A/N: Chapter 2 has arrived! I listened to "Nemo Egg" from the Finding Nemo soundtrack the whole time I wrote this if that's any indication as to how this chapter will go. Feel free to listen to it as well, if that suits your fancy.

Enjoy!

...

Alex wakes to distant thunder and the wind howling through the cracks in the walls.

His shoulder aches from the position he's rested in since he dozed off hours earlier and he rolls to his back; rubbing the muscle with cracked and bloody fingers.

Gray light peeks in from the small window at the other side of the bunker and he guesses it to be around 5:00 in the morning.

Another thunder clap rolls closer this time and he startles up to a sitting position.

Tommy's gone.

Not even his bedroll is left behind.

Alex can't help but lay his hand on the wood floor where he had just been…it's cold.

His eyes search frantically around the room, finding only a few soldiers still asleep. Most have already risen for showers, breakfast and even for home.

An involuntary tremor runs down his frame as he guesses which one Tommy's left for.

Thin legs kick out of his sleeping bag as he throws the pillow behind him in a haste to climb to his feet.

A folded note appears in its place, creased with a few blackened fingerprints around the edges.

At first, he can only unfold and fold it back up again. Several times he does this for his mind to process what it might mean.

He decides not to read it, knowing that Tommy just went to get breakfast.

Tommy would be right back.

Tommy would be getting a bloody earful for making him feel so weak all the time.

His mind flashes back to being trapped in the sinking boat filled with panic, disorder and bullet holes…a gun pointed right in the French boy's face. He shudders at the idea of how close he came to having blood on his hands.

"It's wrong," Tommy had said.

Those two words may have been the only thing that had kept him from becoming a murderer.

The paper in his hand unfolds before him in one swift motion.

He had to know.

It's a Bible verse…one that cuts straight to his heart.

"9 Two are better than one, in that their cooperative efforts yield this advantage: 10 if one of them falls, the other will help his partner up — woe to him who is alone when he falls and has no one to help him up. 11 Again, if two people sleep together, they keep each other warm; but how can one person be warm by himself? 12 Moreover, an attacker may defeat someone who is alone, but two can resist him; and a three-stranded cord is not easily broken. Ecclesiastes 4:9-1"

No information.

No goodbyes.

Just a rebuke…or maybe a warning.

Alex crumples the offensive note in his fist and takes off running in the first direction that instinct leads. There are thousands of faces to sift through…halls and buildings full of the same uniform. The weak and the strong stand and moan all around him. The maimed lie in cots while the unscathed loiter about in various clusters throughout the area.

The likelihood of seeing that idiotic face ever again drops with each minute that passes.

He clutches his stomach and eyes a nearby bin, resisting the urge to sprint over and wretch in it.

A train whistle blows just one block away and his knees buckle at the sound.

Tommy was surely on that train. He's left him here with out so much as a goodbye.

"You're blocking the aisle, soldier!" An officer yells in his face, but he doesn't hear it. It's merely wind in his ears as he catches sight of a familiar, scrawny profile some fifty feet in front of him. The air in his chest leaves instantly through his flaring nose as relief and fury wrestle together in his gut.

Doubts vanish as he approaches with each step. Tommy stands there; neat and tidy. His thick, black hair is slicked back with only hints of stubborn oil still tainting his ears and jawline.

A new trench cap sits tucked beneath his arm as he nods a few times to another soldier standing beside him.

Another clap of thunder rips across the dreary, gray sky as Tommy's eyes finally lock with his. The gentle smile he offers only serves to agitate Alex further.

Crossing the distance between them, he brings the crinkled paper directly in front of the other boy's face.

"What's this?" Alex says through his teeth.

"It's a verse from the Bible. I wanted to-"

Before Tommy can finish, Alex is throwing him hard up against the nearest wall, ignoring the urge to care when the other boy grimaces from the pain of it.

Tommy sees the Bible verse fall at their boots like a leaf from a branch; swirling away with the formation of soldiers just passing them by.

"I know where it comes from, you bleedin' idiot. What did you mean by parting with it?"

For a split second, Alex stares down at his fistfuls of Tommy's coat. He watches the way the boy's eyes squint and his skinny fingers curl up close to his face.

He's been beat before...

Alex imagines hurling him down to the floor just then...beating those narrow cheek bones to a bloody pulp. He thinks of how easy it would be to take every last bit of frustration he has out on this annoying, gutsy, little beanpole.

Last night plays back her raw and intimate details, if only to stay his hand for a moment.

Tommy had held him as if he were only a little lad...had sang the same old hymn that his mother had used to shush him to sleep so many years ago.

Alex's cheeks burn and his eyes sting; they're still sore from earlier.

It's physical evidence that his pride can neither deny or erase.

Grip loosening, he stares down at his fingers as if they move on their own, yet he knows that this boy has slowly but surely weaseled his way into his heart.

He hasn't the will power to rip him out of it now...

…not like countless other lads that were just blank slates huddled together, all dying to his left and right. Their bodies always looked the same when painted with blood, no matter what features had originally distinguished them from the rest.

Why was this freckled face any different?

Acceptance hurts.

It reopens the callouses. It tears apart the thick walls of his soul in order to make room for something he's long given up on.

'No... no... not this again,' he thinks.

'Please, God, anything but this.'

Once was enough. Once was more than he could bare... It's been nine months since his best friend, Henry, was killed right in front of him, just a few weeks into the war... three bullets...and blood...so much blood.

Gurgling screams ripped from his mate's lips, as raw, guttural ones poured from his own.

He imagines Tommy cold and gray just then... he can't stop himself from going there.

No doubt he would beg Tommy to stay with him, beg God to spare his life, plead on his knees for a bloody miracle...and then...just like Henry, Tommy would be ripped from his arms too.

That was simply the way of things.

This was war.

Refocusing back to the present, Tommy remains tense and ready for anything...green eyes holding nothing but hope…

I hope he doesn't punch me too hard...

I hope he doesn't hate me...

I hope we can be close mates someday...

Alex sighs heavily, giving his comrade a good shove before backing away.

There is absolutely no way he can damage this loyal dog, especially given the evidence of the not so gentle hands of his previous owner. Was it his father...a pathetic lot of school age bastards...perhaps even the soldiers among them?

Alex eyes a few of them standing to his left and right, a quick surge of protectiveness coursing through him on its own accord.

He could almost laugh at the irony if he wasn't so intent on carrying out his current mood instead.

"I... I wasn't able to answer your questions." Tommy begins, mustering up enough courage to look his comrade in the eye. "You were sleepin' so sound. Didn't want to leave you with nothin', mate."

Alex moves in closer at this, if only to attempt to burn a hole through the other soldier. "You pity me...don't you," he whispers out of his throat like sharp daggers. "I suppose I am... more than qualified to fit the mold for your Christian duties."

Tommy shakes his head rapidly at the other boy's conclusion. "No!" he cries. "How...How after everything...after Dunkirk...with what we've been through together...how could you even think..."

He knows…Alex knows deep down that this is much more than just an act of charity...that Tommy genuinely cares about his well being; but he cannot ignore the scars that war and religion have left. He can't seem to put aside the past that's only aided in building cold, stony walls around bottled emotions...some of which have already burst from him mere hours ago.

'Don't let anymore out.' A dark voice warns. 'You'll only suffer in the end.'

For the first time ever, Alex questions if it's actually coming from within...he's always thought so until this moment.

"You go and give me a verse like that...and then you just-"

Tommy can't help it. He pulls Alex into a bear hug that can rival men twice his size. "Hey..." he whispers.

It's the only thing that comes to mind as Alex tries to turn his face away from left to right.

He hates that his tough front has all but left him. What kind of soldier was he to weep so easily over something so simple?

"I didn't know." Tommy says, "I thought you'd want to part ways. I'm sorry, mate. I really didn't know." He pulls away to look at Alex straight on, "We're mates now, yeah?"

Alex wipes his nose with his sleeve and stares at his feet for half a moment. A sensation akin to hovering at the edge of a cliff consumes him.

"Yeah…We're mates."

...

A/N: Chapter 3 will hopefully pop up soon. Thank you to anybody that gives this fanfiction a chance. You are lovely!