Amelia Greene -
It's over.
He doesn't even care that he's left his weapon on the ground. He only moves with such ferocity that he hardly stumbles. The world continues to explode around him, but he runs as if it's the last change he'll ever get to use his legs.
Tears stream down his cheeks, mixing with my blood. I look up to the sky, my head going light and my eyes growing heavy. The pain begins to subside. I'm filled with a sense of peace. The sun peeks from the clouds, and then, there's nothing.
"Aiello!" The sudden exclamation jerks me awake. I immediately realize that I'm not where I was before, and he is no longer running. But something else lures me back to sleep; a type of exhaustion I physically can't fight.
"She's lost so much blood," he says in a pained voice. Words are exchanged I can't figure out. Then, I'm lowered to the floor. My eyes refuse to open. Everything feels like a dream, slow and almost muted.
"I got this. Go and see who's left."
I don't recognize the voice at the time. Because since when does Pierson sound so defeated?
"Goddamnit, Greene," he grows frustrated quickly. His hands work where I bleed but I don't feel any of it, only sensing his touch. It only relaxes me more. "Wake up. You can't do this."
I try. But I'm trapped inside of myself.
He's silent for some time, wrapping me tightly with a gauze. "Wake up," he repeats, "Greene. Greene, you have to come back. You can't . . you can't be one of them."
Pierson. Pierson, I'm here.
He beckons me with such desperation that I forget all about the peace. Forcing myself back into the present would only bring me pain, but he's there and he's calling for me. It's all I focus on.
It's him.
"I'm so sorry." A gentle hand moves hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. "I tried."
I'm here! I'm right here! Why can't you hear me?
It's not over. I can feel him so it can't be. So long as I can feel him . . .
My eyes finally slide open. The sudden push into reality emits a groan from my lips. But when my vision focuses a tiny bit, blurred from the bloodless, I don't see him.
Only a medic watching over me, pumping some sort of liquid into me. Fighting to keep me alive.
I must've imagined him.
"Hey, hey, Greene!" The voice pulls me out of my sleep. I sit upwards with a gasp, my chest heaving and my forehead sweating.
"Zussman?" I ask immediately, the situation far too familiar. Aiello flinches, and then gently brushes hair plastered to my forehead.
"No, it's me." I let out a deep sigh, pressing my palm to my aching forehead. "Is everything okay? What . . what happened?"
It was him.
I freeze so suddenly Aiello bursts into another round of worry. But his questions are instantly drowned out by the single thought in my head.
It's him.
Pierson's the one who kept me alive. Aiello only got me out of there. He begged me to come back and to open my eyes, begged me to stay.
And in my half dead state, I had said the words that took me another year to realize once more. I forget them the next time I awoke, but they always rested on a deserted part of my mind, waiting for the next time I remembered them.
I had realized all the way back in Kasserine that it was him. That it had always been him. It was him I was desperately trying to come back too, his voice that gave me a hook to grab on to.
Somehow, it always circles back to him.
As if I needed anymore damn reassurance that I'm in love with him.
I look at Aiello, meeting his concerned black eyes. He doesn't understand the look on my face at all, and if I saw it myself, I'm sure it would look like a stranger, too.
"It was him," I say aloud, testing the words on my tongue. "Pierson. He's the one who kept me alive at Kasserine until the medics came."
He had forgotten as well, judging by the way it affects him. "Oh, yeah. He was. I . . I forgot about that. I went off looking for . . Anthony. When I couldn't find him I . . I became too focused on that."
I immediately know that it's time. And unlike with Stiles, there is zero hesitation behind it.
"Aiello." He looks at me, snapping out of his memory. "I can tell you, now."
We left the tent, not wishing to wake Stiles, despite it being very late in the night. Neither of us cared; I sat on my respective box whilst Aiello lit the fire, thinking over and over again about my dream.
But it wasn't just a dream. It was me reliving a memory long repressed.
Aiello pokes at the flames with a metal rod, positioning the burning logs into place. I blink away the last bits of sleepiness. "You don't have too, if you're not ready."
I smile, but shake my head. "I am. It's okay."
"Should I prepare myself too badly?" He jokes, sitting himself down. I bristle at the irony, yet shrug, unsure completely of how he'll take it.
He might be understanding, as he has been since we've rekindled, but he could easily resume back to his irrational actions. Either way, I know it's the right time, and I'm not backing out now.
"Not sure. You won't be as surprised as Stiles was. Maybe."
He freezes, offense forming on his face. "You told Stiles?"
I bite back a teasing grin. Stiles hardly ever beat Aiello in anything that wasn't smarts. Getting to hear from me first is a major accomplishment on his part. "The night we got drunk. I told him, and well, it felt like the only thing we could do."
He sighs, shaking his head and pinching the brim of his nose. "You're killing me, Tesoro."
I only laugh lightly, then smile. "I've always loved that nickname, you know?"
He nods, a warm expression sent my way. I decide that now, as he's all buttered up, is the perfect time to begin.
Wish me luck.
"You asked me the day that we fought what was between Pierson and I. You said you've seen it for years, and simply hadn't said anything yet. And I told you I had no idea what you were talking about."
A serious look forms over his face immediately.
"That's a lie, obviously. I've known exactly what you're talking about from the beginning. I didn't know what to call it or what it was, but I felt it.
I follow Pierson almost blindly. I rarely second guess him, and I hardly ever doubt his abilities. And for a while, I told myself it was just loyalty, deep loyalty. And it is."
It's way beyond that.
I take in a slow breath, shutting my eyes, preparing to admit it for the first time aloud without any second guessing.
"I'm in love with him, Aiello. Truly, I am. I've known it for a long time, or at least felt it, but it was only a little bit ago that I admitted it to myself."
He blinks, his eyes widening for half a moment. He leans back, visibly attempting to digest this. His eyes flicker to the sky above, like he was asking God to verify this himself.
But that's my job. I lean forwards, challenging him in a subtle way.
"It's him. It always has been. When he saved me at Kasserine he begged me to come back when he thought I was gone, and I could still hear himself, despite being unconscious." My voice strains with emotion, my body shaking from the pure feeling. Knowing that he saved me. That he was the one who beckoned back to him. The pain in his rough tone.
"And I almost let go until I heard his voice. And I knew then."
But I forgot, and that's the worst part of it all.
My nose burns, meaning I'm somewhere close to tears. I straighten myself out, ridding of that action. Aiello figures it out through my face.
"But you forgot the next day."
"Yeah. But I found out all over again without remembering it at all."
And that's the most important part. That I didn't need that memory to feel it all over again.
I give him some time to process this. He doesn't say anything, reacting in silence, but certainly thinks hard. I follow his eyes to the sky and wonder what star he focuses on.
I realize that he's waiting for me to continue. But now, a fear has sparked in me; we've been watching as the hourglass ticks down, till the day we all part one way or another.
"I don't know everything about him. We've talked a few times and I have a glimpse of his life but . . not as much as I'd like. And I'm afraid that by the time this wars over, regardless of how many nights we get alone . . I'll never know."
It doesn't seem fair. I just got it. This can't be over already. I can't go home and pretend this never happened, no matter how many times I've tried to convince myself that I could.
"Unless you get the chance too after," Aiello expertly concludes.
But even that hardly seems like enough.
"Unless I get the chance almost every day."
He runs a hand through his dark head of hair, nearly the same length it was before he had to have it shaved. Bits of guilt poke at me for putting him under this stress, but he wanted to hear it nor then I wanted to say it. "You know. . Anthony had an idea."
I swear these boys don't know how to tell me anything. As if they don't throw tantrums when it's me with a secret.
"He brought it up from time to time, saying that he could tell something was there by the way he looked at me. I told him he was crazy, because Pierson looks at everyone the same. Until I saw it."
I tilt my head; it must be the same thing Stiles did. Reluctance strains his features, yet he continues against his doubt.
"It was the night before our first battle. I was taking a walk to clear my mind when I saw you two. You were sitting on a picnic table and he was next to you, and I saw it; you weren't looking, but god, he was looking at you like a man who knew exactly what he wanted. Like he'd do anything to protect and to get it."
The very same situation I thought of when I first mentioned to Stiles about what first platoon was like before, back in Marigny. But I thought that wasn't much.
"It scared me, kinda. I don't know. It's illegal here and doesn't seem like a good idea. He's always been Pierson and I didn't get how he'd be a . . good match for you. And once Kasserine happened, I chose to believe that he was the worst thing possible for you. But I watched as you started looking at him the same way, and I knew there was nothing I could do."
So he had witnessed me fall, and said nothing.
"What did you want for me, then?"
He clasps his hands together and shrugs. "The best life possible. The best man. A chance to be happy after all the fucked up shit we went through. But I guess . . it's never been Pierson making you unhappy. It was everything else."
And he was the one thing that never went away.
I nod, my throat tied. Even if I had anything to say, I wouldn't be able to speak. Aiello's had a lot more to get off his chest than I could've guessed.
"That Sarah Meyers story - that makes a lot of sense, too. It explains how you react to a lot of things, I guess. I can see why that affected you a lot as a kid. I suppose being out here hasn't helped that."
He's nearly better than Stiles. Observance is the least noticeable trait. "No, not at all. But, things have been getting better."
"Is it because of him?"
"Yeah. But also because of you, and Stiles, and hoping that Zussman's okay somewhere. It's figuring out what I want and what I don't. It's . . "
Him holding me. Him hanging onto my every word. Him kissing the breath out of me. Him looking at me when he thinks I can't see him.
"Yeah. It's him."
My eyes redirect to the flickering fire, warming the front half of my body. Blue licks out from underneath, melting into the familiar orange flames. It's surprisingly strong tonight, despite the slight breeze.
Aiello watches me. I think hard on the idea of leaving once more. There is no joke sicker than something this strong connecting to the front of a war.
But in the back of my mind, I hear myself laugh at the comedic timing.
"Has he told you yet?" I raise an eyebrow. "That he loves you?"
"No, he hasn't, but I haven't, either."
"Do you think he does?"
The question pricks insecurity inside of me. I hadn't thought of that too vividly, for the simple reason that the idea of him not terrifying me. Though, I believe I have enough to believe otherwise. Instead of letting Aiello see that, I choose to quip a joke.
"He's kissed me twice now, I sure hope he would."
A loud laugh leaves my lips at the sight of his eyes bulging out of his head. His gobsmacked silence quickly becomes Italian muttering, holding his face in his hands. I only laugh more, any previous stress burning to ash in the fire between us.
"Yes, Aiello," I continue once I calm, "I think he does."
He blinks in an agreement that shocks me. "Well, as much as I hate to say it, I know he does."
You have no idea how reassuring that is.
Aiello stands and walks around the fire in my direction, sitting on what used to be Daniels' seat, an foot away from me.
"You have my blessing, Amelia, if that's what you want. You have my support. And I'm sure damn well Zussman and Daniels would support it, too. Turner, Perez, Anthony - they all would, too."
He's got a bunch of shit to work through but don't we all. I trust you enough to trust your decision."
This time, I don't attempt to hide the onslaught of tears. He pulls me into a tight embrace, holding me directly against his heart.
It's odd hearing my name from him. It's not something anyone does often. But it only magnifies the effect of his words; our surnames mean work, and Amelia is beyond personal.
It's letting me know that everything's going to be okay.
Aiello pulls away, though not completely, looking down at me with a warm face. I wipe away the tears on my cheeks with the back of my hand, mumbling something incoherent. "So, when do you plan on telling him?"
I know I should soon. Who knows what could happen out here? I might lose my shot. I might never get to tell him.
But hell, getting a chance to tell Pierson you're in love with him isn't exactly the easiest thing to do.
"I get close, sometimes. It gets on the tip of my tongue, and I almost say it, but I always draw back. I don't even realize it . . but I will, when I know it's right."
He nods, swallowing his tongue. "I'll beat his ass if he makes you cry again."
I scoff, finding that to be the funniest thing he's said all day. "I'd like to see you try."
He fakes offense. "You doubting my abilities?"
"I'm only looking out for you, Frank."
His name on my tongue has the same effect on him. Aiello, or Frank, quiets, his fight diminishing as his heart swells.
"You're such a softie."
"I will throw you into that fire, Greene."
In the limelight of his attention and the glow of the fire, my worries from a few nights before ease; perhaps this is where I should end. When I know for sure and I've said it out loud.
But you know it's wrong.
I don't even know what's right.
--