unwritten25
March 15, 2012, 8:04 a.m.
Whether Near to Me or Far: guadalcanal
M - Words: 1,680 - Last Updated: Mar 15, 2012 Story: Complete - Chapters: 8/8 - Created: Mar 15, 2012 - Updated: Mar 15, 2012 229 0 0 0 0
Guadalcanal
December 1942
Blaine tried to take deep breaths, but the stinging pain in his side made him break off in a gasp instead, flinching a bit.
“Hold still,” Trent, their unit’s doctor, said with exasperation, face screwed up with concentration. “It’s not a paper cut, it’s a gunshot wound, Anderson.”
“I know, I know,” Blaine said, smiling tersely. “Just--Ah!”�
“Got it,” Trent said, grimly victorious as he held up a blood-covered bullet. “Now let’s get that wound stitched shut, shall we?”
Blaine did his best not to flinch at the feeling of a needle stitching his skin back together, but it was hard.�
“Anderson, if you start to feel feverish at all, you tell me, got that?” Trent demanded. “You’re still in danger of getting infected. If our damn supplies would come, I wouldn’t be worried, but--”
“I’ll keep an eye on it, doc,” Blaine said, standing and stretching. He winced as pain raced along his side, but did his best to ignore it. “Am I free to go now?”
Trent sighed. “Yes, yes. Send in Smythe when you’re done, got it?”
Blaine rolled his eyes. “Will do,” he said, saluting with two fingers. “Sebastian!” he called. “Trent wants to see you!”
Sebastian climbed out of his pit, all long, lean grace and seductive charm. Blaine rolled his eyes. He’d decided against telling Kurt about Sebastian’s focus on him and the way Sebastian repeatedly tried to get him alone. Sebastian was good-looking and Blaine was admittedly lonely, but he would never cheat on Kurt. Besides, Sebastian was a prick - he expected people to fall along behind him because his dad was a rich attorney back in the States.�
“You know, I don’t much like playing patient,” Sebastian said as he passed Blaine. “But I wouldn’t mind playing doctor with you, Blaine,” he added with a wink.
Blaine sighed, but forced a smile on his face. “I’m not that great of a doctor,” he said apologetically, turning away to hurry to his pit.
“Sebastian again?” Wes asked as Blaine slid down.�
Blaine rolled his eyes. “I don’t think he’s ever going to get the hint that I’m not interested,” he muttered dejectedly, shoving his helmet back on.�
“Maybe if you just told him a flat-out no, he’d get the hint,” David said, nudging Blaine’s shoulder. “You’re too polite for your own good, Blaine.”
Blaine shrugged, uncomfortable. “He’ll get the picture eventually,” he muttered. He moved over to his corner and picked up his most recent letter to Kurt. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed the way Wes and David exchanged grins. “What?” he snapped.
David spread his arms. “Say hi to Kurt for me,” he said, his smile all teeth.�
Blaine, being very mature and adult, stuck out his tongue. “What makes you think this letter is even for Kurt, huh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
David laughed. “Blaine, you don’t write to anybody else. Not even your mother.”
Blaine tensed, good humor evaporating. He hadn’t spoken to his mother in years, not since her first and only visit to McKinley. She’d come in, told him point blank that he was no longer any son of hers, and then left without a backward glance.�
David’s contrite face meant that Blaine hadn’t hidden his sudden tension as well as he’d hoped. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to bring up issues.
“Don’t worry about it,” Blaine said, relaxing a bit. He sat down, wincing as pain raced up his side and left his head throbbing.
“Blaine?” Wes asked, moving to his side. “You alright?”
Blaine waved his concern away. “‘M fine, Wes. The doc’s running ragged because we haven’t got our supplies yet, so this,” he gestured to his side, “is still a little tender. Don’t worry about it.”
Wes eyed him. “If you’re sure. Don’t put too much strain on it.” He nudged Blaine’s shoulder. “It is a gunshot wound, after all. Those yellow bastards got you good, huh, Anderson?”
Blaine rolled his eyes. “I got them back one better,” he said, on automatic. He tensed when the memory came back - the way the Jap’s head had blown off from the gunfire, his guts spilling out as his body collapsed.�
He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, and shoved that memory back down. Instead he replaced it with memories of Kurt - the way Kurt’s nose crinkled when he smiled widely, the feeling of his lips, the sound of his laugh . . . . Blaine opened his eyes, feeling calmer.�
He turned back to his letter to Kurt, ignoring the looks David and Wes sent him as they started up their meager dinner. He re-read his last couple lines, snorting at the bit about going on leave. That had been weeks ago - he was pretty sure no one was going on leave now that the campaign had started in earnest. But it wouldn’t hurt to hope, would it? It never hurt to hope.
He sat down and, with the stub of a pencil, began writing his next few words . . . .
-
Blaine panted heavily, side aching as he climbed into the hole. He’d been back to see Trent, but the doc had just said it was a minor infection, nothing to worry about. Blaine wasn’t so sure - his side felt like it was on fire - but Trent hadn’t steered him wrong yet.�
“Blaine?” Wes whispered.
“Warbler,” Blaine said, that night’s password. “Sorry, just--”
“Your side, yeah,” Wes said, moving over so that Blaine could sort of see him in the moonlight. “What’d Trent say?”
“Just a minor infection,” Blaine said, stiffly making the way to his tiny sleeping corner. He had a few hours before it was his turn at patrol. “He said it’d clear up in a few days.”
Wes was silent for a moment. “Ah,” he said finally. “Alright then. If Trent says so . . . .” Blaine could hear the uncertainty in his voice, but ignored it.�
“I’m going to sleep for a few hours,” Blaine murmured, sighing in relief as he managed to lay down. His side didn’t hurt as much when he was lying down.
“I’ll wake you when it’s your turn,” Wes promised, moving back to his position. “Not that there’s much to see.”
Blaine closed his eyes. His head felt too light and hot. He hoped that Trent was right and the infection would run its course in the next day or so. He didn’t want to think about having to move through the jungle tomorrow feeling as shitty as he was right now. It was already bad enough with the tension from not knowing where the Japs were and the damn mosquitos.
Blaine yawned, cracking his eye open to see Wes still sitting there. He looked strangely distorted, perhaps from the lack of light. Blaine smiled blearily and closed his eyes again. He pictured Kurt as his mind drifted off. Kurt, in his grey bowtie, smiling and laughing. Kurt standing on the edge of a fountain, dripping wet and defiant. Blaine ached from missing him.�
“Wake me when it’s my turn, yeah?” he whispered. In the quiet, Wes was sure to hear him. Slowly, quietly, Blaine drifted to sleep.
-
December 1 1942
Dear Kurt,
I’ve just been told I’ll be on leave soon. Would it be alright if I visited you? It’s only been a few months, but it seems like so much longer since we’ve seen each other.
I’m in the Pacific now, on a tiny island no one’s ever heard of and whose name I can’t even pronounce. The weather here is different than home - hotter, and wetter. The bugs in particular are pests - adjusting has been difficult. It helps when I imagine how you’d react to a mosquito biting you all over and I can laugh.�
I think you should talk to Rachel. She’s [scribbled out]. She’s a good girl. I don’t what she saw, why she thought it was me, but she was a kid. Maybe it’s easier to forgive her since I’m here, blowing people’s heads off and staring death in the eye. Talk to her. See what she wants. Maybe she’s ready to make amends, after all these years.
I miss you, more than I can say. I dream about you all the time, and not even in that way, just-- [scribbled out]
My father owned this house, on the beach. My mother never went there after he died because it was too painful, but I visited it once. It was old, worn-down and decaying, but I could see how it could be fixed up and made beautiful. I dream about us moving out there sometimes, just you and me. In the dream, we fix up the house together, make it beautiful and warm. You paint the windowpanes blue and I make a garden outside, and it’s home. There’s no one around for miles, and we can just be together, just you and me, without any judgement or horror. And we’re happy, so happy.�
I want that dream to be real more than I can say. It’s what’s keeping me going here, keeping me from losing my mind after killing men left and right. I hope that when you come over to this Hell, you can hold it close to you, wrap it around you like armor to keep the horror out and your soul intact. I can’t lose you, Kurt.�
I love you,
Blaine
[Scribbled out post-script]
[Written at the very bottom, almost illegible]�
Night and day, you are the one
Only you ‘neath the moon or under the sun
Whether near to me or far
It’s no matter, darling, where you are
I think of you day and night