It's a World War

Chapter 2. It begins

His forehead stung, which is something of a normal reaction to having one's head poked and prodded. Without warning Booth's eyes snapped open and his hand shot out. Instantly coming in contact with something foreign. As his vision focused Booth became transfixed by the pair of wild eyes that belonged to their unit's medic. They took a moment, each trying to calm down their racing hearts.

"Hodgins you should learn by now to wake your patients before you start stitching them together." Booth said after quite some time. It bothered him that his voice was strained.

The doc was still staring him in the eyes. "Tried. Failed." Was the only explanation that elaborated into his mind.

"Well try harder next time." Booth growled out as a response. Taking a moment to look around the fox hole he didn't remember diving into it suddenly came to him that there should have been one other man in the dirt with him. That wasn't the case since he was alone, except the doc.

Staggering suddenly to his feet he knocked over Hodgins and attempted to climb from the hole only to be pulled back down by the infuriated medic.

"Boss, you need to sit so I can finish with the stitches on your forehead. It's a nasty one. 'Gonna take some time to heal... unless you get it infected. Then you're just about fucked."

Ignoring the threats he was making of infection the bemused soldier turned to his friend. "Where's the guy I picked up?"

Hodgins continued to work away at the wound; Booth refusing to wince as he let him stitch the skin back together. After a few moments Hodgins opened his mouth and spoke. "That guy you picked up isn't from our company. No clue who he is either. I checked him out. Bad concussion from the head wound you gave him when your swan dive into the fox hole didn't go so well." He was quiet for a few moments. Only the clicking of his needle and scissors. "He's got amnesia, Boss. No clue who he is, only knows that he's an American because of his uniform."

Booth let himself think while he let Hodgins finish. It was a while before the doc snipped the last piece of thread and moved to store his medical instruments away.

"That's quite a story." Booth thought aloud.

Hodgins snorted. "No shit."

Booth looked over to his friend. "What do you think?" He asked him, knowing Hodgins would understand what he was talking about.

"I would'a thought it fishy if I hadn't a checked him out myself. The concussion's real so that probably means the memory loss is legit too." Turning back to look at his patient he gave a wry smile. "An while you were out cold he nearly clobbered me. Little viper that one is. I told Bray to look after him while I was here with you. The guys are kinda weary of him, I guess they think he could be a spy. But man, he's kinda tiny, but oh is that one angry son of a bitch." Hodgins erupted into laughter. Not something often heard on a battlefield.

"For now, since he doesn't know his name, the guys call him Temper. How fitting is that?"

"Fitting." Booth unenthusiastically agreed.

Hodgin's smile was gone, replaced by a depressed frown. Being Seeley Booth and rarely missing anything he noticed.

"How many?" He asked his friend quietly.

Knowing exactly what he was asking Hodgins gave a grievous shake of his head. "We lost Sly. Todds almost got knocked off but Hadley got him into a fox hole in time." He was quiet for a few moments. "Could'a been worse." He stared his superior in the eye for a long while. "We thought we'd lost you too when I found the two of you in this death pit. Looked just as dead as any other dead guys I've seen. Except we were smart enough to bother checking for a pulse before we buried you."

It didn't seem to dawn on him that after he had uttered the first few words that his friend was lost to him. Booth was reeling on the inside. His stomach churning in ways that promised he would lose whatever meal they had managed to scrounge up before the bombardment had happened.

But he kept a straight face. No point in losing it in front of one of his men. They had lost to many already to have that happen anymore. So he sat there. Not listening as Hodgins watched him with a grim expression, knowing all too well where his mind was.

Sometimes it surprised Booth that Jack was even sane more often than not. Which was a good thing, in reality, because what was a platoon without its doc? Dead men, was an answer that came up more frequently than anyone would have liked.

"Serge?" The call came from somewhere over the top of the fox hole. To high for Booth to see over. It took a moment for him to realize that other members of his company were also calling him.

"Seel, man, the guys want to know you're okay." Jack told him. His eyes silently asking if he was ready to face the men after yet another loss of a friend.

Giving a nod to the doc as thanks he was helped up, an arm slung over the shorter man's shoulders. Together, with the help of some of the other guys after they saw their leader struggling, they made it out of the miniature trench and onto the frozen ground of the Baston forest.

Being the tallest in the company had its advantages and it allowed Booth to mentally do a head count while he greeted his soldiers, something that had become second nature to him over the past year. It was always important to know you had tabs on everyone; which made it all the harder when his involuntary tally came up one short.

"Serge, we found s'body in the hole w'ya." Todds, from Alabama, told him in his particular southern drawl that no one had really gotten used to.

"I know Private. Doc already told me."

"You feelin' okay, Serge?" Someone over to his left asked.

"Not really." He said without thinking, then noticing the worried glances from all around him he added, "Got knocked on my ass when I really didn't need to be. It would make anybody feel like they've been put through the wringer."

His answer was a half truth and a very good description of how he felt but as long as it swept away those looks they gave him he didn't care. A few even cracked small smiles; though they didn't last very long.

They suddenly started talking all at once, completely bombarding their Master Sergent with questions asking him to explain what he was doing and how he survived the attack. Being unable to focus didn't help Booth at all; though Hodgins noticed and side stepped their frontal attacks by distracting them.

"Serge still needs to see the new guy. Anybody know where he went?" The medic asked to anyone in particular.

Nods went around, fingers pointing in the direction that Booth assumed he should be taking. Pushing forward he was met with zero resistance, his comrades even going so far as to make a path for him through the crowd and then fall in dutifully behind him.

Coming around a certain cluster of trees Seeley caught sight of his target. The newcomer was tiny, which only made him look smaller since he was hunched over as he was sitting on a random tree stump. Letting a calm moment pass over himself he felt the strength of his men following, protecting him and giving him comfort. A tiny laugh came and went inside of him, along with the thought that if the little man had been looking up at that particular moment he would have seen a force to be reckoned with.

Corporal Bray was standing just off to the side of the stranger, a hand by his side at the ready in case his gun was ever needed to be put to use. He gave a nod to Booth and stepped aside as the Sergent came to stand in front of his charge.

"Soldier." Booth addressed him, taking the safest route in case the newcomer was of higher rank than himself. When the smaller man neither answered nor raised his head irritation replaced the need to be polite.

Dropping down to balance himself on his toes Booth tried to tilt his head in a way that would allow him to see the stranger's face. It irked him even more when arms blocked whatever view he would have had. Slowly rising, the Sergent gave the fellow a few more moments before he turned back to the group of anxious soldiers and signaled for them to take a step back. They followed the silent order without so much as a breath of complaint.

As quietly as he could Booth dug his combat boots into the frozen dirt and prepared himself. Then, without warning, his hands shot out and gripped the torso of his target; raising him up off the ground.

The kid was startled, he knew, but Booth neither cared nor focused on the bemused exclamations from the other men. The arms that had blocked the face that he wanted to study where now out of the way but one more barrier needed to be bypassed; his long bangs that cast his eyes in shadow.

Without being able to get a good look at his face Booth knew he would never be able to decide if the stranger was a spy or ally. Slowly lowering him down Booth gently made sure that the other man was steady on his feet then let go. It was only after a moment's hesitation that he took the crook of his finger and put it under the shorter man's chin.

Something was off and it bothered him. No man in all of the platoons that Booth had been in were as short and scrawny as this kid. Not to mention his feminine point of a chin and rounded sloping shoulders. It gave him shivers to even have his finger touching the tender area just under his chin.

Against his better judgment, though knowing he had to get it over with, Booth painstakingly raised his hand. Luscious tawny locks fell from their place in front of the face and then all was still.

Jack and his friends watched on as their leader stared, looking frightened. Completely frozen in place, gazing on at the defiant eyes that glared back at him.

They didn't know, however, what Booth knew. And looking at those lapis colored eyes he didn't second guess himself. How could he ever forget those eyes? How could he ever forget that face? The very same one that he had gazed at longingly and loved for years before the tragedy of war tore them apart.

He knew who this was. Was afraid of who this was. Feared for her. For she was not a man, but a woman. The woman that he loved. Who loved him.

It didn't dawn on the two that a crowd was staring. But for some reason everyone remained cemented to their place, including Booth.

She knew he had recognized her, known it would happen. But seeing him for the first time in two years was something of a miracle as well as a curse. It brought back memories she wished were long buried, which was why she had glared at him in the first place but now as she remembered the love they had shared her face softened.

It took a long time, just standing there, for the Master Sergent to find his voice. Several times he had been forced to take a deep breath and calm his racing heart; though he never took his eyes from hers.

They seemed to float in a dreamland as they gazed into eachother's eyes. It was only broken when Booth found words to question his sanity. Movement to their left clung to the alert part of his brain, it was recognized as Jack taking a worried step closer.

The first time he asked it the question was gargled and his throat closed on itself so he swallowed and said again, for only the three of them to hear.

"Brennan?"

TBC!

DUN DUN DA! find out next time ;]