Page 53 of Walking Wounded

Damn. If this keeps happening, Luke might just melt through the floor.

As it is, he accepts a mug of hot coffee from Sandy and goes to find Will in his usual place in the library.

“Morning,” Luke greets, setting his bag down, getting out his recorder, notebook, and pen.

Will grunts something that might be a hello. “What happened to your face?”

“Gym accident.” Luke settles down in the chair and flicks the recorder on. “You ready to start?”

Will frowns at him. “Gym? You don’t look like you go to the gym.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“Not what I meant.”

Luke sighs. “What?”

“Nothing. You ready, or what?”

“Yeah.” Luke picks up his pen. “Or what.”

~*~

October 1950

Because he didn’t expect to be, it came as a great shock when Will turned out to be an extremely competent Marine-in-training. He followed orders well, he learned quickly, and he had no ego to get in the way of his obedience. He was already tall and strong, and the rigors of Parris Island quickly chiseled him into someone stronger, someone who could throw a full-grown man over his shoulder with ease, who could carry forty pounds of gear for miles, who didn’t complain about his blisters or his sunburn or the deep ache in his chest that flared up when he thought about home, and the comfortable university atmosphere he’d left behind for this.

A part of Will thought that when Finn finally started camp, he’d awaken from his long-held fantasy and realize none of this was what he’d wanted after all.Oops. Guess it isn’t as fun as I always hoped.But he should have known better. Finn took to the whole process with the jubilation of a schoolboy at summer camp. Mopping the barracks and breaking down their rifles might as well have been making s’mores, as far as Finn was concerned.

Will hadn’t wanted to come here, not in the way that Finn had. But he didn’t regret it now. They were together; he didn’t think he could have ever forgiven himself if he’d let his best friend run off and join the Marines by himself.

“Hey,” Finn called down softly from the top bunk. Will glanced up from the letter he was reading and a moment later Finn’s head appeared. Upside down and still alien with his new haircut. “Help me think up a way to describe Sergeant Conway to a delicate female.”

“You writing to your mom?”

“No. Leena.”

Will snorted. “Delicate. Right, sure. Just tell her the truth.”

Finn’s eyebrows did something that might have been a question, and might have been gravity.

“I hate to break this to you, but your girl? She isn’t exactly the type for white lies and minced words.”

Which she’d proven wholeheartedly the night Finn told her they’d enlisted. Finn had gone off with a bouquet of red roses, wearing his Sunday best. “Wish me luck.” Will had.

He’d shown up at Will’s house the next morning, deep in thought, unusually subdued.

“What happened?” Will asked.

Finn released a deep breath. “She slapped me.” He glanced up through his lashes, his smile small and sad. “And she tried to get me to stay.”

He proposed to her two days later, and she was wearing his ring back home right now.

“Will,” Finn said, all seriousness, “I can’t tell my fiancée the man’s the asshole to end all assholes.”

Will bit back a chuckle and pretended to consider the problem carefully. Finn’s face was starting to turn red from hanging upside down like this, a vein popping out in his forehead. “Hmm. No, I guess you can’t.”

“Uh, no.” Finn made awhat thenface that was ruined by all the blood rushing under it.

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