( it's reggie's nickname on her lips that gets him. it happens all in a rush, breath bein' pushed outta his lungs like the very first time he stepped out into the whippin' air off a c-47 an' had the rush of it steal the oxygen right outta his chest.
he can't breathe. that's the thing he chooses to focus on. rationally, he knows his body needs it, but he can't make it happen. it's like watchin' himself drown behind some clear partition, no command or control over his body while he pounds on the glass.
reggie died just before he jumped into gela after north africa. an' there ain't been a minute, not one goddamn one in this war where he could stop an' let himself mourn him. because how can you mourn a man that haunts your every step? knows all the old jokes you used to make, is there on your wakin' an' sleepin' hour? it'd've wrecked reggie to see him hurtin' over it an' so he didn't. he buried it.
but buried things have a way of turnin' up when you least expect 'em. thank the lord he didn't turn the mic on to reply, because the shuddering gasp he hauls into his mouth would give him away.
he just. don't reply a spell. can't. he's glad he'd made this post off in the woods beneath an ol' tree with his tablet on his lap, because it makes it that much easier to sit in the still an' silent dark an' tip his head back against the tree an' just.
an' just cry. sobs wrack him an' soon he's just huggin' his knees in the dark tryin' to rub his eyes an' not makin' much headway against the outpourin' of emotion.
he knows he ought to say somethin'. kyna's perceptive an' she'll know somethin's off. the longer he leaves it the worse it'll get. so he fusses with the voice to text app until he can get a decent text off to her, )
voice - > text
he can't breathe. that's the thing he chooses to focus on. rationally, he knows his body needs it, but he can't make it happen. it's like watchin' himself drown behind some clear partition, no command or control over his body while he pounds on the glass.
reggie died just before he jumped into gela after north africa. an' there ain't been a minute, not one goddamn one in this war where he could stop an' let himself mourn him. because how can you mourn a man that haunts your every step? knows all the old jokes you used to make, is there on your wakin' an' sleepin' hour? it'd've wrecked reggie to see him hurtin' over it an' so he didn't. he buried it.
but buried things have a way of turnin' up when you least expect 'em. thank the lord he didn't turn the mic on to reply, because the shuddering gasp he hauls into his mouth would give him away.
he just. don't reply a spell. can't. he's glad he'd made this post off in the woods beneath an ol' tree with his tablet on his lap, because it makes it that much easier to sit in the still an' silent dark an' tip his head back against the tree an' just.
an' just cry. sobs wrack him an' soon he's just huggin' his knees in the dark tryin' to rub his eyes an' not makin' much headway against the outpourin' of emotion.
he knows he ought to say somethin'. kyna's perceptive an' she'll know somethin's off. the longer he leaves it the worse it'll get. so he fusses with the voice to text app until he can get a decent text off to her, )
Dinner's at 1800. Didn't mention that part.