break free. He kicked, knocking over the bedside tray and upsetting the curtain. His pants slid further down, his ass nearly exposed. He pumped his arms, trying to shake loose, and then bucked his hips. He was held down by what seemed like arms of hard steel.

  As the man grabbed one of his ass cheeks, spreading him wide, his hand loosened over Henry's mouth just enough. Henry shook his head, pushing his mouth free, and managed a strangled scream and a desperate cry for help. He barely started screaming before his captor grabbed him around his throat, choking him and cutting his voice—and his air—entirely. Once Henry's hands were free, he grasped at his captor’s wrist, trying to pry his grip off.

  Henry felt fingers probing his ass, dipping into his cleft. He tried to scream, tried to breathe. He couldn’t move, and he was losing strength. He could feel the blackness pouring in all around, hear a roaring in his ears. Not long, now. His thoughts turned to Will, and he felt his eyes prickle with unshed tears.

  “Hey, what’s goin’ on in—” Giordano’s voice, warbled and faded and from too far away, barely made it to Henry’s ears. He was fading to black, and one second later, he would have been gone.

  However, he clearly heard Giordano's next words. “You mother fucker!” Giordano roared, at the same moment he tackled Henry’s assaulter. The two men went flying, crashing through the curtain cordon and rolling on the ground in the next exam space. Giordano got the upper hand—the element of surprise—and landed on top of the man. He was pummeling before they had stopped rolling, punch after punch raining down into the captor’s face.

  Scrambling, Henry hiked his pants back up and collapsed off the cot, gasping for breath. Dimly, he saw Giordano wailing away at a man on the floor. He didn’t recognize him. One of the new transfers, a replacement platoon sergeant from another division, sent to fill Third Platoon’s deceased. He didn’t even know his name, having only seen the guy once.

  Troopers and Military Police were racing into the field hospital, tearing Giordano from Henry’s captor. “That’s enough!” an MP shouted, hauling Giordano to his feet and shaking him. On the ground, the sergeant groaned, bleeding from his shattered nose and sporting a clearly dislocated jaw. From the looks of things, he’d have two impressive shiners soon, too.

  “The fuck is going on?” one of the MPs asked. He glared at Giordano. “Why did you attack this sergeant?”

  Slowly, Henry pushed himself to his feet. He was rubbing his throat, still trying to breathe, and he couldn’t stop shaking.

  “This fucker attacked my man!” Giordano shouted, spitting into the MP’s face. “My doc! Right there!” Giordano pointed at Henry.

  Frozen, Henry swallowed. Christ, please, Giordano, don’t, please don’t, don’t say it, don’t say it…

  “Attacked how?” One MP glared at Henry while the other continued interrogating Giordano.

  Giordano sputtered, indignant. “I hear this big ol’ commotion when my doc is supposed to be getting supplies for my busted leg. I go and check it out, and I find this gigantic asshole trying to choke the life out of my doc. Got him all wrapped up in a headlock and restrained.” Giordano’s hand flew, trying to paint the picture of the quick fib he was telling.

  “Why?” The MP’s eyes were cold, piercing both Giordano and Henry.

  It was a beat before Giordano spoke. “Fuck if I know why! He’s fucking nuts; that’s why! No one goes and strangles another person like that! Not in the base!”

  The second MP, watching Henry, finally spoke. “Do you know this soldier, corporal?”

  Henry shook his head. He didn’t trust his voice, not yet.

  “Answer me, Corporal.” The MP wasn’t accepting head shakes today.

  “No,” Henry croaked. It was clear, from his voice, he’d been choked out, nearly crushed. Bruises were forming all around his neck and on his wrists, which he tried to hide. “I’ve never met him. I don’t know who he is.”

  On the ground, the sergeant groaned again and tried to open his eyes. The MPs glared down at him and then nodded to each other. “We will investigate this. Expect your platoon leader and your company commander to be notified.” Without another word, they grabbed Henry’s captor under his arms and hauled him from the field hospital tent, dragging his heels in the dirt.

  Giordano exhaled hard, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his side. His eyes flashed to Henry, blazing with rage.

  Still shaking, Henry felt his knees give way beneath him, and he collapsed to the dirt in an undignified slump. His head pitched forward, nearly crashing into the ground, and he grasped his neck with one hand, trying to pry off fingers that weren’t there any longer. He was gasping, struggling to breathe, and he couldn’t stop shaking.

  *

  “Fuck,” Giordano hissed. Racing to Henry’s side, he wrapped his arms around his medic and pulled him upright, back into a seate
d position. Henry slumped against him.

  Eyeballs burned into the two of them, other patients and medics and nurses in the hospital, all staring at the display. Giordano shouted, “The fuck are you looking at?” before twitching the curtain cordon closed around them both. Thank goodness he'd put his pants on before coming to find Henry.

  In private, Giordano felt his muscles uncurl, felt his heart return to his chest, away from where it had lodged in his throat. Slowly, jerkily, he stroked one hand down Henry’s arm. He could feel his medic’s trembles all the way to his bones. “C’mon,” Giordano said, softer than he’d ever spoken to the medic. “I’m gettin’ you outta here.”

  Instead of going through the hospital, Giordano slipped them both out the side of the tent, rolling under the canvas and escaping without being seen. Unsteady still, Henry wavered on his feet, but Giordano pulled him close, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He guided them both, quickly steering them to their company’s campsite in the fields outside Eindhoven.

  Barr and Gillen saw them first. Both frowned, mouths dropping open. “The fuck?” Barr asked, staring at Henry’s ashen skin.

  “Fuck you,” Giordano spat. “Go get Rollins. Meet us over by that ol’ tree.” Giordano nodded toward a gangly tree the troopers had been congregating around, hanging out to get away from the rest of the battalion. It was private, if no one else was there.

  Pushing Henry through the camp—and thank Christ most troopers were out on patrol—Giordano shouted at the two leftovers hanging by the tree to scram and get a move on. Those who had pulled the long shifts of rescue duty were on relief—all save Henry, who had worked in the field hospital from the moment they ceased rescue operations—and the rest of the troopers were on patrol through the town, searching for survivors or signs of the enemy.

  Rollins was one of the ones on relief, but wherever he’d fucked off to while Henry was in the field hospital, Giordano didn’t know. He just hoped Barr and Gillen could find him.

  Giordano carefully set Henry down against the tree trunk, then stripped his uniform jacket and lay it over Henry’s shaking arms. He was still trembling, almost violently, and he’d gone almost totally white. Pale, deathly pale, and curling in on himself. Giordano didn’t know what to do for his medic.

  Heavy, racing footfalls foretold Will’s arrival. Giordano poked his head around the massive tree trunk and glared at the PFC. “Hurry up!” he hissed.

  Will’s eyes blazed, worry and fear screaming from their depths. He slid to the dirt, scrambled to Giordano’s side, and gasped when he saw Henry. His hands instantly went to Henry’s face, stroking over his cheeks, his hair, his thumbs stroking skin. “I’m here,” Will whispered, almost choking on his voice. “Henry, I’m here. Jesus, what happened?”

  Standing, Giordano swallowed hard, watching the two. “There was this guy,” he started, “in the hospital.”

  Will looked up at Giordano and froze. “What happened?” he whispered. His hands never left Henry. One of Henry’s hands snaked out from under Giordano’s jacket and grasped Will’s bruisingly tight.

  “Don’t know why he did it, but he jumped Iverson.” Giordano rubbed his eyes, trying to get the image erased from the back of his eyelids. “Was pulling down his pants when I walked in. Had him in a chokehold. I think he was—” Giordano cut himself off. He couldn’t say it.

  *

  On the ground, Will didn’t move. He gripped Henry’s hand, squeezing back as hard as Henry squeezed. He thought he might have heard bones creak in both of their hands. He tried to breathe, tried to settle the furious haze that had captured his mind. “Who?” he hissed.

  “Some new guy,” Giordano shook his head and then dropped his hands to his hips. “It don’t matter, the MPs have him now. And I beat the fuck out of him.”

  Will blinked at Giordano, surprised. It was Henry, however, who spoke. He snorted. “Yeah, you did,” Henry whispered through his bruised throat. “Thought you were going to kill him.”

  “I would have,” Giordano exhaled. He shook his head again. “Nobody touches my men.” He stared down at Henry.

  Henry held his gaze. He tried to smile, but it was weak. Color, though, was coming back to his face.

  Clearing his throat, Giordano waved him off. “Look, you guys stay here. Rollins, try to take care of him. I’ll deal with this.” And with that, Giordano stormed off, not waiting for a response.

  Slowly, Will turned back to Henry, who seemed panicked, trying to breathe and reaching for Will blindly, grabbing at his arm.

  “I’m here, I’m here,” Will whispered, gathering Henry close. He wrapped his arms around him, laying Henry’s head against his neck and tucking his body close. “I’m here.” He swallowed, fighting back his own rage, his own rising tide of hatred and agony. “Christ, Henry.” Will buried his face in Henry’s hair, pressing a long kiss to his head.

  “Stay?” Henry managed to whisper, clutching at Will’s uniform jacket.

  Will nodded. “Forever,” he whispered with another kiss.

  Chapter Seven

  The panic, the fear, the rage, the anger, the shock--all of the emotions Henry had buried roared to life, and he tried to swallow the choking gasp that threatened to overwhelm him. Will had held him close, murmuring in his ear.

  Once Henry had centered himself again, they had talked about what happened. Then, after they had made an appearance in the company to stave off the worst of the gossip, Will walked Henry back to his squad’s shared tent.

  When they arrived, they found Giordano lying in the bedroll that used to be Corporal Evans’s. Henry frowned, staring at his platoon sergeant.

  “What?” Giordano grunted. He slapped at his magazine. “I’m tryin’ to read. Either get in or get out, but stop letting the bugs in.”

  “What are you doing here?” Henry asked, sinking down to his bedroll. Will stayed standing, hovering over Henry.

  “Don’t want you to be alone,” Giordano grunted, not looking at the two.

  Henry snorted. “I’m not alone,” he said. He gestured to the tent, lined with six bedrolls. “This tent is full.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not taking any chances. Evans switched with me.” Giordano flipped a page in his magazine, nearly tearing it. “You’re not goin’ anywhere alone from now on. You’ll have an escort. Me, or Rollins there, or one of the other sergeants.”

  “What?” Henry breathed. He glared at Giordano. “What are you trying—”

  Will cut him off, squeezing his shoulder. “Why did you send for me, Sergeant?” He swallowed. “I mean, after. When you brought back Hen— Iverson?” He winced as he caught himself.

  Giordano groaned, letting the magazine fall on his face. “I was tryin’ to be helpful,” he snapped. “I mean, you guys are…well, you’re…you’re friends, right?” He sat up, leaning on his elbow, suddenly staring at them with hot, blazing eyes. “You’re friends,” he repeated. “Close like.” His hand gestured between them, trying to show what he couldn’t say. Trying to gesture for what had to be unspoken.

  Henry spoke first. “Yeah,” he said, his voice still sounding too wheezy. “We’re friends.” Will beamed at Henry, eyes full of warmth and an emotion Henry couldn’t name, not yet.

  Sighing as he flopped back on his cot, Giordano grunted, “Well, there you go. That’s why.”

  “Is it…okay?” Will pressed. “That we’re friends?”

  This time, Giordano froze. He blinked, staring up at the tent roof instead of his magazine. “Look,” he finally said, not turning toward them. “You fight, you take care o’ the guys, and you’re good people. Iverson, you’re much less grumpy now, which, thank Christ for that. You want my permission?” Giordano snorted. “I don’t care what you two do,” he finally said. “Or who you’re friends with.” He turned, meeting Henry’s gaze. “But nobody fucks with my guys. Got me?”

  Henry nodded once. He tried to smile, and Giordano chuckled at him. “See?” he said. “You’re smilin’ more now. He’s good for ya.” G
iordano jerked a thumb toward Will and then lay back on his cot. “Now, I’m readin’, so either shut up or get a move on. But don’t go anywheres alone.” The last was directed at Henry, sharp and cut like an order.

  “I’m going to head back,” Will said softly. He knelt down, running one hand down Henry’s face and cupping his cheek.

  Giordano loudly turned his magazine page and cleared his throat.

  Smirking, Will shook his head. He pressed his thumb to Henry’s lower lip—their signal for a kiss when they couldn’t actually give one. Reaching out, Henry pressed his thumb to Will’s lip, and Will smiled around Henry’s touch. “I’ll see you in the morning,” Will said. “If you need me…” He sighed. “If you need anything, kick the sergeant,” he said, winking.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Giordano grunted.

  Henry smiled and nodded. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t. Not with his throat half-crushed and his emotions trying to crush the other half so entirely. There were things he wanted to say, things he wanted to tell Will, but couldn’t. Too much held him back.

  So, instead, he squeezed Will’s hand and lay back on his bedroll. Will headed for the tent opening, slipping out of the flap quickly, and then it was just Giordano and Henry, left alone. Henry tried to sleep, tried to will himself to exhaustion, but his body wouldn’t rest.

  “Will’s right, ya know,” Giordano finally said.

  “Hmm?”

  “If you need anythin’…just come kick me.” Giordano flicked off his flashlight, plunging the tent into darkness. “I mean it.”

  Swallowing, Henry spoke around the sudden lump lodged in his throat. “Thanks, Sergeant.”

  * * * * *

  For Will’s actions in Market Garden—his leadership in the rescue efforts, his attempted rescue of Giordano and Iverson, and his dedication to the citizens of Eindhoven—he was promoted to corporal the next month. The company commander recommended him and gave him his new stripes in front of the assembled company. Cheers rose as he promoted Will and several others.