Not Out of the Woods (ConcreteGirl08/open)

[Prudence]

The sound of hoof beats echoed through the forest, stirring the birds from their leafy perches and sending the ground animals scurrying for their burrows. A horse and rider flew down the narrow winding path at full tilt, stirring up a spray of damp earth in their wake. The horse’s tawny coat glistened with sweat, a foam of it standing out on its withers and down over its shoulders. The rider leaned low over him, fluid with the line of the horse’s back.
“Come on boy,” he murmured as he pressed his heels into its flanks, “just a little further…” Charles tried to keep his eyes on the path ahead but couldn’t help glancing warily at the surrounding trees, half expecting another contingent of English soldiers to appear from the shadows.
It’d happened so fast—one moment the woods had been still, peaceful, the next the air around them was exploding with the sound of gunshot, a hail of gunfire descending upon them before they were even aware of what was happening. Charles heard the whistle of a bullet as it whizzed past, just missing his ear, only to lodge itself firmly in the brain of the soldier behind him, and another, this one grazing his shoulder though it only penetrated the outermost layer of his coat. Horses balked and reared, throwing their riders and trampling those already on the ground. Charles had the presence of mind to dismount, using his horse as an impromptu shield as he loaded his musket and took aim…at first there’d been nothing to aim at, the others around him were shooting blind in the general direction of enemy fire, and then he saw a flash of red between the trees on slight incline only twenty yards off—if they’d been any closer they’d have seen the whites of his eyes! Charles took aim, fired, and reloaded, able to get off two more rounds before the firing ceased.
“After them!” someone had shouted and Charles remounted, charging forward ahead of the foot soldiers, plunging recklessly into the dense foliage…whoever it was had left in an awful hurry, leaving two dead soldiers behind them in their haste. He’d ridden back to their position a strange mix of disappointment and relief washing over him. He would’ve liked a level shot at the bastards at least, but then again at least he was still alive. It’d taken him a moment to realize what was happening, the Colonel was lying on his back in the dirt, blood rapidly turning his white weskit a sickly shade of red. The Captain was already on his knees beside him, pulling his stained clothing away to reveal a deep chest wound. The Captain untied his cravat, pressing it against the wound in an attempt to stem the flow of blood.
The Colonel winced, “Captain—.” He started, but the Captain face was turned upward to Charles, leaning over them.
“Corporal Alexander you are uninjured?”
“Yessir,” he nodded swiftly.
“You may be the only one of us…” he murmured, and Charles was suddenly aware of the scarlet stain seeping through the shoulder of the Captain’s regimental coat.
“Sir, are you al—.”
“The Colonel requires a physician.” He cut him off sharply.
“Yessir.”
“You will return to camp—.”
“No,” The Colonel interrupted, his voice thick with pain, “The 4th regiment’s camp is will be closer, surely. There is a doctor there by the name of Wright…”
“Corporal, you will ride on to the camp and retrieve this Dr. Wright.”
Charles was already moving to his horse, preparing to mount, “yessir.”
“And Corporal?”
The tone in the Captain’s voice made him stop, he glanced back at him, catching the apprehension in his dark eyes, “time is of the essence.”
“I understand, Sir,” he nodded, swinging himself easily up into the saddle and turning his mount about, a swift kick in the ribs sending him shooting forward through the trees.

They weren’t as close to the regiment’s camp as the Colonel had thought, he’d ridden nearly seven miles since without stopping and no sign of them....he just hoped he hadn’t gotten lost somehow. Just at this thought the path began to widen, and ten yards ahead of them he could see the trees beginning to thin. A few more yards and--.
“Halt!” A voice shouted from the trees, Charles felt his blood run cold. He drew back hard on the reigns, pulling his horse up to an abrupt stop. Two soldiers clad in navy blue regimental coats with tan epilates stepped from the trees, their muskets trained on his chest. “What’s your business here soldier?” One demanded sharply.
“I’m party to a detachment from the 2nd Massachusetts, an escort for Colonel Thornton on his way to New York—,”
“Mhm,” the soldier cocked a skeptical brow, “and where then is your detachment, or for that matter, Colonel Thornton?”
Charles swallowed an agitated groan, he didn’t have time for this! “Lying in a pool of his own blood some seven miles northwest of here.”
“What?!”
“We were ambushed by redcoats and The Colonel was shot, I was sent to retrieve Dr. Wright.”
The soldiers exchanged pale glances, “follow me.”

Charles dismounted and followed the soldier through camp, he expected to be taken to the surgeon’s tent but was led instead to the officers'…At this rate the Colonel would be dead before Charles even saw the doctor. He was forced to retell his story to a skeptical Sergeant, then a Captain and finally a Major before anyone seemed to believe him. Even if he was an English spy why he would bother to infiltrate a Continental camp only to kidnap some field doctor he didn’t know but after twenty extremely agitating minutes he was relieved to find himself, finally, outside the doctor’s tent. He threw back the flap unceremoniously and stepped inside, blinking for a moment against the oppressive heat and the metallic tang of blood before he announced himself, “Dr. Wright, your immediate compliance is required!”

[concretegirl]

Gabriel sighed heavily, looking up at the soldier whose knee he was putting sutures in.
“Could you stop moving?”
The soldier who had a slice of leg dangling down, bloody and wet, was really more of a boy. Probably only fifteen, but masquerading as seventeen. Too young to be getting hurt on a battlefield, as far as Gabriel was concerned. When he was fifteen he once hurt himself on a rusted nail left sticking out from a panel in the barn. A far cry from getting your leg sliced open on a battlefield.
The soldier-the boy- nodded, biting his lip and stiffening as Gabriel continued to use a needle and some coarse thread to pull the skin back together, his hands a mess of blood. He had blood-and all other kinds of bodily fluids- streaks all over his clothes, which was starting to smell bad in the warmth of the day. He finished the last few sutures, then cut and tied off the thread.
“Alright, see how that holds up.” he said, standing upright and giving the boy a solid slap on the shoulder, and moving to the basin of water one of the soldiers has brought him, dunking his hands in the already pink water, watching strains of scarlet run through it. The water was warm and almost felt thick. The entire tent was too warm, Gabriel dried off his hands with an already bloodied towel then raked them through his hair, getting a little damp with sweat. Here was such a far cry from the Medical School he had been attending in Pennsylvania. It was even a world away from the medical office his father ran out of their home, in the small town of Westborough outside of Philadelphia. He wasn’t sure what kind of working conditions he had anticipated when he was assigned to be a field doctor. Surely not the cleaner environments he was used to, but fresh water and some clean cloth would be nice. He hadn’t even really expected to be taken seriously as a doctor without a complete year of medical school under his belt, but apparently they were feeling a little desperate and he was instantly snatched up as a field doctor despite his lack of credentials.
“Doctor Wright…” Gabriel looked up and saw his superior Major Everett moving towards him beneath roof of the tent, the canvas illuminated by the beating sunlight until it was almost a bright gold color, you could see the heat swirling around beneath it.
“Sir?” Gabriel asked, not bothering to put any energy or attention into his voice, but then once he finally noticed the slightly worried look on the Major’s face he stood up a little straighter. “What is it?” he asked, but he could hear the cries of pain outside of the tent before the Major could respond.


“What happened?” he asked.
“A small group just straggled in from the North-met up with some English. They-…” Major Everett shook his head. “They’re not looking very good.”
Within a few moments the din of the soldiers agonized cries filled the heated tent as soldiers carried them in, in a large mess of blood and noise, then men carrying them trying to hold it together but their expressions were pale and sickened.
Gabriel instantly moved into action, directing the men on where to put the wounded. There were only two beds and five total injured-badly.
He grabbed up a pile of burlap sacks, tossing them towards Major Everett. “Lay those out over there.” he instructed, pointing to a clear area of grassy floor, not bothering to wonder of the Major cared about being ordered around, then he turned back. “Lay him over here, then move him down there…” he instructed, moving a table and then grabbing up supplies and shoving them at the now empty-handed soldiers. Once the wounded were all laid down somewhere, some of the soldiers went to back away, but Gabriel moved, catching one who looked particularly sickened. “No, no, no.” he said, grabbing his arm and shoving a pile of linens into his hand. “I can’t do all of this myself, you need to start putting pressure on anything that’s bleeding.” he insisted, then as he went to grab a bag of standard surgeon supplies he looked at the others. “Same goes to all of you.” he said, then turned and surveyed the group.
This was the part he hated most. Deciding who to help first. Assessing who might need him most. Finally, he just moved to the closest man, one who had started screaming about his leg.
While Gabriel set to work, he shouted instructions over the screams to the other soldiers, and Major Everett. “Just hold him down!” he shouted to a soldier who was trying to tend to a soldier who was fighting him back, delirious with pain, while he continued to work on the man who screamed, blood starting to soak into his clothes and running over his hands like water.


Gabriel had lost track of time. If he thought too long about how much time some of these men had and how much time he could give them he wouldn’t be able to focus at all. He was on to the second soldier, who‘s leg looked as though it may need to be severed off completely, up to his elbows in blood and dirt, sweat running down his skin, the smell of gunpowder burns and blood sharp in his nose. Major Everett had been helping, but had been shortly called away on some other matter, but said he would send a soldier to replace him.
So when the canvas of the tent was pulled back and a soldier with honey-blonde hair and pale blue eyes walked in, he assumed he was there to help, until he said in what Gabriel saw as a sharp, frustrated tone.
“Dr. Wright, your immediate compliance is required!”
Gabriel paused from his work on the soldier, his brow furrowing, instantly annoyed about being interrupted, the feeling blood and sweat covering his body only adding to his frustration.
“What the-?” he asked, not only bewildered, but instantly angered. “And just who the hell are you?”

[Prudence]

The smell in the tent, a foul mix of blood, gun smoke, sweat and urine, that combined with the heat was making Charles light headed and nauseous. He wrinkled his nose against it, trying not to take in the carnage before him. He’d seen enough gaping wound and mangled bodies in the past two years to last him a lifetime… There was nothing he could do for these people and there was no use feeling guilty over that, but at least he might be able to help the Colonel. His eyes narrowed on the man who spoke—the doctor? Surely not! Not this infantile, positively cherubic youth before him—he’d seen manlier faces on girls barely off leading strings! Still he was elbow deep in ruptured entrails and severed limbs, it must be him…was the army truly so desperate?
“Corporal Alexander of the 2nd Massachusetts, that’s who the hell I am,” he shouted above the bedlam—the screams and groans of wounded and dying men, “You will accompany me at once!” His icy gaze dared the young doctor to refuse him.
(bah, shortish, sorry)

[concretegirl]

Gabriel felt his body tense, anger flaring even hotter in his chest. He could see the look of incredulity on the man’s face as he looked him over. His age-barley twenty- did him in every time, few people took him seriously, much less believed he was a doctor in the first place.
That, and the man didn’t look like he was willing to take no for an answer. In fact, his expression promised him a great deal of grief if he even thought about refusing him.
But, that didn’t change the fact that Gabriel hated being told what to do, especially by people who had no standing in his life whatsoever. It was part of the reason his father had assured him that he should just let them make a doctor out of him and avoid soldiering as much as possible.
The other soldiers had stopped, watching for how he would respond, looking equally as bewildered, while the injured continued to twist and scream on their make-shift beds.
Gabriel looked at the man-probably a year or so over twenty, dressed in a threadbare looking uniform, his hair disheveled, and now an angry look in his eyes.
Gabriel snorted, shaking his head. “Look,” he said, then glanced over at one of the assisting soldiers who was closest to the pile of linens, he gestured towards them and the soldier quickly tossed him one, which he started to use to wrap around the man’s leg above the deep wound-eliciting even worse screams of pain from him, making Gabriel have to shout as he turned and addressed the man in the doorway again. “I’m sure that whoever sent you was desperate enough to pick the first imbecile they could find, but even you can’t have missed that I’m kind of in the middle of something here that I can’t just up and walk away from, so either lend a hand…” he trailed off, pausing just long enough to grab a stray piece of rope, put it around the man’s leg as a make-shift tourniquet. “…Or get out!” he had to shout even louder over the man’s even worse cries of agony.
(also shortish. )

[Prudence]

Charlie’s pale eyes flashed, anger and frustration building deep in his chest—what he wouldn't give to punch the little smart aleck square in the jaw, he could almost see it, the look of shock and perhaps even fear in his eyes as the fist came hurling toward him, a split second before it collided with his pretty face—his hands clenched, balling into fists at his sides. Who the hell did this mere boy think he was, speaking to a battle-hardened soldier, his superior, that way? The Colonel’s life was more valuable than a few common volunteers, as brutal and heartless at it sounded, even in his own head, it was an undeniable truth. They were short of officers as it was and without them their army would dissolve into little more than a lawless, rampageous mob and that would be the end of their cause. His hand shot out suddenly, seizing the doctor by his collar and yanking him to his feet, glaring into his blue eyes, his face so close their noses nearly touched. It didn’t seem to matter that the doctor had an inch or so to his advantage, beside the soldier’s broad shoulders and thickly muscled build his leaner frame appeared almost frail.
“Listen here pup,” he growled, his voice so low it was only just audible to the others in the room, “and listen close because I won’t repeat myself, pack up your little bag, put on your coat and double-time your puny arse out of this tent, now, before I lose my good humor.”
He released him roughly, practically tossing him down and glanced around, eyeing the soldiers who'd stopped their work with the wounded to stare, bewildered. He half hoped someone would challenge him, he’d had just about all he could takes of these niceties for one afternoon.

[concretegirl]

Gabriel’s brother Richard always told him that if he wasn’t going to curb his tongue, it would probably be in his best interest to watch who he was talking to, something that Gabriel had never really given much consideration, until the soldier-no, probably an officer- had him up by the collar of his shirt, practically nose-to-nose as he demanded Gabriel’s compliance.
As Gabriel caught his balance, he couldn’t believe this man’s audacity, it made his blood broil, the mere idea of what he was suggesting.
While he was at war with himself about which one of these men to help first, he already disregarded them completely. Some general probably wanted his sore throat checked out, maybe had gotten a superficial scratch, maybe his horse was sick-Gabriel was always being asked to look at his superior’s stupid, injured beasts- so Gabriel was to leave them all behind to twist, rot, and die in a bed of their own blood. Like they were nothing. As though the generals, the captains, the bloody corporals and majors were the gods of this war and could use these living, breathing men like wooden, lifeless pieces on a chess board, so they could make their names.
Well, he wouldn’t do it. He resented this man deeply for even having the gall to ask it of him.
Gabriel went to hit him, a full swing across the face-sure, this man’s bigger build made it clear he had a couple of years and a few more fights on Gabriel, but that was beside the point, Gabriel never thought these things through and he wasn’t about to start now. But, before he could move he heard Major Everett’s voice call out over the pained cries and shocked exclamations of those looking on.
“Doctor Wright!”
Gabriel stopped himself, turning to look at the Major, his blue eyes sparking and burning, his jaw so tight it hurt. “Major-”
“Corporal Alexander is here from the 2nd Massachusetts Regiment. Colonel Thorton-”
Gabriel shook his head, gesturing back at the bedlam and blood all around him. “The Colonel can wait-”
“The Colonel is injured, Wright. Dying.” Major Everett snapped, cutting him off. “The last thing we need is to loose another officer. If you get there fast enough, I know you’re good enough to help him…” he gestured towards the injured soldiers. “These men know how much we need men like Thorton, they know how this works. You’ve done your duty here, now you need to go assist your superior-”
Gabriel shook his head. “You can’t ask that of me-”
“I’m not asking. It’s an order, Wright. Now grab some supplies and do as I say or you’ll be charged with insubordination.”
Gabriel was so angry he felt his eyes water, his blood-covered limbs trembling. He turned and grabbed a torn up leather bag, and starting tossing whatever supplies he knew they could spare here into it, then looked over at the soldiers who were standing over the injured, looking a little terrified of being left alone.
“Keep pressure on the wounds. Wrap them up and keep them clean.” he said, trying to keep his tone upbeat and hopeful for them. Then he picked up one of the surgical saws that was lying on one of the tables, turning back to Major Everett, gesturing towards the man he had been working on as he shoved the rusted instrument at him.
“Maybe you can finish that one up for me, Major.” he said, his voice sharp and still angry, before he grabbed another bag that had his own personal effects in it-which wasn’t much to speak of- then pushed past Corporal Alexander outside of the tent, where his horse was tied up just outside, the fresh air making him sicker than the spoiled air inside.

[Prudence]

Charles could see the gears turning behind the doctor’s eyes, see the thoughts and emotions churning about in his brain, wrestling with each other, and then he saw his jaw set, resolute, his eyes suddenly furiously bright. He saw him cock his arm back, ready to throw a punch but didn’t flinch, he wasn’t about to give this boy the satisfaction of watching him dodge a blow that probably wouldn’t even leave a bruise. He was already debating whether he would punch him back or grab him by the scruff of the neck and just drag him out when the Major’s voice pierced through his thoughts. In less serious circumstances he might have laughed at the sudden change in the Doctor’s demeanor, watching his expression change from one of intense fury to surprise, and then tacit acceptance as his fist slowly lowered.
He was just about to follow the doctor back out into the sunlight when the Major stopped him, “Corporal.”
“Yessir?”
His voice was low, almost calm, but held a quiet sort of menace, “The Doctor may be young, Corporal but he’s a skilled physician and worth more to this Army than ten of your kind. If anything should happen to that young man I’ll know whom to hold responsible, understood?”
Charles jaw clenched as he swallowed back any argument and nodded, though his response still came out acid, “Yes. Sir.”
“Good, dismissed.”
He gave a swift salute and turned on his heel, sucking in a deep lungful of fresh air as he stepped out of the tent, he took his reins from what appeared to be a drummer boy, the lad couldn’t have been much over ten and mounted. He waited for the doctor to mount his own horse, an admittedly attractive beast, though it would’ve looked more appropriate beneath a native warrior than a young doctor. “You’d better be as good as they say, son, or so help me God…” he let the threat hang unfinished in the air between them as he wheeled Helios about. He pressed his heels into his flanks and the horse was off like a shot.
He could feel the time slipping steadily away, like sand through a sieve or water between his fingers—only in his mind’s eye it wasn’t water, nor sand, it was blood, the Colonel’s lifeblood…how much did he have left? He wasn’t particularly fond of the Colonel, he respected him as a soldier though his haughty attitude had never set well with Charles. How many times, when being reprimanded by him had he wished for some terrible tragedy to befall the damn fool? And now by some strange twist of providence he was responsible for his very life…

[concretegirl]

Gabriel hated riding, or, more specifically: he hated horses.
He would be one of the first to admit that his dislike wasn’t really warranted-what had horses ever done to him? Nothing. But he had never really been able to master horsemanship, he didn’t have the patience for it and so he always blamed the beasts themselves. He was comfortable enough around them- almost everyone had to use one in their lifetime- and it wasn’t a matter of fear, but he never seemed to understand them in the way that others did. Corporal Alexander, for example, seemed to regard his horse almost as a person, perfectly in sync with the animal.
Just another reason for Gabriel to hate him as far as he was concerned.
Luckily for Gabriel though, his horse, Name-a big, black and white beast with wild, startling blue eyes- didn’t really require any specific skill to handle. Name seemed to catch up pretty quickly to whatever Gabriel wanted him to do, and when Corporal Alexander’s horse started off at a full run, Name simply followed suit, always eager to please, for reasons unfathomable to Gabriel-he’d certainly never made any attempts to win the animal’s trust. Though, he would be lying if he said he didn’t tolerate Name much better than any other horse he had been forced to work with before. But, that was much more a matter of who had given him the horse, rather than the horse himself.
They rode for what seemed like forever to Gabriel, though he guessed it was a little over seven miles, which was made longer by the glaring heat of the sun overhead. Name was more than adjusted to running for long distances and kept pace well behind the Corporal’s large palomino stallion.
The Corporal didn’t even slow when they reached the 2nd Regiment’s camp, storming into it, only stopping up short in front of a large tent and dismounting quickly.
Gabriel yanked Name to a hard stop just behind him, the horse throwing his head and snorting as dust flew up around his legs and Gabriel got off, grabbing his bags, and throwing the reins to the nearest person who seemed willing to take them.

(Kind of short, and mostly just about the horse, but... Eh, I feel like the 2nd Regiment is your territory, figured I'd let you flesh it out. )

[Prudence]

Charles swung down from his saddle before his horse had even reached a full stop, never mind tethering him or even passing him off to a nearby soldier—Helios had been well trained to stand wait. He glanced back briefly at the Doctor, watching him dismount prepared to seize him by the collar and pull him into the tent if he took even a second longer than Charles deemed reasonable. Luckily The Doctor seemed, finally, to comprehend the severity of the situation for he was already passing the reins to a waiting Private and hurrying forward into the tent. Once again he was accosted immediately by the heat and a stench of human blood. He blinked, eyes adjusting slowly to the dimness of the room. He’d never seen an infirmary in state but absolute chaos, probably because he never ventured near one unless absolutely forced and that usually followed a battle. Many of the two long rows of cots stood empty, a few occupied by soldiers stricken with the fever that always seemed to follow military camps and those still recovering from older wounds. In the far corner of the room a small group of men, officers were clustered around one cot in particular, though the occupant couldn’t be clearly seen through the crowd.
Upon their entrance one of the officers—Captain Foster, turned, a wave of relief sweeping over his weathered features, “Ah, Corporal.”
He gave a brief salute, “Sir…” in turning the Captain had given Charles and the Doctor as clear view of the figure on the cot. His skin was ash pale, as white as his shirt might have been if it hadn’t been soaked with blood, they’d made an attempt to quell the bleeding, as attested to in the mound of bloodstained cloth pressed against his chest and the pile of scarlet rags on the floor beside him. Thornton was a large, hale sort of fellow and Charles had never seen, nor expected to see, the Colonel in such a position. Was this not the same man, when shot in the arm during the Battle of Trenton, had fashioned himself a tourniquet and continued right on fighting? It seemed impossible that he could be laid so low by one tiny ball of lead. “The Colonel…is he…?”
The Captain didn’t respond, his attention turning to the Doctor, “Dr. Wright, Colonel Thornton requires your immediate attention, I assume Corporal Alexander has conveyed to you the severity of his condition?”
(I'll probably have to edit the NPCs' names later on to be more historically accurate, as there was no Colonel Thornton or Captain Foster serving with the 2nd Mass as far as I know, but oh well.)

[concretegirl]

“…Corporal Alexander has conveyed to you the severity of the situation?”
Gabriel looked over the Colonel. Even if it hadn’t been conveyed, he would have gotten a good idea pretty quickly. Colonel Thorton’s skin had gone a very wrong sort of pale color, and there was blood everywhere-they had been trying to stop the bleeding, judging by all of the soiled cloth of every kind strewn around every which way. His breathing was harsh, shallow.
Gabriel pointedly didn’t look at Corporal Alexander when he replied to Captain Foster. Now that they were here at the camp, a consolidation prize was that Gabriel wouldn’t have to deal with Corporal Alexander anymore. He opened up the worn leather bag with the supplies in it. “Given Colonel Thorton’s position in the army, Major Everett insisted that I come.” he said, dismissing the Corporal completely, though he normally would have said it with more snark, but he was already distracted by the task at hand, he pushed away all of the blood-soaked cloths, the colonel gasped in pain, jerking a little.
Captain Foster looked Gabriel up and down. “You’re not injured yourself, are you doctor?” he asked, and Gabriel realized he must have noticed all of the blood.
Gabriel shook his head. “No, a few soldiers in our regiment ran into some English. I was attending to them…” he said, not without a little bit of bitterness, that seemed to go unnoticed by the others.
Gabriel moved closing, getting a better look at the wound-deep, with dark, dark blood bubbling and streaming from it freely.
“Can you remove the bullet?” the Captain asked, as Gabriel continued to assess the Colonel.
The wound was severe, but, he didn’t think it was lodged too deeply, at least from what he could see, but it probably wouldn’t be easy to remove, and then who knew how well he might heal.
“I’ll do my best.” he said, as he dumped out the surgical instruments he had brought and surveyed whatever ones were provided there on a table. Swallowing back any feelings of nausea or even doubt-for the first few moments he thought what he always thought:
I can’t do this. I don’t know how to do this.
But, then he had to remind himself about all of the times he had seen his father tend to similar or worse injuries-from the time he was seven years old. He remembered his fathers possession of mind, the all-important focus and attention. The calmness.
Gabriel pushed his sleeves up, more bloody fingerprints on his shirt, taking a deep breath like a man who was about to dive into deep water, then he turned back to the Captain. “You might want to get him something to drink.”



Gabriel had heard stories about Thorton. The kind you always heard about men of his rank. Brave, fearless, probably incapable of feeling pain. Gabriel had always hoped it was that way on the battlefield, because it was certainly never that way in the Surgeon’s tent.
Gabriel imagined it was one thing to push through pain, and another thing entirely to be told to sit or lay still through it, especially as it only grew more agonizing.
After being all but drowned in rum, the Colonel had to be held down as Gabriel removed the bullet, his cries of pain ringing in Gabriel’s ears. The blood hot and wet on his hands, slimy and thick, the smell growing worse as the time went on, immersed in the task at hand, demanding this or that from whoever was closest, not even bothering to see who it was that was handing him this piece of metal equipment or that rag, until he dropped the bullet, crushed and dripping with blood onto the table and then acted quickly, asking to have things heated so he could burn parts of the wound to make it stop bleeding, before trying to sew it all together as best he could.
Once it was all tied together, he backed away, wiping the sweat from his face, but only smearing blood across his face in a way that looked like Indian war paint. He turned back to the Captain, who still didn’t look squeamish, but worn down.
“That’s all I can do right now.” he said, his voice reflecting how drained he felt. His mouth was so dry, but the idea of drinking water with the smell of blood burning his nose made him want to vomit.
“The next few days will tell us more. For now just let him rest. I take it you don’t have any laudanum?”
Captain Foster shook his head. “Not in this camp.”
Gabriel nodded. “Then just keep giving him the rum… It’s all I can do right now.” he said again, and then had to push out images of five men, some of whom were probably already dead nearly seven miles away, and the words “that’s all I can do” suddenly sounding more insufficient than he could stand.

[Prudence]

Charlie had never done well around blood, as a small child the sight of it had made him feel lightheaded, the smell nauseous. Of course after a bout of spring fever at the age of ten, and the considerable amount of blood-letting the illness had entailed, he’d grown more accustomed, if not exactly comfortable with it. As a soldier Lord knows he’d seen enough—limbs severed, bodies mangled by cannon fire, gaping bayonet wounds that never seemed to cease bleeding, bullets shattering bones, skulls…He should have been acclimated, numb to what, by comparison, amounted to little more than a scratch, but he wasn’t. The smell, that sharp metallic scent that always seemed to stick in the back of his throat, it made his skin crawl…there always seemed to be so much of it. He’d meant to stay, to watch over the Colonel as it were—not to mention keep an eye on that deuced doctor, but after several minutes found himself in hasty retreat.
He sucked in a deep breath of fresh air…not as fresh as it could have been, he reflected, putrid smells always seemed to linger in camp, but fresher than inside the tent at least. They day was nearly gone, hanging lower in the sky than he’d have supposed. He could see across the camp—a veritable city of tents, the last drills of the day being run in the far field. Lines of men with shouldered muskets marching in formation, the first line aimed and fired in almost perfect unison, ducking to allow the next line to aim while they reloaded—and so on down the line. They were even beginning to look like an army!
He remembered those first days, so long ago now it seemed, when they’d been little more than a rag-tag band of farmers and a few militia men, back then they’d been the 2nd Massachusetts Bay Provincial under Colonel John Thomas, back then he hadn’t even known the proper way to carry a musket, or how to march, he’d never seen a man die and he’d certainly never killed one. He’d been a complete tenderfoot, naïve and pathetically inexperienced but he remembered how proud, how right he’d felt, being a part of it. The fire of his convictions burning so bright he thought he might actually catch light...it frightened him sometimes that he didn’t feel that way anymore. Oh he still believed in the cause, would gladly lay his life down for it, surely he’d proved that much but…it was different now. Back then he’d been so confident, so sure that Providence was with them, that there was no way they could lose and now…now he felt that he was hanging on, stubbornly, doggedly, to a sinking ship. It felt stagnant, stale, as if the head had died and no one had yet bothered to tell the body.
He sucked in another deep breath, this time of frustration and exhaled it in a sigh. If they’d just get moving again! They’d been encamped in backwoods of New York for what seemed like an eternity, moldering away in this overcrowded camp. That wasn’t what he’d signed on, what he’d sacrificed so much for. He could feel the restlessness, the disquiet, creeping up his spine, spreading through his body until his limbs ached and his fingers and toes itched with it.
There was a howl of pain from the tent and Charlie winced reflexively, he had no desire to go back in but he felt he couldn’t simply walk away, not yet…
(Not a whole lot of character interaction, sorry about that...maybe they'll bump into each other when Gabriel leaves the tent?)

[concretegirl]

Once the Colonel was asleep-finally giving in to the heavy drinks the officers had been pouring down his throat- Gabriel asked Captain Thorton if there was a water source anywhere near by, and the Captain gave him vague directions to a nearby stream. Exhaustion starting to eke away at him, Gabriel grabbed the bag with his personal belongings in it and wandered outside of the tent, the fresh air making him lightheaded as he pulled it into his lungs, the sunlight angry on his skin, making the blood dry and become irritating and scratchy on his skin.
Gabriel found the stream behind a heavy stretch of trees, as soon as he found it he yanked off his shoes and walked right into it. The flowing, cold water made tremors travel through him, but it was an instant relief against the heat of the day, and it was fast moving enough to where he couldn’t see the blood running off into it very well-which, he found he appreciated. He used a spare piece of cloth from the tent to try and scrape away at the blood on his arms, his face, and his head ached and throbbed with the cold as he tried to wash it out of his hair. He yanked his shirt over his head, the water cold against his chest, making him shiver but in a way it was too hot to complain about. He doused it and wrung it out. Once he felt sufficiently cold, he got out, quickly switching the rest of his clothes, his dark, dark hair soaked and looking black, water dripping from the ends, off of his nose.
He picked up the remaining dirty clothes, and his shoes, wandering back in the direction of the camp barefooted, but found himself unable to go all of the way back just now. He went by one of the trees, lowering himself down to sit at the trunk of it, leaning his head against the coarse bark and looking up at the treetops, watching the shades of green shift and move. Trees made him think of home. They had had so many of them there. Orchards with rows of apple and cherry trees, large oaks and tall maples. He and his brother Richard would climb them-his sister Emily would always try, too, never one to be left behind or beaten out. While sometimes Gabriel’s sisters-not only Emily, but also Caroline and Susannah- would shock their mother, their father seemed to know that he couldn’t raise his daughters in the same competitive and pushy way he did his sons and have them turn out docile.
Gabriel thought it was cruel, sometimes. The way his father wanted his daughters to be thinkers, movers, to read, write, and work, but then in the face of society forbid them to be or do any of those things openly without permission. Maybe his father felt unfairly confined, maybe he regretted that necessity, but if he did he never showed it. Instead he simply took every opportunity to make a point with Gabriel or Richard, and eventually on their younger brother, Tobey.
Gabriel could only think about home for so long before it made his stomach twist-imagining his family their, beyond his help should the violence of the war reach a little too far. The bloodshed could follow him all it wanted, but heaven forbid it had the audacity to taint his home and family.
He pulled his boots back on before he stood up-blood splatters were all over them and he realized they would have to be washed, too. Then he grabbed up his things and stood up, exhaustion once again threatening to drag him back down, still listening to the sound of the trees as he headed back towards the camp.

[Prudence]

The tent was quiet at last, almost silent except for the occasional groans of the few wounded or ill and the voice of the officers, muted by the thick canvas that separated them. Charlie was just about to re-enter, desperation to know the Colonel’s condition finally overpowering his distaste for blood when Captain Foster exited, nearly bumping into him.
“What—oh Corporal…you’re still here?”
Charlie felt a little sheepish as he nodded, “The Colonel—.”
“Ah,” Foster clapped him on the shoulder, “The Doctor patched him up as best as he could, he seems stable enough now although that may be more to do with the rum than…” he trailed off, chuckling briefly until he saw the solemnity in Charlie’s eyes, so unlike the soldier’s usual expression, “He’ll mend fine not to worry, and you should be commended Alexander, I’ve never seen fourteen miles cut into so few hours.”
Charlie’s back straightened as if a tremendous weight had been dropped from his shoulders, his eyes brightened and a trace of a smile showed briefly at the corners of his mouth, “Thank you Sir, I--.”
The rumble of drums, loud as a roll of thunder filled the camp, cutting him off, the sun was beginning to set and the drummer boys were sounding the evening retreat—signaling them to roll call. The soldiers already in the field began forming lines according to division and rank while those in the camp hurried over to join them, Charlie and the Captain among them.
Charlie slipped into the common line beside a small, slim soldier who looked all of twelve years (though he claimed seventeen). The young private had a disheveled look about him, not because he was particularly untidy but because his uniform was too large and hung off him at odd angles and because his short dark hair stuck out rebelliously from beneath his tricorn in all different directions. He glanced briefly up at Charlie, his bright blue eyes, (which were his one redeeming physical quality) always seeming to comprehend more than Charlie would have liked. “What’s the matter?”
Charlie shook his head, “The Colonel…”
“Yes, I heard—ambush wasn’t it?”
“Something to that effect,” he nodded, lowering his voice as they were called to attention and the Aide-de-camp began reading off the roll.
“Aarons..! Abbott..! Abrams..!”
“You didn’t come back with the—.”
“Aldrich..! Alexander..!” Charlie stepped forward, saluted smartly, and stepped back in line.
“Foster sent me to fetch a doctor from the 4th…deuced lot of trouble for an infant,” he eyed him with a smirk, “no offense Hallewell.”
Hallewell rolled his eyes but otherwise dismissed the slight, “Not very good then, this Doctor?”
“Oh he can mend a wound to be sure, it’s only that he’s a damned unpleasant uptight sort and gives me a headache. I had him up by the collar within ten minutes of our meeting…”
“Cutright..! Dabney..! Dafoe..!”
He laughed outright and covered it with a cough, “You would.”
“He insisted on declining my exceedingly polite request.” Charlie shrugged.
“Ferrier..! Forsyth..! Foster..!”
“Mmh, yes, I’m certain…what was his name this unpleasant fellow?”
“Oh…I hadn’t paid much attention, ‘R’ something or ‘W’…Wright, I think.”
“Guffy..! Gunther..! Hallewell..!”
He didn’t move…he was staring straight ahead unseeing, his face suddenly pale.
“Hallewell..!”
“Nat!” Charlie hissed, giving him a little shove and he stumbled forward. The movement seemed to shake him from his thoughts for he gave a quick salute and stepped back into the line, “You alright?”
Nat nodded slowly, though Charlie wasn’t sure he believed him, “what…what did you say his name was?”
Charlie cocked a brow, “Wright, I believe…why?”
He shook his head, “nothing, never mind.”

[concretegirl]

Gabriel wandered back into camp about the same time as the roll was being called. He was about to keep up his subterfuge and go back to the surgeon’s tent to get some sleep-he had gotten used to living in the one in the fourth regiment, not he ever got too much sleep there, either. If people weren’t getting wounded they simply came down with something. When he thought about it, he hadn’t really gotten more than four hours or so of sleep in the last couple of days.
But, just as he was about to traipse around the back of the tent, he heard his named called.
“Ah, Wright, you’re back!”
He turned and saw one of the officers waving him down. He recognized him from the tent. A tall man, with a shock of blonde hair and dark green eyes, probably nearing his later thirties. Gabriel was pretty sure he had even yelled at him about now being fast enough at handing him a scalpel. Lieutenant something or another…
“Lieutenant…?” he replied, and the Lieutenant noticed the slight lack of recall.
“Ah, sorry, there wasn’t really time for introductions earlier, but I’m Lieutenant Singer-Jonathan Singer.” the Lieutenant said, he was looking much less piqued than he had in the sweltering tent.
Gabriel nodded. “Doctor Gabriel Wright.”
Lieutenant Singer smiled. “I realize you’re from the fourth regiment, but we’ve added you to our roll-call for the night.” he said.
Gabriel managed not to sigh in disappointment. “Did you now?”
“Certainly did.” the Lieutenant assured him, giving him a sharp look that let him know he had caught Gabriel’s sarcasm, then gave him a quick up and down glance. Gabriel knew he looked like an honest mess, with his jacket blood splattered in the tent and his shirt still a little damp and open a ways at the chest-his cravat was also stashed somewhere in the tent-his waistcoat unbuttoned, his boots still dirty. He hadn’t even brought his hat. “We’ll overlook your attire-or lack thereof- this once.” he added as a come back before gesturing towards the line-up, and Gabriel followed behind him.
“Fine job you did on the Colonel. I know he’s not out of the woods yet, but, his odds have to be better now.” Lieutenant Singer mused as they walked.
Gabriel only nodded. He had seen enough men look well on their way to recovery one hour and die the next. He had stopped thinking about odds, he had even stopped paying attention to his own instincts when it came to who he thought would or wouldn’t make it. As far as he could tell, it was all as scientific and calculated as a roll of the dice.
“Well, we’re also lucky to have Corporal Alexander in our regiment. Fine man. Best and fastest rider I’ve ever seen.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes when the Lieutenant wasn’t looking. “He’s got a very nice horse.” he said, yet another noncommittal remark, not letting himself say anything else-knowing he’d only say something that the superiors here would make him regret, since the Corporal was clearly their resident knight in shining armor- before he gave the Lieutenant a quick, charming sort of smile-the one he used on his father’s friends at dinner parties- and made his exit.
Gabriel went to the end of the line-with a name like Wright, he was always at the end-not even feeling bad about dismantled he looked, his, the fact that his hair was still dripping water. He was too tired for that, and if the Lieutenant said he didn’t care, he wasn’t about to feel sorry.
He got a few strange glances from the unfamiliar soldiers around him as the roll was called. He glanced up and down the line involuntarily when they called off Corporal Alexander’s name, his expression already terse, probably looking as though he’d just heard someone curse in church.
But, instead of seeing Corporal Alexander, his attention was immediately drawn away to the soldier standing next to him.
His brow furrowed, his dark eyebrows knit together, his eyes suddenly burning fiercely with confusion and incredulity. He even took a step forward-though not far enough out of place that anyone thought he was trying to account for someone else in the roll call.
At first he cast off the similarity as something out of his own imagination. Surely it was a mistake. He had just been thinking about home, so he must be seeing things.
But the longer he looked-the more his jaw fell open, and his heart started to race-he knew he wasn’t imagining anything. He would know that face. He’d know it anywhere, despite the drastic-and to him: horrifying- change of appearance such as the hacked-off locks, the soldier’s clothing…
The face of his sister, Emily Grace Wright.
He didn’t know which brotherly instinct was stronger. The one that demanded he storm right over there and strangle her, or the one that said he run to her, yank her right off her feet and drag her straight off that field, kicking and screaming all the way back to Pennsylvania.
He struggled feebly to make sense of it. How had she come to be here? Surely they didn’t know she was a girl, that wasn’t allowed! But how was she passing off as a boy? Did any of these men know she was a girl? Suddenly the fairly calm regiment looked like a labyrinth of destruction and filth with her standing there. The rural, uncultured setting suddenly reeked of blood, waste, and rum. A group of British soldiers could traipse in at any moment, there were wild animals in the woods. And, suddenly, another wave of horror rushed through him.
The men.
His sister, seventeen, had been living here with soldiers of who knew what background, possibly questionable decency. Where was she bathing? Dressing? He almost choked as another thought entered his mind-just where the hell had she been sleeping!?
He continued to choke, and had to work even harder to restrain himself as he watched Emily, whispering to Corporal Alexander, cringing as she laughed at something he said, and after a few more names were called, having to retrain himself when the Corporal touched her, pushing her forward when her ‘name‘-Hallewell- was shouted out and she quickly stepped forward and saluted before returning to her place-the action looking completely ridiculous being carried out by her.
As much as he wanted to haul her away then and there, Gabriel knew he couldn’t just burst out in the middle of roll call like that. That wouldn’t help anyone-least of all Emily. If the army found out she was a girl, who knew what the consequences would be. Besides, the last thing his family needed was another scandal.
He barely kept his calm, his jaw clenched, his fists tight, his head spinning. He had to look insane to anyone who had noticed him-the soldier at the end of the line next to him continued to give him strange looks, and even spared a glance in the same direction that Gabriel kept looking. Finally Gabriel told himself he had to stop. He couldn’t be obvious. He had to keep this under wraps, he had to-
“Wright!”
The tone in the officer’s voice suggested that Gabriel had missed the first couple of times he had called his name.
He stepped forward, managing a perfectly straight salute before turning and looking over in Emily’s direction.
Their similarly colored blue eyes meeting for just a moment, and the outrage won out over the protectiveness for a moment, and he was certain that if the English didn’t kill her, he bloody well would do it himself.

[Prudence]

Nat felt cold and hot at once, nauseous, he felt suddenly as if every eye was on him, as if something had shifted, revealing him, and everyone somehow knew…He even glanced at Charlie, sure that he of all people would sense it but Charlie wasn’t looking at him. Doctor Wright the words exploded in her brain like cannon fire, at first she pictured her father, the elegantly composed man with his be speckled blue eyes, his dark hair peppered with gray—what had Charlie called him ‘infant’? No, it wouldn’t be Father then it would be…
“Wright..!” He couldn’t help himself he leaned forward, the all too familiar name resounding in his ears as he watched the young man in disordered blood-stained clothing step forward, salute and then—he paused before stepping back into place, turning his gaze suddenly upon Nat, locking eyes. "Gabriel..." Suddenly he wasn’t Nat anymore, the carefully constructed façade crumbling away and for a second, just a second she was Emily Wright, just Emily, and he was Gabriel, her brother…her—her heart ached, burned in her chest, part of her wanting, longing to run to him to hug him and tell him everything, it’d been so long..!
She checked herself sharply, “No!” she thought fiercely, so determinedly that for a second she thought she’d spoken aloud, “you are not Emily Wright,” she reminded herself, “you are Nathan Hallewell, a private in the Continental Army, you are a soldier, you will conduct yourself as a soldier.” She dropped his piercing gaze—only realizing afterward just how much confusion and anger it had held and returned her face forward.
“Are you acquainted with the little doctor?” Charlie asked, his voice sounding strangely far away.
“Oh…no, I—well we’ve, I met him once,” He said, color rising in his cheeks.
Charlie cocked a brow at him, then glanced back over at the doctor who was still watching them it what the fool probably supposed was a subtle manner, “I’d wager you’d met more than once..what?” he nudged him, “is he one of your sisters’ many suitors?”
Charlie was always teasing Nat about his sisters, or more specifically Temperance, he’d made the mistake of showing him one of her letters to him and Charlie seemed quite taken with her, or her penmanship, ever since. At the moment Nat didn’t find it quite so amusing as usual, “certainly not.”
“No, of course your sister has much better taste.”
“Oh yes, what low breed of woman would ever become involved with a doctor? As opposed to what, a penniless farmhand turned soldier?” He scoffed.
“Well then how—?”
The Aid-de-camp finished rattling off tomorrow’s orders and finally dismissed them, Nat turned sharply away, “I’d rather not discuss it…” He was about to stalk off, put as much distance between himself and Gabriel as possible, Doctors usually kept to the infirmary tent and when the Colonel was on the mend surely he’d return to his own regiment and thing could return to the way they—he knocked hard into another body and stumbled backward, nearly falling before he regained his composure, “my apologies I—oh.” He stopped short, what little color had been in his cheeks draining quickly as his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.
“Well, hello again Doctor,” Charlie said, his voice dripping with sarcastic sweetness.
She knew the face so well and yet now, this close, it seemed so strange to her, she’d forgotten how blue his eyes were, how like their father he looked, esp. now—a doctor, a real doctor, father must be so proud...She shook herself mentally.
Nat cleared his throat, “Good evening Dr. Wright,” he said, voice stiff with formality as he gave a little nod of the head, an unreadable look in his pale eyes.
Charlie stared between the two for what seemed like an eternity before coughing lightly, “Well…” he mused, trailing off, even he could sense the tension in the air, so thick it could be cut with a cavalry saber.

[concretegirl]

As soon as the roll-call ended, Emily couldn’t seem to try and get out of there fast enough, which Gabriel hoped she knew wasn’t going to do herself any favors. Chasing her down only made him that much more annoyed.
Gabriel quickly made his way through the crowd, heading her-and that infernal Corporal- off by going around, quickly getting in front of her, just before she-looking over her shoulder, for him he assumed- all but made a run for it and crashed right into him.
He had to clench his fists at his sides to keep from reaching out and trying to steady her as she stumbled backwards for a moment, a sudden flare of concern rising his chest as she started to apologize, and even as she looked up at him, obviously startled. Her blue eyes wide, reminding him for a moment of when they were kids, and he and Richard would tell her scary stories late at night.
“Well, hello again, Doctor.” Corporal Alexander said, but Gabriel couldn’t look away from Emily, ready to tear her away from the regiment-or, more specifically for the moment: from Corporal Alexander- at any given moment, until she cleared her throat and greeted him in a forcedly deeper voice that under different circumstances he would have found hilarious.
However, the circumstances weren’t different, and having her parade her façade right in front of him, so blatantly, only made the anger flared up all over again, even worse. Gabriel could feel his own expression darken, and he had to keep himself from talking for a few moments, or he knew he would simply explode, shouting for the entire camp to hear.
The Corporal continuously looked back and forth between the two of them, checking their expressions. “Well…” he trailed off and fleetingly Gabriel considered punching him in the face as hard as he could if only to shut him up for a second, but he instead continued to watch Emily.
“Hallewell and I know each other.” he said, finally finding his voice, though trying to regulate just how much tension and acid was in it. “We’re what you’d call family friends. I was h-” he cut himself off, he‘d nearly said ‘her’. “His family doctor for a while. Speaking of which,” he said, his expression daring her to use that stupid, fake voice again, even if part of him knew she hardly had a choice here in front of the Corporal. “Just how is that blasted, bloody, insane, and completely ludicrous head injury, Hallewell? I was thinking you might need your head examined again.” he said, not even bothering to cover up the harsh double edge to his words-which probably made no sense to the Corporal in the first place.

[Prudence]

Emily stared at him, waiting, dreading the moment when he opened his mouth and betrayed everything she had fought so long to protect, to keep secret. One word from him and all her hard work not to mention her military career would be over—she couldn’t allow it to end this way, she couldn’t allow him to…to…but it was as if she were trapped inside a horrible dream, she felt stuck, frozen, unable to move or act. He opened his mouth and she sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes willing him not to give her away, she thought wildly for a second about slugging him in the mouth before he started to speak, Hallewell—had he really said it or had she only imagined it? How did he know her—his—Nat’s name? What was he saying, something about family friends? She found herself nodding slowly, dumbly until he mentioned something about a head injury and her eyes narrowed.
“…I was thinking you might need your head examined again.”
Charlie cocked a brow at Nat. Head injury? Well that wasn’t so terribly hard to believe, Hallewell has always been a bit odd but the tone in the doctors voice made him feel he was missing something...or a lot of things, very important things. He claimed he was the family doctor but if this was so why hadn’t Nat just said so in the first place? Maybe he’d been right, maybe there had been something between Temperance and this doctor, a scandal of some kind Nat didn’t want anyone knowing about, but then why did Nat look so—yes, the young soldier looked positively petrified. It was all so unaccountable, so confusing, the one thing Charlie did know was that he now liked this doctor even less. What right did he have to come around here and pick on a kid like Nat whom Charlie couldn’t imagine hurting a fly—off the battlefield at least. He folded his arms across his chest, making his muscles flex beneath his shirt.
“Listen Doc…” he started, his voice little more than a growl but Nat stopped him.
“What Wright? Don’t trust your own work?” she gave a rather pathetic attempt at a laugh. Emily’s eyes were still begging, pleading with him even as her falsely deep voice mocked, she heard Charlie smirk and wanted to slug him, “Say, don’t you have a patient you should be attending to?” She started to turn away.

[concretegirl]

She couldn’t do this, just walk away in one direction-possibly to the tent she shared with Corporal Alexander, or some other flea-bitten soldier- and expect him to mosey on back to the surgeons tent to stare at the unconscious Colonel and that would be that. He was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t been so off the mark with the head injury jibe.
As she turned on her heel, he racked his brain for something he could use, from what little he knew about the circumstance, and it clicked into place. Hallewell. He’d heard that name before, he’d heard it when she’d written him and had mentioned her friend, her blasted friend… Chastity? No…Felicity, Faith? No…
“Temperance.” he blurted out suddenly, and Emily stiffened just long enough to where Gabriel knew he could at least try to run with it. “Temperance. How is she? I’d love to hear how she is-or, as a matter of fact, how you got to be in the 2nd Massachusetts Regiment…” he trailed off, forcing more and more openly fake enthusiasm into each and every word. He glanced over at the Corporal, who looked all the more confused. Emily obviously had some sort of… Something… Going on with him, and whether the Corporal was aware of it or not, it made him want to wring his neck all the more. So, he decided to let the Corporal be useful for once in his life, he turned to the man, using that same, practiced, Father’s-Friends smile he had used with the Lieutenant earlier. “Wouldn’t you just love to hear every last, interesting, honest detail about how Soldier Hallewell got to be here?” he asked, then looked back at Emily, flint burning and crackling in his blue eyes, the smile on his face more of a threat than anything pleasant.

[Prudence]

Emily froze—how had he known that? How could he remember? She could list on one hand the times she had mentioned Temperance to her brother…he’d hardly been interested at the time in the friends she’d made in Connecticut, to be honest she’d hardly been interested, they’d all been so worried over Richard, over their family coming apart, such idle chitchat had seemed frivolous…Leave it to Gabriel to remember such a minute detail and twist it to his own ends… She turned back, her eyes narrowed, arms folding defensively across her chest. Why must he be this way? Couldn’t he understand—of course he couldn’t, and she certainly hadn’t tried to explain it to him. She sucked in a deep breath, trying not to lose patience with her older brother.
Charlie was staring again, this time incredulous, he must’ve thought he’d guessed right about Temperance and the Doctor and he wasn’t taking it well. Confusion, on top of frustration, on top of more confusion—why would he want to know the details of Hallewell’s enlistment and how could they possibly be any more interesting than anyone elses?—was starting to take its toll. He looked ready to kill her brother and have done with it.
She exhaled the breath slowly rubbing the back of her neck, “Leave it be Wright,” she said stonily, turning briefly to Charles, “The Doctor and I have some unfinished business to discuss…”
“Clearly,” Charles’ jaw clenched and then released, looking from one face to the other, not missing, though not fully comprehending the similarities he found there, it only left him more confused, “I’d better see to Helios then…” He gave the Doctor one last menacing glare before he stalked off.
She waited until he was out of sight before she grabbed Gabriel by the sleeve, practically dragging him through the maze of tents and campfires, past men cooking supper and cleaning their weapons, talking, laughing, past the officer’s tents and the infirmary, down toward the river.
When she felt certain they were out of earshot, blocked from view by the gnarled trunk of a massive old oak she rounded on him, “What the devil are you playing at Gabriel?!”she shouted, all the frustration, the fear, that had been building up inside her finally bursting forth, descending upon her brother a massive wave.

[concretegirl]

Gabriel had gotten into arguments with his siblings before. Bad ones. The kind that happen when your family is falling apart, when your brother hates your father, when your brother might just hate you, too. When people in your home don’t talk for days because something feels so horribly wrong, because you can’t forget things people said. When the fights dredge up the very worst in people, and you find out things you wish you didn’t know about them.
And, Gabriel recognized that kind of anger and frustration in Emily now. Who knew what events had lead her here, how much toll her subterfuge was taking on her. But, at the moment it wasn’t enough to make Gabriel take any pity on her. Maybe it was partly because of the way he found out, maybe it was because part of him was still reeling with fear over seeing her there.
Regardless of what her reasons were, she had no right to be here. What would it to do their mother? He heard he cry for nights after he decided to join the army. Weeks when Richard up and left.
Or their father, how despondent he had become in the days before Gabriel left.
No, she had no business being here, and as her older brother apparently he was going to have to make her be reasonable.
“Me!?” he shouted back, not caring if the entire regiment heard their argument now. “You’re the one who’s playing at something, Emily! Are you out of your bloody mind!? For heaven’s sake, you’re living with an entire camp of men, and not even just men, soldiers!” he couldn’t barely get a breath in, the rage in his stomach boiling. “Do you have any -” he cut himself off, forcing himself to take a breath. A heavy one, the kind that shook your entire body. Then forced a kind of composure that hung by a thread, his voice so sharp and rigid it could could break like glass against the floor. “You know what? No. No, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even matter, because you’re done here. No one has to know this happened. You’re going home-we’ll fake your death, say you had dysentery, scarlet fever, something that is fittingly agonizing and horrible- and then you, young lady, are being shipped right back to bloody Pennslyvania in a box for all I care.”