A/N: So I'm back! This is just a short AU story, it'll go for maybe 5 - 10 chapters. It's set in war times, blah blah blah. I'll have the second by tomorrow, hopefully. And in answer to your questions my Faberry story is taking longer than I thought - it's a long one, so just be patient. Review if you like, otherwise I'll be back tomorrow! Also, I couldn't resist the little 'honourable' line - it was asking to be used!

Also, the title of this is based of the song by Coldplay called Viva La Vida!

Enjoy! :)

"Mr Hummel, a little assistance!"

Kurt makes his way through the mess of bloody bodies, coughing as the smoke leeches through his lungs. He expertly pulls the thin paper mask over his lips and ducks his way through the mess of bleeding, moaning people.

He's used to it now … the noise, the death, the constant pain that seeps through his skin every day. He's used to been woken up in the middle of the night to treat a commanding officer, or being treated badly by the sergeants because he's 'too much of a lady.' He's used to the things that, ultimately should be bringing him down … but he still loves this.

He's been with the army for nearly a year now. They've been at this same, disgusting, rotting camp and Kurt has seen the same cases over and over again. Men who were purposely shot at, men who've lost limbs in bombs, been run over by army trucks …

At first it was heartbreaking but now he just concentrates on his one goal: saving the people that can be saved. There's no point wasting precious time on men that can never be rehabilitated and Kurt is just beginning to realize this.

So he smooths the dirty white cotton over his dirty skin and approaches the bed in the emergency wing. A bomb just dropped a few miles away and there's a heavy stream of men being shoved into the already over-capacitated hospital tent.

"Mr Hummel, he's arresting!"

Kurt jumps to the bed on his left, his eyes flickering over a blonde man that couldn't be more than a year older than himself. The man has a deep gash under his left eye and is bleeding heavily through his thick army jacket. What shocks Kurt is the fact that the man is conscious. His lucid green eyes are wide and staring at Kurt through sweaty blonde hair as he splutters through bloody lips. Kurt can only guess that they're explanations of pain coming from the man's mouth.

"What's his name?" Kurt mutters to the nurse next to him as he rids the man of his bloody jacket.

"He's soldier Sam Evans – he was one of the men who were taken unprepared. A bomb hit their campsite when they were resting."

Kurt purses his lips – forcing himself not to feel sorry for Mr. Sam Evans. He can't let his hatred of this unfair war get in the way of his job … and right now, his job is to save Sam's life.

"Good morning, Mr Evans," Kurt smiles down at the blonde man. "And how are we feeling today?"

Kurt's quick fingers dance along the stiches on Sam's cheek. The worn soldier is attractive, Kurt realizes, even under the bruises and scars of battle.

"On top of the world," Sam croaks, although the definite strain in his voice says otherwise.

Kurt sighs. Even after being seriously injured and in a critical condition, Mr. Evans is putting on a brave face. Typical soldiers.

"I'm going to redress the wounds on your chest, okay?" Kurt offers a smile and pulls up the hospital gown covering Sam's chest.

Kurt's eyes flicker over Sam's chest and he swallows appreciatively. The soldier is good looking, even through the bloody dressings and grey, painful looking bruises – but Kurt can't let his attractions get in the way of his job. Since being conscripted as a nurse to Base Camp 401, Kurt has learnt to suppress himself.

The people in this line don't appreciate his kind – that's how they refer to him. His status as a person is lessened due to his sexuality, so he's just learnt to shove that all away. Suppress himself entirely; it ends in frustration but he has no other choice. So, Kurt swallows his attraction and slips his fingers under the smallest bandage earning a shiver from the full lipped soldier.

"What's your name?" The croak coming from the soldier's throat sounds painful but the grin on his lips makes Kurt smile back.

"I … I'm Kurt Hummel," he smiles, before turning his attention back to Sam's bandages. Sam coughs a little, his eyes following Kurt's movements.

"You have very talented hands, Mr. Hummel." The smirk on the beaten soldiers lips distracts Kurt more than it should, so the blushing nurse averts his gaze, smiling tightly and pouring his attention into dressing Sam's wounds.

"You're recovering well," Kurt comments. "At this rate, you'll be out of here in a week."

Sam coughs again, gesturing for Kurt to stop dressing his wounds. Kurt stops promptly, his hands resting on the ridges of Sam's chest – Sam's very toned, very tanned albeit beaten chest.

"They won't let me fight though," the blonde soldier splutters. "I've messed up my lungs. The best thing I'm good for now is stacking supplies in the medicine wing."

Kurt frowns. "Y-you … You want to fight?"

Sam meets Kurt's eyes and for one intense moment, the constant noise, the bustling of the hospital seems to fade out and it's only Kurt and Sam.

Sam and Kurt.

"Of course I do," Sam breathes. "I want to do what's right for my country."

"Well," Kurt purses his lips, glancing back down at Sam's chest. "That's very honourable of you, soldier."

"Please," the wounded army man breathes. "Call me Sam."