#Joelix

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Wonderstruck Pt. 2

(Pt. 1)

Gallery II Taglist Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: In following her out into the night after her hasty exit, Joseph Liebgott has flipped Alix's entire world on its head. But maybe, just maybe, she doesn't mind. A/N: THERE'S A PLOT, I PROMISE, THERE'S A PLOT!!!! Dedication: To my dear friend @brassknucklespeirs who encourages my bad behavior. Consider this your payback for hurting my heart & calling me out with "No Shame"🤭💖 WARNINGS: SMUT (18+), Hurt/Comfort, Unsafe sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT, Y'ALL, OR I'M COMING FOR YOUR KNEECAPS 🤬🤬🤬), Trust issues, Implied abuse (nothing graphic), everybody cusses like a sailor but y'all knew that Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @holdingforgeneralhugs

8 Months Earlier: January 8th, 1944. Aldbourne, England.

It wasn’t until Alix made it outside of the lobby and into the icy chill of the English winter that she realized she’d forgotten her coat.

The wind was harsh, stinging her bare skin, and she rubbed her arms in a vain attempt to ward off its bite as she began the long walk home.

“Kinda hard to 'go for a smoke' without your cigs, ain’t it?” a familiar voice called into the night as the door squeaked shut behind him, forcing Alix to stop in her tracks.

Goddamn it. 

The agent huffed, gathering her courage before turning to face Joe, the small cloud of her breath still hanging in the frosty air behind her. 

She'd intended to speak but no sound came out. 

After all, what was there to say? 

“I lied and ran off because I’m scared to get involved with you, in case you’re already involved with someone else?"

Yeah, that would go over like a ton of bricks. 

A Martinelli doesn’t show weakness, Alix remembered her father scolding her when she’d dissolved into tears after Clay’s numerous, public infidelities. Not now, not ever. 

So she said nothing, arms crossed, her ruby-red lips pressed into a tense line as she studied the paratrooper who'd come out after her.

Joe was standing just outside the building's overhang, hands shoved deeply into his pockets as he leaned against the building's outer wall, Alix's navy-blue coat draped over one shoulder. 

His deep brown puppy eyes traced over her features so softly, as though there was something worth seeing in them…in her…

Alix crossed her arms even tighter around herself, dropping her gaze to the cobblestones. Anything to avoid those sweet, puppy-dog eyes. 

She hated the way he looked at her, like she was the sun: something brilliant, worthy of kindness and reverence, and a million other sweet sentiments she didn't feel she deserved. 

How could anyone look at her like that after the things she'd done?

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

4 Years Earlier: August 18th, 1940. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

With a shout of obscenities in Italian, her father Emilio, had burst into their parlor, slamming a stack of men’s magazines and pinup calendars down onto the mahogany coffee table in front of her with such force that the whole table shook.

“What in God’s name is this?” he demanded, stabbing an accusatory finger at a Beauty Parade drawing of her in a slinky evening gown cut practically down to her navel, her cleavage nearly spilling out as she leaned on a piano.

“And this!” A page torn from the Esquire calendar depicting a provocatively-posed Alix as Miss July, lounging on a beach towel in an impossibly tiny two-piece. 

“And this!” A Titter centerfold featuring a blushing Alix with the skirt of her sundress snagged in a door, revealing her garters and a tantalizing flash of white lace panties.

“Is this what you've been doing while you're away?” her father bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls. “We send you to Richmond for finishing school and you become a prostitute?!" 

"No, Pa, I-"

"Basta! Non dire cazzate, you got that? Don't fucking bullshit me!"  

"They're just pin-up drawings! It's not like I'm naked-" 

"You think that makes it better?!"

Her father grabbed one of the calendars off the table and waved it in front of her face.

"Do you see this shit? This is the shit roughnecks carry with them out to the oil fields every day! Is that who you want to be, Alix, some workmen’s tart for them to gawk at, like a piece of meat?! You want your name– OUR name– associated with the likes of them?!"

"I didn't even use my real name for those!” Alix shot back, her temper flaring. 

Her parents were strict but even still: she’d had a taste of freedom and she’d be damned if she’d be caged ever again. 

“Pa, I’m careful, I swear! I give false names every time! Hell, I’ve even worn wigs!"

"And what, you think that's going to keep people from recognizing you?! Ci fai o ci sei?!"

"No, I'm not stupid, Pa! Look, I-"

"Zitta! We did not name you after royalty so that you could parade around like a whore and humiliate this family! We’ve got a reputation to uphold and I am not about to have it ruined because of you! Capisce?"

Without waiting for an answer, he threw the calendar down onto the ground and began to pace across the floor, muttering and massaging his temple with his hand. 

“Santa Maria,” he all but spat, shaking his head at his prodigal daughter with disgust.

“We can only pray the Hearsts don’t hear of this. Because who in God’s name would want to marry you now, knowing the…the filth you’ve involved yourself in?!”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

8 Months Earlier: January 8th, 1944. Aldbourne, England.

 Joe broke the tension first, clearing his throat uncomfortably, and Alix jumped at the sound. 

Tentatively, he draped her coat around her shoulders, as though she were a bomb set to detonate any second. 

Just like everybody else in the company.

Alix drew the dark material tightly around her for protection from the elements. 

“How’d you know?” she asked softly, glancing up to him nervously before her eyes darted away again. 

How did you know that was my coat? 

How did you know where I’d be? 

How do you know me so well without ever having known me?

Joe rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“I ain’t a spy or anythin’ but I ain't fuckin’ blind either,” he remarked, attempting a smile but it came off more as a grimace of self-loathing.

“I noticed you when I came in. I remembered the coat you wore. It…” 

He huffed for a second, his breath clouding the frosty air, before finishing simply, “It looked good on you.”

“Thanks,” Alix murmured before retrieving her cigarettes and glancing back up to Joe, extending an olive branch.

"You want one?"

He cocked an eyebrow and hesitated for a moment, before asking, "What kind?" 

"Chesterfields," Alix replied with a half-smile, passing the white and gold carton over to him. "I'm under contract."

Was it just the dim lighting of the street lamps or did she see the ghost of a smile cross his face? 

"Ya got good taste," he remarked simply before plucking a cigarette from the carton and retrieving a lighter from his pocket. 

He leaned over to give hers a light first, the both of them painfully aware of how close their faces were once again. 

The unacknowledged memory of the almost-kiss from earlier lingered between them like the rolling fog over the crop fields and Alix wondered if he could hear the thump-thump-thumping of her heart at the thought, even now.

“You coulda just told me, y’know," he mumbled after the first drag, sounding so unusually quiet and hesitant, so unlike the brash, cocky front he tried to keep up, that for a second, his words didn't even register.

"Told you what, Joey?" 

The agent flinched at the way her voice sounded. Brittle, like broken glass.

But she couldn't help it. Her resolve was waning.

As she took a drag to steady herself, Joe's head jerked up in surprise at her words, brown eyes wide. 

"Joey, huh?" he repeated, ignoring her question as the corner of his mouth starting to quirk up in his trademark goofy grin. "Nobody's ever called me that before." 

Alix started to apologize automatically but Joe shook his head. 

"Don't," he chided gently. "I like it. But-" 

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Think I'd like anything that comes outta that pretty mouth of yours."

"Awful quick with the lines tonight, aren't we?" Alix tried to sound nonchalant but there was a notable edge to her voice that caused Joe's brows to knit with concern.

"That a problem?" 

"Of course not," Alix replied coolly, the smoke from her last drag curling into the air between them like a momentary barrier.

"I just know your type is all." 

Joe gritted his teeth at her insinuation.

"Yeah?” he asked tersely. “And what type's that?" 

“The type that gives their girl back home the runaround while they're off chasing tail and chasing glory."

A vein popped in his jaw at the insinuation.

"You think you got me all figured out, huh?” he snapped tersely. "Well you don't. I've never gone steady with anybody, okay? I don't have the fuckin' time!" 

He shook his head in frustration.

"I been workin' two jobs, helpin' out my folks and lookin' out for my siblings since I was a fuckin' teenager. Yeah I slept around a little bit here and there, I'm not gonna bullshit you, but I never gave anybody the fuckin' runaround, okay? I'm not Skinny and I sure as fuck ain't Tab." 

Alix blinked in shock at his outburst as she absorbed his words, but Joe wasn't done. 

"And y'wanna know why I joined the Airborne?" he demanded.

He took a quick drag, the exhale coming just as fast.

"Wasn't for shits and giggles, lemme tell ya. It was so I could save enough money to put a fuckin' down payment on a house for my folks. That's why. Not glory, not girls, okay? My fuckin' family. 

He took another puff of his cigarette, golden-brown eyes now studying the darkened landscape behind her before discarding it under his heel. 

Alix tensed. Taking a slow drag off her own cig, she hoped quietly that the slightly bitter, hazy taste would clear her racing thoughts. But it didn't. 

Boy, did she feel stupid. 

"Look, Joe, I-I'm sorry," she mumbled, staring at the ground and tossing her cigarette away, her muscles taut as she braced for some sort of fight. 

Conflict was a regular feature of her life growing up. Her father was a wild and wealthy womanizer and her melancholic mother socially prominent and heavily religious. When they clashed, which was often, the walls of their estate shook with the bellowing, doors slamming, and glass breaking.

A marriage of convenience, yes, but a match made in hell. 

Her first real boyfriend…her former fiancé…had been much the same. Alix had learned very quickly that Clayton Hearst did not tolerate mouthiness.

That was probably why her father had chosen him for a match— to keep his wayward daughter in line. It hadn't stopped Alix from fighting back but it made for some very rough arguments. 

Fortunately, Clay had left for the Marines while she was still in school, allowing Alix a small reprieve from their near-constant fighting. 

The Dear Jane letter she'd gotten in the mail a month later had only proven to her what she'd already known deep-down: 

Clay had never loved her. Hell, he'd never even liked her. The still-healing bruises from their parting arguments were proof enough of that. And just like her father, he'd rather spend his leave time cavorting with other women instead of remaining faithful to the one he was supposed to love. 

The soft percussion of boots on pavement shook Alix out of her reverie and she jumped. But to her surprise, Joe's approach wasn't angry. Not at all. 

Instead, she felt calloused fingers gently tilting her chin up to look him in the eyes and she flinched. But instead of the fury she'd come to expect, she saw only concern reflected back at her. 

“I don’t know what asshole taught you that that’s how men are,” he said softly. “But I can fuckin’ promise you, that ain't how I am. You'll see." 

Alix knew she shouldn't but the sincerity in Joe’s tone tugged at her heartstrings in a way she hadn’t expected and even with all her reservations, she couldn't help but believe him. 

She was suddenly, painfully aware of his proximity, his face so tantalizingly near that she could smell the dizzying sweetness of the alcohol on his breath mingling with the faint smoke of his last cigarette. 

Alix's eyes raked across his features: the intensity of his warm caramel gaze, his finely-drawn cheekbones, his strong aquiline nose, and she couldn't help but linger on the smile tugging at his lips, each thud of her heartbeat chanting the same thing like a mantra:

Kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him. 

"You gonna kiss me or what?" Joe teased softly, as if he could read her mind. 

The slight gravel of his voice sent a tingle of pleasure down her spine and Alix knew then, as surely as she knew her own name, that kissing Joe Liebgott would be sealing her own fate, allowing herself to need him in a way she hadn’t wanted to need anyone ever again. 

But in that moment, a decision was made: 

It would be worth it. 

So in response, Alix gave in to her impulses and pressed her lips earnestly to his with all of the sweet desperation that had been building up inside her since their eyes had first met days earlier.

Before she’d even known his name, a part of her had wanted to do this and the fact that it was actually happening had her head spinning in the best way.

Joe’s lips were soft, far softer than she’d expected them to be and they moved instinctively against hers in perfect synchronicity, anticipating her needs as naturally as he had on the dancefloor. 

Alix reached up and ran her fingers through his thick copper hair, the intoxicating musk of his cologne and the feel of his arms sliding around her waist sending warmth blossoming through her like a blazing hearth in the winter chill.

Deepening the kiss, her tongue tentatively prodded his half-parted lips and he tangled a hand in her hair, intensifying their embrace. 

Kissing Joe was like a drug, the syrupy-sweetness of the alcohol on his tongue and the searing heat of his mouth on hers stirred something in her she'd never before experienced. 

The warmth between them was slowly building, spreading like a wildfire, and even the sudden, frigid downpouring of sleet couldn't sour the elation they felt in each other's arms. 

“You gotta be shittin’ me,” Joe chuckled in between kisses, deftly flipping the collar up on his jacket with his free hand.

“What’s wrong, flyboy?” Alix quipped, her hair now coated in the frozen slush. “Afraid of a little winter weather?” 

“Nah," he scoffed with a teasing nip at her bottom lip. "But if I catch a fuckin' cold ‘cause of it, I’m makin’ you take care of me.”

"Yeah?" the agent joked, returning the nip playfully. "Why me?" 

"'Cause I ain't foolin' around with Roe." 

Alix couldn't even respond, reluctantly having to tear herself away due to her uncontrollable shivering.

"I should p-probably get g-going," Alix managed from between chattering teeth.

Both her coat and dress had already been soaked through with the freezing water and the harsh wind was biting at her through the trees.

"B-Before it g-gets worse." 

"Not like this we're fuckin' not," Joe declared, gently guiding Alix under the overhang. "We'll catch our deaths."

"You-You don't have to come," Alix replied, wrapping her arms around herself in a vague attempt to conserve whatever body heat hadn't already fled. 

"Like hell I don't," Joe responded stubbornly, crossing his arms to keep himself warm as well.

"If you think I'm gonna let you walk home alone in the middle of the night, and in this weather on top of it, you're outta your fuckin' mind." 

He was shivering too but he still took off his half-soaked coat and wrapped it around Alix's already-soaked coat anyway. 

"What...What do you recommend then?" 

Instead of answering, Joe opened the door to the White Rose again. 

"Lemme take care of it, dollface." he called over his shoulder as he slipped inside. "Don't miss me too much." 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

About five minutes later, Joe reappeared, dangling a room key with a triumphant grin on his face. 

"C'mon Ziskeit," he urged, wrapping an arm around her and guiding her inside where it was warmer. "I told ya I'd take care of it!" 

"How did you manage that?" Alix asked incredulously, once she'd stopped shivering so violently. "They don't rent to unmarried couples, do they? It'd be improper!" 

As if to answer her question, when they passed the concierge desk, the clerk gave them an enthusiastic parting wave. 

"Enjoy your Honeymoon, Corporal and Mrs. Liebgott!" 

Alix turned to Joe, wide-eyed. 

"Joey, you didn't-!" 

But Joe shot her a wink. 

"What can I say? I got creative." 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Their room at the White Rose was a bit on the smaller side, right next to the first floor stairwell, and most importantly, it was warm but Alix wouldn't have noticed the difference if it had been a suite at the Waldorf.

Joe's lips pressed urgently against hers and together, they stumbled as one through the doorway in a frenzy of desire, each kissing the other as though their lives depended on it.  

"You been drivin' me crazy all night, y'know that?" Joe mumbled haltingly against her lips as he fumbled blindly for the door knob.  

"Have I?" Alix asked innocently, lightly nipping at his bottom lip before peeling off her coat and tossing it to the ground.

“Don’t fuckin’ play with me, Zees," he cautioned, pressing her back up against the closed door, which rattled its complaint.

"But why, Joey?" Alix purred seductively, reeling him in by his tie just to brush her lips tantalizingly against his and slip away before he could kiss her. 

"It's so much fun to tease you."

"Yeah?" She could hear the smirk in his rough voice but what she hadn’t expected was to feel him behind her. 

Catching her hand as he spoke, Joe deftly tugged her back to him and she yielded, allowing him to pin her against the opposite wall instead with a dull thump, caging her between his arms.

"’Cause I bet it's gonna be a whole lot more fun to tease you.”

He started with her jawline, his kisses torturously gradual as he made his way down her arching neck, the heat of his breath sending goosebumps prickling down her limbs. 

Locating her sweet spots with relative ease, he latched on, sucking a small trail of love bites into the delicate skin, pulling a breathy moan from Alix’s throat before she could stop it.

He was smirking against the blossoming bruises, she could feel it, and she eagerly nipped a row of matching marks into his neck in return, around the chain of his dog tags, the resulting guttural groan from him making her a little weak in the knees. 

His kisses traveled further down at a maddening crawl, making Alix squirm with impatience.

He was keeping her caged against the wall on purpose, forcing her to allow him to take the lead and for an agent so used to being the pursuer, the honeytrap, in-command at all times, she could’ve screamed in frustration. 

Sensing her impatience, he captured her mouth in another desperate, heated kiss and she pressed her whole body flush against him with an almost-feline grace.

Slow as pouring honey, she dragged herself agonizingly against him, making sure he felt every inch of her from her breasts to her hips and ass up against him.

She could feel the curve of his hard cock straining through his trousers as it lightly prodded her thigh–– and the sensation inflamed her like a cat in heat.

Tugging him nearer by his tie a second time, Alix leaned just close enough for her warm breath to ghost along the shell of his ear. 

“Fuck, I need you, Joey,” she moaned breathily, running a teasing hand over the bulge in his pants and making him shudder from the contact. “I need you so bad.”

“Okay now that,” Joe groaned at her touch. “That’s just fuckin’ cruel.”

“Then do something about it,” Alix purred and that was all the paratrooper needed to hear. 

Joe could be a very petty and proud man, but even so: he wasn’t superhuman.

Scooping her up in his deceptively-strong arms, Alix let out a small yelp of surprise as Joe moved her away from the wall and began backing her towards the bed, their lips crashing against each other’s again and again as they stumbled to it, throwing off their clothes as they went. 

Joe’s tie, her dress, his shirt, her heels, they all were strewn somewhere on the way but neither of them noticed where.

The backs of Alix’s knees hit the bed and Joe gave her a gentle push, easing her onto it, the mattress springs creaking softly.

 But for all his earlier cockiness, the paratrooper was rendered completely awestruck by her nearly-naked form, and he took a step back for a moment, simply standing there in his skivvies, gazing at her in pure disbelief. 

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he whispered finally, his eyes roving down her lounging body on the mattress, absorbing the image as though he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Alix propped herself up on her elbows to give him a better view. Her bra was long gone– tossed to the floor nearby– and all that remained on her were her black garter belt, and matching stockings.

Suddenly, Alix found herself feeling more nervous than she ever had before. Modeling was impersonal. This wasn’t like that at all.

None of the artists had ever looked at her the way Joe was looking at her now, so…so reverently and yet so ravenously at the same time.

Come to think of it, no man she’d ever met had looked at her like that before, with such a mixture of carnal desire and awestruck admiration, and it was driving her wild in the best way. 

She needed him. In whatever way he wanted, Alix knew she needed him.

As if he could read her thoughts, he walked to the edge of the bed and gently nudged her legs apart with his hand. 

Alix must’ve looked surprised because he gave her a playful wink and settled between her thighs as though he'd always been, the look of pure desire in his eyes sending a tingling sensation to her most sensitive parts. 

Shifting the pillows so she could have a better vantage point, Alix could see even from there that Joe’s pupils were blown with lust and she could feel herself reddening under his gaze.

“You just sit back and relax up there, Ziskeit,” he entreated her, the old cocky, flirtatious Liebgott grin she’d seen earlier in the evening returning once again.

“This is gonna be fun.” 

“Joey, you don’t have to…” Alix began softly but the feeling of his lips nipping and kissing the inside of her thighs killed the rest of the words in her throat. 

God, he was good. 

He left a burning path of love bites from her hip bones down her inner thighs, causing her to whine impatiently at the dull ache blooming between her legs. 

He was driving her crazy and he knew it too, damn him.

Alix’s breath hitched as Joe eased her panties to the side with a finger. 

"God, you're fuckin' soaked," he breathed and Alix felt her heartbeat quickening at the lewdness dripping from his words. 

But even underneath the obscenity and voraciousness of his tone, there was an underlying sweetness too.

“You sure you wanna do this, Ziskeit?” he asked tentatively, meeting her eyes and suddenly seeming almost nervous.

“We don’t have to, y’know…I’ll understand, if you don’t…”

Alix frowned. 

Had she misread his signals the whole night? Was he just here because he was mollifying her?

“Do you not want to?” 

His eyebrows shot up immediately and he sat back on his knees. 

“You kiddin’ me? Of course I want to! I just didn’t want you to think-”

“I don’t,” Alix interrupted, knowing instinctively what he was going to say. “I don’t think that, not at all.”

He nodded his acknowledgement and returned to his prone position between her legs.

"Oh, by the way," he remarked nonchalantly, looking up with a positively sinful grin.

"You're gonna be cumming at least twice before we do anythin’ else." 

Alix’s eyes must’ve looked like saucers.

“U-Uh,” she stammered, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt now that her face was a deep crimson.

“One thing, before you start. Um…I’ve never…y’know…Not from this…or anything, really. I don’t even know if I can…”

Joe’s eyes were as round as hers as understanding set in. 

“Wait, never?” he asked incredulously and Alix shook her head with a nervous titter, suddenly feeling extremely shy.

“Nope.” 

Clayton had never been the type to care about her pleasure and the others had been similarly apathetic.

Truthfully, she hadn’t even known sex was supposed to be enjoyable until Lavinia from St. Mary’s had shared stories of her romps in the woods with one of the boys from St. Ignatius. 

“I, uh, I hope that’s not a problem, Joey.” 

Recovering from his momentary trance, Alix saw something flicker in the golden flecks of his eyes, like 24Karat gold dust…was it affection? 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, dollface,” he reassured her with an easy smile as he nudged her panties to the side once more.

“Just lay back and lemme make you feel good.”

Alix obeyed eagerly and he hooked his arms under her thighs, draping her legs over his shoulders before descending on her heat like some kind of starving animal. 

“Oh fuck,” she whimpered, feeling a bit pathetic at the way a few well-placed laps of Joe’s tongue already had her head feeling light. 

Tangling her fingers reflexively in his thick, lush brown hair, Alix swore she could feel him smiling as he devoured her, reveling in the way he was making her come undone in a way no one else had. 

Minutes later, she was trembling. The assassin everyone was so in awe of was quivering like a leaf in the breeze at every broad stripe of Joe’s well-practiced tongue. 

He knew what he was doing, that was for sure. 

Her free hand gripping the sheets, she could feel the muscles in her stomach clenching, bracing for each wave of pleasure that Joe’s tongue sent rushing through her. 

“Shit, you taste good,” Joe mumbled, greedily lapping at her core like a man starved, burying his tongue so deeply within her that Alix had to scrunch her eyes shut to keep from falling to pieces right then and there. 

“So fuckin’ sweet for me, aren’t ya, Zees?” 

“O-Oh God,” Alix gasped out, tugging at Joe's hair desperately. 

The pooling warmth in her stomach was getting stronger, deeper, her legs trembling as the waves of pleasure began to build, filling up like a balloon seconds from bursting. “Joey, I-I think-"

Joe groaned in excitement, lapping steadily at her core, before beginning to suckle on her clit, causing her vision to flash momentarily white. 

Alix let out a strangled cry, her back arching clear off the mattress and involuntarily thrusting her breasts into the air.

“Oh-Oh fuck, Joey,” she mewled, her voice carrying clear across the room as the dam broke. She tried to press her quivering thighs together, the overwhelming sensitivity like a tsunami of bliss completely flooding her senses, but Joe wasn’t done with her. 

Not even close. 

“Louder,” he urged as he coaxed her through her first orgasm, giving quick kitten licks to her most sensitive spot and teasing her slick entrance with a finger.

“C’mon, Zees, I wanna hear you.”

“Joey, if you keep this up, the whole hall is gonna hear me,” Alix half-sobbed, the pleasure so overwhelming that she could feel her vision swimming. 

Joe pressed a soft kiss to her knee before slipping a second finger inside her, sending her keening his name so loudly that she was sure even the clerks at the concierge desk could hear. 

“Good,” he affirmed, beginning to scissor his fingers inside her core as her breathing quickened to ragged, blissful gasps.

“Besides, we’re newlyweds, remember?” 

He shot her a wink. 

“We’re ‘sposed to be at it like rabbits.”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Alix had always thought the phrase “seeing stars” was just an expression but after the third or fourth orgasm Joe had ripped out of her, she was pretty sure there were lights dancing before her eyes after all. 

“You doin’ okay, Zees?” The paratrooper perked his head up from between her legs, the evidence of her arousal glistening on his chin.

His bangs were stuck to his forehead, the both of them covered in a sheen of sweat, but he looked as satisfied as she felt. 

“You need a break or somethin’?” 

Alix gave him a reassuring smile and shifted her still-trembling legs off of Joe’s shoulders. 

“I’m good, Joey.” 

He cocked his head and sat back on his heels, eyeing her inquisitively, a note of concern in his husky voice. 

“You sure?”

Alix nodded. 

“I promise.” She let out a shaky laugh. “I’m just taking a quick second to recover, that’s all.”

Satisfied with her answer, the paratrooper crawled up beside her, back against the headboard, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he searched the face beside him intently for a reaction.

“Pretty fuckin’ good, huh?” 

Alix giggled. 

“If you couldn’t tell from me screaming your name for however long it’s been, yes, it was ‘pretty fucking good’.” 

Joe gave her a playful nudge with his shoulder. 

“Just checkin’. Can’t leave Mrs. Liebgott unsatisfied on our honeymoon, y’know. What kinda husband would I be?”

Alix knew he was just joking but the reference still made something in her flutter with delight.

This paratrooper…This technician with the warm smile and the quick wit, who seemed to read her better than anyone else, he intrigued her like no one ever had.

He was an adventure, a revelation, an epiphany, everything she hadn’t known she’d been missing, all wrapped up into one charismatic person.

Feeling something stirring deep inside her again, Alix found herself gripped by a primal urge she couldn’t shake. 

She needed him, all of him. Now. 

Rolling over onto her side so that she was facing him completely, she could see the taut muscles of his thin, wiry frame, tensing like a panther as he looked at her.

How could he always read her mind?

Giving him a once-over, the spy glimpsed the same salacious shape straining against his underwear. 

Leaning over, she began to toy with the waistband of his skivvies, causing Joe's hips to buck up involuntarily as her smooth fingertips dipped below. 

“C’mon, Ziskeit,” Joe cajoled, those deep brown eyes full of unspoken pleas for release as Alix resumed kissing down his neck. “Don’t be a fuckin’ tease.”

“If I recall,” Alix murmured against his skin as she grazed her nails down his abs, making him inhale sharply. 

“A certain person made me beg for a full five minutes…” 

“Well that person's a fuckin’ idiot," Joe grunted desperately. 

As he was speaking, Alix slid his skivvies off and took him into her mouth, delicately tracing the head with her tongue.

"And I'm sure he – Oh fuckin’ Christ!” Joe hissed, tangling a hand in her hair desperately to keep some self-control as she went about her work, taking him deeper into her throat.

“Fuck, I’m sure he knows better now."  

Alix smirked, hollowing her cheeks and taking him still deeper, pushing him further down, savoring the taste of him, and she could feel his hips starting to buck. 

“God, you’re fuckin’ perfect,” he growled but as she deep-throated him again and again, he released her hair, his hands hurriedly finding their way to her shoulders. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Zees,” he choked out, pushing her away gently and it only took that warning tone for her to release him at once with a lewd pop.

“You okay, Joey?” she asked, her turn to be concerned, and he laughed nervously.

“Uh…” he chuckled, sheepishly running a hand through his hair.

“I…I wasn’t gonna last too much longer, if you kept that up. That was… Christ, that was somethin’ fuckin’ else.”

Alix hummed appreciatively before swinging a leg over and straddling his lap.

“Can we try this then?” she murmured, ghosting her fingers up and down his strong arms. 

"Jesus Christ," Joe whispered almost reverently from his half-propped position against the headboard, his heavily-lidded eyes roaming every inch of her nude form, still admiring her as though she was a priceless Caravaggio.

"You sure you're not a fuckin' dream or somethin'?" 

He slowly reached out, his fingertips ghosting across the valley of her breasts in mesmerized disbelief, as though he was afraid she might disappear at any moment if he was too rough with her.

"I'm real, tesoro," Alix assured him, guiding his hand to squeeze the supple flesh, sending a flood of warmth through her and she could feel him twitch beneath her, prodding her inner thigh with his arousal.

“I promise, I’m real.”

Carding a hand through his hair, she captured him in a long, passionate kiss which he returned just as fervently, the pair moaning deeply into each other’s mouths as she sank down on his cock.

She gasped as he bottomed out, the slight burn filling her with ecstasy, and he groaned deeply.

“Oh fuck, you feel so good.” 

Alix didn’t even have the words to reply. The feeling of fullness Joe supplied was unimaginably euphoric, blanking out her mind completely. 

Relying on animal instinct alone, she began to roll her hips, rutting against him as desperate keens and gasped curses fell from both their lips like prayers. 

Joe wrapped both arms around her waist, burying his face in her breasts with a deep, rumbling groan of ecstasy, gripping her to him as though she was a lifeline, the lifesaving driftwood to a drowning man. 

“Madonna mia,” Alix breathed, the fervent motion of her hips stuttering momentarily at the feeling of him latching onto the sensitive skin of her nipple. 

She rutted against him desperately, needing more and more of him, tugging on his hair in a silent plea for everything that only he could give her.

“Hey Ziskeit,” he murmurs seconds later, his voice husky with arousal, and she could feel her walls constricting around him tighter and tighter. “Goddammit, I think I’m gonna cum soon...” 

Her pace twice as insistent now, Alix bore down on him, Joe’s dog tags jingling musically against her chest as she rode him into oblivion. 

“Fuck, Joey, I need you,"  she murmured, chanting the last three words like a prayer as she felt herself teetering on a precipice for another time.

“Don’t say that," Joe gasped out, his grip around her hips so insistent that she was sure bruises would form later. "Don't fuckin' say that unless you mean it." 

He was bucking up against her too, matching her rhythm, every stroke so intense in her core that she was left a whimpering mess.

“I mean it, Joey,” Alix moaned as she pressed his face to her chest, "God, I fucking mean it."  

“Oh shit, Jesus Christ!” Panic and pleasure twisted Joe’s handsome features, his voice raising frantically. “Uh, Zees, I- FUCK!” 

His warning tone reached a fever pitch just as his orgasm jolted through him, ripping a guttural sound from his throat and leaving him slack-jawed and panting as his cock pulsed.

Alix was seconds behind him, burying her face into his shoulder with a broken sob as another orgasm overwhelmed her, plunging her instantly into white-hot bliss as he held her, murmuring praises in English and what she assumed to be German. 

Joe lolled his head back against the headboard, his murmuring voice farther and farther away now. Alix was too fucked out to think anymore and she found herself slumping over on top of his chest like a ragdoll as she drifted off.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Surfacing from sleep around 1am to find Joe still buried comfortably inside her, the pair of them still tangled in each other’s arms, Alix gently eased herself upright, wanting to take in the scene for a moment, not knowing if she’d ever have the chance to again. 

Was this a one-night stand? God, she hoped not. Was it her imagination or was there something more between them? 

A spark? No…a flame. More than a flame. An inferno. 

In one night, Joe had shown her an entirely different world, an entirely different life than the one she’d been trapped in before.

How could she just go back to normal now, as if she hadn’t been completely and totally changed? As if her entire world hadn’t been rocked by one cocky paratrooper with puppy-dog eyes?  

Their clothes, still damp from the sleet, lay discarded in messy bunches along the carpet like autumn leaves.

Thinking back on it, Alix couldn't remember how long it had been since they'd begun but the chill of the remaining frost that had coated them both at the start was long gone by now, replaced with the sticky-sweetness and feverish heat of sweat and sex.

Joe wasn't like Clay or any of the handful of guys she'd been with before, she mused. 

They'd all been selfish lovers, entirely focused on chasing their own wants while denying her hers. She was merely a vessel for them to get off, nothing more than a doll to be used and discarded once her purpose had been fulfilled.

In one night, Joe had treated her like the complete opposite. 

He was still as full of fire in the bedroom as he was out of it, but for once, it was only for Alix to see. He had been chasing her all night but not in the way the others were. For the first time in her life, someone seemed hungry to please her. The thought was so foreign that it sent another shiver of pleasure through her.

Even in his sleep, Joe’s breathing hitched at the sensation of her walls contracting around him and she couldn’t help but giggle into her hand. 

“Whassofunny?” Joe mumbled, cracking an eye open. 

“Nothing, cucciolo,” Alix assured him, running a hand through his sex-tousled hair. “Go back to sleep. You need it.” 

“I fuckin’ don’t,” Joe insisted doggedly, starting to sit up, but when Alix started to lift herself off of him, he hissed and shook his head. 

“Not yet, Ziskeit,” he pleaded, his words still running together a bit in his after-sex haze. “A little bit longer.” 

“Then go back to sleep and I'll stay put,” Alix countered.

“Can’t,” Joe yawned. “Can’t sleep much normally, ‘cept after…y’know.” 

He made a vague gesture to their situation and Alix cocked an eyebrow, dark eyes sparkling with mirth. 

“If that was your way of trying to come onto me again,” she commented drolly. “I appreciate the creativity. I don’t think ‘Fuck me to sleep’ is a line I’ve heard before.”

“Wasn’t a line,” Joe responded with a shrug. “I really can’t sleep for shit."

His warm brown eyes were boring into hers again and she could feel the playful chuckle he was trying to suppress in his voice when he added slyly, 

“But y’know, just outta curiosity… if it had been a line, would it’ve worked…?” 

She was now hyper-aware of his hands resting gently on her bare back as he held her, the roughness of his calloused fingertips sending sparks dancing deliciously across her soft skin. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, flyboy,” she teased with a soft roll of her hips, but the slight catch of desire in her voice when she felt him stiffen betrayed her.  

"Shit," Joe grunted at the sudden movement, pupils blown with desire. "You're such a fuckin' minx, y'know that?" 

"Am I?" Alix blinked innocently before clenching the muscles in her core around his cock in a vise grip, making him hiss. "I hadn't noticed." 

"Okay that's it," Joe hissed, the rasp in his slightly nasal-tenor coming out as almost a primal growl. Keeping one hand steady on her back, he pulled out and flipped her over, pinning her firmly underneath him. 

Alix sunk her nails into his back to keep herself from moaning needily as he buried himself within her once again, rougher this time, the heavenly ache between her legs as he bottomed out causing a small whimper to escape. 

“Gotta be quiet now, dollface,” he mumbled, crashing his lips to hers to keep himself from groaning out loud.

“People’re probably sleeping. Like we would be if you weren’t so goddamn gorgeous.”

“Such a charmer, cucciolo, I- Oh fuck!” 

Working up speed, Joe began pounding into her mercilessly, seemingly determined to make her pay for teasing him so cruelly earlier, and Alix wrapped her legs around him, craving him impossibly closer to her.

“Tesoro, fuck, I think–” she whimpered from beneath him. “I think I might-”

“Yeah?” he grunted, the vigor of his pace only increasing. 

Thinking back on it, his dog tags had been clinking so loudly against his Star of David pendant that Alix hadn’t even heard the door open.

“Real sorry I took so long, Pops,” a soft-spoken but familiar voice rang from the entrance. “But Doc said-” 

Shifty Powers, the sweet-faced trooper who’d waved to Joe in the lobby earlier, was now frozen dead in his tracks, his eyes dinner-plate wide as the tall glass of water he’d been carrying slid from his hands, shattering into several glistening chunks on the floor with a CRACK!

He was beet-red but rooted to the spot, his horrified gaze dropping down to the shattered glass at his feet and then back up to the still-intertwined Alix and Joe like he was tied to the tracks of an oncoming train.

“Shit,” he mumbled, stammering out excuses and apologies, half to himself and half to the couple as he immediately dropped to his knees and began busying himself with trying to collect the glass shards. “I- This-this isn’t…and y’all aren’t…But I thought-”

Alix lunged for the comforter, which she hurriedly wrapped around herself like an oversized towel.

“Don’t worry about the glass,” she reassured him kindly, his eyes glued firmly to the ground. “We’ll take care of it. You just get where you need to go.” 

“A-Are y’all sure?" He was speaking entirely to the carpet, head dipped to avoid any more accidental views.

If it hadn't been such a humiliating situation, Alix might've giggled.

"I wouldn’t wanna cause y’all any trouble.”

“It isn’t any trouble,” Alix insisted. “Isn’t that right, Joe?” 

Joe made a skeptical noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a cough and a grunt, but the glare she shot him could’ve wilted even fake flowers and he finally relented.

“Yeah sure,” Liebgott replied, dulling the sharpness of the irritation in his tone. “No trouble at all.”

“Well alright, if y’all are sure…” Shifty mumbled, his face still a bright cherry red. “I’ll, uh, I guess I’ll just see y’all around. I'm just gonna-"

 

With that, he fled the room like a bat out of hell, leaving a disgruntled Joe and a mortified Alix in his wake. 

"God, I cannot believe that just happened." Alix squeaked into her palms, wishing that the Earth would just swallow her whole.

Even the exquisite soreness between her thighs wasn't worth that.

Joe meanwhile, was muttering to himself as he stepped over the glass shards strewn along a small patch of carpet.

"Going somewhere?" Alix asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“Yeah," Joe grumbled. "To latch and lock that goddamn door.” 

#lowkey the little details of their interactions even when Doing the Do just absolutely 🤌🏽🤌🏽🤌🏽 #Sorry for making y'all read this filth but I promise THERE ARE REASONS IN THERE FOR IT #Also I'm dropping little hints here & there of Things To Come 👀 #FireOnFire #FOF #Joelix #Band of Brothers fandom #Band of Brothers smut #Band of Brothers fanfiction #Band of Brothers fanfic #Bob fanfic #BoB #FOFChapters #HBO War #HBO War fanfiction #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joe Liebgott x reader #Joe Liebgott imagine #Joe Liebgott oneshot #Liebgott smut #Joe Liebgott smut #Shifty Powers #my sincerest apologies to you sir

[fuckyeahgreenhouses]

Orto Botanico di Roma, via Joelix

#greenhouse

[shariceullrich]

Pinterest Pinner Interview No. 12: Joelix & Happy Interior Blog https://ift.tt/2oHBXfD

#IFTTT #WordPress

[tryciaus]

Pinterest Pinner Interview No. 12: Joelix & Happy Interior Blog https://ift.tt/2T3IsEe

#IFTTT #WordPress

[ahomedesignideas]

Home Decorating Ideas Modern Pinterest Pinner Interview No. 12: Judith von Joelix & Igor von Happy Interior B...

[jardinouestfraicheur]

Instagram : le réseau social favori des amoureux des plantes d’intérieur @joelix #maplantemonbonheur #instagram http://bit.ly/insta-plantes-madeinfrance …pic.twitter.com/rFJjtNFTg3

Instagram : le réseau social favori des amoureux des plantes d’intérieur @joelix #maplantemonbonheur #instagram http://bit.ly/insta-plantes-madeinfrance …pic.twitter.com/rFJjtNFTg3

Instagram : le réseau social favori des amoureux des plantes d’intérieur @joelix

#maplantemonbonheur #instagram http://bit.ly/insta-plantes-madeinfrance … pic.twitter.com/rFJjtNFTg3

Instagram : le réseau social favori des amoureux des plantes d’intérieur @joelix #maplantemonbonheur #instagram http://bit.ly/insta-plantes-madeinfrance …pic.twitter.com/rFJjtNFTg3

Source: Atelier Jardin

Instagram : le réseau social favori des amoureux des plantes d’intérieur @joelix #maplantemonbonheur #instagram http://bit.ly/insta-plantes-madeinfrance …pic.twitter.com/rFJjtNFTg3 was originally published on OuestFraicheur.com

#jardiner #puestfraicheur #jardin

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 24

(Ch. 23) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: "No, I could never give you peace."

WARNINGS: Angst, Espionage, the usual

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @indigo-luvers @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby @ithinkabouttzu

Contemporary: October 25th, 1944. Driel, Netherlands.

After she finished her story, Alix hung her head, unwilling or unable to glance up, afraid of what she’d see reflected back at her in those pools of honey-brown...

Disgust. Shock. Pity. 

Or worse: Admiration. Affection. Kindness.

Things she didn’t deserve, especially not from Joe.

She hadn’t even realized she'd reached for his hand until he gave it a light, reassuring squeeze. But she didn’t pull away, instead letting their fingers rest together, lightly intertwined.

In another life, she thought to herself. Maybe if things were different...

For a brief second, the spy allowed her mind to meander, imagining what it might be like to live in a world with no war, no Millicent, no familial pressure, a world where they could love each other out loud with nothing standing in their way.

But as Alix studied the subtle burgundy of her chipped nail polish, the ink blotches on Joe's fingertips brought her crashing back to earth.

That wasn't the world they lived in.

That wasn't a world she'd ever see.

The soft rasp of gravel in Joe’s voice brought her focus back. 

"That Larsson guy really threatened to kick you out 'cause you didn’t wanna kill a fuckin' kid?"

Alix nodded and she could hear a dangerous, razor-sharp edge enter his tone but it wasn't directed at her. 

"I'd like to meet the guy." 

It was a simple statement but the way Joe had said "meet" sounded an awful lot like "murder". 

"You wouldn't like him," Alix replied with a rueful grimace and Joe chuckled darkly and moved to crack his knuckles. 

"Yeah well, after me and him go a few rounds in the ring, I bet he wouldn't like me too much either." 

Alix turned her head away to hide her smile and there was another beat of silence between the pair before Joe spoke again. 

“Y'know that’s not all you are, right?” 

Alix's head jerked up in surprise before she could stop it. 

"What?" 

"A killer," the technician clarified and she could feel the physical shift of him rubbing the back of his neck, scruffing up his light brown hair. 

"I don't give a shit what he…what they told you. You're so much fuckin' more than that." 

Alix pressed her lips into a grimace. 

She wanted to believe him, she really did. But after a month of silence and then that letter…everything he said just rang hollow.

“You don’t know me," the spy mumbled defensively. “Not really.” 

If you did, you wouldn’t want me.

But Joe gently leaned his shoulder against hers again. 

"I do though," he replied, the light rasp in his voice contrasting with the softness of his tone. "Better than ya think." 

"Prove it then," Alix challenged as she crossed her arms and Joe tilted his head in thought, clearly pondering an opener. 

“'Kay, well, your favorite color is red–” 

Alix opened her mouth to correct him but Joe was quicker. 

“I know, I know, 'scarlet'…” He commented with exaggerated air quotes before adding wryly, “But it's the same thing, which is fuckin’ red.” 

“Is that all you’ve got?” the spy inquired cynically as she bit back a giggle at his dramatics.

“And you got a smart-ass comment for everything,” Joe teased before deftly tugging a pack of Chesterfields from his pocket.

“Want one?” 

Alix nodded eagerly, thanking him as she plucked one from the packaging but when the technician retrieved his Zippo, Alix hesitated. 

She knew better than to bring her face closer so he could give her a light. 

She would have to lean in close to his lips, almost as if… she shook her head, trying to banish the thought. 

His heart belongs to someone else, she reminded herself. It wouldn’t be right.

Noticing her reluctance, Joe’s face seemed to fall, but he handed her the lighter anyway, his fingertips brushing ever so slightly against hers as he pressed the smooth metal into her grasp.

Alix tried to ignore the giddy sensation and focused on lighting her cigarette while he resumed his Herculean task.

"You never take your rosary off," he pointed out after a slow drag. “And you say you don’t believe it does anything but when you get nervous, you still bite your lip and reach for it anyway.” 

Did she really? The spy was impressed and a little intrigued but still tried her hardest to feign nonchalance for pride’s sake.

“Congratulations,” Alix remarked dryly. “You have eyes.” 

Joe cocked an eyebrow. 

“Shit, alright, tough crowd,” he quipped with a smirk. 

“Lemme think… You only drink Gin & Tonics now ‘cause ya went a little too hard on the vodka at some party once and spent the rest of the night upchucking into the bushes.”

Alix felt her cheeks beginning to flush, now wishing distinctly that she would evaporate on the spot. 

Had she really done that? She only hoped to God it hadn’t been in front of him.

But Joe seemed to take her silent mortification as skepticism because he added, “Muck told me." 

"That bastard," Alix muttered but there was no venom behind her words and Joe chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“Go easy on the guy,” the Californian joked with a sheepish grin. “It was a while back. I just got a good memory, ‘specially when it comes to you, I guess.” 

Alix took a quick drag and wound a strand of her hair around finger absentmindedly, unsure of quite how to respond to his kindness.

“Well thank you… I think?” 

“Don’t thank me yet, Ziskeit,” Joe shrugged with an easy smile. 

“‘Cause I ain’t done."

He took a short drag, watching the smoke rise in spiraling plumes before giving her a sly look out of the corner of his sparkling brown eyes. 

“You left your window unlocked fer me when we were back in Aldbourne so I could get into your room without anybody seein' me–”

He chuckled and teasingly gave her a light nudge.

"--Not that it mattered anyway ‘cause you left me with so many fuckin' hickeys and scratches that our old CO said it looked like I’d been mauled by a fuckin’ bear.”

Alix drew her bottom lip between her teeth and dropped her gaze to the ground, certain now that she was a brilliant shade of crimson. 

Joe haphazardly tossed his cigarette away before continuing, 

“You been trained in deception or whatever but when it comes to people close to ya, y'can’t lie for shit. Like right now–" 

He gently slid a finger under the spy’s chin and gently turned her to face him. 

“– Tell me you ain’t got feelings for me.”

Her eyes must’ve looked like saucers.

“W-What?” she choked out, blinking in confusion as her heartbeat stuttering to a near-stop at his sudden proximity.

“Tell me you don't want me, Zees,” he insisted, the huskiness of his voice seeming to slow time and his gaze seemed to flit down to her lips before returning to her eyes.  

"'Cause I think you do."

It was a dare but behind his trademark cockiness was a current of desperation, his warm whiskey eyes pleading with her for the truth, whatever it might be. 

“Look, you want me outta your life for good, all you gotta do is say it: say you don’t want me and mean it. Yeah, ‘s gonna hurt like a bitch, I'm not gonna bullshit ya, but I gotta know, Zees. 'Cause right now...Me and you and Doc, I-"

His voice broke and he took a second before running his thumb lightly across her cheek, brushing away a tear. 

She hadn't even realized she'd been crying.

The paratrooper set his jaw and when he spoke again, there was a quiet determination in his voice, as though he was forcing it under control.

"Zees, if I gotta love you from a distance, then that's just what I gotta do.”

Alix faltered, momentarily lost for words, her stunned expression mirrored in the glossy reflection of Joe’s dark eyes.

The words were on the tip of her tongue: 

I love you. I want you, only you. Always you.

But she knew she couldn’t say them, no matter how badly she wanted to.

It wouldn’t be fair– 

Not to Millicent, who was counting on her sweetheart to be faithful from an ocean away. 

Not to Gene, whose schoolboy crush seemed to be the only thing keeping him from crumbling to pieces some days.

And most importantly, not to Joe who deserved far better than a damaged girl who could never give him the peace his turbulent soul so desperately longed for.

Her chest ached helplessly, her pulse seeming to radiate through her upper body as though her heart was trying to force its way to him. 

“Joey, I-”

The thunderous roar of her name being called cut her off before she could get any further and her head swiveled immediately toward the sound. 

It was her case officer who burst into the clearing with a radio in one hand and a bag in the other, its red stripes designating it as an OSS burn bag. 

“Martinelli, grab your shit,” Nixon commanded, looking more alert than she'd seen him since Survival drills. “We’ve got to move now!” 

With a last apologetic glance in Joe’s direction, Alix sprang to her feet and hurriedly began stuffing her stack of comic books into her canvas bag before bolting off after her handler, who was already several strides ahead of her and showing no signs of stopping.

“Hey! Hey Nix!” she called after him, trying to provoke some sort of response but instead of his usual dramatics over her neglecting to address him properly, he ordered her to hand over her bag. 

Once she had, he began tearing through it like a madman, rifling through her comics and the letter from her aunt, pushing past her knives, garrote wire, and the vials of Prussic Acid neatly rolled into bandages. 

“What the hell– ?” Alix demanded just as he swiped her false documents from the side pocket and shoved them into his burn bag.

“Have you lost your mind?!" she hissed, trying to grab his arm to stop him. "I fucking need those!” 

"Not anymore you don't," Nixon reported, shrugging her off and lighting the Zippo. “You've been compromised.”  

"What, how?!" 

Alix felt her stomach lurch and she searched her handler’s face for the slightest trace of deception but found none.

 

"Madonna mia," she breathed as they both watched the burn bag begin to crackle, the terrifying reality sinking in. 

"How bad was the leak?"

"Bad," Nixon uttered, shaking his head. 

"Payce and De Luca were executed yesterday. Bouchard's been captured. Perrault's MIA. God only knows about the rest. I haven't heard."

They might've captured Jennie?!

Alix took a deep breath, trying in vain to calm her racing thoughts and keep a cool head. 

"You'll have to lay low for awhile," Nixon stated, sounding almost apologetic as they watched her identity papers begin to disintegrate in the blaze. 

"Donovan's got a place you can go, an agency safehouse. I'll bring you updates when I can." 

"How many?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

"How many of my covers have been compromised…?" 

The captain swallowed hard before responding, his voice coming out as brittle as broken bone.

“All of them.”

#Ta-Da! Cliffhanger [jazz hands 🤗] #Band of Brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #BoB fandom #BoB #Band of Brothers fanfiction #Band of Brothers fanfics #Band of Brothers OC #Band of Brothers x reader #Band of Brothers x OC #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joe Liebgott x Reader #Joe Liebgott x Alix Martinelli #Joelix #Alix Martinelli x Eugene Roe #Roelix #Eugene Roe x OC #Eugene Roe x reader #Lewis Nixon #Skip Muck #HBO War #HBO band of brothers #HBO War fandom #love triangle #angst my beloved

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 21

(Ch. 20) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: "It's born from just one single glance but it dies and it dies and it dies a million little times."

A/N: Bit of a long one tonight, y'all, but I PROMISE it's worth it, even if for no other reason than to twist the knife in your heart lol because this one hURTED

WARNINGS: ANGST ANGST ANGST, Mixed Signals, Jealousy, Situationship, Conflicted feelings, idk the usual FOF tags lol.

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @indigo-luvers @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away

Contemporary: October 25th, 1944. Driel, Netherlands.

Chewing absentmindedly on her thumbnail as she read, Alix tried to ignore the all-too-familiar feeling of eyes boring into the side of her head. 

She didn't even have to turn to look; she knew instinctively who it was. 

It was Joe. 

It was always Joe. 

He had been casting wounded glances in her direction like a kicked puppy ever since she'd stormed off the day prior. 

Ever since the letter. 

Her chest still ached at the memory. 

Every time she closed her eyes, she could see “To My Love” inscribed on the letter’s flap like an epitaph. 

 Like her epitaph.

He wasn’t yours to lose in the first place, Alix chided herself, trying to force herself to stare at the novel she’d gotten in the mail days earlier. Let him be.

But her eyes wouldn’t focus and the deep, icy pain in her chest just wouldn’t leave her alone. 

There was no denying it: he hadn't left her mind. 

He had been there for her when she needed him most and then…then nothing. 

Had it just been pity for her distraught state that kept him there that night?

All signs pointed to Yes.

A month of silence, empty gestures that clearly meant nothing to him, and then a letter from a sweetheart he had apparently been writing to the whole time... Frankly, Alix wasn’t sure whether she wanted to cry or slap him. 

Perhaps both; perhaps neither. 

Deep down, under all of the hurt and confusion and betrayal she felt, all she wanted to do was run to him for a hug and for answers, for the truth:

Was any of it real or was it all just an act?

Was she just a passing amusement for him?

Was trying to woo her some sort of sick joke?

Had it just been to prove that he could?

Regardless, she’d rather take a nosedive off the Strawberry Mansion Bridge in midwinter than ask.

No man was worth that kind of humiliation, not even Joe. 

With a sigh of annoyance, Alix tried to turn back to her worn copy of Wuthering Heights but found herself staring emptily at the pages again. 

Skip and Don had been in and out for most of the morning, on some patrol or other, leaving the more or less immobilized spy to her own devices as she waited for the patrol to return, hopefully with a medic so her ankle could be fixed and she could finally get back to work.

She could feel Joe’s eyes on her again, could feel the mournful puppy-dog stare she would encounter were she to look over, and it took all her self-control not to limp over there and tell him to go make eyes at his darling Millicent but fortunately, she didn’t think she’d be able to hop down off the fallen oak by herself. 

Just then, a thickly-accented voice interrupted her ruminations.

"’Scuse-moi but uh, Nixon said you were lookin' for me…?" 

Lifting her head from her reading, Alix saw a medic standing a bit away, hands in his pockets and shifting from foot to foot as though nervous to approach her. 

He was taller than she’d expected him to be, pale and square-jawed with close-cropped black hair and tired eyes so dark a blue that it took her a second to register their color. 

“Did he?” she inquired, her brows knitting slightly. 

It wasn’t like her case officer to go out of his way to be nice.

The man inclined his head, the ghost of a small smile gracing his face like moonlight over frost.

"Mais ya. Said you banged up your ankle real bad an' that I oughta have a look at it before you make it worse." 

There it is, Alix thought with an inward chuckle. There’s the Blackbeard I know.

“Fair enough,” she replied with a simple shrug. "C'mon then."

The man's eyes were alight with quiet mirth, but Alix could see the worry lines etched into his forehead, his thin lips pressed together pensively. 

He seemed almost afraid to smile, the spy noted, taking a peek at him overtop of her book as he got himself situated.

Like any moment it could be taken from him. 

He was watching her too but Alix pretended not to notice, leaning down and focusing her energy instead on gingerly untying her shoelaces. 

Her ankle had been numb most of the day but as soon as she attempted to shift the tongue of her boot even slightly, an agonizing bolt of lightning shot up her leg and she let out an involuntary yelp of pain. 

Both the medic and Joe’s heads whipped around at the sound of her cry but before the latter could put down the letter he was writing and get to his feet, the former was already at her side.

“You wan’ some help with that?” the dark-haired medic inquired, concern written all over his features but at first, Alix tensed out of sheer habit.

There was nothing she hated more than asking for help. 

But there wasn’t a trace of pity or contempt in the medic’s voice, only kindness, and she slowly allowed herself to relax. 

“Maybe,” she answered apprehensively. “If you can keep it from hurting like that again.” 

“I can try but it’s gonna start out painful. You gonna hafta trust me." 

"Not exactly my strong suit.” 

“Gotta start somewhere,” the medic replied, extending a hand with a shy smile. 

“I’m Eugene, by the way…Eugene Roe. But you can jus’ call me Gene, if you wanna, like y–”

A loud cough of irritation interrupted their conversation and Alix discreetly peeked over her shoulder to see that Joe had paused yet again from his scribbling to light up his third cigarette of the hour with a scowl as dark as a storm cloud.

Alix shot him a death glare which he pretended not to see.

The sheer audacity of Joe Liebgott to be acting jealous when he had been leading her on for so long, when he’d abandoned her for a month, all while writing home to his real sweetheart, when he was writing to her even now with Alix sitting feet away…

How dare he.

With a toss of her hair, Alix turned her attention back to the medic in front of her, who seemed a bit taken aback by the intensity of her expression.

“Pleasure to meet you, Gene,” she replied with a bright smile. “I’m Alix.” 

"I know," he admitted sheepishly. "We met before, used ta work together actually. Was gonna tell ya earlier but…" 

He trailed off, neither of them wanting to acknowledge the abrupt interruption.

"Sorry,” Alix said, wincing at her own impaired memory. “My recall's still shit."

 But Eugene seemed to take it in stride. 

"C'est bon," he responded with a shrug and an understanding smile. "Was a long time ago anyway." 

"Still," the spy confided with a frustrated grimace. "I hate not being able to remember things…people..." 

"It'll come back, cher," he assured her with a comforting hand on her cheek and her eyes went wide but she didn't pull away. 

"Jus' gotta give it some time. For now–"  

He gave her a sweet smile that made her feel warm inside. 

"Think of it like a fresh start." 

From several feet away, Joe cleared his throat again, a raucous sound, and the medic seemed to instantly come back to himself. 

Losing his nerve, he quickly pulled his hand away, focusing all his energy on positioning them lightly on her boot instead. 

"Now, uh, you ready to get this thing off?" 

Alix nodded with gritted teeth and Eugene began to count down.

“Une…Deux…Trois!” 

One sudden flash of pain and both her sock and boot were off.

“Merci beaucoup,” she exhaled, her whole body seeming to sag with released tension. 

Thank you so much. 

The medic’s face lit up with delight like a kid on Christmas.

“Your French don' sound half bad, cher!" 

"After 12 years of it in school, I sure hope not," Alix joked and the medic visibly brightened at the sound of her laughter. 

"Mais ya, it sounds real good. Y'ain't Cajun but then, there isn't nobody outside the bayou that talk like us." 

Suddenly seeming to remember what he'd come for, he busied himself with rolling up her pants leg and examining her swollen ankle, which was now a mottled black and blue. 

True to his word, he was careful to touch it as little as possible. 

"You been walkin' on it a lot, eh?" 

"A fair bit," she conceded. "Just when necessary." 

The medic shook his head, clucking his tongue in disapproval.

"C'est pas drole que's all fucked up then. You got a dislocated ankle, cher, an' you been overworkin' it." 

No wonder, huh? 

Alix could've laughed. She'd spent her whole life chafing against life's constraints. She couldn't stay off her feet for too long even if she tried; she'd go crazy. 

"What do you want me to do, Gene, quit my job?" 

It had been a joke but the medic wasn't laughing. 

"If that's what it takes," he intoned as he began to rifle through his bag in search of a splint set, scolding her affectionately all the while.

"You're lucky you ain't got a fractured foot! Once I do the reduction, you gotta be gentle while it's healin'. That means you gotta stay off it, you got that, pichouette?" 

Pichouette. 

Mischievous girl. 

A term of endearment but a playful one. 

“From cher to pichouette that quick, huh?” she teased and he shook his head at the ground to hide his shy grin. 

"You really shoulda been more careful, y'know," he chided gently, ignoring her teasing as he began busying himself with his bag. 

"You got me… an' Joe an' uh, other people real worried about you."

 

“It’s sweet of you to worry but I’m not your problem, Gene,” Alix mumbled but he paused his search to glance up at her. 

“If you were a problem, I wouldn’ta been worried at all, cher,” he said kindly and Alix could feel the warmth of his tone like a hug.

“Now, I’m gonna need you to hop down an' lay flat on your back for me, ya?”

 

But the spy shook her head, suddenly self-conscious. 

“Um Gene…One problem.”

Eugene cocked his head, brows knit in silent confusion. 

“I can’t.”  Alix mumbled, inwardly berating herself for forgetting.

“Not without landing on my bad foot. Skip helped me up here but I’d need help getting down.” 

The medic immediately rose from his kneeling position, arms extended. 

“Jump.” 

The spy shook her head emphatically.  

“That’s a negative, Gene. I don't do heights, especially not after my last jump."

Eugene cocked his head.

He didn’t seem angry, just confused.

“You don’ trust me?” 

“Don’t take it personally,” the spy grimaced. “I’m just not in the habit of trusting people too easily.” 

The sweet-faced Eugene took a timid step closer to the trunk of the oak, his voice soft and reassuring. 

“Mais, lemme change that then.” 

Alix could feel her resolve waning bit by bit but she still had some lingering doubts.

“What if you drop me?” she asked, noting the man’s almost fragile-looking frame

but he chuckled, a sound as warm as the sun rays dappling nearby leaves.

“Cher, I been carryin’ 200 pound wounded troopers back an' forth for Lord knows how long now. I ain’t gonna drop you.”

There was such an earnestness about the medic’s face that she didn’t have the heart to refuse any longer. 

“Fine,” she grumbled, trying to keep from looking down. “But you’d better not drop me.”

Even a minor jump felt major since her previous but she resolved to trust him anyway.

After taking one last breath to calm her nerves, Alix leapt into the medic’s waiting arms.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Despite his slight build, Eugene was a great deal stronger than she’d expected and when he scooped her out of the air, Alix couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from her chest, even as their noses nearly brushed.

“Okay, okay, you proved your point,” she giggled as he gave her a boost, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist for security, but Eugene wasn’t done. 

“Told you I wasn’t gonna drop you, cher,” he remarked with a rare, playful grin, those entrancing eyes of his sparkling in the sunlight. 

“Gonna hafta eat crow now, eh?” 

Alix swatted at his shoulder jokingly and was it her imagination or were the tips of his ears turning bright pink?

“You, Eugene Roe, are ridiculous,” she mumbled as she wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself. 

Roe licked his lips nervously, his gaze seeming to linger on her mouth for a second as though he were pondering something he shouldn't. 

For a brief second, she was somewhere else as an image of herself and Joe flashed before her, the two of them kissing in the moonlight...

But Alix's mind brought her crashing back down to Earth as the memory of the letter, of Millicent's smiling face, of the words "My Love" sealed with a kiss swam before her...

Feeling her stomach drop, Alix turned her head away suddenly, and Roe got the message, his gaze returned to her eyes immediately.

“I'm sorry, I-I uh…” he stammered and Alix gave him an understanding smile.

“Don’t worry about it."

The medic swallowed anxiously, his heartbeat thundering stronger and stronger against her chest like a caged animal.

Keeping his hands securely wrapped around her, he gently guided her down onto her back in the grass, his body just grazing over hers and Alix felt something strange stir within her.

There was a delicacy about his features, even in shadow, that Alix hadn't noticed before his face was hovering inches from her own. 

Joe was a blazing wildfire, as passionate and intense as the sunlight beating down on Gene's back, and she was a moth, ever attracted to his flame. 

But Eugene... He was different, more aloof, almost serene, but with a gentle magnetism as well that drew her curiosity like the moon and tides.

Even hovering just above her, with his arms lightly caging her against the ground, there was still an unfathomable distance in the medic's eyes, as though he was searching for something in her eyes that he couldn't quite reach.

He radiated a more subdued light but it was still present, and there was a gravitas that grounded him in even his lightest moments.

He wasn't Joe. But maybe that was okay. Maybe he didn't have to be.

The tension between them was as thick as a morning haze and Alix found her own pulse racing as she looked up at him, the flurry of butterflies in her stomach battling the confusion in her mind and the heartache in her chest.

An unspoken fondness seemed to radiate from within Gene’s night-blue eyes as he gazed at her and she couldn’t help but wonder if it had been lingering under the surface all along. 

He had said they’d worked together in the past… If that was true, then perhaps he’d kept that fondness hidden for a reason. 

Just another "impossibility", Alix thought sadly. Another "almost". 

Still, she couldn't deny that there was something about him, a warmth, a comfort that she hadn't noticed before that seemed to pull her to him.

Perhaps it was his gentleness that both drew her and repelled her at the same time. 

After all, he had been trained to save lives; she had been trained to take them. 

Life and Death. 

An impossibility. 

She saw his gaze drift down to her lips again, but this time, she didn’t turn away, even as she heard the angry clatter of Joe dropping his canteen to the ground.

Eugene leaned down, his eyes timidly asking a question she already knew her answer to, when a piercing wolf-whistle rang out, startling the medic so much that he rolled off her immediately with a muttered “Merde” just as a cluster of paratroopers emerged from the brush.

"Way to go, Doc!" someone jeered and there were snickers and scattered applause throughout the remainder of the group as the medic sat up and began feverishly rifling through his canvas bag instead, sorting bandages and the like as he avoided the stares.

“You guys are a real riot,” Alix commented sarcastically, propping herself up on her elbows and making a face at the gawking newcomers.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than gape like goldfish?”

A man near the front of the group who Alix recognized as Joe's friend, Sergeant Talbert hooted,

"Damn, we go on patrol and miss all the fun! Wonder if they–" 

"Tab, shut your goddamn mouth before I shut it for you!" Joe snarled uncharacteristically from his spot in the clearing and Tab held his hands up, wisely choosing not to continue his statement. 

The spy glanced nervously over at Joe who set his jaw and turned away, glaring daggers at the grass instead as though daring it to wilt under his stare.

"All y'all can get a move on already," Bull commanded with the exasperated sigh of an elementary school teacher attempting to control an unruly class. 

"Ain't nothin' to see." 

Once the returning group had begun to disperse, the medic ceased his search and turned to look at her, seeming almost helpless, like a rabbit caught in a snare.

"I'm sorry… I mean, I shouldn'tve… Mais, you an' Joe… Did I–" 

"NO," she stated sharply– more like a punch to the gut than a reassurance– before shaking her head and correcting herself. 

"No," she repeated, gentler this time. "You're fine, Gene."

"But I thought y'all–" Roe began, casting a worried look over his shoulder at Joe but this time it was Alix who reached out with a wan smile and a reassuring hand on his cheek, turning him back to her. 

"Well, you thought wrong."  

#SURPRISE SHAWTY #he's been harboring this the WHOLE TIME #We love situationships & jealousy & mixed signals in this house lol #Alix Martinelli #Joe Liebgott #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joe Liebgott x Reader #Band of Brothers fandom #Band of Brothers fanfiction #Band of Brothers fanfic #BoB #HBO Band of Brothers #mutual pining #angst #slow burn #love triangle #Eugene Roe #Eugene Roe x Reader #Alix Martinelli x Joe Liebgott #Joelix #Roelix lol #Band of Brothers longfic #Band of Brothers multichap #multichapter fic #FOFchapters #Notice all the Parallels lol #Joe rolling over on Alix to protect her & now Gene doing it after they're caught in a Moment #FireOnFire

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 22

(Ch. 21) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: A closed reduction is painful but not as painful as a broken heart.

WARNINGS: Description of Injury Correction

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @indigo-luvers @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby

Contemporary: October 25th, 1944. Driel, Netherlands.

“Genie, how long do I have to stay like this?” Alix groaned as she stared up at the sky with her knee bent while the meticulous medic inspected her ankle yet again. 

“My leg’s starting to cramp.”

"Jus’ hang in there, cher,” he soothed as he cautiously applied a bit of light pressure to the area once again, causing her to hiss in pain as he examined her range of motion.

“You don’ want me rushing this.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Alix caught a glimpse of Joe nearby, pacing back and forth like an anxious guard-dog, his forehead creased with worry lines as he took a hasty drag of his cigarette. 

"Whaddya need, Doc?" he asked as Roe assessed her ankle one final time. “What can I do?”

“You already asked him that,” Alix snapped, eyes narrowed. “Three times.” 

“Well ‘scuse me for being fuckin' worried about you,” Joe shot back. 

The heartbroken spy was about to tell him exactly where he could shove his false “worry” when Eugene's slightly modulated voice cut her off, giving Joe an instruction seemingly from the depths of Alix’s own heart.

"Hold her hand." 

Alix practically choked on air.

"What?!" 

The spy began struggling to get up but the medic stopped her with a gentle touch to her shoulder and lowered his voice so only she could hear.

 

"I ain't exactly jazzed about it either, cher," he said softly and with the mournful look in his beautiful blue eyes, she didn't doubt it.

"But puttin' personal feelings aside, you gonna need somebody to grab onto so you don' pass out."

Alix scoffed inwardly. 

"Putting personal feelings aside," he'd said.

As if there had ever been a time when Gene put his feelings anything but dead last. 

"I'd rather be unconscious than touch him," she muttered bitterly and perhaps it was his guilty conscience or perhaps it was genuine concern for her well-being, but either way, Gene wouldn't hear any more of her protestations.

“Jus' till the reduction's done,” he pleaded as he helped Alix out of her jump jacket, which she would need to bite on for the pain.

“Mais, if I could find Spina, I'd hold your hand myself an' let him do it, but he ain't close." 

Alix chewed on her bottom lip, glancing around the clearing as she weighed her options.

Don had gone in search of a German Luger for his nephew and Skip had gone with him to ensure he wouldn’t die. 

The pair had offered to carry her but she didn’t want to encumber them.

The woods were dangerous enough as it was without adding another load to their packs.

So, they had gone, leaving Alix with Gene, Joe, and her own thoughts, surrounded by a group of relative strangers. 

As much as she hated to admit it, Joe was looking like the only option so reluctantly, she relented. 

“Fine, whatever, let’s get it over with.”

With a satisfied nod, Roe began assembling the necessary components of the splint set and Joe knelt beside her.

Shivering slightly in her camisole, she tried to pretend he wasn't there, staring straight ahead into the tangle of branches and shadows that comprised the surrounding forest.

“Hey, you okay, Ziskeit?" Joe inquired, the familiar gravel of his voice softening around the foreign word.

Zees.

Zee-skite. 

There was something comforting about the way it seemed to roll so easily off his tongue like a reflex, like a prayer.

Alix shook her head to clear it.

Remember who he is, she told herself, noting the ink-stains that seemed to mar his fingertips.

Ink stains from the letter he had been writing earlier, no doubt a reply to the one that haunted her memory. 

Remember all the lies.

She wondered vaguely if he called Millicent that word back in California. 

Zeeskite.

Probably just another recycled line. 

But even still, when he slowly reached for her hand, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away and as he laced their fingers together, a flurry of butterflies erupted in her stomach.  

Their fingers interlocked perfectly, like they were made for each other. 

"You can squeeze too, y'know," Joe added, giving her shoulder an affectionate brush with his own. "If ya need to, that is." 

Alix fought to keep her face neutral and inwardly cursed the stubborn heat creeping up her neck and cheeks anyway. 

"I don't wanna hurt you though," she squeaked but Joe just chuckled.

"Break my fuckin' hand for all I care, Zees," he joked with an easy shrug and his laugh felt almost…  familiar, as if she’d heard it a million times before. 

But he sobered quickly, using his thumb to lightly caress the back of her hand.

The blinding sunlight light up each ray of honey-gold in his hypnotic brown eyes, creating a dazzling shimmer almost like the flicker of a flame. 

"Seriously though, this ain't about me." His forehead was etched with worry lines. 

"You're the one who's gonna be in pain so you fuckin' squeeze as tight as you need to, okay? Don't worry 'bout me; I can take it." 

He was being so considerate that it actually hurt and she found herself wishing he would've just been an asshole. It was easier to remember to hate him that way. 

"Don't," Alix mumbled, the frigid ache in her chest returning as she noticed the ink-stains on his skin for a second time and she very nearly pulled her hand away.

"Don't do that." 

Joe's brows scrunched in confusion. 

"Do what?" 

There was no malice in his voice anymore when he spoke, the sharp edge from earlier seemed to have evaporated with the morning mist.  

It was an honest question that deserved an honest answer. 

Could she give him that?

Alix dropped her gaze, unable to look him in the eye as she answered, studying each blade of grass they were seated on instead like a coward. 

Her voice sounded hollow, the words burning in her throat like sawdust as she spoke:

"Don't pretend to care about me." 

She would've rather endured a hundred interrogations than take comfort in his lies, especially now. 

There was a heavy silence for a moment as Joe registered her comment, followed by a small sigh as his chest seemed to deflate. 

"Christ, Zees, you think I'm pretending?"

He wasn't angry, although she wished he would be. 

If he just shouted at her then she could return fire and the dislike wouldn't feel so goddamn one-sided. 

But he didn't treat her like he did the men of the company. He might bristle at her accusations, might even snap as he rose to her bait, but she had never once heard him truly yell in anger, not at her.  

For a man with such a reputed temper that prisoners would slouch to avoid his gaze, it was almost unfathomable. 

An unexpectedly soft hand on her arm roused her from her thoughts.

It was Eugene, who gave her a wan smile. 

“You ready, cher?” 

"You're gonna be okay, Zees," Joe murmured with one last encouraging squeeze of her hand and Alix took a shaky breath before confirming her assent. 

"I'm ready."

"Une…"

The medic tensed as he positioned one hand on her hind foot and the other on the lower part of her shin. Alix bit down on the sleeve of her jump jacket.

"Deux…"

There came a slight pressure to her ankle like a warning and she braced herself, leaning subconsciously against Joe's shoulder for comfort.

"Trois!”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Nothing could have prepared her for the pain. 

Feeling the pop of bones slamming back into place was like a thousand kitchen knives stabbing her nerves, like a roaring fire engulfing her ankle, needle-sharp sensation so intense that it was momentarily blinding. 

Alix gripped Joe's hand so tightly that she lost feeling in her own as a strangled cry was ripped from her throat, fortunately muffled by the thick material of her jacket.

“Jesus Christ, Doc!” Joe snapped and Alix could feel the instinctive coil of his muscles, like a wildcat set to pounce as he rounded on Gene.

“Give her a second, will ya, you’re fuckin’ hurting her!"

The medic ignored him for a moment, focusing his energy instead on the first internal rotation of her ankle, causing Alix to groan in misery and squeeze Joe’s hand still tighter. 

"Don' got no choice," the medic grunted apologetically, not even looking up from his work.

"Can’t stop now. Shoulda stayed at the aid station where they got anesthetic. But she almost done; Jus' got one more part of the reduc an' one more rotation." 

"One more, Zees," Joe mumbled, releasing her hand and wrapping his arms around her like a protective blanket.

"Just one more. You’re doing real good." 

“Une…" 

Through the red fog of her misery, Alix could vaguely feel Gene readjusting his grip on her heel as he counted down and she sank back into Joe as she fought to remain conscious.

"Deux…"

The medic was beginning to apply pressure and feeling her tense in preparation, Joe pressed a kiss to the top of her head and began to gently smooth her hair in an attempt to offer comfort. 

"Trois!”

"Dio Santo!" Alix swore, bolting upright as the final bone slid back into place with a pop, causing involuntary tears to slide down her blanched cheeks like rain.

"C’est tout," the medic announced a moment later, sitting back on his heels.  

"The hard part's done. Now we jus' gotta keep it all in place."  

As the medic positioned the wire splint against her foot, Alix managed to summon enough strength to slide herself out from under Joe’s arms. 

She wanted nothing more than to lean back into him again, to let him hold her close, but she couldn’t…Not when she knew he would only be thinking of Millicent. 

“It went good, cher,” Eugene praised as he began to wrap her ankle in protective bandages, oblivious to her conflicted thoughts. 

"But don’ let me catch you walkin’ on this thing till it’s good an’ set, you got that? You need somethin’, you better be askin’ somebody to go get it.” 

Great, Alix thought, watching forlornly as Eugene finished and began packing his remaining supplies into his bag. 

She’d be stuck for at least an hour and she doubted Joe would miraculously decide to leave her alone. 

“I gotta go make my rounds, cher, but I’ll be back, alright? Soon as I can.”

“Can I at least sit back on the log then, Genie?” she bargained and the medic nodded grudgingly as he stood up, thin lips twitching into a smile.

"Mais ya, as long as you're careful." 

Scooping her up like he had before, Gene plopped her comfortably onto the fallen oak before giving her a lightning-quick peck on the cheek. 

Alix had always imagined that the first kiss between two people would be magical like the ones in the novels she read.

When Heathcliff burst into Catherine’s room in Wuthering Heights and swept her up into his strong arms, planting a whirlwind of passionate kisses upon her, their love was like a force of nature.

But when Gene had kissed her cheek… No lightning strike, no giddy sparks like fireworks going off in her head.

Nothing at all except for a tiny twinge of guilt serving to only make her more confused. 

This was what she had wanted, wasn’t it, what all her curiosity about the medic had led to?

Then why wasn’t she satisfied? 

Why was she always searching for something she couldn’t find, something she wasn’t even sure existed?

But clearly Gene had been satisfied because when he stepped back, the tips of his ears were scarlet again and his half-mumbled "I'll see you around, cher” came out almost dazed.  

He had just turned to leave when Joe jumped to his feet, stopping the medic by his elbow as he passed, and Alix held her breath as she awaited the seemingly inevitable conflict.

 

The medic froze in his tracks, the two men standing face to face. 

Eugene was taller by a good 5 inches but even so, Alix had no doubt that Joe would gain the upper hand in a heartbeat.

But to her surprise, no conflict ensued. 

"I- uh– just wanted to say thanks, Doc,” Joe said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Y'know, for takin' good care of my... of Alix."

 

Even so, Eugene eyed him warily.  

"Lieb," he began, his tone cautious. "Jus' so you know, I'm not tryna-" 

"Doesn't matter." 

The medic raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

"What?" 

Joe exhaled slowly and he tried to muster up a smile but there was a flicker of pain just behind it. 

When he spoke, there was a catch in his gravelly voice and the words were so quiet that Alix had to strain to hear them.

"If she's happy, I'm happy." 

The spy distinctly saw Eugene's shoulders relax at his fellow trooper’s words and the Southerner gave him a polite nod before walking off, leaving Alix alone with the one person she had been trying to avoid.

#Cliffhanger [jazz hands 🤗] #Joe Liebgott #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joe Liebgott x reader #Joe Liebgott x Alix Martinelli #Joelix #Eugene Roe #Gene Roe #Eugene Roe x OC #Eugene Roe x reader #Roelix #Joseph Liebgott #love triangle #trust issues #Alix Martinelli #espionage fic #tw medical talk #tw graphic injury mention #Band of Brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #Band of Brothers fanfic #Band of Brothers fanfiction #BoB #hbo band of brothers #HBO War fandom #HBO War fanfiction

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 25

(Ch. 24) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: "Friendship isn't a big thing– it's a million little things."

A/N: Here it is, y'all! 💖

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @indigo-luvers @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby @ithinkabouttzu

Contemporary: November 20th, 1944. Resistance Safehouse, Signy-l’Abbaye, France.

She had been told that her confinement in the dilapidated cabin was for her own protection but Alix was almost certain that the real purpose was to drive her mad enough that even if she were to be captured, she’d have nothing useful to say. 

And it was working, the agent thought as she flipped aimlessly through Wuthering Heights for the umpteenth time. 

She was going to go out of her mind.

No one in the OSS knew where the leak had come from meaning that everyone was now under suspicion, so the only conceivable solution had been to tuck Alix away somewhere verifiably secure until the source was discovered. 

Her sole contact with the outside world came in the form of visits from Captain Nixon, who was the very picture of maladaptive coping mechanisms as he collapsed into a beaten-in armchair by the fireplace with a drink in-hand. 

"Any word on Jen– I mean, Agent Perrault?" Alix inquired hopefully but her handler shook his head.

"Not since the last time you asked. Sorry to say but I wouldn't get your hopes up." 

He gave a sympathetic grimace before reminding her gently,

"MIA usually means captured or dead." 

"'Usually'," Alix insisted doggedly. 

"But not always. There's still a chance she's alive somewhere, waiting it out." 

Her case officer's expression was strained but he said nothing, opting to take a swig of his drink instead of discouraging her any further. 

There was a beat of comfortable silence between the pair and Alix picked at the shoddy couch-cushions beneath her leg with a chipped nail. 

She desperately wanted to ask about Joe but she knew better. 

She would play it cool.

"So what'd I miss? How is everyone?" she inquired casually but her handler let out a snort.  

"You mean, how's 'Joey' ?"

One of the many downsides of being friendly with an intelligence officer, Alix thought ruefully: They Know Too Much. 

 "A loose cannon, that's how he is," Nixon answered himself before taking a gulp of what was undoubtedly whiskey in his flask. 

"He's worried as Hell about you and he's taking it out on anybody within arm's reach. Not to mention, he keeps trying to weasel SITREPs out of me like your status and location aren't strictly Classified." 

The captain shook his head with a grudging, mirthless smirk.

"Have to say, I admire his tenacity but I swear to Christ, I'm half-tempted to put a rush on your paperwork just so I can get some goddamn sleep and Dick can have his best interrogator back. Liebgott's no good to anybody like this and don't we all know it."

Joe was worried about her? 

Alix didn't know what to say. 

Why should he be? 

Shouldn't he be relieved that he didn't have to tie up their inconvenient affair with a neat little bow?

But her conflicted musings were interrupted by the crinkling of cardboard. 

Nonchalantly fishing a small, rectangular snack box out of his pocket, Nixon tossed it over to her with an exaggerated sigh of reluctance. 

“From Muck again,” he elaborated as she caught it, as if she didn’t already know. 

Skip had made it a habit of saving his fruit bars for her. He had told her case officer that it was because he was bored of apricot but Alix knew for a fact that was a lie.

It had started long before that.

╔══ •🖤🖤•🖤🖤•🖤🖤• ══╗

9 Months Ago: February 5th, 1944. Aldbourne, England.

“Hey Doc, is it normal to lose feeling in your legs?" Alix wheezed as she and the rest of the company made the final trudge up the hill to their makeshift campsite. 

"Because I think mine have died." 

“Lucky you,” Don groaned from behind her as he plopped down onto the dirt.

“Mine feel like they're on fire.”

"Mais ya, Pyro," Roe answered as he settled across from her on the ground, swiping some sweat off his forward with his sleeve. 

"We jus' did an all-night hike an' on empty stomachs, no less. Perfectly normal to feel numb, I reckon." 

"Enjoy it," Penkala advised as he took a seat on the empty patch of grass next to Eugene. 

"After the Charley horse I got in Mile 9, I'd welcome some numbness right about now."

From a little ways away, Alix saw Skip Muck– their other best friend– shifting from foot to foot anxiously as he waited in line to speak to Captain Sobel.

As the only NCO in their friend group, it was Skip's job to report their times on each excursion. 

Alix was reasonably confident in their speed– especially on nighttime hikes which were a lot less grueling than in the blistering heat of the day– but Muck always did his best to pad their times anyway to avoid anyone getting in trouble. 

That was just the sort of person he was and Alix was eternally grateful.

The blond mimed dramatically shooting himself with his finger-gun as he waited for the unfortunately long-winded Mike Ranney to finish handing in his group's times and she let out a small giggle behind her hand.  

"Wonder if he'll be done by noon," Don snickered, voicing her own thoughts and Alix shrugged.

"We can dream," she joked as she began to unbox her breakfast unit. "But I'm too famished to wait any longer." 

"Agreed," Alex Penkala chimed in and the usual bartering began. 

"Hey Penk, I'll trade you my Pork & Eggs for your cereal bar," Alix piped up hopefully but the brown-haired trooper sat forward and squinted, his green eyes skeptically taking in Alix's offering.

"That's what that's s'posed to be?" he asked, seeming genuinely horrified. "Are you sure?" 

The Italian's weak nod was the only confirmation he needed to cement his decision.

"Nie, sorry," Penkala answered, partially in Polish and partially in English. 

Alix sighed but at least he had the decency to look somewhat apologetic. 

"Maybe another day?" he added as the spy turned to the friend seated on her left side. 

"What about you, Mal? Pork and eggs for half your biscuits?" she offered but Don jokingly shielded his crackers in response. 

"Fat chance," the redhead quipped. "These are getting drenched in coffee, soon as it's done."

"I'll remember this the next time you ask me for a Wrigley's," Alix teased before turning to the medic across the way, whose dark blue eyes were already fixed on her. 

"How about you, Gene? Up for a trade?"

She held up the tin with a hopeful smile so the medic could view the breakfast ration within but he shook his head apologetically. 

"Uh…'fraid I gotta pass on that," he responded, shooting her a sympathetic grimace as he eyed the tin. 

"It don' look fit for human consumption."

Roe wasn't wrong. 

The medic's prepackaged block of oatmeal had to be soaked in water from his canteen until it was an almost slop-like consistency the color of wet cement but it still looked better than the culinary monstrosity sitting before her in her own tin. 

Using her fork as a poking stick, Alix lightly prodded the chalky egg yolk, hoping to find an angle at which it might at least look a little bit appetizing but found none.

The blocks of pork were so solid that she could hardly get her fork through them and she found herself thinking wistfully of home. 

When she was home for breaks in Chestnut Hill, Penny would make the most incredible Irish breakfast known to man every morning – the fluffiest golden eggs, the most mouthwatering sausage accompanied by the scent of sizzling bacon and bread so fresh that you could hear the melodious crackle of the crust. 

Just the thought of it was making her stomach growl but her musings were interrupted when Doc Roe reached out from across the way and plunked 4 of his 8 biscuits onto her tray with a shy smile. 

"Ya can have 'em for free though, if ya want 'em, che– er, Pyro," he corrected quickly with an awkward cough before adding, "Hope they help." 

Alix beamed back at him. 

"Gene, you're a real peach, do you know that?" 

The tips of the medic's ears turned bright pink and he replied with a "De Rien" so soft that she barely heard it. 

Taking a bite of one of the biscuits, Alix let out a sudden yelp of pain as one of her molars connected with the rock-solid bread. 

"Cazzo! I think it chipped my tooth!"

"That's why you soak 'em first, genius," a familiar voice bubbled from behind her and Alix turned to greet her other best friend. 

"Well well, look what the cat finally dragged in," she remarked playfully as she scooted to make room for Skip in their little circle. 

"Christ, Skipper, did you get lost?" Don piped up in-between mouthfuls of soggy cracker.

"Nope, can't afford to," the blond replied with his trademark glowing grin and unflagging positivity, even as he settled cross-legged into the dirt. 

"Somebody's gotta keep you two outta the nuthouse." 

Eagerly pulling his breakfast unit onto his lap, Skip began sorting through the goods and Alix peeked over his shoulder.

It seemed like that day, only Skip had anything actually worth eating: a Dromedary Bar.

As he slowly peeled back the cellophane, the blond took a second to admire the tropical fruit concoction in his hands and Alix's stomach rumbled enviously. 

"Hungry?" he inquired as he began to worm the bar out of its packaging and Alix sighed wistfully. 

"Starving." 

Flicking out his pocketknife, the blond sawed the bar into two neat halves before scarfing his portion down and gallantly offering the second to his friend.

"You're a saint, Skipper," she proclaimed with a grateful grin as she eagerly wolfed down her half of the sweet treat. 

"Nah," he chuckled modestly, wiping his juice-stained hands off on his ODs. "Just looking out for family."  

“Bon Dieu,” Eugene had marveled from his seat across from them, shaking his head in quiet bemusement at the pair who had both already finished their sections of the bar. 

“Remind me not to let y’all near my mama’s beignets when she send 'em!”

That had been the moment when Joe passed by. 

It had started off innocuous enough, just another paratrooper admiring the scenery with his friends, those beautiful russet eyes roving the English landscape around them when they met hers and Alix’s heart thudded in her chest.

The electricity of the unspoken seemed to crackle in the air between them like a lightning storm, so much heat in one glance that it made her cheeks flush like a wild rose. 

For a brief second, a conflicted expression flashed across his face and Alix remembered the thought in her mind clear as day: 

Two months. 

It had been two months.

Joe looked as if he wanted to say something but before he could get it out, one of his best friends– Popeye, she remembered– had distracted him, babbling on and on about their future return to civilization in the coming days. 

Alix had never seen Joe appear less enthused. As he was being led away to where the rest of his friends were sitting, he took one last look over his shoulder at her, as if trying to commit her features to memory, as if gathering strength to stay away.

But why?

Two months, Alix remembered thinking sadly as she had watched the handsome paratrooper disappear. It had been two months since-

╚══ •🖤🖤•🖤🖤•🖤🖤• ══╝

The sound of snapping fingers dragged Alix from her memories like a vaudeville cane and when she looked up, she glimpsed a half-concerned, half-amused Lewis Nixon staring back at her from his spot in the armchair.

"Welcome back," he remarked and Alix let out a snort of derision, shrugging off his bemusement as she silently grappled with her thoughts.

Why did the memory of seeing Joe all those months ago make her brain burn? Why did that cryptic phrase echo in her mind: Two months. Two months since what?!

Shaking her head to clear it, the spy focused instead on lifting the ration box's lid and delicately unwrapping the cellophane in her lap.

“Jesus Christ, Nix, nice of you to save me some," she commented dryly, inspecting the remains of a crumbled chocolate bar with a cocked eyebrow.  

“Consider it repayment for making me your goddamn mailman,” Nixon deadpanned and Alix rolled her eyes. 

“Well if I was allowed outside, I wouldn’t have to have a mailman, now would I?”

“Not this again,” the intelligence officer groaned, holding up his hands in an exaggerated display of helplessness.

"I'm sorry I said anything!" 

But it was too late; the floodgates had opened and Alix was already launching into her spiel. 

“Nix, it’s been weeks,” she griped, slamming a free hand onto the moth-eaten sofa cushion beside her for emphasis. 

“I can’t take much more of this shit! I’m tired of twiddling my fucking thumbs while there’s a war going on out there!” 

“You’re preaching to the choir," her case officer said dryly, picking at a twig stuck to his fatigues. 

"As soon as your new cover's been backstopped, you'll be the second to know, I swear. So give it a rest, okay?" 

A beat of silence ensued and Alix wished fervently that she'd been allowed a radio so she could listen to music. 

But alas, a radio signal was too dangerous.

There was no swing jazz on Earth that was worth being found by the Gestapo.

"Have you heard anything about my next assignment?" she probed curiously and the flicker of recognition in his eyes told her he had. 

"That's 'Need To Know'," he replied evasively, casting a glance onto the worn-in floorboards. "And you don't, not yet." 

Alix huffed impatiently and strained to reach the knife set by her shoulder on the side-table.

Flexing her fingers around the grip, she gave it a leisurely throw just behind Nixon's shoulder at the faded red target on the wall with a THWACK causing him to duck in alarm.

"God, Runt, could you not do that please?" her handler snapped as Alix sent another sailing over his shoulder, the blade whizzing through the air and sinking into the target with another THWACK! 

"It's unsettling."

"Is it?" Alix cocked an eyebrow with a smirk, flinging her last knife at the target, the sharp metal sinking into the center with one final, satisfying THWACK! 

"My apologies." 

"You don't sound very sorry," Captain Nixon grumbled. "But you're going to be in a minute."

Digging into the canvas rucksack he'd placed on the floor earlier, the officer retrieved a hefty stack of paperwork and handed them over the coffee table to her.

"More notes, to be typed into complete reports by 8:00 tomorrow morning. And that's an order." 

"Enjoy it while it lasts, Nix," Alix commented sardonically over her shoulder, as she rose from the sofa and crossed to the faded black typewriter resting on the kitchen table.

"They can't keep me cooped up here forever. Soon, you'll have to type up your own fucking notes when I'm in the field again." 

"Well you're not there yet, hotshot," Nixon snorted derisively, the corners of his lips quirking up into a grudging smirk. 

"So get to work.

#Band of Brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #BoB fandom #BoB fanfic #BoB fanfiction #Joe Liebgott #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joe Liebgott x reader #Joe Liebgott x Alix Martinelli #Joelix #Eugene Roe #Eugene Roe x OC #Eugene Roe x reader #Roelix #HBO War #HBO band of brothers #Don Malarkey #Skip Muck #We live for Skip Muck in this house 😌🤌🏼💖 #Donald Malarkey #Love Triangle #retrograd amnesia #espionage fanfic #BoB #Warren Muck #Lewis Nixon

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 15

(Ch. 14) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Tag List Application II Symbol Guide II

Summary: Tackling a mission meant for a team all by herself, Alix goes head-to-head with her most dangerous opponent yet. But perhaps this time, she's bitten off more than she can chew.

WARNINGS: VIOLENCE, ANGST, SEVERE INJURIES, Implied Substance Abuse, Death, the usual espionage stuff

A/N: Sorry this took so long, y'all! I've been on a trip! Here, have a holiday cliffhanger before I disappear again🤭💖

Taglist: @softguarnere @latibvles @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @brassknucklespeirs @parajumpboots @vibing-away @emmythespacecowgirl @hxad-ovxr-hxart @holdingforgeneralhugs @bellewintersroe @wwhatev3r @ax-elcfucker-blog

Contemporary: September 20th, 1944. Oosterbeek, Netherlands.

As soon as Lieutenant Kruger exited the Hendriksen Hotel, Alix was ready for him. 

Opening her issue of Modes de Paris to a random page once more, she began to study the page on upcoming winter clothing trends, gradually increasing her pace until she "accidentally" collided with the young SS officer, causing him to stumble. 

Most targets would apologize for knocking her and check to see if she was alright, but when the Lieutenant recovered his footing, something in him snapped.

Whirling around in a fit of fury, Kruger seized the spy by the throat, swearing in German as he slammed her against the wall of the Hendriksen hard enough to elicit a choking cough as the air was punched from her lungs.

Alix knew she couldn't put up true resistance or she would risk blowing her cover so she struggled weakly, one hand gripping his wrist and the other pushing him away from her as she fought for air. 

The urge to break his arm was growing stronger with every second but Alix had committed herself to the civilian role and she would have to play it, even to her own peril.

Horrified townspeople saw the confrontation but scurried by, hastily avoiding the scene so as not to catch the SS officer's eye. 

No one wanted to be next.

Tears involuntarily sprang to the spy's eyes as Kruger's hold tightened. When he lifted her off the ground, her ears began to buzz loudly as her vision began to blur and narrow.

Desperately fighting to remain conscious, Alix began to claw his hand and Kruger finally released her, yelling in pain, his voice seeming far away. 

Gasping for breath like a fish out of water, Alix sank to her knees, the magazine slipping from her hand and falling limply to the cobblestones below.

The world seemed to be spinning like a children's top and Alix sat dazed. Kruger looked like he might come at her a second time but before he could, she saw another pair of boots approaching with the sharp clip-clip-clip that meant business. 

As she coughed, leaning against the wall for support, the young woman could hear voices arguing above her in German. Blinking blearily upward, she could see a dignified-looking older man also in an SS uniform with the name “Schwarzkopf” emblazoned on the breast pocket.

A panoply of medals sat proudly on the opposite side of his chest, including what Alix recognized to be the Iron Cross. 

This must be SS Captain Schwarzkopf then, she surmised through the haze. Werner Schwarzkopf. 

She vaguely remembered his file.

Schwarzkopf was engrossed in a near-shouting match with the short-tempered Lieutenant, waving his hands as he gestured to Alix, to the street, and then jabbed an accusatory finger back into Kruger's chest. 

All the fight seemed to have left the younger officer now and his body seemed to sag as he hung his head guiltily like a child being scolded by the schoolmaster.

After a few more minutes of back-and-forth, the row seemed to come to an end and the older officer knelt to pick up Alix's magazine before extending a hand politely down to her which she accepted.

Once she had gotten to her feet, Alix let the tears run down her cheeks and sniffled, hoping to seem more sympathetic. 

It worked. 

The older officer glanced over the title of the fashion catalog with a fond smile.

"Modes de Paris," he read out loud, his German-accent almost disappearing, making his French surprisingly comprehensible. "My wife is subscribed to this. Lisette has a weakness for capes." 

"Well she's in luck because they appear to be all the rage this coming winter," Alix assured, returning the smile weakly as she rubbed her sore neck in with a gentle hand. 

"I should hope so, with all of the money we’ve spent on them!" 

The man let out a booming belly laugh that set Alix's ears ringing again and she winced, clinging to the wall of the bookshop with her left hand in a bid for balance as she slowly straightened up. 

"I am truly sorry for my carelessness," she uttered softly, keeping her head lowered as a sign of her deference. "I sometimes get too immersed in my reading." 

"No need to apologize, Mademoiselle, no harm done," the older man stated broadly but Lieutenant Kruger huffed like a spoiled child before shooting a suspicious glare in Alix’s direction for less than a second. 

Strangely, the youthful SS officer couldn’t maintain eye contact to save his life.

Alix couldn’t even tell what color his irises were because they were dwarfed by his dinner-plate pupils and darting every which way as though distracted by a million different things that only he could see. 

Lieutenant Kruger was muttering under his breath, seemingly speaking more to himself than anyone else as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

The agent glanced over to the older man with concern, lowering her voice to avoid triggering Kruger’s ire again.

“Is he… alright?” 

The graying man grimaced. 

“He is functional. Mostly.”

 

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked, making sure to keep her body language open and non-defensive to emphasize her earnestness. 

The key was seeming politely concerned, not overly curious.

Schwarzkopf shook his head, seemingly mystified.

“Overwork perhaps? Who’s to say?”

“S-She’s a spy!” Kruger burst out suddenly, extending a shaking finger toward the agent.

Alix’s eyebrows shot skyward with a bemused laugh but the older man beside her merely frowned, his forehead creasing. 

“You said the same thing earlier about 4 men in the bakers regiment, Klemens." Captain Schwarzkopf's voice was rising. "Is this your idea of a joke?" 

Kruger was completely ignoring him, seemingly too immersed in his own paranoia to notice. 

This was not a joke, Alix thought as she watched the troubled young man begin pacing anxiously back and forth along the same path.

Something was seriously wrong with her target and it wasn't trench fever. 

"So many spies," the young man mumbled, his movements becoming more jerky in his distress. "So many…So many." 

The lieutenant was becoming more and more agitated by the second, scratching frantically at his neck and face like a dog with fleas, raking his fingernails up and down the pockmarked skin feverishly as if trying to dig his way down to the bone.

Kruger's erratic behavior was causing Alix some serious trepidation.

 The young SS officer was sweating excessively but there were no other symptoms, meaning the Intel she was acting on was incorrect. Whatever his affliction, it was most certainly not trench fever and Alix wondered if it might be better to take him out from a distance instead. 

She might risk losing the chance to nab vital documents he was carrying but if his affliction was contagious, she didn't want to risk any more exposure because she could potentially infect others she came into contact with after.

Deciding to try one last ruse, Alix turned glanced over at Kruger, whose hands appeared to be twitching as he shifted restlessly from foot to foot.

"I really should get going," she excused herself breathily.

"Papa will be expecting me after Monsieur Pètain has gone, I'm sure." 

With all the practiced coyness of an actress delivering a throwaway line over her shoulder, Alix turned to leave when she was stopped, as she knew she would be. 

Kruger was slack-jawed, his huge pupils boring into her like black holes.

 “Your father knows The Marshal Pètain? The Lion of Verdun? But how-” 

"Papa was his roommate at Saint-Cyr," Alix lied effortlessly, cutting the babbling young man off. "And when they left the military academy, they served together in Artois. As you can imagine, they are quite close." 

“What did you say your father’s name was?” the older man asked, a hint of skepticism in his gravelly voice and Alix forced her expression to remain neutral, hoping to God that her cover had been properly backstopped. 

“Antoine Duchamps,” she replied, keeping her tone even, and Kruger’s ghostly face brightened immediately. 

“I know that name!” He piped up eagerly and Alix resolved to thank Nixon later for properly planting her cover when Kruger began chattering twice as fast to the man next to him, leaving Alix blinking as she struggled to follow along.

The Lieutenant's French wasn't bad for a German but the faster he spoke, the more his words began to slur, running together in a muddled mess and on top of it, he hardly seemed to breathe!

"Philippe Pètain! My God, can you believe it? Do you think he would meet with us? Perhaps-" 

But the older officer held up a hand to silence Kruger, who was starting to pace again in his excitement. 

"I'm sure the Marshal is a busy man, Klemens," Captain Schwarzkopf began but Alix shook her head, tossing her curls airily like the airheaded socialite she was supposed to be. 

"Don't be silly!” she chirped brightly, her tone syrupy-sweet. “He'd be honored to meet with some of our valiant German allies! If one of you could escort me to the nearest phone, I'm sure I could ring Papa and arrange it!" 

The young agent paused for a moment, watching as Lieutenant Kruger began scratching vigorously at his neck and cheek again, angry red lines beginning to trail down the irritated skin.

"It can't be a party line though," Alix hinted, twirling a strand of her raven hair around her finger flirtatiously. 

"The Marshal is very particular about who has access to him, I'm sure you understand. One can never be too careful these days. It should be somewhere…private.” 

Kruger had ceased his clawing now, too distracted by the sight of Alix’s fluttering eyelashes and suggestive tone to focus.

“I know the perfect place,” the young man blurted out, seizing her by the arm rather suddenly and practically yanking her towards him in a sudden burst of virility. 

Good, Alix thought as the notorious ladies' man led her back inside the hotel, leaving a confused Captain Schwarzkopf behind them. This should be quick. 

But it wasn't. 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

An impromptu SS Headquarters on one floor and a rented love nest on the other, it seemed the Hendriksen made good money from collaborating with Nazis because the place was crawling with them.

 

As the pair made their way through the lobby into the elevator, Alix kept her head dipped low, making sure that her thick, Veronica Lake-style waves were obscuring at least half her face from passersby. 

Beside her, Lieutenant Kruger was still trembling like a leaf; his short, shallow breaths coming out in pants as though he’d just run a marathon. 

A part of her wanted to ask if he was alright but she thought better of it; Alix knew if she set him off again, she wouldn’t be able to hold back from killing him and she was fairly certain that the noise would attract unwanted attention from the multiple Nazis milling about downstairs. 

In the elevator, the young SS officer pressed a shaky hand to his chest, the feeling of his racing heart starting him rocking on his heels once again and Kruger’s anxiety coupled with the groaning of the rusted cables made Alix grit her teeth.

He better not drop dead before we get to the room, she thought bitterly. Because I’m not dragging him there myself.

Fortunately, the ding of the elevator signaled their arrival and the young spy allowed herself a quiet exhale of relief as they exited onto the plush, patterned carpeting of the hall. 

It was showtime. 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Common courtesy dictated that a gentleman should offer a lady a drink upon inviting her in but Lieutenant Kruger was certainly no gentleman. 

Alix had barely sat down by the bedside telephone when the young officer plopped down beside her, his leg bouncing vigorously, practically shaking the whole mattress with it.

"My, my,” he marveled and Alix could feel his bony fingers boldly caressing her upper arm. “Aren’t you a stunning creature?” 

It took all of her strength not to break his hand.

 

“Thank you, sir,” she simpered but when she reached for the phone, Kruger’s other arm shot out like lightning to stop her, clutching her wrist painfully tight.

“What’s your hurry, Fraulein?” he inquired and Alix felt a chill run through at the sight of his crocodile grin. “I’m sure the Marshal can wait until we’re through.” 

The agent played dumb, wincing at his vise-like grip.

“U-Until we’re through…?”

 

“Until I’ve had time to properly enjoy…your presence.”

 

Good luck with that, Alix wanted to remark but she lowered her eyes to the carpet instead, feigning shyness.

"Forgive me, sir,” she murmured breathily, doing her best impression of a bashful ingenue. “But being alone with a man as…” She swallowed her disgust. “As handsome and well-respected as yourself…” 

Beside her, the Lieutenant dropped her wrist and straightened up at her words, puffing his chest out like a strutting rooster and Alix bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. 

“You needn't be coy, Fraulein," he assured her with a pompous wave of his hand. "We're finally alone."

With that, he made a daring swoop toward her, attempting to hook an arm around her waist but Alix shied away, scooting closer toward the phone instead.

"Perhaps a drink first?” she insisted quickly, followed by a tight-lipped smile. "For both of us, to calm the nerves." 

"I'm not thirsty," he countered, continuing to lean in and Alix kept her expression neutral, tolerating his advances as her mind raced through possibilities. 

She needed him to ingest the cyanide somehow but she knew she couldn't push the subject or she'd risk blowing her cover.

 

So she played hard to get, ducking away from his arms again and hoping desperately that her attempts at coyness would pay off but they didn't.

The SS Lieutenant was like a machine. 

He didn't need to eat, drink, or sleep; he seemed to run on desire alone and he was vibrating as though there was lightning coursing through his veins. 

She tried several times to engage him in conversation but the Lieutenant wasn’t interested in talking. Once he’d reached out and groped her breast, Alix decided she’d had enough. 

Swallowing her pride, the spy leaned in, keeping her lips just inches away from Kruger's as she slowly eased the F-S fighting knife from the waistband of her skirt. He was so near that she could smell his putrid breath and as soon as his eyes closed, she seized her opportunity and thrust the blade deep into his abdomen.

The force of the stab alone would probably have killed the average soldier but it seemed almost as though the SS officer was superhuman.

He let out a single, strangled noise and looked down at the knife embedded in his torso before his eyes shifted up, black with unspeakable rage as he leapt to his feet and took a swing.

Alix blocked his first strike with one hand while yanking the knife from his bloody ribs with the other, eliciting another bloodcurdling scream from her opponent. 

Heart racing, Alix swiped at him with the blade like Nix had taught her but the Lieutenant was faster, catching her wrist and clamping down between the tendons, forcing her to drop the knife like a hot coal.

 

She hissed in pain and managed to land a blow to the side of his face before he struck back, his fist flying over her head as she dropped to the floor. Panting, she managed to sweep his legs out from under him and he came crashing to the floor with a loud thud. 

But just as she straightened up, reaching again for her knife, the bastard latched onto her leg and dragged her back down onto the carpet with him, bellowing the only word in German that Alix recognized at the top of his lungs: 

“Spionin! Spionin!” 

Spy.

Rolling over, Alix rushed to clap a hand over his mouth but the damage had already been done. 

She could hear the clamor of approaching footsteps, the squealing hinges of doors swinging open, panicked voices shouting in French and German. 

The officer caught her dominant wrist before it reached him, bending it backwards with such force that Alix swore she heard a sickening crack and a hot pain shot up her arm just as he swung again with his opposite hand, this time connecting squarely with her jaw in a stunning uppercut that sent her head snapping back like a flipping switch.

Reeling from the dull throbbing in her skull and spitting blood, Alix managed to tug her pistol from its hidden holster and fired two shots, one after the other, into the man’s head, dropping him instantly.

The sudden cacophony of German coming from just outside the door spurred the agent to struggle to her feet.

Cradling her injured wrist, Alix was seeing double but she managed to stagger her way to the window overlooking the hotel’s back. The deafening jingling of room keys set her ears ringing and she leaned against the windowsill for support as the world seemed to spin.

Her heart thundered in her chest, her racing pulse causing blood to gush steadily from her split lip, dribbling down her chin in a warm stream.

Despite the pain, the young agent still managed to shove the window open and shakily clamber onto the sill. Staring down into the shadows of the alleyway, Alix felt nausea creeping in, her fear of heights making her stomach churn as her vision blurred.

The ground below seemed to undulate like an ocean tide and Alix had to lean against the wall, each time she blinked in the streaming sunlight feeling like a hammer slamming down onto her skull.

Hearing the deafening click of the door unlocking, the OSS operative swayed unsteadily for a moment as the world slowed to a crawl.

Standing on the ledge, Alix found herself in a fog, wondering thickly how long it would take for her case officer to be informed of her death.

It wasn't your fault, Nix, she wanted to tell him. You were a great handler. I wasn't a good enough agent.

"Too many risks, kid." Alix could hear him now, scolding her like he had during training. "You take too many risks."

Suddenly, several uniformed men burst into the room, interrupting her hazy contemplation. The resulting commotion sounded so far away, as though it was all happening underwater.

Holding a hand to her pounding head, Alix squeezed her eyes shut.

I'm sorry, Joey, she thought groggily, her aching head beginning to loll. I love you.

Then with a last shaky breath, she leapt from the ledge, sending herself plummeting downward onto the unforgiving bricks below.

#cliffhanger [jazz hands lol] #Band of Brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #Band of Brothers fanfic #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joe Liebgott x reader #Joe Liebgott #BoB #Ross McCall #Joelix #Alix Martinelli #OSS agent #mutual pining #established relationship #my girl really just launched herself from a building #god bless but also OUCH #lets hope she survived the fall #HBO War #HBO Band of Brothers #Lewis Nixon #Espionage fic #WWII #spy fic #spy fanfic

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 6

(Ch. 5) (Ch. 4) (Ch. 3) (Ch. 2) (Ch. 1)

Gallery II Taglist Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: Years of preparation have led up to this moment: D-Day is here.

Contemporary: June 4th, 1944. Upottery Airfield, England.

Waking up next to Joe was heaven but the day itself was far from it.

Alix's assumption had been correct: the original plan was to jump on the 4th but the powers that be (also known as General Eisenhower) deemed the heavy cloud cover, fog, and strong winds too risky so at the very last minute, a 24-hour stand-down was ordered. 

Everyone was understandably peeved: all that preparation and psyching yourself up mentally, just to have the metaphorical brakes slammed on right before takeoff. 

But although she’d never admit it out loud, Alix was honestly relieved. As much as part of her wanted to just get the damn drop over with, another part was grateful for the small delay. 

She’d take as much time as she could get without people trying to kill her and her friends.

As she settled in between Joe and Malarkey to watch Mr. Lucky for what felt like the millionth time, Alix couldn’t help but feel a twinge of grief: Gio would’ve loved this film. 

Her older brother, Giovanni, had been the world’s biggest Cary Grant fan and every time he had shore leave, he'd drag Alix to the movies with him to see the latest picture starring his favorite actor.

She'd seen Suspicion and His Girl Friday so many times when she'd visited that she swore she could recite them backwards, line by line.

But Gio would just roll his eyes at her half-hearted complaints.

“Mom made me sit through years of your God-awful piano recitals,” he'd remind her as they stood in line at the box office. “You owe me."

"That's not fair," Alix would protest as they collected their tickets and made their way into the lobby. "I quit piano like ten years ago!"

"And thank God for that," he would joke, earning him a smack on the arm from his younger sister.

"What you did to Moonlight Sonata should be considered a crime!"

Now 23, Alix's heart sank at the faint echoes of Gio's breezy laugh in her mind.

She could feel it slowly slipping from her memory, every day a little more. She was forgetting him slowly and she hated herself for it.

Gio hadn't been seen for 3 years, not since the attack on Pearl Harbor. The ship he'd been serving on, the Arizona, had been completely destroyed in the bombing and Giovanni had been one of many classified as MIA.

For the first year or so, Alix and her family held out hope that perhaps he'd survived somehow. But eventually, her mother told Penny to stop setting an extra place at the table and Alix knew. 

No one spoke about it. Her father found refuge in women and booze. Her mother found refuge at mass and in her garden.

And Alix…Alix was the same age as Gio had been when he disappeared, and she was over three thousand miles away just like him, about to throw herself into a fucking war zone.

Sensing something was wrong, Joe leaned his shoulder slightly against her own like a worried puppy, just enough to say “I’m here if you need me” without actually saying a word. 

She didn't say anything but aimed a small, grateful smile in his direction anyway so he knew she understood. 

After checking around them to be sure no one was paying attention, Alix reached over and slipped her hand into Joe's, giving it a quick squeeze.

I love you.

His lips curved into a warm smile and he squeezed her hand back, eyes still trained on the film.

I love you too.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━━━∆∆━━━━∆∆

Contemporary: June 5th, 1944. Upottery Airfield, England.

The following day seemed to crawl by at a snail's pace and having Lewis Nixon breathing down her neck wasn’t helping. 

Alix had already spent her morning poring over her forged passports and IDs for any possible mistakes. One wrong letter, one misplaced stamp, and she could be found out. She was nervous enough as it was without Lieutenant Nixon pacing behind her like a mother hen, peppering her with questions she'd already answered.

“What about your radio?”

Even with the cam cream smeared strategically on his face, Alix could still see the frown lines creasing his brow.

“You do have your radio, right?”

“Yes sir,” the young agent reminded him, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

He'd already asked that twice.

“Everything’s either in here tucked under the First Aid supplies—"

She patted the worn canvas messenger bag hanging off her shoulder, the red cross emblazoned on it falsely identifying her as a combat nurse. 

"— or here," she gestured to her shirt.

Everyone knew that the Nazis found it morally degenerate to strip-search women, a fact which Swallows and now Sparrows relied on to carry out their missions. 

Important documents and her L-Pill, also known as the lethal cyanide pill, were pinned to the underside of her bra for safe-keeping.

“Good,” Nixon affirmed gruffly and Alix was suddenly reminded why people below him called him Blackbeard behind his back. “And you know your orders, correct, Agent?” 

“Yes sir,” Alix replied, repeating them back to him in a voice much more confident than she felt:

“Get to the nearest available shelter, radio in, if possible. Rendezvous with our French assets, gather intel, sniff out the mole. Then once he or she is taken care of, we move to phase 2: Bang & Burn. I radio in and we go from there.”

More formally known as a demolition and sabotage operation, the Bang & Burn would be the easy part. Now finding the mole…that could be troublesome. 

Alix knew her instincts were good but still, she worried:

Were they good enough? What if she killed the wrong person?

As if he could hear her thoughts, Lieutenant Nixon gave her a grudging nod, the first sign of approval she’d ever gotten from him.

He hesitated and for a split second, she thought her case officer might actually say something nice for a change but he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he just gave her another, more final nod before stalking off, most likely to find Colonel Strayer to compare notes.

Taking a deep breath as she tried to calm her nerves, Alix felt around her bulky uniform for the fiftieth time, double-checking every piece of equipment, no matter how small. Everything from her leg bag to her pistol would be vital in the coming hours.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━━━∆∆━━━━∆∆

Alix had always hated flying and this time was no different. The cacophonous rattling of the metal, the roaring of the engines, the howling wind just outside, she could barely hear herself think and knowing how dangerously high up they were did nothing for her nerves.

The air sickness pills were starting to make her woozy and she almost cracked a smile at the memory of what Skip– who was now snoring soundly to her left– had said hours earlier when they were first given the pills.

"Can't be airsick if we're not awake, can we?" he'd piped up with his trademark grin as he popped a pill in his mouth. 

Now, leaning forward a bit, Alix peered around the sleeping Skip to check on Don. He was just barely awake, staring blankly in front of him into the darkness with his lips pressed together in a thin line. Hands clasped in front of him, he looked about as anxious as she felt. 

Feeling her eyes on him, Don glanced over to her and Alix mustered up a shaky half-smile.

We're gonna be okay.

Her best friend tried to return the expression but only succeeded in a small grimace, his apprehensive-looking brown eyes silently voicing her own fears: 

Are we?

Alix squeezed her eyes shut so he wouldn't be able to see the rising panic she knew was there.

She couldn't afford to show her fear, not now, not even to her best friends.

But even still, she was terrified. 

Sandwiched between her two best friends and her boyfriend, she took a couple deep breaths before slouching down in her seat, her head dropping as she allowed the drowsiness from the pills to take over. 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━━━∆∆━━━━∆∆

Alix surfaced from sleep hours later to find she’d spent most of her night accidentally slumped over onto Joe’s shoulder.

Lifting her head, the young spy forced herself to sit up groggily, hoping no one had noticed.

Luckily, everyone else seemed to still be asleep, except Lieutenant Winters who was gazing out the door into the night and her boyfriend Joe, who gave her an encouraging wink that somehow made her cheeks turn pink even in the near-darkness. 

Despite the bags under his eyes, he already looked pretty awake and knowing him, he probably had been for some time. 

Joe Liebgott was a notorious insomniac and it would take more than a couple air sickness pills to cure him of that.

Still a bit drowsy, the young OSS agent was in the process of stretching out her cramped legs to wake herself up when she received an elbow to her left side. 

Her head whipped around and there was Skip, holding a pack of cigarettes and grinning at the couple like the Cheshire Cat. 

“G’morning,” he chortled, waving the pack in front of them. “Either of you lovebirds care for a smoke?”

“Sure thing,” Joe replied eagerly, never one to turn down a cigarette, especially under stress. “Thanks!” 

"Anytime, Lieb!"

Skip dutifully extended the pack across Alix’s lap so Joe could grab one before offering it to his best friend, his amber eyes twinkling knowingly. 

“What about you, Pyro? You want one?”

Removing her thick gloves, Alix gave him a wry look.

“Depends. Does it come with an I-Told-You-So?” 

“You know it does,” was the smug reply.

“Fine, fine,” she relented, plucking a cigarette from the pack with an exaggerated air of defeat “Go ahead, Skipper, let me have it.” 

Ever the gentleman, her best friend at least had the decency to give all three of their cigarettes a light before settling back into his seat triumphantly like a king returned to his throne.

“I’m just saying, Pyro,” he yelled over the clamor of the engines, an all-too-satisfied expression painted across his face. “I fucking called it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alix responded, rolling her eyes amiably as she took a drag. “Rub it in more, why don’t you?”

“Nah,” Skip remarked cheerfully. “I figure I oughta leave some jokes for Don whenever he wakes up!”

Joe cocked his head to look at her, his brows knit quizzically, but Alix shook her head, still laughing. 

Don’t ask. 

For a brief moment, it was like she was back in Aldbourne again. No stakes, no fear, just joking around with the friends who had become like family to her with the man she loved by her side.

But as quickly as her laughter came, it disappeared.

The order was given, they stood, the light was green, Joe squeezed her hand quickly and then before she knew it, Alix was leaping out into the dark abyss below.

#*rubbing hands together* Here we go y'all #FireOnFire #mutual pining #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joe Liebgott x reader #Joelix #slow burn #Band of Brothers fandom #BoB #Band of Brothers fanfiction #Band of Brothers fanfic #long fic #mywork #Joe Liebgott #Skip Muck #Don Malarkey #Dick Winters #pining #secret relationship #Easy Company #canon x OC #HBO War #HBO War fandom #Lewis Nixon #spy fic #Band of Brothers #hbo band of brothers #FOFChapters

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire Chapter 21: Life & Death

"Ghost" by Halsey You say that you're no good for me / 'cause I'm always tugging at your sleeve / And I swear I hate you when you leave / but I like it anyway

#this is so self-indulgent but pls humor me lol #Joelix #Roelix #FireOnFire #FOF #FOFposting #FOFgallery #my first lyric edit omfg !! #Band of Brothers #BoB #Band of Brothers fandom #HBO War #Band of Brothers fanfiction #mywork #Joe Liebgott x Alix Martinelli #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joe Liebgott x Reader #Eugene Roe x Alix Martinelli #Eugene Roe x OC #lyrics #FOFedits

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 18

(Ch. 17) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: New visitors share old memories and Alix finds out just how much it cost Joe to be there when she needed him.

A/N: One thing about Alix Martinelli is that she will fight everything + everyone tooth & nail, even her own feelings lol

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @emmythespacecowgirl @sleepisforcowards @hxad-ovxr-hxart @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @indigo-luvers @chaosklutz

Contemporary: October 22nd, 1944. Zetten-Andelot, Netherlands.

It'd been just about a month since she'd last heard from Joe and though she would never admit it out loud, Alix was worried.

In spite of her outwardly prickly demeanor, she had hoped he would at least send a letter or maybe a note...

Technically, she wasn't supposed to read for another two weeks to ensure her concussion was fully healed but for Joe, she would have made an exception.

Gio had always said that no news was good news but that pertained mainly to letters from home while they were away at school, not updates from… from friends during a war. 

That’s what we are, Alix thought, trying to force the phrase to stick in her brain. We’re just friends. 

But nonetheless, for reasons she couldn't explain, Alix found herself craning her neck till it ached every time she heard the screeching tires of arriving ambulances, praying desperately that it wouldn't be Joe she'd see laying bloody and broken on a stretcher.

Fortunately, it never was but the bittersweet relief she felt each time made her heart heavy with guilt.

These were someone's sons, brothers, boyfriends, husbands, she thought to herself as she listened to the gutwrenching agony of the wounded. Their lives mattered too.

Yes, they were people she hardly knew, but so was Joe…Wasn’t he?

Why did she care so much about a man she barely knew?

Why did her heart race at the very thought of him?

Why did the memory of his arms around her bring a rush of heat to her cheeks?

Why did her head automatically swivel when she swore she'd heard his voice?

She couldn't say but it was driving her insane.

She hated herself for it but ever since their last meeting, the paratrooper had been occupying her thoughts more and more, though she would continue to chalk it up to the wandering thoughts of an idle mind.

She couldn't afford it being anything else, not now.

Not during a war.

This was no time for romance.

Besides, she reasoned, it's not like she had anything else to do except let her thoughts run wild. They were products of her boredom, nothing more.

The doctor had been very clear: Due to the severity of her concussion, there would be no reading, no writing, no planning or executing missions and no training or physical exertion allowed for at least the next two weeks as a further precaution to ensure that it was healed properly.

Until then, she was more or less confined to her cot in a cramped, chaotic room, constantly surrounded by the misery of the dead and dying.

It might as well have been prison.

One of her only distractions from the monotony was the radio.

Stolen Owned by a paratrooper from the 82nd a few rows down from her, it was only ever set on one channel but it constantly buzzed with lively swing music, interspersed with regular so-called "updates" from a well-known Nazi propagandist. 

Her predictably defeatist statements were irritating to listen to but listening to actual music from home almost made them worth suffering through.

"Good evening, Yankees," an alluring alto voice purred over the grainy air waves, causing a temporary hush around the aid station.

"Axis Sally here, sending you a warm welcome from Radio Berlin."

"This that Jerry bitch again?" Someone snorted loudly from across the room and Alix stifled a giggle.

Apparently Nazi propaganda wasn't working as well as the enemy would have hoped.

"At the sound of the chime, it will be exactly 21:00 Eastern War Time on October the 22nd, 1944."

1944?

Alix stiffened.

Ever since her head injury, hearing the year out loud sent shockwaves rippling through her system as her brain struggled to fill in the blanks.

When she had first come to, she would have bet her entire inheritance that it was still 1943, that she still had a year left to train, that she still had a year left before she would have to take a life for the first time.

But that was a comforting delusion, not reality.

She had been wounded in the field during a mission, so she'd been told.  With a thirty-foot drop like that onto cobblestone, it was a miracle she hadn't broken her neck.

But why had she fallen in the first place? Surely, she wasn't that clumsy.

Or had she jumped? But why would she take that kind of risk?

She could have been killed.

Alix had far more questions than answers, a fact that only made her head ache worse with every blaring trumpet.

Her case officer, Lieutenant...Well, Captain Nixon now, stood against the brick wall on her right side, supervising her recovery like a silent spectre.

He would pop in every few days to check on her but he rarely spoke and Alix got the feeling that he was trying to keep himself distracted, though from what, she couldn't be sure.

More a shadow than a man, Nixon stood out of the way of the nurses as he nonchalantly skimmed fresh intel reports like the evening paper.

"Mind if I-?" Alix started, reaching a hand out to pluck a file from the bunch but before she could, the sight of two fast-approaching paratroopers caught her attention. 

One seemed to be calling something out in her direction as he approached and the other was waving his arms enthusiastically as though signaling a plane.

“Hey Pyro, we thought that might be you!” 

The speaker had a face dusted with freckles, decidedly auburn hair that was sticking to his forehead, and an exhausted but upbeat smile that faded to a frown as he approached. 

“Jesus, you look like shit.” 

His companion, a trooper about a head shorter with a mop of dirty blond hair and startlingly golden eyes, smacked him in the arm.

“Nice going, Don,” he quipped, shaking his head with a bemused chuckle. “Why get off on the right foot when you can shove it straight in your mouth instead, huh?”

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Alix interjected, taking the pair by surprise and the redhead– Don– made an emphatic gesture with an arm. 

“See, even she admits it!” 

“Don’t encourage him, Pyro,” the blond one scolded in an exaggerated stage-whisper, laughter twinkling in his amber eyes.

“I’m trying to teach him some manners here.” 

“Oh get lost,” the redhead– Don, Alix corrected herself– scoffed, jostling his friend’s arm jokingly.

“Man gets a fiancée and suddenly thinks he knows all about women!”

“I know they generally don’t like being told they look like shit, Mal,” was the dry reply.

“But you don’t exactly have to be Dick fucking Tracy to figure that one out.” 

“Hi, sorry, um,” Alix interrupted, waving a hand to get their attention. “Hate to put a damper on things but do I know you...? And why do you keep calling me…Wait, what did you call me?” 

“Shit,” the redhaired one-- Don-- breathed as his brows knit with concern. “So it is true.” 

“What’s true?” she inquired, already feeling even more out of the loop than before.

“You really can’t remember. Lieb said so but I didn’t think–”

The spy’s head perked up instantly. 

Lieb…As in Liebgott? As in Joe Liebgott?

He was alive?

“Joe’s okay?” she asked, a note of hope ringing out clear in her voice and the blond paratrooper exchanged an amused glance with his friend. 

“Well wouldja look at that, Mal.” He put a teasing hand to his heart as though swooning, cracking a playful grin. “As the great poet, Larry Clinton and his orchestra once said: ‘Love really does live on’.”  

“‘Love’, my ass,” Alix retorted unceremoniously with a roll of her eyes. “I asked if he’s okay, not if he’d marry me.”

She hated how her heart seemed to skip a beat at the notion.

“Bet he’d say yes if you did ask though,” Don hooted and his blond friend snorted in agreement. 

“Are you two done yet?” the agent asked dryly, pretending to inspect an invisible watch on her wrist with impatience.

With a shake of his head and a grin so infectious that Alix couldn’t help but grin too, the blond paratrooper plopped down at the foot of her bed, causing the frame to groan its complaint.

“Oh we’re just getting started!” he piped up proudly, his amber eyes twinkling with warmth. “We’ve got a lot to catch you up on!” 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

“And then, wham!" 

Don swung his fist out in a dramatic slow-motion display.

"You slugged him right in the kisser!" 

The blond trooper, whose name was Skip– pretended to fall back onto the bed with a high-pitched "Nyahh" reminiscent of the Three Stooges and Alix couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculousness of his performance. 

“Somehow I doubt it went exactly like that,” she commented wryly but Don shrugged amicably. 

“No, it was basically like that,” he corrected with a chuckle. “Except with a lot more swearing. And blood, way too much blood.”

"It was a real show!" the blond– Skip– agreed, sitting up and swinging his legs back and forth over the bed's edge like an excitable child. 

"Like watching Sugar Ray in the ring…Y'know, if Sugar Ray was a short Philly Italian with martial arts training and anger management issues!"

"And that's why everybody calls you Pyro,” Don informed Alix with a proud smile. “Like pyrotechnics. Y'know, firecrackers! Bull came up with it!” 

Now she was lost again. 

“Sorry, who?” she asked, trying to keep the rising frustration out of her voice. 

After all, it wasn’t their fault she couldn’t remember.

“Bull Randleman,” Nixon answered from beside her, barely looking up from the report he was reading.

“He’s an NCO. You’ll meet him when you get back. Great soldier–” 

“And a swell guy too!” Skip added happily. “Say, that reminds me! How long're you in for?" 

Glancing surreptitiously at Nixon to be sure he wasn't listening, Alix leaned over to her newfound friends, lowering her voice.

"Nurses say about two more weeks but I'll be damned if I stay here that long. I'm going out of my mind." 

"Well hopefully it'll be sooner than that," Don said, putting his hands in his pockets. "'Cause we all miss you."

Skip waggled his eyebrows. 

"Especially a certain Corporal Liebgott," he sing-songed and Alix rolled her eyes. 

"If that was true, he'd be here," the spy countered but to her right, Nixon gave a skeptical snort. 

"What?" Alix snapped, rounding on her handler.

"You think he hasn't tried?" The captain barked out a laugh. 

"Liebgott's been bugging the hell out of any officer he can get his hands on, trying to get us to cut him loose so he can come here. If we didn't need him interrogating prisoners, I would've let him go myself just to get him to shut up already." 

Alix blinked in shock. 

"Wait, really?" 

"No, I'm just lying to inflate your ego." Nixon said sarcastically. "Of course really. Kid must have it bad too because that stunt he pulled last time, staying here overnight when he should've been back, cost him his promotion." 

The spy balked. 

“It what?!” 

“Just what I said. Liebgott might be a scrawny, hot-tempered, snarky little shit but he's also a damn fine interrogator and one hell of a machine gunner." 

He shifted the dossier he had been skimming to his other arm and then continued.

"Not to mention, for some reason, he's still only a T/5 at 25 years old. Dick was filling out the paperwork to get him promo'd to T/4 when he heard about the whole 'Lieb going AWOL' thing and…" 

Nixon grimaced with a helpless shrug. 

"Well, you can imagine how that went." 

Joe had lost his promotion…Because of her?

Tugging her thin, medical issue blanket around her shoulders, Alix's thoughts were moving at warp-speed. 

This was not what she had wanted, not at all. 

If she had known that Joe would get in trouble for staying, she never would have asked him to.

She had been through flashbacks and panic attacks before; as awful as they were, they were nothing new. She had become a distraction to him and him to her. 

This needed to stop.

But the steely edge of Nixon's voice cut through her thoughts like a knife.

“And don’t go beating yourself up for it, alright, because I know you are.” 

Her case officer crossed his arms before continuing. 

“Lieb made his choice– he put his personal feelings before the job. That is not your fault.”

The young agent sank back in her cot with a sigh of defeat as she watched the never-ending crush of patients being rushed in like commuters from 30th Street Station.

Joe had put his job on the line for her…However complex her feelings about him were, Alix couldn’t allow them to continue, for Joe’s sake. 

Turning to Skip and Don, who were engrossed in their own conversation, she decided to make one thing crystal clear. 

“Don’t you two go risking your careers for me too, you got that?” 

The redhead dug a hand into his pocket with a chuckle.

 

“Don’t worry,” he said breezily, pulling out a crumpled carton of iodine swabs and some hastily-wound gauze for her inspection.

“We’re here on official business.” 

“Volunteered for a supply run while there’s a lull,” Skip explained with an infectious grin, revealing a couple pilfered tourniquets stuffed into his jacket.

"We wanted to check up on you and Spina's already starting to run low on some stuff so we figured two birds, one stone, ya know?" 

Alix couldn’t help but grin with him, already feeling at-ease in their presence. 

“You guys are the best.”

“We know,” Don quipped, jostling her shoulder lightly. “But what are friends for?” 

“It really blows that you can’t come back with us, Pyro.” Skip’s seemingly ever-present smile started to slip slightly. 

“Just doesn’t feel right without you. We’re missing our third man…Well, woman. But you get what I mean.” 

It was then that an idea struck Alix like a bolt of lightning, an idea so risky that for a second, she wondered if it was even worth mentioning. 

But she had to try...She couldn't spend another week cooped up at the aid station, bedridden and bored to tears while thousands of others were risking their lives, she just couldn't. 

The field was where she belonged, where she had fought so hard to be.

Besides, her most serious injury-- her concussion-- was almost healed and she had been assured that her memory would return in time.

With her cover as a combat nurse still intact, Alix knew she could just as easily let her wrist and ankle heal after she made it back to Joe--

To Easy, she corrected herself. After she made it back to Easy Company.

So it was decided then.

She knew what she had to do.

Gesturing surreptitiously for her new friends to move closer, Alix whispered, "Say, how'd you guys like to help me bust out of here?"

#Band of Brothers fanfiction #Band of Brothers fandom #Band of Brothers fanfic #Joe Liebgott x oc #Joe Liebgott x reader #Joe Liebgott x Alix Martinelli #Joelix #BoB #HBO Band of Brothers #HBO War #HBO War fandom #HBO War fanfic #HBO War fanfiction #espionage fic #mutual pining #retrograde amnesia #Skip Muck #Warren Muck #Don Malarkey #Donald Malarkey #Lewis Nixon #angst #fighting feelings #3 Musketeers #FOFChapters #FireOnFire #goodnight y'all lol

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 10

(Ch. 9). . .(Ch. 1)

Gallery II Taglist Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: Alix tries to come to terms with what she's done as she endeavors to reunite with the people who mean the most to her. A/N: Long, action-packed chapter? Long, action-packed chapter. 👍🏽 WARNINGS: War things, death (obviously), mentions of corporal punishment, Night of the Bayonet Mention. Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @wwhatev3r

Contemporary: June 12th, 1944. Carentan, France.

She didn't remember firing the shots. Subconsciously, Alix knew it had to have been her: she was the only other person in the room but she couldn't remember pulling the trigger. It was like her brain just wouldn't go there. 

She stood there for a second, frozen and numb, as her former friend’s blood dripped down her cheeks like a light rain. 

You completed your mission, she told herself like a mantra.

You killed an enemy spy.

But a part of her that sounded suspiciously like JP whispered, “You killed your friends too.”

In our business, caring for people is their death sentence.

Jean-Pierre’s words rang in her ears worse than the gunshots. 

He was right. Everybody she cared about ended up dead: Giovanni, Toulouse, Henri, Camille, JP.

Who would she get killed next? Joe? Skip? Don? Nixon?

Suddenly realizing she was trembling, Alix felt like she might pass out.

Was it a sin to faint in church? She sure hoped not. But she’d also just killed someone in a church and she felt like somehow, that was probably worse.

Trying to remember what Doc Roe had taught her during her First Aid instruction months earlier, she managed to stumble into a pew and doubled over, putting her head between her knees as she tried to calm herself down.

Deep breath in…Deep breath out…Deep breath in…

After a minute or two, Alix was already feeling a little better when the sound of shattering glass from the entrance jolted her to her feet as her training kicked in. 

Immediately, she moved forward a pew, where Jean-Pierre's body had fallen sideways. He was completely limp, gray eyes still staring blankly, the ghost of his last smirk still on his face.

The blood from the two bullet wounds was starting to pool behind his head onto the pew, matting his light brown hair.

She was startled by how much younger he looked now. 

He looked like his age for the first time...the age he should have gotten to be. Not an enemy agent, just a kid.

Warily, Alix reached out and checked for a pulse but there was none. 

With a small grimace, she dug into her bag for her radio & set up camp for a single message: 

"Édouard, this is Juliette. Target eliminated. Out." 

After hurriedly packing her radio gear back into her bag, she began patting down JP's coat and pockets, searching for any documentation or weapons he might've been carrying.

She hated this part– it made her feel like a scavenger picking over a dead deer in the woods– but it had to be done. If a target had information or supplies, she needed to know. 

Jean-Pierre had been traveling light, which didn't surprise Alix at all. He was an intelligence agent like herself; he needed to be able to disappear as quickly as he appeared.

In one of his pants pockets, she found two different sets of forged identification papers which she deftly dropped into her aid bag, along with his revolver, and the small black notebook he'd been scribbling in, with more documents shoved haphazardly inside.

As much as her curiosity was killing her, the thunderous shouting from just outside the front entrance was more pressing and Alix had to remind herself that if she survived whatever fresh hell came next, she could examine the documents afterwards. 

Keeping her gun loaded, she silently crept toward the doors, blending with the shadows along the ground.

As she pressed her back against the wall, just out of sight, she braced herself to hear the guttural tones of spoken German but she was pleasantly surprised to hear familiar voices on the other side instead. 

“Crazy fools, the Irish!” 

It was Don and Skip. 

“You should know!” 

“Awful rich coming from you, Skipper,” Alix quipped as she emerged from the church’s doors and slipped behind the giant stone column next to Don. “Aren’t you the nutcase who swam the Niagara?” 

Skip shot off a quick round, a grin immediately spreading across his face at the sound of her voice in his periphery. He didn’t even have to look back to recognize her.

“Hey Mal," he exclaimed to Don before hustling over to another column next to their previous one. "Look who decided to join the party!”

Malarkey, positioned just next to Alix, took a shot before turning to greet her with a grin but as soon as he did, it vanished, immediately replaced by a look of concern.

“Jesus Christ!" he yelped, nearly dropping his rifle. "Pyro, are you okay?!” 

Alix’s brows knit in confusion before she remembered: she must look like hell. Her uniform was soaked in mud and gore, her once-lustrous curls now hanging limp and matted down her back, her face striped with blood that wasn’t her own. 

“I’m good, I swear” she reassured her friend as she shuffled toward the edge of the column so she could peek out. “Bit of a rough start but it’s done now. Anyway, has anybody seen-” 

“Romeo went that way,” Skip answered before she could finish, a knowing look on his face as he nodded across the way to the ruins of what had once been a pharmacy. “Place got hit with German arty earlier. Joe was fine but Tipper…” 

He shook his head grimly before stepping out from behind his section of wall to take another shot, yelling over his shoulder,

“Tip wasn’t!��� 

“Last I saw, Joe, Welsh, and Penk were taking Tip to the aid station,” Don chimed in helpfully before stepping out from their shared column and sending a spray of bullets toward a small cluster of approaching German soldiers. “'Bout half an hour ago!” 

Alix had her orders but she figured a five minute detour wouldn’t hurt. They would be moving out soon anyways, she'd made contact with her handler, and she'd completed her mission. 

She could afford five minutes to find her boyfriend.

She peeked out from behind the column but before she could even prepare to cross, who should come striding over the hill not 10 feet away from them but Joe, her Joe. 

He was with a group of four or five other guys but even so, Alix recognized him right away. He was the shorter one toward the front with the wiry frame and the confident swagger of a warrior. 

Bullets whizzing over his head, explosions going off mere feet away from him, but he was the only one who didn't look afraid.

He was in his element. 

As if he could hear her admiration, he glanced up for a moment, just across the way to where she, Skip, and Don were positioned. Joe's eyes met hers and the recognition that lit them up was like a lighting strike.

His loping gait quickened and the grip he had on his weapon tightened as Joe fixed his gaze back on the approaching enemy seeking to cut his little band off from reaching the front entrance of the church.

The expression on his face was positively dangerous and he glanced back once more to Alix before setting his jaw with a seething determination. 

Even from the distance, she could read his expression loud and clear: 

"I'm coming for you, Ziskeit," it said. "And I'll be damned if anybody gets in my way." 

Seeing her boyfriend cut through a squad of German soldiers on the battlefield with terrifying ease, Alix was reminded of a line from The Iliad she'd read in school, an epithet for the ferocity of Achilles: 

"the lionheart who mauls battalions wholesale". 

That was her Joe, she mused as she watched him fight the rapidly-scattering remainder. The lionheart. 

Despite the overwhelming urge to rush to him on the battlefield, she, Skip, and Don backed around the corner instead, situating themselves behind the wall of the cathedral for more cover.

Each of them had to step over dead bodies and blood pooling down the cobblestones on their way but the vantage point was much better since now they could shoot without being as exposed. 

Alix rooted herself to her position and forced herself to wait, hoping Joe would make it to their side of the church wall uninjured. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the gunfire died down, the smoke and dust beginning to clear, and Don scooted from his spot beside her to peek around the corner.

"Looks like we did it," he reported with a grin. "Got 'em on the run!" 

Alix laughed, relief washing over her, and a minute later, Joe came dashing around the corner, his helmet haphazardly falling to the ground as he ran. Alix caught her breath as he made an instant beeline for her, his brown eyes wide and fear-filled as they roved her blood-spattered face.

All of the gunfire and explosions that had gone off around him on his way to her but now he looked afraid.

"Oy Gevalt," he breathed, dropping his rifle so his hands were free. "How bad are you hurt? Can you walk? C'mon Zees, we gotta getcha to-" 

He began to move toward her, ready to scoop her up and run the five miles to the aid station by himself if need be, but Alix launched herself into his arms, cutting him off with a searing kiss instead. 

But Joe froze, momentarily stunned, and Alix pulled away immediately, her elation turning to sudden dread. Fearing she'd unknowingly crossed some line and ruined everything, she took a small step away.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, searching in vain for an explanation but before she could get another word out, Joe caught her arm and yanked her back to him, crashing his lips against hers with such passionate fervor that it made Alix's head spin. 

Carding her hands through his hair, the sweet electricity of his lips on hers sending shivers of pleasure down her spine.

No doubt thinking she was cold, Joe wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest, and she could feel heat creeping up her cheeks as he deepened the kiss still more, eliciting a soft moan from her throat before she could stop it.

"Oh wouldja look at the time!" Skip declared from behind them, his sunny-sounding laughter bubbling into his words. "C'mon Mal, let's leave the lovebirds alone, huh? We got places to be!" 

Alix didn't even have to open her eyes to know he was dragging Don away with him by the collar. She knew her friends like the back of her hand. 

She felt Joe smiling just a bit too smugly against her lips. 

"See," he teased gently, punctuating his words with shorter kisses. "They know…about us… and…they don't care."

Alix dropped her gaze to the ground, suddenly remembering what JP had said.

Caring about people is their death sentence.

"I know they don't care," she replied quietly. "But I do." 

Joe's brow knit in confusion and he frowned, letting her go.

"Why?" he asked, leaning back against the church's wall and crossing his arms to keep from reaching for her again. "You embarrassed of me or somethin'?" 

He was trying to come off tough, uncaring, but Alix could see the wounded look in his eyes. 

"It's not that at all, Joey," she reassured him, caressing his dirt-streaked cheek with her thumb. 

"Then what is it?" he asked hoarsely, turning his face from her. "And don't say Fraternization 'cause we’re in combat now. They need all the soldiers they can get; I’d have to drop-kick an officer from here to Anaheim to get a reprimand. Holding your hand ain't a problem.”  

Alix looked at him sadly as JP's words haunted her thoughts yet again.

Caring about people is their death sentence…This is your fault…

“They’re going to use the people I love against me, Joey," she whispered and his eyes widened with concern. 

"Who, Zees?" he asked, immediately taking both of her hands in his own. "Who's got you so scared?" 

Alix screwed her eyes shut but the gunshots and the thud and the image of JP's corpse lying in blood swam before her and she forced her eyes back open with a shudder. 

"Talk to me, Ziskeit," Joe begged,  "Please." 

"There was a double-agent among my contacts," she confided, her voice quivering slightly. "I took care of him but it was too late…I've been compromised." 

Joe took a minute to process her statement as Alix tried in vain to find words that could properly articulate how violated she felt. 

A spy's biggest advantage was their invisibility. The ability to shed one skin for another was her only saving grace when behind enemy lines…to have that taken away was beyond terrifying. 

She took a shaky breath, her words coming out on the exhale.

"There's no telling how many of my identities are on Gestapo radar now. As it is, most spies with a radio only last six weeks in the field and I'm looking at FAR less than that now. It's just a matter of time before the Gestapo tracks me down and when they do–" 

"When they do, I'll be waiting." Joe finished firmly, giving her hands a soothing squeeze. "I won't let 'em get to you, Zees, I swear." 

Alix's eyes began to brim with tears. 

"Joey, you don't get it," she insisted. "It’s not me I’m afraid for. They'll go after you too, to get to me and I can't lose you, not like that.”

The memory of Camille’s boyfriend Toulouse’s fate sprang to her mind. 

He had been like her Joe…He had been Jewish too and full of fire, with a girlfriend who loved him more than life.

And what had become of him?

Three days of continuous torture and a fourth ending in a bullet to the head.

And from what she’d heard from her handler, for the Nazis, that was merciful.

She shuddered again but this time, Joe was there, enveloping her in his strong arms.

"Hey, hey,” he murmured comfortingly, giving her a gentle kiss on her forehead as he pulled her close.

"Listen to me: You’re not gonna lose me, okay? Not ever. I'll take on a whole fuckin' battalion of Krauts by myself if I have to. They're not gonna keep me away from you and they sure as hell aren't gonna take you away from me. You got that?” 

Alix nodded, a faint pink beginning to flush her cheeks.

“What did I do to deserve you?” she marveled with a sniffle. “I must’ve been an angel in my past life.” 

“You’re an angel in this one too,” Joe added smoothly and Alix grinned, swatting at him playfully.

“What a line!” she teased. “I bet you say that to all the pretty girls you meet, huh, flyboy?” 

“Nah, just my girl,” he replied with a breezy chuckle. “And just when I wanna see that gorgeous smile of hers.”

Alix had just leaned in to kiss him again when Don Malarkey peeked his freckled face around the corner.

“Hate to interrupt, guys,” he disclosed with an apologetic grin. “But it looks like we’re moving out so–” 

“So tell Pyro to get her rear in gear unless her and her boyfriend wanna get left behind!" Skip crowed from somewhere up ahead of them. 

"Jesus Christ, her boyfriend has a name, y'know!" Joe called back but Skip was already too far ahead of them – chuckling to himself, no doubt– to respond. 

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Contemporary: June 13th, 1944. Somewhere in France.

Alix's fears were partially correct: after radioing in to Nixon, their sources in Paris confirmed that Jean-Pierre had in fact given her name to the Gestapo, meaning that "Juliette Fournier" needed to disappear and fast.

As instructed, Alix got busy shredding and burning her identification papers on the way out of town. She would have to assume one of her new identities later, once the company got wherever they were going. 

She had no idea how long they'd been trudging across the grassy fields or how far they'd gotten, but she knew her feet hurt like hell. The blisters on her heels were raw, open sores now, and every step had a slight burn to it. 

Skip had jokingly offered her a piggyback ride about three miles back but now she was seriously considering taking him up on it. 

"Anybody know if we're getting close?" Don asked, wincing as he soaked his boots in yet another muddy rain puddle. "Because realistically, how long can we stay in the open until–" 

As if on cue, the familiar bang-bang-bang of German gunfire broke through the air and everyone dropped to the ground, except for Alix, who was practically tackled onto it. 

“Santa Maria,” she coughed out as her chest slammed the dirt with a force previously unknown to man, momentarily knocking the breath out of her. “Jesus Joey, I think you broke my fucking ribs!” 

“An’ you can thank me for it later!” Joe yelled over the din, rolling off of her back and sending some shots over at the enemy as he crawled his way toward the treeline ahead of them. 

All around her, the company seemed to be scattering like mice as the hail of German bullets and artillery rained down on them. 

Through the panicked stampede, she could hear Welsh and Winters bellowing at everyone to stay low and get to the hedgerows, doing their best to be heard over the cacophony of the assault. 

As she reached the edge of the field, she and the paratroopers near her scrambled to their feet as they made a mad dash for the relative safety of the hedgerows.

All around her, troopers were dropping like flies and Alix took a desperate dive into the vegetation, landing in a bramble bush with an unceremonious crash.

Whirling around, she saw Skip barreling towards her and she reached out an arm, yanking him next to her into the safety of the thicket. 

“Where’s Don and Joe?!” she shouted over the roar of explosives and Skip’s amber eyes filled with concern.

“I thought they were ahead of us!” 

Getting to their feet, the pair both cast a last, worried glance back at the open field– at the stragglers behind them still fighting their way across and the corpses lying in the grass– before setting off to find the others. 

Skip, being the more heavily-armed of the two, took the lead with Alix covering his back, keeping her eyes peeled for any would-be attackers who could be hiding in the thick brush.

“Of all the safe places you coulda dragged me to,” Skip laughed, shaking his head good-naturedly as he examined the scratches marring his bleeding forearms.

“You just had to pick a thornbush, didn’t you?”

“Naturally,” Alix quipped from behind him. “Can’t send you back to Faye after all this–" she gestured vaguely around them, "–without any cool battle scars, can we?”

"Y'know Skipper, you should be thanking her," a voice from behind a nearby tree deadpanned. "Your one-on-one battle with that thornbush could get ya a Purple Heart."

"You're a riot, Mal," Skip replied dryly, gold eyes glittering with laughter as Don's grinning face appeared from behind the tree before joining his friend up front. "A regular Bob Hope." 

"So I've been told."

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Nightfall brought an unexpected chill to the already brisk French air and it reminded Alix a bit of Aldbourne…except for the fact that she was sitting in what was basically a giant ditch.

"Just think of it like camping," Skip had piped up cheerily from his spot with Don a few feet away. "Except there's no tent, the food is shit, and there's people trying to kill us!"

How he managed to be so chipper despite their circumstances, Alix would never understand, because she was exhausted but Skip's positivity never seemed to flag. 

Joe, on the other hand, was burning through his cigarettes like a madman at the edge of their medium-sized ravine. Sitting on his knees and glaring daggers out into the darkness, Alix was certain that if looks could kill, the entire German army would have evaporated on the spot. 

“Tesoro, you know they can’t see us, right?” she asked, following his gaze out into the nothingness from her place behind him.

“Yeah, I know.” He took another drag of his cigarette, his breath mixing with the little puffs of smoke in the cold air. “But they’re gonna attack the second we let our guards down. We gotta be ready.” 

“Joey, there’s being ready and then there’s obsessing,” Alix cautioned gently, propping herself up on her elbows. “You need a break.” 

Joe turned his head back sharply to look at her, mouth already open to argue, but as soon as their eyes met, Alix stuck out her bottom lip and blinked her big doe eyes at him pleadingly, patting the empty spot next to her.

With a groan of defeat, her boyfriend’s gaze immediately softened– Warrior Joe had vacated the premises and only Puppy Joe remained.

 

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, sitting back on his heels for a moment before crawling back to lay down with her, setting his rifle down beside them.

“Dammit Ziskeit, you know I can’t say no to you.”

“I know,” Alix replied smugly, shifting their makeshift comforter to make room for him underneath it.

It was just their two woolen blankets tied together with her hair ribbon, but it made for a nice comforter under the circumstances, even if it was a bit scratchy. “And I’m gonna take full advantage.” 

“C’mere, smartass,” he mumbled affectionately, putting his arm around her and guiding her over to his chest. “You’re really somethin’, y’know that?” 

Alix hummed an agreement, enjoying the chorus of crickets and the steady drumming of Joe’s heartbeat. He was like a furnace, warm and comforting, and for a second, she let herself imagine they were somewhere else:

A spring meadow out in the American countryside maybe, where life was slower. They could look up at the stars together in a field of wildflowers without the ever-present fear of death looming over their heads like a thundercloud threatening rain. Perhaps there would be cows in the pasture nearby, lowing quietly as they chewed on their evening meals, oblivious to the young lovers laying only steps away.

Joe’s chest rumbled as he spoke, interrupting her daydream.

“Hey Zees?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Tell me somethin’ about you.” 

Alix was slightly taken aback and she lifted her head slightly, tipping it back to look up at him.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, tell me somethin’ about you,” he repeated gently, his brown eyes shining in the little moonlight there was. 

“Anything you wanna tell me, I'm game. When you're on the job, your whole shtick is bein' everybody but yourself; when you're with me, I want you to be you, the real you.” 

For a moment, there was a silence between them as Alix searched for what to say, the raucous singing of German troops far across the field blending with the crickets in the background. 

“Hm…Well, I used to sneak out of my room at Saint Mary's to go to the dance halls in town on the weekends," she let out a small giggle.

"Never got caught by the sisters, thank God, or I'dve been skinned alive, but I came pretty close once." 

"Yeah?" Joe asked wryly. "How close is 'pretty close'?" 

"Too close," Alix bubbled, dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

"My roommate wasn't feeling well and it was a drafty night so she shut the window without thinking and went straight to bed, which fucking locked me out as there was only one key. I had pretty much resigned myself to sleeping in the courtyard and just taking the punishment in the morning, but luckily, Lavinia across the hall had also come back late except her roommate came with her so they let me crash for the night on their floor."

Her boyfriend wrapped his other arm around her to hold her better and she snuggled into his chest.

"Jesus, fuck, you did get lucky," he marveled with a rueful laugh.

"You probably woulda got the strap for that, ya little troublemaker, and I should know 'cause I spent most of my two years getting belted pretty good."

 

"Wait really?" Alix blinked up at him in disbelief.

"In my first year, a girl on my hall snuck her boyfriend over for a weekend and we all knew but nobody said anything so we all got three lashes when they got caught, but that was the only time. What on Earth did you do to get the strap so much?" 

Joe shrugged.

"Fightin', mostly," he admitted. "Really couldn't catch a break at that place. I was either getting shit from the kids or getting shit from the nuns. Finally figured maybe it just wasn't for me an' left. Still glad I did too 'cause money was tight and my little sisters and brother needed an education more than me anyway. My Pops needed me to help him out at the barbershop for awhile so that's what I did instead, till I started driving full-time." 

"Did you like driving?" Alix asked, snuggling in still closer under the blankets for both warmth and comfort. "I've always wondered what that's like. You must meet a whole lot of different people!" 

Joe's face seemed to light up at her interest.

"Oh yeah, all kinds!" he replied enthusiastically.

"Bein' a cabbie doesn't pay too hot but it's what I like the best. I know everywhere there is to know, in the city and out, and I get to meet all types of people. My favorites are the tourists 'cause they don't know shit about anythin' so I get to give 'em the VIP tour and they always got somethin' new to talk about. I could drive 'em wherever when it's quiet too but it's nice to talk about stuff, y'know? Beats the radio any day." 

He gave her a kiss on the top of her head, making her blush and added quickly,

"Now, tell me to shut up, will ya, so you can get some sleep. You need it." 

Alix was about to reply when a whimpering noise from beyond their section of hedge interrupted. It sounded like the yelps of a wounded animal, hissing, and pained swearing.

Joe's whole body tensed.

"That's Tab," he whispered, brow creased with worry. "I'd know that voice anywhere."

Alix shifted so he could get up and before she could blink, he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and was on his feet and ready to investigate, rifle in hand.

"I'll be back in 5." 

But Alix was already on her feet too, fully awake with her handgun loaded. 

"You're not going alone, Joey." 

He rolled his eyes but she could see the grin on his face even in the near-darkness.

"Yeah, I figured. You stayin' on my six then, killer?" 

It was Alix's turn to grin and she positioned herself behind him, ready to lay into any attacker stupid enough to try to approach them from the back. 

"Count on it." 

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#so this was originally part of Chapter 9 but I changed my mind last minute lol #here have some Joelix hurt/comfort & fluff #bc I think they're neat #& some Three Musketeers (Muck Martinelli Malarkey) platonic fluff as well #loves of my life all of them #Alix Martinelli #Joe Liebgott x Alix Martinelli #Joelix #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joe Liebgott x Reader #Don Malarkey #Skip Muck #Warren Muck #Floyd Talbert #Band of Brothers fandom #Band of Brothers fanfic #BoB #FireOnFire #fluff #hurt/comfort #Joe Liebgott imagine #mutual pining #platonic friendship #HBO War #HBO War fandom #HBO War fanfic #Band of Brothers fanfiction #mywork #pining #secret relationship

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 9

(Ch. 8), (Ch. 7), (Ch. 6), (Ch. 5), (Ch. 4), (Ch. 3) (Ch. 2) (Ch. 1)

Gallery II Taglist Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: A spy's job is to complete their mission, even if it means hunting down a former friend. WARNINGS: Injury, Death, War things Dedication: To my dearest Poe & Dove whose writing never ceases to inspire me & to Lara without whom this whole work wouldn't exist 💖💖💖 Taglist: @latibvles @wwhatev3r @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs

Contemporary: June 12th, 1944. Saint-Hilaire-Petitville, France.

The sniper had them pinned but luckily, there was still one miniscule blessing.

"There's no way he can see through the curtains!" Alix yelled over the continued smatterings of gunfire. "He’s firing blind!" 

“Hold on, Cami,” she urged her comrade, trying her best to apply more pressure to the wound but the blood just kept bubbling over her hands, no matter how much she pressed. “Just hold on.” 

Camille's breath was coming in short, ragged gasps as she fought for air and Alix’s mind raced as she struggled for things to say to keep Camille awake and focused. 

“We’re gonna get you through this, Camille, I promise,” she vowed but the frothing noise emanating from the wound was rapidly filling her with dread.  

That couldn’t be a good sign. 

 “Think about Toulouse,” she implored her friend, whose green eyes were starting to become unfocused. “You remember Toulouse, right?” 

The thinnest smile crossed Camille’s blood-streaked face so Alix took that topic and ran with it. 

“Of course you do,” Alix affirmed warmly, trying her best to seem enthusiastic, positive, and not at all scared to death.

“He's your boyfriend, right? He said you’d known each other a long time. You’re the one who gave him Voltaire, aren't you? God, he loved that cat. I don't think I ever got a letter without a photograph of him attached to it!" 

Alix babbled on about Toulouse, about Voltaire the cat, everything she could possibly remember from their letters, exhorting Camille to keep her eyes open while Henri, who had managed to bring the handheld radio down to the floor with him, was hurriedly tapping out urgent messages to their contacts in the area, informing them of their dire situation and requesting aid.

“There’s an attack going on in Carentan right now!” he shouted as another explosion went off. It sounded much closer than before. “We’re on our own!” 

Shit. 

The sniper had deliberately targeted them when they were stranded, cut off from any outside help by two opposing armies. 

But how could he have known where his target would be standing without a visual…?

And just like that, the wheels of Alix’s brain began to turn.

The only way the sniper could’ve known where everyone was would be if someone had radio’d him everyone’s positions, meaning the Gestapo’s mole had to have been someone in the room at the time. 

It couldn’t be Edgar then, Alix thought, as he was helping another faction of the Maquis bomb a bridge on the outskirts of Carentan. He had no part in intelligence gathering anyway; he was purely a saboteur. 

It couldn’t be Thérèse either as she had been tailing Oberleutnant Hahn throughout the day. All her intel pertained solely to him. 

Camille would never have put a hit out on Toulouse, no matter what. She certainly had no faith in Alix but even still, the agent had no doubt that Camille would never have tried to put a hit out on her either. 

So that left Henri and…

She and Henri looked up at the same time, the same look of recognition dawning on both their faces. 

Jean-Pierre.

It all made sense now. He had been feeding them deliberate misinformation to throw them off the scent of the actual Nazi plans. More than likely, he'd been the one pocketing the leftover money too. 

He'd only been working with the Carentan Resistance a couple months and in that time, he'd already sold out the group's former leader and three other long-standing members without ever being suspected. He was friendly, he was funny, he was convincing, and he was practically still a teenager…No wonder the Gestapo had him on payroll. 

He was the perfect spy. 

All the nervous scratching his nose, the glancing at his watch…he had been waiting for the right time to signal the attack. 

JP's voice rang in her ears: 

"By the way, Jules, could you be a lamb and double-check my coordinates while I'm gone? The notes are over there. Wouldn't want any supplies getting misplaced on my account." 

It had been a set-up. He had deliberately tried to anchor her to the path of the sniper's bullet.

Alix had been the target, not Camille. 

It took every ounce of strength in Alix’s body not to go running after the bastard right then for hurting Camille in her stead but she couldn’t leave her friend.

Every violent cough produced lengthy rivers of bright red that streamed from her mouth down her neck and Alix quickly went from scared to terrified. 

“Henri, I need you to hurry,” she cried nervously.

Henri, who was already steadily army-crawling toward the pair, began crawling even faster.

“Put more pressure,” he ordered as he dragged himself along the floor. “The bullet's caused a pneumothorax!" 

Alix stared at him blankly but obeyed, immersing her hands even deeper in the blood and gore as Camille's coughs came quicker and more forcefully. 

Henri was always forgetting that other people didn't read med-school textbooks in their free time. 

"It's caused a what?!" 

"A pneumothorax!" he repeated as though she had simply misheard him. 

But when Alix shook her head, he elaborated, "A collapsed lung! It needs to be sealed!" 

Luckily, he had just reached them and immediately took over, his med-school training kicking in like second nature as he carefully inspected the wound.

“You go after JP," he yelled to Alix over the sound of a nearby explosion. "I can handle things here!"  

Alix didn't need to be told twice. 

Keeping her head low and her stomach pressed to the carpet, she began dragging herself toward the door by her elbows, pausing only to retrieve the handheld radio and her aid bag.

All her false IDs were inside.

She wasn't sure how much Jean-Pierre knew so it was impossible to tell if her cover had been completely blown yet, but she'd probably have to burn this identity's passport anyway later, just in case. 

Once she reached the hallway, she scrambled to her feet but a near-deafening wail shook the walls around her and before she could blink, she was on her knees again as the sounds of artillery explosions and shattering glass nearby roared like an oncoming train. 

That one was way too close, she thought. Looks like I'll be crawling out the back way too.  

The only blessing was that the sniper had no way of knowing he hadn't hit his target. The gunfire had stopped fairly quickly after Camille was shot, Alix remembered. 

More than likely, he'd already packed up and gone, thinking his job was done. 

Well think again, asshole, Alix thought as she clambered to her feet and sprinted out the back door.

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The once quiet, picturesque village of Saint-Hilaire-Petitville was unrecognizable now. 

Skeletons of buildings stood tall against a smoke-darkened sky like ancient ruins and plumes of fire from artillery cast the wreckage in a hellish orange glow. 

The screams of the injured and dying clogged the air in every language, the details of their final words drowned out by the thunder of explosions and gunfire. 

If there is a Hell, Alix decided as she hurried toward Carentan, it definitely looks like this. 

She knew better than to run openly in the street where she could be seen– spies were not soldiers, after all– so she clung to the long shadows of still-standing buildings, ducking in and out of doorways as she dodged debris and quickly made her way out of the falling village. 

Soon, she had made it far enough out onto the open road that the only sound nearby was the crunch of gravel under her boots and her own heavy breathing. Part of her wished she could radio back to check on Camille, but ultimately, Alix knew better. Radio transmissions were dangerous enough under normal circumstances; trying to send a message from out in the open would be suicide. 

All she could do was hope for the best and keep moving.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Reaching Carentan had been the easy part; tracking down Jean-Pierre was going to be a whole lot harder. 

Alix wracked her brain as she slipped behind a half-timbered farmhouse at the edge of the city. 

It provided minimal protection but it was still better than remaining totally exposed to the bullets raining down like hail from above the thoroughfare.

Peeking out from behind the relative safety of the painted wall, she could see the streets were littered with corpses.

Blood trickled down the cobblestones in tiny streams and the final agonies of the dying piercing the air like sirens but the young spy closed her eyes, fighting the chaos of her surroundings so she could focus. 

She had a mission to complete and that meant finding Jean-Pierre, her friend— No. 

That train of thought needed to stop right there. Jean-Pierre was a lot of things: an enemy agent, a target, a chicken-shit coward, and a traitor. But he was not the friend she thought she’d known. That person didn’t exist.

The Jean-Pierre she thought she knew had died the moment he handed Toulouse over to the Gestapo a week before her arrival. Everything else was just performance.

By betraying Alix’s friends, JP had made himself a target and now he would be hunted and killed like one too. 

The OSS operative parsed through her own training from years earlier.

“When evading a pursuer in an urban environment, remember the acronym: PIC,”  she recalled Lieutenant Nixon stressing during one of their evasion drills. 

"Number 1: Protection from the environment. 

Number 2: Invisible to the enemy. 

Number 3: Comfort for quality rest." 

So the farmhouse was out. It could offer protection and comfort but not invisibility; it was the only building in the area whose roof and doors were painted a rather violent shade of plum, which stuck out like a sore thumb against the more muted landscape surrounding it. 

What would qualify as invisible in a small, rural town like Carentan, Alix mused. Somewhere strong enough to provide protection, spacious enough to provide comfort, and somewhere most people would overlook… 

Her dark eyes scanned the town’s landscape for a moment, passing over shops and houses. 

A spy would know better than to hole-up somewhere so densely populated. It was too easy to corner someone between buildings that tightly packed. 

Then, her eyes landed on Notre-Dame de Carentan, the parish cathedral, and a lightbulb went off in her head. 

Large and sturdy enough to provide protection, just out of the way enough to avoid being interrupted by enemy combatants raiding for food like they would in a shop, spacious enough to provide multiple nooks within as well as multiple exits. 

And what self-respecting Catholic would desecrate the house of God? It was the perfect hiding spot.

She needed to get over there fast. 

Luckily, an opportune explosion a few houses down drew some scattered German soldiers from the nearby area. 

A welcome distraction. 

Keeping a death-grip on her aid bag and her head tucked low, Alix hustled to the other side of the street as quickly as she could, taking momentary refuge behind some nearby shrubbery before shoving the heavy cathedral door open with a grunt and slipping inside.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Despite the chaos raging just outside its doors, the inside of the cathedral was hauntingly still. 

The booming explosions and percussive rat-a-tat-tat of scattered firefights in the nearby area were virtually swallowed up by the sheer size and strength of the stone columns within.

If Alix closed her eyes, the dulled echoes from outside could almost be mistaken for thunder and rainfall. Almost. 

Below the majestic vaulted ceiling, faint glimmers of sunlight streamed through the stained glass-adorned walls, scattering colorful beams of light onto the pews and aisle of the otherwise dimly-lit cathedral.

The rolling smoke from external fires combined with the glow of candles from the apse added an ethereal element throughout.

It was strange being in a Catholic church again after three years away, simultaneously alien but familiar, like visiting the new owners of your childhood home. As she stood in the church’s lobby, just inside the doors, Alix felt a twinge of shame for not having been in so long.

But as quickly as the guilt surfaced, so too did the suppressed rage. 

If God wanted me to keep going to Mass, she thought bitterly. then He shouldnt’ve let my fucking brother die. 

Her heart pounding in her ears as she entered, Alix slipped a hand into her aid bag and retrieved her handgun. She was not going to be caught off-guard in here. 

Wherever Jean-Pierre was hiding, she would be ready for him. 

Marble statues of the saints adorned the walls, staring pitilessly down at her with their stony gaze as she scoured the cathedral for her target. 

Where are you, you traitorous piece of shit, she wanted to yell, but she knew better.

She’d have to catch him, like a rat, because he wouldn’t come out on his own.

Stalking down the center instead, aisle by aisle, the soft sound of her boots against the cold marble floor was muffled by the drumming of artillery fire in the distance.

Suddenly, a small nook ahead to the left side caught her eye. Tucked just steps away from the main altar, this section of the chapel appeared to be specifically dedicated to the Virgin Mary.

Situated neatly atop the altar sat a painted statuette of the Holy Mother draped in blue, smiling serenely down at the empty rows in front of her, oblivious to the rage simmering within the OSS agent striding towards her sacred space.

And there, in the farthest corner pew, hunched over a tiny notebook, sat Jean-Pierre.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

"Well if it isn't our local turncoat," Alix remarked loudly, the venom in her voice echoing impressively in the smaller chamber.

"I'm surprised you didn't just incinerate walking in here. Isn’t treachery a mortal sin?”

Jean-Pierre looked up from his notebook, the fake smile on his face just begging to be clawed off.

"Nice to see you too, Jules," he replied cheerily as if she'd wished him a Good Morning instead of an insult. "It's always good to see a friendly face."

"I'm glad because it's the last face you're going to see," Alix snapped as she approached the pew where he sat.

"You can drop the act, JP, I know what you did." 

JP raised his eyebrows, innocent and unconcerned. 

"Do you now?" 

Alix ignored him. She was not going to partake in his mind games. 

"How long have you been working for the Nazis," she demanded as she sat down forcefully, her back bumping against the wooden pew in her haste. 

Sitting within two feet of the man who had sold out her friends made her sick but she had no choice; she needed to be close enough to observe him during interrogation.

Her nostrils were flaring with her barely-contained fury but JP casually lit up a cigarette as though he hadn’t noticed. 

"You're going to have to be more specific, Jules," he stated after taking a short drag, still acting as if they were old friends catching up over breakfast. "The Milice or the Gestapo?" 

"Either. Both." 

"The Milice for about two years, since I was 17. I was assigned to liaise with the Gestapo more recently. I’ve been an undercover provocateur for about…" 

He took a second to ponder, before responding “About 4 months now, I think.”

Alix took a hard look at the boy sitting next to her. 

Jean-Pierre was only nineteen; he should’ve been studying at university, going to dance halls, asking a girl from one of his classes out on a Saturday night just to make a complete fool of himself, he should’ve been able to be a kid and make memories with his friends. 

Instead, there was a war on, kids younger than him were fighting and dying to defend their countries from the evils of fascism and here JP was, a Nazi turncoat…for what? What could make someone so young so self-serving, so full of apathy?

“You were never rejected by the French army,” she surmised aloud, thinking back to earlier that day. “That was just part of your cover so you could have an excuse to be more heavily involved in the planning, wasn’t it?” 

“Very good, Jules,” JP commented. “You put it together quicker than Toulouse did. What brought you to that conclusion?”

 “Well, you got into that scuffle with Henri earlier without hardly breaking a sweat,” the OSS agent acknowledged before nodding to him. “And look at you smoking now. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smoke before. If you were actually asthmatic, you’d be hacking up a lung.”

JP took another short drag before responding with a simple “Bravo” and a sarcastic round of applause, the clatter bouncing mockingly off the marble as though even the cathedral itself was laughing at her.

"How do you sleep at night," Alix wondered aloud from between gritted teeth. "Knowing all the people you've betrayed, good people who trusted you?" 

Jean-Pierre cocked an eyebrow and took another drag. 

"Trusting me was their fault," he replied coolly, the smoke curling into the air. "Not mine. These are dangerous times, you know." 

Alix was seized with the overwhelming urge to throttle him but she bit it back. 

"As for my conscience?" He shrugged. "Completely clear. I just provide intel– for a price, of course. Whatever the Milice and the Gestapo choose to do with that intel is their business, not mine." 

"You signaled the sniper earlier, didn't you? And Camille was what, just collateral to you?" 

Jean-Pierre shrugged again. 

"Business is business." 

"If you wanted me dead that badly, you could've left the others out of it." 

Jean-Pierre pursed his lips.

"Oh but we don't want you dead," he replied flippantly, as though that somehow made it better. "Just wounded enough to be taken in without issue. And I did try to leave them out of it, but you wouldn't let me. Their deaths are on your hands, Jules, not mine. I got the transmission shortly before you arrived.” 

"You're lying," Alix insisted, trying in vain to shove down her mounting panic. 

He was just trying to get into her head…right? 

"Henri and Camille were both alive when I left." 

Jean-Pierre made a Voilá gesture. 

"My point exactly. They were both unfortunate casualties of your negligence. Our sniper had a perfect vantage point and we were all ready for you to make your move on Hahn...you would never have made it within a meter of him. But then, out of the blue, you decide to follow orders for once and stay put!" 

His voice rose slightly and for a split-second, Alix thought she glimpsed lines of frustration creasing his brow as the mask slipped…but then, like a good agent, it was back to baseline: cool, calm, and collected. 

"So we had to improvise. I got out of the line of fire, tried to keep you in place, everything was good to go…and then Camille got in the way."  

He clucked his tongue. 

"I was sure it was you but when our sniper went back to verify the kill, who should he find but Camille already dead on the carpet, you nowhere to be found, and Henri operating an illegal radio? And…well, we couldn't have that. You understand." 

Alix felt a pit forming in her stomach like she'd swallowed a boulder. 

If she had just disobeyed Henri's order like JP had urged her to in the first place, Camille and Henri would still be alive…She herself might've died but that was inconsequential. It was her they wanted; no one else had to get hurt.

Jean-Pierre was so nonchalant, it was maddening. He acted like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn't sitting next to a former friend with a gun in her hand, still drenched in the blood of their other friend…former friend, now deceased.

At least he hadn't mentioned Edgar and Thérèse, Alix thought. 

The twins must have gotten Henri's last radio transmission and gone on the run. 

She put her free hand to her rosary, sending a silent prayer up that the two kids would make it to a neutral zone safely. She wasn’t sure if any god, angels, or saints were listening but she was in a church and she figured it couldn’t hurt to try. 

Taking a steadying breath and resisting the urge to just shoot the bastard, Alix decided to try something. 

“I’m going to ask you this one time and one time only,” she stated firmly, trying to remain calm and forget about the handgun she was clutching in her right hand. 

“Who gave you the order to bring me in? And why not Henri or Camille? Why me?" 

"I don't ask those sorts of questions," JP said simply. "And neither should you."

Alix set her jaw.

Don't tell me how to run my interrogation, she wanted to snap but she knew better. She would have to let it slide for now, if she wanted any answers at all.

"Alright, next question: What did you do to Henri?" she asked tersely, forcing her face to remain impartial.

She would not show this bastard fear. 

"I didn't do anything to anyone," JP replied snippily. "But don't worry, my partner was quick. Henri wasn't going to be of any use. He and Camille were worth more dead than alive anyway." 

"Not like Toulouse," Alix guessed. Jean-Pierre stared her down, his startlingly gray eyes piercing her like a spear.

"Toulouse was more trouble than he was worth," he practically spat. "Three days of continuous torture and still no information. What a waste of time.

Someone finally had to shut him up for good on the fourth day because he wouldn't stop singing 'Le Chant des Partisans' at the top of his lungs and it was riling up the other prisoners."  

Alix couldn't help but smile. 

"Le Chant des Partisans", the song of the Resistance. 

Leave it to Toulouse, the eternal optimist, to be rallying others until the end. 

“I’m glad he gave you trouble,” Alix uttered acerbically, fire blazing in her dark brown eyes. “I hope he cursed you all the way to his grave.”

She couldn’t imagine the look on Toulouse’s face when he discovered that it was a friend who had betrayed him, who intended to destroy everything he’d built…The thought hurt too much.

Jean-Pierre turned his cigarette pack over and over in his hands, studying it meticulously before looking up, his flint-sharp eyes boring holes into her.

“Is that what you’re going to do, Jules?” he asked. “Curse me all the way to your grave when you go?” 

He didn’t look afraid, just amused, like he was watching a particularly clever rat slowly navigate its way through a maze. 

Alix glared at him.

His deliberate nonchalance was tap-dancing on her last nerve and she’d just about had enough.

“It’s Juliette,” she said coldly. "Jules was for friends.”

JP cocked his head curiously.

“We’re not friends anymore, Jules? Pity, I actually liked you.”

Alix once again found herself resisting the temptation to throttle the kid into unconsciousness.

"You’re a duplicitous piece of shit and I should've seen it sooner.”  

“Agreed," JP acknowledged evenly. “But it's in your nature to care about people, to your own detriment. Your loyalty makes you naive."

He gave her a look filled with sickening pity, as though she were a bird with a broken wing, and she was struck by how much older he looked. The intelligence game had aged him. He looked too tired, too bitter, too malicious for a boy of nineteen. 

"This is what happens when you care about people, Jules," he stated with a general gesture around them. "In our business, caring for people is their death sentence. Toulouse, Henri, Camille…You did this to yourself."

Alix's heart jumped into her throat. It felt like she was being strangled, like someone had sucked all the air out of the room, and her eyes were beginning to burn. 

JP’s words echoed not only around the church but in her head as well: 

This is what happens when you care about people…You did this…You did this…

Alix cocked the gun at her side with a click. 

"Interrogation’s over, JP,” she said quietly, getting to her feet. “Stand up, unless you want to die on your ass.”

“So soon?” Her former friend remained seated, raising an eyebrow as he searched her face for any sign of weakness. “Did I hit a nerve, Jules?”

“Of course not,” Alix lied, thanking God that her training had been good enough to mask most of her emotions even in a foreign language. “Like you said, business is business. Now get the fuck up.”

Jean-Pierre didn’t move. 

“You really think killing me is going to wash all that blood off your hands?” he inquired, watching her expectantly from his seat with those ice-cold eyes, like a bird of prey staring down its dinner, searching for a weakness to exploit.

“You think it’s going to make you a ‘better person’?” 

He barked out a hollow laugh. 

“Because I hate to break it to you, Jules, but we’re in a war zone: There are no good people.”

"There are still good people, JP,” the OSS agent replied, her broken voice barely above a whisper. “My mistake was thinking you were one of them." 

#Band of Brothers #BoB #FireOnFire #Band of Brothers fandom #Band of Brothers fanfic #espionage fanfic #spy fic #Alix Martinelli #BoB fic #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joelix #OSS #FOFChapters