#eugene roe x oc

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Chapter 1: With Beating Hearts

Eugene Roe x Violet Elwood

Summary: Violet was living a quiet life during the summer of 1941 in Morgan City, Louisiana when she meets Eugene Roe when he stumbles into her families shop. But Violet has a devastating secret that she’s keeping and it’s sure to break Eugene’s heart. They can only hope their love endures and it doesn’t die as a summer romance. Masterlist

8th June 1943, Morgan City, Louisiana

Eugene’s shoes tapped rhythmically at the pavement as he hurried after his older sisters, their curls bouncing as they shouted over their shoulders for him to ‘hurry up’. He wasn’t entirely sure what the rush was, a new convenience store opening in town wasn’t necessarily the exciting point of the summer, or it wasn’t to a 19-year-old boy. Eugene often wondered what his life would be like if he’d had older brothers. They would be out, exploring and playing but instead, he’d been taught to sow with his sisters and cook. ‘You never know when you’ll need to fix a hole in your trousers’, his mother had always told him, and in hindsight, it was a useful skill for him to have. His two younger brothers often got out of the simple household chores. ‘You’re the man of the house’ his father often told him when he went off to work and Eugene believed him, but really his older sisters were in charge.

The hot Louisiana summer had only just begun, and yet for June, it was exceptionally warm. His shirt stuck to his back, as sweat travelled down the valley of his spine. His troubles were not helped by the bundle of bags and the basket he carried, while his sisters skipped along the street in front of him. How he’d been volunteered for this he wasn’t sure.

He could see his sister had stopped beside the shop ahead of him, glaring at him as he quickened his pace to catch up.

“I swear Eugene, if you walked any slower you’d be going backwards,” his oldest sister, Minnie, grumbled and Eugene stuck his tongue out at her once she had turned around. Siblings, who would have them?

The bell above the door chimed, announcing their arrival and the girls quickly scattered, leaving Eugene and all the bags in the doorway. Deciding that no one was likely to steal the bags, he stacked them in the corner before making his way down one of the aisles. He had to admit this shop sure did have everything and he picked himself up an apple on the way past the fruit stand, rummaging to find a nice red one.

Knowing his sisters were likely to spend the next hour investigating the new shop, Eugene headed towards the empty counter to pay. There was no one in sight since he’d entered the shop so he chimed the bell on the countertop, waiting for the owner to reveal themselves. A flash of blonde hair shot past him and dashed behind the counter with a gleaming smile. Her lips were moving in slow motion and Eugene blinked expressionlessly.

He’d never seen someone so beautiful, her blonde locks in perfect curls, framing her pale face, her blue eyes sparkling in the dim shop lightening.

“Excuse me? Can I help you?” She asked again and Eugene stuttered, stumbling over his words as he apologised, asked the girl her name and all but threw his money at her.

Her eyes widened a little as she began to collect the money, picking up several of the coins and passing them back to him.

“Are you okay?” Her eyebrows creased as she questioned him and if Eugene hadn’t been frozen to the spot he might have run out of the store there and then.

“Y-yes…” he wheezed, seemingly unable to breathe at that precise moment. His cheeks grew redder by the minute as he continued to stare at her.

“Okay then,” the girl turned, putting the money into the cashier, “Well, as you asked so nicely,” she laughed and Eugene felt his throat tighten as the jovial tune left her mouth. “My name is Violet, and you are?”

“Eugene, Eugene Roe ma’am and I think you're so beautiful, would you like to go out… sometime… with me… Eugene Roe.” If he could have one wish, he’d have wished for the ground to swallow him up. It’s not that he’d ever been terribly confident with women anyway, but this was just embarrassing.

“Well, Eugene, Eugene Roe,” she grinned, copying how he’d stumbled over his words. “It’s nothing personal but I don’t go out with strangers and I don’t know you.”

Eugene’s forehead creased, “Well how ‘bout ya go out with me and we getta know each other, then we won’t be strangers,” Eugene tried to reason.

Violet tilted her head, “Well, you’ve got me there Eugene, Eugene Roe.”

Before she could say anything else, Eugene’s sisters came around the corner, with bundles of supplies in their arms. He wasn’t sure if they needed all this stuff, they were exactly the richest family but his sisters seemed to be stocking up for hibernation.

“Stop harassing the poor girl, Eugene,” Winnie groaned and Minnie just rolled her eyes. “Go grab the bags, Gene.”

Eugene did as he was told, giving Violet a brief wave before disappearing from view. Violet smiled, watching him go. He was an odd character but he seemed nice enough.

The two girls began bickering as they bundled their goods into two very small bags and Violet took this as her opportunity to escape from behind the counter.

She found Eugene standing outside the shop, his eyes closed and his face turned towards the sky, taking in the late afternoon rays.

“Well, Eugene, Eugene Roe. You don’t seem like a bad guy and I don’t think you’re gonna murder me, so why don’t you pick me up on Saturday at 7?”

Violet was suddenly worried that Eugene was having some kind of heart attack from the way his face paled and she stepped forward before he began nodding animatedly.

“Yes, yes that will do nicely. Yes. Thank you.” Why couldn’t he learn to shut up? Eugene cursed himself mentally. “And Gene is fine.” He corrected Violet and she laughed lightly.

“Sure thing, Gene. I’ll see you Saturday.” She waved him goodbye before disappearing back inside, the clang of the bell tolling and announcing his sister's departure from the shop.

“What was all that ‘bout?” Minnie quizzed him as they began their walk towards home.

“Oh… nothing. Just gave me the wrong change is all.” His sisters didn’t press the subject and Eugene wouldn’t have told them anyway, but he couldn’t help the excited butterflies building in his stomach. He was going on his first date on Saturday.

Eugene Roe had to admit that he was a nervous man, he worried about the slightest little thing and often found his stomach in knots, his anxiety eating away at him when he had something important coming up.

Since his first encounter with Violet, he’d been buzzing with nervous energy. His heart pounding any time someone mentioned her family's shop or Saturday. In fact, his mind was constantly awash with images of her, despite having only seen her once.

He’d sit for hours, tracing her face on his knee as he sat watching his sisters squabble over something irrelevant. He’d even managed to change his route to work, just so he could walk past the shop. Unfortunately, he’d managed to bump into every other member of Violet’s family, except Violet herself.

Saturday came around all too quickly but too slowly at the same time, and by quarter past six on Saturday evening Eugene felt as though he was either going to combust and melt. He wasn’t sure which option was worse but the fear of rejection was worse. What would happen if she changed her mind? What was he supposed to do then?

His mother had tried to reassure him the best she could, having heard all about Eugene’s first crush from his rather annoying older sisters. His younger brothers on the other hand decided to tell him how much they disliked girls, which also didn’t help the argument.

“Would you lot just leave him alone!” His mother's voice had bellowed over the cacophony of rambunctious chattering. The kitchen fell into silence, and even Eugene’s father, who sat in his armchair with his pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth, chose to stay silent.

“Eugene, Darling, you look perfect. No, your hair is fine,” his mother ushered his hand away as he tried to smooth his hair down once more. “Now go. Have a lovely time and be sure to have her home by a sensible time.”

Eugene scurried out of the house as fast as he could, ignoring the shouts of his siblings and his father’s ’go get her son’.

The walk to the store wasn’t more than ten minutes from his house but Eugene found himself dragging his feet. ‘She’d said seven not six forty’, he cursed, annoyed that he’d rushed to get ready but his nervous energy carried him forward.

Once outside the store Eugene could feel his gut tightening, if it was squeezed any tighter he thought he was going to vomit, the stomach acid already building in his throat. Before he could chicken out, his knuckles wrapped against the front door. There was some shuffling around inside before a short, bearded man appeared on the other side. He unlocked the door and glared at Eugene.

“We’re closed! Can’t you read the damn sign,” he spoke gruffly, lighting a cigarette as his eyes bore into Eugene’s soul.

Eugene shuffled nervously from foot to foot as he stumbled over his words, “W-well Sir, I- I’m here to… to see Violet.”

The man continued glaring at him, his eyes travelling up and down Eugene’s frame, squinting when their eyes met. Eugene felt as though he was vibrating and his hand shook as he smoothed it over his dark locks nervously, while he tried not to squeeze the bunch of flowers in his other hand.

“Well, I guess you’d betta come in. Vi is upstairs getting ready,” her father all but dragged him through the door, slamming it closed aggressively.

“This way,” he pushed Eugene through the shop and out the door behind the counter which led into a long hallway. It was rather dark but a light room lay at the end which Eugene assumed was the sitting room. “Take a seat.”

Eugene did as he was told, sitting quickly on one of the wooden chairs. Her father sat opposite him, nursing his glass of whiskey with an unnerving smirk. Eugene dug his fingers into the collar of his shirt, trying to reduce the claustrophobic feeling.

They sat in silence until two faces appeared at the top of the stairs, the girls were giggling and despite his best efforts, Eugene blushed furiously under their gaze. They looked a lot like Violet but a little younger, Eugene noted. The girls were whispering to each other and it was more than clear that they were talking about him before they scurried out of view.

The next person to appear at the top of the stairs was Violet, and Eugene’s legs forced his legs to stand. Violet was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her blonde locks were curled, framing her face while her rouged lips spread into a wide smile. The blue dress adorning her figure, hugging her curves flowed around her legs as she descended the stairs.

“Wow,” Eugene whispered, as Violet stepped in front of him. “You’re da most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

It was Violet's turn to blush, biting her lip nervously as she smiled shyly. “Thank you, Eugene. You don’t scrub up too badly yourself.”

“These are for you,” Eugene pushed the bunch of Violets towards her and she grinned, accepting the flowers and passing them to one of the younger blonde girls.

“Thank you. I see you’ve already met my daddy. This is my mumma,” she pointed to an older blonde lady behind her who greeted Eugene with a small wave. “And these are my sisters, Rose and Lilly.”

Eugene greeted the other girls and the older of the two, Eugene guessed she was Rose, and leant forward. “Vi here hasn’t spoken of anything else since she met you. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Violet smacked her sister playfully and Eugene found himself blushing once more.

“You two should be headin’ off before it gets too late,” her father said, “It’s gooda meet ya, Eugene. You have her back by ten, okay?”

“Sure thing, Sir,” he took her father's hand and shook it before Violet linked her arm through Eugene’s and pulled him away.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Violet apologised once they were out of the shop. “They can be a little much sometimes.”

Eugene grinned, “Not at all. They seem real nice folks.”

Violet laughed, “Well, they promised to be on their best behaviour so I’m glad ya think so.”

It was only a short walk through town to the local picture house and they reached the old building by quarter past six. The picture house was built many years before and its red wooden panels were flaking and haggard but inside it was reasonably furnished.

“I thought you could pick which film we watched. I wasn’t sure if you’ve seen any of them yet,” Eugene mumbled shyly as they approached the ticket boot.

Violet smiled, approaching the booth, “Can we have two tickets to see…” she pondered for a moment looking at the film posters above their heads. “They met in Bombay.”

The ticket masters passed over two tickets and Eugene passed him the money. Violet grasped Eugene’s hand, pulling him through the crowd, “Come on, let’s get some good seats.”

Eugene followed Violet up the winding staircase to the studio. Violet paused at the top of the stairs, breathing a little heavily now. “Those are some steep steps,” she laughed and Eugene nodded in agreement, despite having taken the steps two at a time with ease.

They found some seats down the middle aisle and made themselves comfortable.

“What made you choose this film,” Eugene asked curiously as he studied her face in the dim lights. Her rosy cheeks reflected pale in the light and Eugene realised that this is what an angel must look like.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, turning to face him with a smirk on her lips, “I’ve only been to the cinema once so I just picked one at random.” She laughed lightly at Eugene’s amused expression.

The lights soon dimmed further as the screen came to life with black and white images. Eugene’s heart sank as the images of soldiers appeared on the silver screen and news of the war in Europe was projected to the audience. It was inevitable that he’d end up fighting, every able-bodied man of fighting age would. As if she could sense something was wrong, Violet grasped Eugene’s hand and gave it a small squeeze before placing their joined hands on the armrest. Eugene was glad of the dark room because if he blushed any more tonight he’d be in a permeated state of red.

The film rolled by quickly and before Eugene knew it the lights came back up and Violet was grinning at him. He blushed, realising he’d been looking at her again, in fact, he wasn’t sure how much he’d actually seen of the film, too busy studying her features.

“If you take a picture, it will last longer,” Violet jested and Eugene looked down at his shoes, “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Violet assured him, squeezing his hand gently, “I like it when you look at me.”

All too soon they were back outside, strolling arm in arm along the now quiet, cool streets of Morgan City. Eugene’s heart thumped against his ribcage with every step as he tried to keep his thoughts from running wild. Violet could sense his eyes on her and she looked up at him, her blue eyes setting his heart alight.

“I had a wonderful time tonight, Eugene. I can’t thank you enough. I’ve never had an evening like this,” Violet smiled, stopping in her tracks and causing Eugene to stop beside her. She leant forward, pressing her lips softly to his cheek. Eugene couldn’t help but blush again. It was the kind of blushing that shows a person's soul, and complimented his eyes and the delicate sweetness they held within. “Thank you.”

“I think I shou’ be the one thanking you, Violet,” Eugene reached out, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I had an amazing time tonight. Could’a see you again sometime?”

“You certainly can,” Violet agreed, clutching Eugene’s hand once more. “Come on, my Daddy will be expecting me home.” As the pair continued their walk down the street, Eugene felt a sense of great relief filling his soul, his first date had been a success and maybe, just maybe this was the start of something beautiful.

Tags: @blueberry-ovaries @mads-weasley @coco-bean-1218 @she-wolf09231982 @georgieluz @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @bucky32557038ww2 @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @msmercury84 @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt @xxluckystrike @hogwartslegacypics @softguarnere

#heart to heart #Eugene roe #eugene roe imagines #Eugene roe x oc #Violet Elwood

[hobbit-historian]

Memories

Summary: you give Eugene a gift and are a bit confused by his reaction.

A/N: there’s not really any warnings with this one, other than the typical this deal with ww2 and its brutality. The reader here is a WAC mechanic. I couldn’t find anything specific on where they might have been stationed in relation to the front, so I placed the mechanics at the aid station.

The supplies had just come in.

She had been waiting for these crates - machine parts were supposed to be delivered with them.

But that wasn’t the most exciting part.

No, there had been a mess up and a previous set of boxes had been delivered to the wrong area. So aw an apology, there were chocolate bars in this set.

Y/N’s mouth watered as she thought about the chocolate. It had been so long since she had tasted such a luxury, and even longer since that luxury had been chocolate.

When the crates were unloaded off of the truck, all of the WACs were gathered around expectantly, murmuring to themselves about the promised sweets. Wen handed the crates off to some of the women, Y/N passing some back to those behind her.

Soon they had a line of people passing crates down the line. Once they were all unloaded the WACs tore into them eagerly. Once the prized chocolate was located, shouts went up from the women. Cheers sounded around the room as the chocolate exchanged hands. Y/N made sure everyone else got a bar before she took a couple for herself.

She smiled down at the bars, already knowing that she wasn’t going to eat either one. No, some special people were going to get these instead.

* * *

A jeep engine grumbled in the distance, a normal sound for this close to the front. Not only was the aid station here, but the WAC mechanics were here as well. Y/N looked up despite the normalcy of the sound, hoping to see one person in particular. She always hated when Eugene had to come back here - it meant there had been a casualty of some sort in Easy company. As much as she wanted Eugene to be on one of those jeeps, it always meant that someone else the knew was hurt.

So when she saw Eugene looking at her from the back of the jeep, her heart did a confused flip.

He nodded at her - he would take care of his wounded first and then would stop by and say hello.

Y/N smiled, trying to be reassuring, but it was hard, knowing that one of Eugene’s brothers was on that stretcher.

So she kept her mind on her work, knowing that Eugene would be over if he could. When she was finished with the jeep part, she found a nearby bucket and used the collected water to wash the grease off of her fingers.

“Hey” a soft voice called behind her.

When she turned, Eugene was there, hat in his hands. He wore a soft smile, but there was a sadness on his eyes.

There seemed to be more of that lately.

Y/N threw her arms around Eugene, murmuring into his shoulder.

“What’s that?” His breath was warm in her hair, and for a moment Y/N didn’t think about the war, about the jeep in pieces behind her, or her wet hands drying on Eugene’s jacket.

“Nothin’. “

She jumped backwards, grabbing Eugene by his arms. “Guess what I got today.” Her smile was wide. Eugene glanced down at her hands and then back up at her, a true smile ghosting his lips. Y/N looked at her own hands, and noting the wet handprints on the jacket, she let go of Eugene.

“Oh.”

But she turned right around and dried her hands on the cloth scrap, hoping that Eugene didn’t care too much about the wet hand prints on his uniform.

“Come on.” She motioned for him to follow and turned to go further into the building. It was an old school that had been turned into the aid station. The very back of the building was used to repair the jeeps, radios, and other machinery that the WAC could work on. Because they worked in shifts, one area of the school had been set aside for sleeping. Y/N led Eugene through the back of the building until they reached the meager corner she was using to catch some rest in between shifts. She dug into her pack and produced the chocolate bar.

“I managed to snag a couple. One went to a boy in town who told me he had never had chocolate before.” She stood and turned to face Eugene.

“Gene, you should’ve seen the look on his face when…” she trailed off as she noticed Eugene.

His eyes were locked onto the chocolate bar and his face had drained of color.

Eugene’s hand shook as he reached out towards the bar. But his fingers halted at the edge of the wrapper. “Mon dieu,” he whispered.

Y/N faltered. “Gene?”

All she could see was Gene’s hand as it started to shake, his fingers tips even drained of color. He grabbed the chocolate bar and brought it up to his face. His eyes were drained of their usual sparkle as he beheld the bar.

“Gene?” Y/N asked again. He still didn’t answer and only stared at the chocolate.

Y/N gave him some space. She had no idea why he was reacting the way he was - she could only guess it had something to do with an earlier event in the war. So she waited. Waited until he was ready to talk.

Eventually, Eugene’s eyes focused in on Y/N. He stated, as if surprised that she was still there.

“Ma Cherie, where’d you find this?” He swallowed, hard, and then spoke again. “I haven’t had chocolate since…” Another swallow. “Since Bastogne.”

Y/N kept her eye contact with Eugene and nodded. She understood. Things had happened in Bastogne that no person should ever have to go through. Things had happened to Eugene that no person should have to go through.

“You don’t have to take the chocolate if you don’t want to, Gene.” She put her hand out, palm up. Eugene’s eyes flicked down to her hand and then back up to her face.

“No, I’ll keep it. It’ll be nice to have something sweet remember you by.” He winked at her, but she could tell there was less heart in it than usual. So she proffered him a smile and put her hand on Eugene’s. His fingers were still shaking, but they stilled slightly under her touch. She watched as his smile even out a bit too.

“Well then, let’s go find some food and we can get you whatever supplies you need, ok?”

“Sounds good, mon Cherie.”

***

He thought about that bar all the way back to the front. Not only the bar in his pack, but the original bar, the one in Bastogne. He looked down at his bag, picturing the one there. It looked so different, yet he knew it would be the same. It would smell the same, taste the same, be the same color. Only the wrapping was different.

And the person who gave it to him.

She was different. Y/N was very different than most of the people he knew. She had been so happy to get the chocolate, and so happy to give it to him. But he had barely paid attention to what she was saying as soon as he laid eyes on the bar.

It took him straight back there, to that bleak winter where all her could do was watch people die.

And like the different person she was, Y/N had picked up on that.

She had even tried to reverse the situation.

Reaching into his bag, he drew out the chocolate and brought it up to eye level. The jeep driver noticed and did a double take.

“Whatcha got there?”

Eugene merely put the bar back in his bag and said “a second chance.”

#band of brothers #eugene roe x reader #eugene roe #band of brothers imagine #ww2 #hbo war #eugene roe x oc #Eugene roe x y/n

[she-wolf09231982]

Chapter 2- Stuck With Me

Summary: After the German bomb run on Bastogne, the locals and American soldiers there that were able, helped piece back together what they could of the town. Medical personnel that had survived still tended to the wounded however they could with whatever supplies they had left. A deserted upper class family home that survived the bombing was temporarily designated as the new aid station until further notice. Although he was internally grieving the loss of Renée and Anna, Eugene steadily pushes through the chaos to provide aid to his fellow Easy members at a moment’s notice. Saria, on the other hand, wasn’t as resilient.  

A/N: OC/Rosaria Marie Leone (leh-OHN), EugeneRoeX!FemMedic, WW2, Post D-Day, She/Her Pronouns, Military Terminology, Band of Brothers References, Boondock Saints ‘ll Duce’ Prayer Reference, Mentions of Weaponry, Smoking, Mentions of death, Blood, Graphic Gore, Medical Terminology, Italian and French with English translations

*These stories may not fall entirely in accordance with the TV series timeline. I do not know the real soldiers the actors portray in this series, so please understand I show no disrespect. Some or most of historical events and character interactions in my fanfics are fabricated purely for the sake of the enjoyment of fiction*

Story takes towards the end of Episode 6-Bastogne and beginning of Episode 7- The Breaking Point

~~~~~~~ 

January 3, 1945

Easy Company was still holding the line outside Bastogne in the Ardennes Forest, enduring the cold, the hunger, and the lack of supplies. Not to mention the incompetence and constant absence of their current commanding officer, LT Dike, was mitigating any progress to push through Foy.  

The new aid station was set up in a deserted lavish multilevel family home. While the few nurses and local volunteers buzzed from room to room tending to patients, Saria sat in the parlor tearing bed sheets into strips to use as bandages and dressings.  

Suddenly, a litter was clumsily carried through the front door with Eugene following behind them. Upon hearing them enter, she rushed over to assist. 

“What do we got here?” Saria asked. 

“Gunshot wound to the right thigh, but-” Gene began. 

Saria began hastily assessing the wound on the exposed thigh area. 

“Saria-” Gene drummed. 

“Looks like the femoral artery’s been severed-” Saria muttered to herself thinking out loud, not listening to Eugene. 

“Saria,” Gene bellowed. 

“Che cosa!? (What!?)” Saria replied sharply in Italian, looking at him expectantly. 

“It ain’t gonna do any good.” he said pensively. 

Saria cocked her head as she furrowed her eyebrows at him, waiting for him to elaborate. 

“Il est mort. (He’s dead).” Gene clarified in French. 

Saria stared at him, absorbing the information until it finally clicked. She looked at the soldier’s lifeless, pale face. She dropped her eyes to the floor, allowing a defeated sigh to leave her lips. 

“Guess it was silly of me to think every soldier you bring here would still be alive.” she said quietly. 

Eugene only blinked, keeping his attention on her. 

Saria shook her head to reset her thoughts. 

“Take him to the garden house out back so Chaplain Maloney can say a prayer over him.” Saria instructed, lazily gesturing to the hall leading to the back door of the house before walking into the kitchen. 

“Yes, ma’am.” the two men replied as they carried the perished soldier down the main hallway towards the rear of the house. 

Eugene waited in the foyer, glancing down the hall to make sure the stretcher made it out the back door before proceeding to the kitchen.

He leaned against the doorway waiting as Saria faced the cast iron wood-burning stove. She raised a kettle from the trivet (stove surface) and poured hot water into a teacup. 

“What was his name?” Saria queried sipping her beverage with her back remaining to Eugene. 

He cleared his throat, “Hoobler. Don Hoobler. Accidently shot himself with a Lugar he got off a German he picked off.” he dejectedly explained. 

He saw her disappointedly shake her head, well aware she was contemplating the irony behind a soldier recklessly losing his life because of a foolish ‘trophy’ like a German Lugar. 

“Comment as-tu été? (How have you been?)” Gene’s usual gravelly baritone voice carried over the room to her. 

Saria remained quiet at first as she tried to piece together a response that wouldn’t raise concern. 

“Keeping busy,” she replied plainly. “Et toi? (And you?)”  

“Same.”  

“Tea?” Saria offered after a long pause. 

“No thanks.” Eugene declined kindly. 

“We have coffee.” she extended as she looked over her shoulder. 

A faint smile graced Eugene’s face.  

“Coffee would be nice, merci.” he professed as he crossed the threshold to sit at a two-seater kitchen table. 

Saria occupied herself preparing the coffee grounds and coffee press. Eugene surveyed her bustling around the kitchen, trying to get a feel for how his friend really was feeling since she was being very vague and evasive. He noticed she seemed to be very adamant about keeping her back to him. But he sat there waiting patiently while she kept herself busy with the coffee. 

Saria placed the packed coffee press onto the stove trivet, then stood by the counter where the kitchen window viewed out to the garden. Her eyes coincidently caught Chaplain Maloney walking into the garden cottage. She quickly averted her eyes to her hands fiddling with a spoon on the countertop. 

Eugene observed her carefully, his heart progressively filling with concern. 

“There’s another chair here,” he pointed out, but she didn’t budge.  

“Asseyez-vous et parlez avec moi, mon ami (Sit and talk with me, my friend).” he beseeched. 

Saria audibly sighed. Eugene got up and walked to the other chair sliding it out from under the table, inviting her to have a seat. 

“S'il te plaît? (Please?)” he gently implored with a feeble smile. 

She looked at the chair, then at Eugene. She sauntered to the table and lowered herself onto the chair as he pushed it under her. He walked over to the counter, grabbed a teacup, then went to the stove to pour himself fresh coffee from the press. 

He turned slowly towards Saria as he took his first sip. She sat gaping at the floor, lost in her thoughts. His soul ached for his mourning companion. 

“Saria-” Gene began, but she remained stoic, only closing her eyes so she didn’t have to look at him.  

He walked to her, placed the cup on the table then squatted in front of her to look her in the face. 

“Rosaria,” he asserted sternly, refusing to let her avoid him any longer. “-regardez-moi. S'il te plaît. (-look at me. Please).” 

Saria met Eugene’s troubled expression with empty bloodshot eyes, as they began to gloss over, filling to the brim with tears until droplets started to cascade down her cheeks. He studied her face for a few seconds longer, searching for any inkling of hope. He found none. 

“My French is getting rusty...” she whispered as her voice cracked from choking down the urge to sob. 

Eugene’s eyebrows drew inward, shaking his head trying to comprehend why she said what she said.

“I haven’t-” she struggled to continue as she repeatedly blinked hoping to keep the tears from spilling over anymore, “-I haven’t been practicing my French. I’m losing everything she taught me.”  

She hung her head, ashamed she had possibly dishonored Renée’s memory by forgetting the French she worked so diligently on with her. 

Gene nodded, “I see,” he discerned compassionately, now realizing where the root of Saria’s pain was coming from. 

He searched within himself for the comforting words he could say to console her, but even he was still in a state of lament over Renée’s death.  

He looked back at Saria, “So, everything I had said to you in French since I got here-”  

Saria looked at him hesitantly, waiting for him to finish. 

“How much of it did you catch?” he questioned with a impish smirk gradually appearing on his face.

Saria forced out another long exhale, “Enough for you to get me in the chair, I suppose.” she fleetingly jested. 

Eugene chuckled, which prompted Saria to briefly giggle as well. Eugene returned to his chair to finish the rest of his coffee. After a minute or so of subdued laughter, there was a deafening hush in the room as they sat in silence together. 

“Honestly, I haven’t been practicing my French because I’ve been waiting to practice with someone I'm comfortable with.” Saria proclaimed. 

“Yeah?” Gene returned genuinely intrigued. 

“Mmhm,” she replied. “Could you-” 

Eugene raised his eyebrows waiting for her to finish. 

“Pourriez-vous...um...” Saria attempted to rephrase her question in the little French she could remember. “-m'aider... avec mon français ? S'il te plaît? (Could you...um...help me... with my French? Please?)”  

Eugene’s smile widened as he leaned forward, sliding his arms across the table with his palms open, inviting her hands to hold his. Saria obliged, bringing her hands up from her lap, placing them in his.  

“Bien sûr. (Of course).” he responded as he affectionately caressed her knuckles with his thumbs. 

Saria smiled awkwardly, pushing down the heightened feeling of butterflies in her stomach. 

~~~~~~~ 

January 4, 1945 

“Bonjour, Rosaria.” a warm familiar voice greeted. 

Saria emerged from behind the bar to see Eugene standing under the oak archway leading into the parlor. 

“Eugène! Je suis tellement content de vous voir! (Eugene! So glad to see you)!” Saria exclaimed. 

Eugene revered at her as she met him under the archway. 

“What?’ she asked with a playful look of skepticism.  

“Your French. C'est déjà bien mieux. (It’s already much better).” he commended. 

“Oh-” Saria’s breath hitched, “-merci à toi (-thanks to you).”  

“De rien, mon ami (You’re welcome, my friend).”  

Eugene leaned against the oak pillar of the arch while Saria self-consciously rocked back and forth on her feet with her hands folded tightly behind her back. 

“Renée would be proud.” Eugene stated, raising his eyes to Saria’s. 

Saria drew in a deep breath when her eyes met his. He couldn’t help but adoringly gaze upon her while a soft smile stretched across his face. 

“Hm,” Saria hummed, “-yeah.”  

She forced a meager smile then looked at the floor. 

“So, I got some news,” Gene declared, “They’re trying to push into Foy in a couple of days.” 

Saria cast him a look of panic, “You’re leaving?” she asked, trying to suppress the concern in her voice. 

“That’s the plan.” he replied plainly. 

Saria’s eyes darted around the room while her heart rate steadily increased.  

“But-” she began. 

Eugene stared at her, waiting for her to continue her sentence. Words failed her as she stood there in front of him with her eyebrow’s furrowed and the worry lines intensifying in her forehead. 

“But?” Eugene pushed. 

Saria refocused on him, “You can’t leave me here. Alone.” 

“You won’t be alone, mon ami.” he assured. 

“Comment ça? (How so?)” she retorted raising an eyebrow at him. 

Eugene chuckled, “You have all these people here that work with you, the locals-” 

“Please don't.” Saria interjected. 

“Don’t what?”  

“Don’t list off other people for me as if you’re expendable.” she mandated. 

He curiously cocked his head at her.  

“Because you’re irreplaceable to me.” she confessed without hesitation. 

Saria was a wreck under the surface. Racing thoughts of losing the only best friend she had left, let alone what she just admitted, had her chest painfully heaving from anxiety. Gene watched her meander to the nearest lounge chair to sit before she passed out. 

He snickered to himself before he strolled over to her. He briefly stood over her, then squatted next to her chair resting his elbow on the armrest. He weaved his fingers between hers, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze while his thumb tenderly kneaded over hers. 

“I don't like it anymore than you do, mon cher (my dear),” he began, “-but this is why we’re here. It’s what we gotta do.” 

“I know.” she grumbled looking down at their hands intertwined on her lap. 

“Please come see me before you go?” she said as she looked up at him imploringly. 

“Bien sûr ma chère (Of course, my dear).” he promised.  

~~~~~~~

January 5, 1945 

Eugene unfortunately didn’t have time to visit Saria before advancing deeper into Bois Jacques woods right outside of Foy.  

“TAKE COVER!” Sgt Carwood Lipton yelled out to Easy Company. 

German artillery fired onto Easy Company from the town as Easy soldiers scattered to the nearest foxholes to take cover. Blasts coming from all directions causing trees to fall and dirt to fly made it difficult for the men to navigate safe passages to their holes. 

After a brief break from German attacks, Sgt Bill Guarnere answered the pleas for help from a wounded Joe Toye after an explosion took his right leg off. While Guarnere did his best to drag Toye back to safety, another German shell made contact near them during the second wave of attacks, severely wounding Guarnere’s leg as well. 

After the chaos settled, the Commanding Officer, LT Buck Compton, staggered over to Toye and Guarnere lying motionless on the ground. As he approached, the aftershock rendered him speechless, leaving him unable to find his voice at first to call for help. 

“MEDIC!” he finally managed to cry out. 

Doc Roe came hoofing through, landing on his knees next to Toye getting to work on what was left of his leg. Off to the side was Guarnere leaning against a tree. 

“Just hang tight, Bill, I’ll get to ya as soon as I’m done with Toye over 'ere.” Gene told Guarnere as he quickly packed Toye’s thigh with dressing to absorb the blood. 

“Do whatchya gotta do, Doc.” Bill replied. 

Just then, another medic appeared at Guarnere’s side, already getting a tourniquet out. Gene caught sight of the new guy, unaware there was another medic available to Easy Company. This man worked briskly, effortlessly placing the tourniquet and swiftly dashing sulfur then wrapping the wound with bandages to stop the bleeding.  

“Hey, buddy, when you’re done over there can you help me with this?” Gene requested. 

Nothing prepared him for what happened next. A voice of a woman responded. 

“Be right there, pal.”  

Gene looked over at her, perplexed that this was in fact a woman working out here next to him. As he continued handling Toye, she scampered over to him kneeling at his side. 

“What do you need me to do?”  

He looked up to see it was Saria. He stared at her in utter disbelief, almost forgetting he was caring for Toye. 

“Saria? What the hell are ya doin' out here!?” Gene asked shocked, but mostly perturbed. 

“I’ll explain later, tell me what you need me to do.” Saria countered urgently. 

“Hold this.” Gene begrudgingly instructed her to hold Toye’s thigh up so he could use both hands to wrap. 

Two men rushed in with a stretcher. 

“Bill, you go first.” 

“Whatever you say, Doc.” Bill replied. 

“Over here. Take this man.” Gene ordered pointing at Guarnere. 

~~~~~~~ 

January 7, 1945 

There was hardly a chance for Eugene to sit and revisit why Saria was there after they prepared Toye for transport. The next few days the 506th had cleared the West and East side of the woods, which temporarily allowed little resistance from the Germans. 

Saria sat in the foxhole she dug for herself, restocking her carrier bag. Eugene peered over the edge to look in. 

“Rosaria.” He greeted her dryly. 

 She looked up at him, “Well hi, Eugene.” she chirped. 

He jumped into the foxhole landing on both feet then sat in the dirt next to her. 

“Mind telling me how the hell you ended up out here?” he suggested in a parent-like tone. 

“I was reassigned to Easy Company per the request of LT Dike. Before his final leave of absence, that is." she explained. 

“LT Dike? He was never around. How would anyone get his signature to approve your orders to get assigned to us if nobody could ever find him?” Gene rationalized. 

Saria revealed a mischievous grin, “Nobody can confirm nor deny that my orders are legit if the CO is never available to say otherwise.”  

Eugene wasn’t amused, “You forged orders to get assigned to Easy Company??”  

Saria looked at her boots. 

“Pourquoi?? (Why??)” 

“Eugene, I couldn’t stay in Bastogne any longer. It only reminds me of Renée and Anna. Then you were going to leave, so-” she trailed off, not really knowing what else to say. 

Eugene released a frustrated huff, shaking his head disapprovingly. 

“Tu vas être ma mort (You’re going to be the death of me).” he growled to himself. 

Saria did her best to push back a snicker, knowing Gene was genuinely disappointed with her for committing such an act of dishonesty. When a scoff escaped through her nose, he shot her an exasperated side-eye.

"You think this is ok? Rosaria, it’s dangerous out here.” his tone low and disgruntled.

“Eugene, please spare me the lecture. You don’t think I’ve seen how dangerous it can get out here? I’ve seen more wounded men than I can count at that church that came from out here. I know it’s no walk in the park.” she proclaimed. 

He forced another annoyed breath, then rubbed his tired eyes with his forefinger and thumb. 

“You’re stuck with me, now, so there’s no use in arguing about it.” she added. 

“Yeah, you got that right.” Gene retorted. 

“Don’t act like you’re not glad to have me here. You guys needed another medic anyway-” 

“That wasn’t for you to decide!” Gene snapped with resentment behind his eyes. 

Saria looked away from him, unable to stomach how angry her best friend was with her. Eugene ran his hand roughly through his hair, immediately regretting raising his voice to her. He shifted to face her. 

“I am glad to have you here,” he started, “-but you don’t understand that you out here with me is a distraction.” 

Saria looked back at him inquisitively. 

He shifted again, “If the Germans rain hell on us again, and they will, I’m gonna be worryin’ more about you the whole time.” he explained. 

Saria’s eyes dropped to the ground beneath her heels, feeling ashamed she hadn’t considered his perspective. 

“Ya get what I mean, Mon cher?” he asked her softly, tilting his head to glimpse into her eyes. 

“Oui.” she uttered as she shivered from the cold. 

Eugene looked her over, “Venez ici (Come here).” he directed as he scooted closer to her, snaking his arm across her shoulders to pull her into him. 

Saria rested her cheek on his chest, nestling into him as he pulled a wool blanket over them.  

“Good?” he questioned. 

Saria nodded, “Grazie, Eugenio (Thank you, Eugene).” She said in Italian before drifting off to sleep.

Eugene pulled her in tighter, daring to kiss the top of her head before whispering a prayer over her: 

“Je te compterai parmi mes brebis préférées et tu auras la protection de tous les anges du ciel (I will count thee among my favoured sheep, and you shall have the protection of all the Angels in Heaven)…

…with all my heart.” 

~~~~~~~

#band of brothers #ww2 #eugene roe #doc roe #shane taylor #easy company #101st airborne #hbo war #eugene roe imagine #eugene roe imagines #eugene roe x oc #with all my heart

[skiesofrosie]

his heart, in the silence - eugene roe

genre: fluff, angst

a different pov to all is fair, but matters of the heart.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Eugene Roe has never known love through words.

Perhaps, born of the way he's never heard his father bid I love you to his mother aloud; at least not in his presence. But that's not to say their home is one of somber silence.

His father breathes adoration for his wife; a woman who rambles just enough for all three of them at painstaking family gatherings. Love is the way Ed Roe wakes up at exactly 5:45 a.m. everyday, using the extra fifteen minutes, all hazy-eyed and dark circles, to brew two mugs of black coffee, before slipping back into bed and gently prodding the household lioness for a morning in solitude. He lets his lips curve into a smile when he kisses her forehead in greeting after work, eyes falling shut in in relief and shoulders loosening when he wraps around her warmth in the dim kitchen light.

No, his father doesn't need to say anything at all.

Eugene likes to think he follows his footsteps pretty well, saving up pennies from the granny across the street who paid him to mow her lawn in junior high (though, he insists he'd do it for free), to buy chocolate bars or flowers for his crush. He'd leave them on her desk with no indication it was his doing, just an act to see her light up and smile. The easy part is doing—offering to wait for her at the bus stop right at dawn, taking her to the drive in, or studying late nights at the library.

But when romance mounts into the moment of confession, the fact that he blubbers like a puffer fish always manages to send him tumbling right off the peak.

(He's still bitter that she ends up accepting another boy's hand to the junior high dance, right in front of him.)

So for the most part, he allows himself to feel but refrains from acting on it, and even more rarely so speaks. He convinces himself that someone as comfortable with silence will barge through his doors, take reign of the whirlwind and stomp it beneath her foot, offering a glimmer of peace.

But Amy Calloway doesn't barge through his front door. She taps him quietly on the shoulder after noting the red cross on his sleeve, finding a comrade in Easy Company.

Christ, is the one thing that flashes in his mind. Eyes of tranquil blue bore shyly into his own, a contrast to the steadiness in her voice.

"Hi! Eugene Roe? I'm a new medic with the company."

He blames the way he stutters on the fact that Sobel is about to kick their asses up to Currahee, and not because of how heavenly beautiful she is. Almost like a flower, petals fluttering through the dirt and rough edges in Camp Toccoa.

But she's patient, undeterred by the long stretches of silence at the lunch table. She travels through his mind by peeling gently at his layers, instead of trying to stab his heart with a fork right out of his chest. The only time it takes immense effort to dwindle boisterous excitement is when she catches him reading Hemingway on his bed, overly enthused poking to find out what his favorite books are.

She's thoughtful too, sacrificing sleep to help him memorize medical terminology when she notices his ridiculously poor memory. Ever since clocking in on his addiction to chewy treats, she makes sure to leave a packet of licorice twists on his bedside when her mother mails her a treasure tove of candy.

She’s not like his own mother, hardly chatty enough to speak for the both of them. But perhaps, that’s a good thing, because it wears him down into starting conversation first.

“Do you,” Eugene starts, “do you ever get fucking tired of this?”

She pauses her movement; wrapping a bandage around her hand back in their bunk after nearly slicing it at training with a scalpel. “What, of waking up at 5am and crawling through pig guts at some point until 10pm?”

He rolls his eyes, quirking his lips ever so slightly, but it falls just as quickly. “Do you wish, you would’ve stayed out of the war. Keep yourself from having to keep people alive?”

“I don’t spend too much time thinking of the what ifs doc. It only weighs you down, when you start thinking of the life you could be living, but can’t anyway.”

“Kinda disagree.” He mulls over her words, “yeah…I disagree.”

“Okay…” she slows, continuing to wrap her bandage. At his silence, she perks up, tampering down a teasing laugh as he looks at his bed as if it’s offended him.

“Gene, I’m waiting for an explanation.”

He flinches a little. Bending down to grab a new set of clothes from his chest, he ponders over his words, before replying. 

“I just think,” he says, “that I wouldn’t make it through, if i didn’t let myself…dream, a little bit, of what my real life, outside of all of this would look like. Remember who i am.”

“We’ve got a little dreamer in ya, doc?” She teases, but her eyes soften. “I don’t think there’s anyone who’s gotta grip on who they are, better than you. You’re a trooper.”

Blood rushes to his ears to send a traitorous flush down his neck.

It's easy to like Amy Calloway, because she lets him just be. She doesn't ask for more than what he's ready to offer. A soothing breeze to the scorching heat, every time he catches wind of her laugh it prompts his lips to twitch into a smile. He's comfortable, taking his time to muster up the courage to really say something about what he feels for her.

But time, is a fragile concept in the face of a full-blown war. It will not wait for those who are too careful in their tracks.

They find solace in each other's company, moments of stillness against jarring machine guns and screeching soldiers. But, while it means the world to Eugene, Amy's heart is slated for something more.

Because while he seeks the quiet, she chases the fire.

He realizes that the easy smiles and giggles that drift through their words, are no match for the way that Joe Liebgott, a reckless man, crackles in all his fire and brings the sun to her eyes. And despite their unwillingness to admit anything to each other, Eugene can see the way a rascal like him softens tremendously at her touch, finding his world in the humility she stands her ground with.

"Gene!" Amy calls out, seated by Liebgott's bed in the Toccoa medical wing, with a teasing lilt. "Do you know this man reads classics? Like, he knows how to read more than a picture book?"

The man in question pinches his eyebrows, mildly offended, saying, "what the fuck is wrong with Dick Tracy?" But Joe knows it's all in good fun, failing to hide the amusement tugging at his lips.

Eugene manages a single nod to Joe, trying to pay no mind to the way they're clearly winding down from exuberant fits of cackles. But, he can't help search his memories to figure out if she's ever laughed that freely and loudly in front of him. The last time she'd asked him about his favorite books, he offered no more than their titles and author names, out of pure, dumb shyness.

"How's that ankle, Liebgott?"

Lieb sighs, leaning his head against the wall. "Pain in the fucking ass. Can't believe it. We're not even in Europe yet, and I'm already supposed to be glued to this fuckin' bed."

Amy snorts. "Yeah, well, maybe if you didn't try to beat me to the top of Currahee, just accepted defeat—"

"Fuckin' defeat?! I fell, that doesn't say shit," he protests.

"Just your big inflated ego—"

"As if you don't have one!"

"When clearly, I'm just the better runner—"

Liebgott cuts her off by tossing a pillow to her head. For all their relentless bickering (though it's mostly one-sided, mostly from Joe), there's always the affection that morphs their words into shared laughter, and levity in their eyes. Eugene sees the way she slowly begins to lean more and more into his side, Lieb already finding himself planted as close as physically possible to Amy from the bed. There's an intimacy in the nuance, the way she tends to let her gaze linger a little too long into Joe's as they look at each other with matching, tender smiles.

Eugene takes his leave then, because he suspects if he stays there any longer, he'd be able to hear his own heart break in his lone, deafening silence.

"Gene, wait up!" Amy frowns at his departure, rising to her feet.

But he doesn't turn around, sparing only a glance and a wave.

Because for Eugene Roe, love after all, means saying nothing at all.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

i'll give him a happy ending one day.

xx Sal

#band of brothers #eugene roe x oc #eugene roe #joe liebgott #amy calloway

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

OC Masterlist

Band of Brothers

Valerie Harmon - Once a bright-eyed university student, fascinated by all things art history, Valerie's life in France is thrown into chaos by the Nazi invasion, severing her from her family back in Vermont. A chance encounter with an Easy Company Captain reignites previously forgotten hopes of ever seeing home again, but even this is not without its trials.

Camille Whitney - Following the death of her youngest brother on the Western Front, Camille puts her nurse training to use and accompanies Easy Company on their journey through Europe. Utterly family-oriented, she finds new brothers in the men around her, but none could replace the one she has lost.

Marcie Clark - Growing up in San Francisco threw Marcie into the path of Joseph Liebgott, her childhood sweetheart and first love. But after circumstance and prejudice push them apart, it takes a war to reconcile their friendship as what it really is - a romance that never truly faded.

Faye Warren - An aspiring journalist, driven by the legacy of her father, Faye finds frustration in her line of work, constrained by the expectations thrust upon female writers. In a last act of desperation, she chases a story all the way from London to Nazi-occupied France, hoping to find an opportunity amongst the men of Easy Company.

The Pacific

Anna March - After her family is rocked by horrendous tragedy, Anna finds herself permanently changed by the time her childhood friend, Eugene Sledge, returns from war. Both irrevocably scarred by the events of the last few years, they must come to terms with the new people before them whilst still struggling with old, long buried feelings.

SAS: Rogue Heroes

Diana Fayed - Adopted out of poverty by an infamous army general, Diana’s whole life has revolved around proving her worth and becoming the soldier her father believes she can be. Overlooked and dismissed by her superiors, she finally finds a place among the unruly ranks of the newly formed L Detachment, a group that will prove to be her biggest challenge yet.

Masters of The Air

Frances 'Frankie' Bevan - A qualified aircraft mechanic and member of the WAAF, Frankie has spent her entire youth fascinated by all things mechanical. Her latest posting at Thorpe Abbotts promises to be no different from her previous jobs at first, but the 100th Bomb Group are nothing like the RAF pilots she's used to, and Frankie's about to learn that the pain of war will find you no matter where you are.

Georgina 'George' Aarons - Frankie's best friend and a telegraph operator at Thorpe Abbotts, George's budding romance with the pilot Curtis Biddick was only ever going to end in tragedy.

Susie Lamb - A Captain and driver in the Auxiliary Territorial Service, Susie has a reputation for being perhaps the most disliked woman in all of Thorpe Abbotts. However, as the sixth of eight children from a near-impoverished family, it becomes alarmingly clear that the answers to her present lay in her past, and she's not quite the woman everyone thinks she is.

Gwen Dastrup - Chicago native and daughter to Danish immigrants, Gwen's dreams of becoming a published historian are dashed by the breakout of war, and she volunteers with the Red Cross, becoming a clubmobile girl at Thorpe Abbotts. But when she catches the attention of John Brady and RAF Captain Michael Fenton, she is torn between choosing the man she loves and the easiest route to achieving the career she's always aspired to.

#band of brothers #the pacific #sas rogue heroes #hbo war #band of brothers oc #the pacific oc #sas: rogue heroes oc #sas rogue heroes oc #sas: rogue heroes #band of brothers fic #the pacific fic #sas rogue heroes fic #ronald speirs #eugene roe #joseph liebgott #shifty powers #eugene sledge #reg seekings #ronald speirs x oc #eugene roe x oc #eugene sledge x oc #joseph liebgott x oc #reg seekings x oc #shifty powers x oc #masters of the air #rosie rosenthal x oc #masters of the air oc #rosie rosenthal #curtis biddick

[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

[traiteursroe]

I added another chapter to my fic, if ya’ll are interested. I appreciate feedback and I hope if you choose to read it you like it 🫶

#band of brothers #eugene roe #fanfic #ao3 link #eugene roe x oc

[1waveshortofashipwreck]

Should've Been Born Later, Nix - Chapter 1: The Fall

Easy Company x Fem!OCs

Synopsis: What will happen when some of Easy Company's finest soldiers fall through a foxhole and into another time?

Words: 1,314

Find the fic's navigation page here !!

Author's Note: HERE WE GO LADS!! The first chapter of my self-serving BoB time travel fic!! If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know !!

Luz was the last one to arrive on the ground, immediately crashing into Malarkey with a resounding thud… Well, resounding for someone as small as Luz. He was the last to drop onto the pile of Easy Company men - a giant pile of limbs, helmets, and olive drab was groaning in pain, bewildered eyes darting in every direction. One minute they were dropping into a foxhole in Bastogne. The next?

Winters was the first to jump to his feet, helping his men find their footing. Up came Nixon, Liebgott, Roe, Guarnere, and Bull Randleman. Speirs and Toye had gotten themselves up and situated, looking to make sure they had all their gear. Luz was still on the ground, trying to get his bearings, while poor Malarkey was doubled over underneath him. “FUCK, LUZ!” Cried Malarkey, his hands shooting to his ribs as his body folded in pain. “I think you broke something!” Malarkey’s feet rammed themselves into Luz’s back, flinging the soldier off of Malarkey and onto his stomach with an “oof!”

“You say that like I did it on purpose!” Luz cried, wincing from the boots in his back. By the time George finally got his feet beneath him, Roe was already looking at Malarkey’s side, inspecting his injury.

The Cajun grimaced and shook his head. “It might be broke, Malark. We should get you to the aid station,” Roe spoke thoughtfully. "Which way sho-" Before the medic could finish his thought, all the boys realized something. They had no idea where they were.

The boys all looked around and took in their surroundings. “Where the fuck are we?” each soldier thought to himself, attempting to find a single scrap of familiarity in the landscape around them. The higher they looked, the taller the walls on either side of the group grew - not tall enough to be skyscrapers, but tall enough to tell the ten men that they were not in Bastogne anymore. What was once a frigid warzone, one step away from death, now became… warm? Sunny? Well, it seemed sunny at the ends of the alleyway.

“...are we in an alley?” Bull mused to no one in particular. He absentmindedly chewed on his Emotional Support Cigar, using this to contain his anxious thoughts and energy.

"It appears so Bull…" Winters replied. He had intended for the sentence to be more assuring, but the men's leader was just as confused as the rest of them. The captain exchanged a glance with Nixon beside him, the only man he was comfortable sharing his worry with. The two looked at each other, their eyes conveying confusion mixed with anxiety - how could this happen? What exactly happened?

"Captain Nixon, you're an intelligence officer right? Do you know where we are sir?" Guarnere asked as he slung his rifle over his shoulder, still taking in the alley around them. The brick buildings on either side of the men provided shade from the sun shining down on the pavement. The alley appeared to be barren, save for a Hershey bar wrapper beside Luz's feet. Bending down to get a closer look, the radioman saw a piece of text on the wrapper that morphed his confusion into panic - "expires January 2023." Before Nixon could answer Guarnere, Luz's shaky voice spoke up.

"Um, Captain Winters? You might wanna see this sir," Luz said as he handed the wrapper to his CO, his mind going a mile a minute. Dick took the wrapper from George and saw the text, scrunching his face as he read the expiration date.

"Nix, how long does it take chocolate to expire?" Winters asked, looking up at his captain.

"Why the hell do you think I'd know that?" Nixon replied, one eyebrow halfway up his forehead. Only after Lewis posed his question did he see the infamous date on the wrapper. Nixon paused for a second before he spoke up, "well surely it would expire way before 2023…"

Upon hearing the year, every man's eyes became the size of dinner plates. "Excuse me, sir? I think I heard you wrong, sounded like you said 2023," Liebgott questioned, a nervous chuckle following his words. He couldn't have heard Nixon right…right? Winters simply handed the wrapper over to Liebgott, the poor man's stomach dropping down below his feet.

"That's not possible, this isn't possible…" Toye muttered under his breath, trying to shake the idea from his head. While all the men were trying to process what Nixon said, Speirs had already made his way to the end of the alley.

"Captain Winters!" He called out, twisting his body to call out behind where he was standing. Winters nodded to Nixon, a silent request to keep an eye on his men, before making his way down to Speirs. The warm sun at the end of the alley was a welcomed surprise to Dick - it felt like forever since he felt mild, comfortable weather. Bastogne was the literal manifestation of hell frozen over, and the sun kissing Dick's skin was its absolute anathema. "Sir, I don't think this is Bastogne," Speirs' comment shook Winters from his mind, reminding the captain of the problem at hand. The two took in the scene around them. Winters thought he was seeing cars - they had four wheels, and they were driving on the street, but they were far beyond any car anyone in the company has ever seen before. The soldiers seem to have landed in a city of some kind. All the street signs were in English, giving Winters a small amount of relief - wherever they were, they spoke the language. Something different stood out to Speirs, though… the noise. It was not bombs exploding and trees breaking like in Bastogne. It was just as loud, but more…lively? The sounds, whatever they were, seemed to celebrate life rather than take it - honking horns, vehicles driving by, music Speirs had never heard before blaring from their windows - he would never admit to it, but Speirs felt a pang of relief knowing he was not in a war zone.

"I'm inclined to agree with you, Ron," Dick replied before hearing their medic call out.

"Sir! We need to get Malarkey to the ai- uh… I guess a hospital," Eugene called out as he made his way towards Winters and Speirs, supporting Easy's other redhead on his shoulder. Malarkey's face twisted in pain as he held his side with the arm that was not slung over Roe's shoulders. Dick nodded in understanding at his medic and stepped a foot out of the alley, getting a better look at the buildings around him. To his right, Winters spotted the red cross universally associated with medicine displayed prominently on a tall, light-colored building riddled with mirrored windows. Beneath the cross were the words "Emergency Room."

"You think they can help Malarkey?" Speirs asked, hopeful but confused at the words. Seeing Roe holding up Malarkey, the officer quickly made his way to Malarkey's other side, taking his arm over his shoulder to help the soldier.

"It's worth a shot, wait here," Winters replied, heading back to the rest of the men to tell them the plan. "Alright men, there's a place that looks like a hospital a short walk from here. Keep your guard up. Just because it doesn't look like Bastogne, doesn't mean we're in friendly territory," he instructed the six men before him, "Keep Speirs, Malarkey, and Roe in the center, I'll lead the way to the hospital." A chorus of "yes sirs" was heard from Luz, Liebgott, Guarnere, Toye, and Bull, while Nixon nodded in understanding and walked up beside Winters.

"Are you sure about this?" Nixon asked under his breath, ensuring only Winters heard his question.

"Got any better ideas?" Dick replied, cautiously emerging onto the sidewalk. The men left the safe haven of their alley and began the trek to save their friend.

~~~~~

Chapter Two

Thank you so much for reading! Please tell me what you think and be on the lookout for Chapter 2: the Hospital!!

Taglist: @love--persevering , @panzershrike-pretz , @executethyself35 , @stolen94 , @dontirrigateme

#should've been born later nix #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #hbo #hbo war #easy company #my writing #time travel #credit to pic owners in chapter collage!! #easy company x oc #richard winters #dick winters #lewis nixon #eugene roe #ronald speirs #joe liebgott #george luz #donald malarkey #bill guarnere #joe toye #bull randleman #emily shut up

[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! - 2nd Part (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

I have absolutely no patience... so here is the next part because I'm not a tease and I won't make you wait hehe. I have a lot more I might post everyday until I run out! Because like I said, no patience in my body! Also the main love is Malarkey but I have a problem and make everyone all love the OC. I'M SORRY I CAN'T NOT!! Warning is a slow burn I'm sorry I have ideas in my head and so things can't happen in the timeline without the ideas. I have to have everything ahhhhh. Anyway enjoy!

People step out of the way as the tall man pushes us through the crowd, we reach another soldier dressed in the same uniform. 

“Captain Winters, Sir!” The man's low voice carries over the commotion of the crowd, Captain Winters who is talking to another soldier turns his attention towards us. 

“Yes?” Winters replies. 

“Sir, we have a field nurse who is here somehow by herself?” The man says from behind me. I watch Winters glance over to me then back to the man.

“Sergeant Randleman there are no field nurses here and there are none meant to arrive.” Winters appears just as confused as the man, who’s name apparently is Randleman, was when I spoke to him first. Winters steps closer to me. Reading my name badge that is pinned to my top. 

“Emily Lane?” He looks at me for confirmation.  

“Yes,” I pause looking up at Winters, “Sir?” I feel compelled to also call him Sir since everyone is saying it. 

“How did you get here?” Winters asks. I let out a chuckle. I have been wondering the same thing. I sober myself when Winters gives me a confused look. I probably look crazy standing here laughing to myself. I go to open my mouth to say, oh I don’t know I was pulled through a portal of some sorts, but that coming out of my mouth in this situation might not be the best idea. My mind races. How the hell do I explain this? I open and close my mouth, Winters frowns at me squinting his eyes as if daring me to speak. 

“I, uh…” I start to say. Think! Think of something to say, these men are looking at me like I’m crazy.

“Emily, how did you get to Holland?” Winters asks again, pushing me for an answer.

“HOLLAND?!” I blurt before my brain can catch up. The two men seem shocked by my outburst. I cover my mouth with my hand before anything else can come out of my mouth. 

The two men share a look, I glance from one to the other. “Bull, why don’t you take Emily here to see Doc, she seems to be in shock.” Winters takes my shoulder turning me back to the care of Randleman aka Bull apparently. 

I am once again being pushed through the crowd by Bull. People are still dancing and cheering, a man approaches with his eyes closed and lips puckered out steering straight for me, I flinch back, my arms coming up to deflect the incoming kiss, a nervous laugh bubbles from my lips. I look back at Bull trying to gauge if he just saw that as well. He leans close to me, “They’re celebrating.” 

“I can see that.” I watch other soldiers move through the crowd; they are swarmed, being hugged and kissed as they walk. 

“What are they celebrating?” I ask. 

“The Germans have left, they are liberated.” he answers, still moving us through the crowd. 

The Germans? 

We stop at a commotion in the road, a woman next to us is grabbed by two men. They violently rip off her dress, I gasp moving forward to try and help her but Bull’s grip remains firm. I turn to face him showing my distress, “It’s not our business darlin’.” 

I continue to watch, spotting other women stripped of their clothes and their hair has been cut. The woman that was next to me cries out as a man with scissors hacks her hair. A lady is dragged by us with a symbol painted on her forehead, I step back into Bull realising what that symbol is. My hands shake and my chest heaves, the world spins. A swash sticker is painted onto the foreheads of other ladies. 

Where am I? What is going on?

“You alright there lil’ lady?” Bull notices my panic, holding me up as my legs almost give way. 

“What is the date today Bull?” I pant, my eyes darting around. I’m wrong, this is a reenactment of some sorts. This isn’t happening. 

“Well today is the 16th of September.” Bull replies looking confused, his cigar hanging from his teeth as he speaks. My breath leaves me in a short huff as the answer did not comfort me at all. 

“The year, Bull?” I ask, my words holding an ounce of hope that was soon to be extinguished as he opened his mouth to speak once more. 

“Why 1944, of course.” He says matter-of-factly, his eyebrows pulled down over his eyes even more, his expression mimicking a mix of confusion and concern as he looks at my face, trying to gauge my thoughts.

“1944?” I choke out. NO NO NO NO. I try to catch my breath, steady my heart rate but it’s no use. Black dots dance around my vision. Panic rises in my chest, my stomach twists. I spin around looking for the portal I came from. Where was it? 

“Emily take a breath.” Bull’s muffled voice says in my ear. I shake my head pushing away from him. I stagger backwards hitting people as I go. Bull follows closely, holding out his hands to catch me. This has to be some sick dream? That's right, this is a dream! I raise my hand striking it to my cheek, it stings but I am still here. Bull looks at me shocked by my actions, I raise my hand again readying myself for another blow, harder this time. My hand is caught mid-air, my other hand also captured by a very concerned Bull. 

“Bull,” I say very seriously, “I need you to hit me.”

“Hit you?” Bull questions. “I’m not going to hit you darlin’.” He keeps my hands in his, I’m sure he’s worried what I will do next if I have free reign of my hands again.  

“Bull, Emily.” Winters appears next to Bull, he glances at the position that Bull and I are in. “As you were.” He says bewildered, moving forward with the rest of the soldiers. Bull pulls me towards him, tucking me under his arm and following Winters through the crowd. I don’t struggle, I march forward like a zombie, my brain has officially shut off leaving me detached from reality. In my mind I am back in my apartment, making dinner and then sitting down to watch a show then crawling into bed to get up and do the same thing the next day.   

After some walking we leave the crowd behind moving away from the town, Bull continues to follow the rest of the soldiers still having me tucked under his arm like an injured bird. I don’t talk, I listen as the soldiers banter, most of what they say makes no sense to me. Dusk falls quickly, the group makes camp on the side of the road we have been walking for the day. I get given food and water, I slowly sip my water but I give my food to Bull, my stomach is still twisted in knots. I know none of it will stay down. Bull asks if I am sure to which I nod, he takes the food from me and quickly eats. None of the other soldiers seem to pay much attention to me, I guess since I have been so quiet and mostly hidden behind Bull for most of the day they didn’t see me. My white uniform top is now dirty and sweaty, my feet hurt from the constant walking. I'm sure I have blisters on the backs of my heels. A hand taps my shoulder, I jump swinging around to see Winters standing over me. “Emily, I need you to come with me. You too Bull.” Bull stands quickly following orders, I stand slowly and trail behind the two. We make our way through the makeshift camp, only one tent is pitched, the rest of the men are sprawled out on the grass under the stars, quietly chatting to each other. We make our way to the tent, Bull and Winters disappear inside. A thought crosses my mind, run, while no one is looking, run back to the town, find the portal and forget what you saw. I freeze glancing around the dark land that seems to sprawl for miles. No, something in my gut tells me I need to stay with these men, if I run I could find much worse. I shuffle my feet following the men into the tent. As I enter Bull and Winters sit at a table that has a map pinned to it. 

“Emily, we radioed command and there is no record of a field nurse by your name.” Winters looks up at me, I still stand wringing my hands in front of me. I wrack my brain for an explanation. 

“I’m independent, Sir.” I state. 

“Independent?” Winters hums. “And how did you get to Holland?” 

“I was signing up to be a field nurse in England, when I heard whispers of Paratroopers making their next jump into Holland. I also heard they had only a few medics, so I figured I would meet you in Holland and join you and your men, Sir.” I lie through my teeth. I keep my stare steady, and my body language relaxed to make my lies more believable. 

“Why were you so frantic in the town then?” Winters asks. 

“I got turned around in the crowd, Sir. I was worried I had missed my opportunity to join you. I was trying to tell Sergeant Randleman but I seemed to have confused him.” I glance at Bull, he watches me closely. 

“Why did you ask for the date? Specifically the year?” Winters continues with his interrogation. 

“Well I was tired from all my travels, I had fallen asleep at the place I was staying, when I awoke I was unsure of how much time had passed, since I didn’t want to miss your arrival. I felt like I had slept for years.” I internally cringe at how easily the lies roll off my tongue but I need to ensure I stay with this group.    

Winters pauses thinking about my explanation. He looks towards Bull as if trying to read his mind, they share a glance as I watch them. I catch my bottom lip between my teeth chewing on it nervously. 

“Well Emily we do need more medics. Have you been trained?” Winters turns back to me raising his eyebrows as he speaks. 

“Yes, well no technically. I am in my last semester of training, I only have a couple of months left.” I say. 

Winters brows draw together. “I guess that’s good enough, we are desperate.” he sighs, leaning back in his chair.  

“But you haven’t been trained in combat?” He continues. 

“No, Sir. I am medically trained but have not been on the frontline. I understand not all medics carry a firearm, and are just there to help the wounded.” I answer. 

“That’s correct. Well I cannot prepare you for what you are going to see on the frontline, and you understand Emily that you could also die on the front. There is no guarantee for your survival.” His strong stare pins me to the ground, I gulp. I have seen war movies, most of which I had to watch through my hands. I hated seeing the men being blown to pieces and shot down. 

But this wasn’t a movie. I couldn’t watch through my hands, I was here on the front fighting against the Nazis. The thought hadn’t sunk in. How much danger my life was currently in, like Winters said there is no guarantee for my life. But what is my life? Is this it? Stuck here in 1944? Or when the war is over, if I make it through, do I find another portal? Is there another portal? It’s strange to think how quickly it all got turned upside down, this isn’t a dream, I’m stuck in a time where I do not belong.  

I pull myself from my spiralling mind. “I understand Sir.” I say firmly, holding my ground, making my words as believable as I can. 

Winters stands a small smile spread across his face, he reaches his hand out to me, “Welcome to Easy Company Emily Lane.” I take his hand gripping firmly with a single shake he releases me. 

“Bull, get Miss Lane here some proper attire and supplies.” Winters turns to look at Bull who is already nodding and making his way out of the tent. I follow Bull as he holds the tent flap up for me to walk under. I follow him from behind, having to take double steps for his every one, he grabs things from piles, rummaging through bags, he turns holding up a shirt measuring it to my body. 

“Seems you’ll fit the small.” He says, a new cigar is hanging from his teeth. I follow him as he grabs things and passes them back to me, by the time we are done I can hardly see where I am going. “Oof” I grunt walking into something hard. 

“Hey, watch it tiny.” A man says in a thick philly accent. 

“Oh I’m sorry.” I say peeking out from behind the mountain of gear in my arms.     

“Aye, who are you?” he squints trying to get a better look at me in the dark. 

The group of men that stand around with him also pique interest, five pairs of eyes land on me. 

“Are you lost?” The man I bumped into speaks again. 

“No, not lost.” I say, staring back at him. 

“She’s our new medic.” Bull speaks from behind me. “Are these boys hassling you Lane?” He leans forward but says it loud enough for the group to hear. 

I look over my shoulder at him and smile. “No, they aren’t giving me any trouble, but I think I could take them if I wanted.” Bull lets out a laugh, patting me on my back. 

“You’re going to be trouble Lane, I can already tell.” He chuckles. “How about I introduce you to these men before you try and fight them all?” I smile up at him. 

“This right here is Bill Guarnere,” he points to the man I walked into. “And that is John Martin, but everyone calls him Johnny.” Martin raises his hand giving a small wave, I smile back politely. “And that there is Joseph Liebgott, George Luz, Webster and Donald Malarkey.” Small hello’s and hi are said as they are introduced. They all look basically the same in the dark in the same uniforms, and I have no hope I am going to remember anyone's names. 

“Hi I’m Emily Lane, but everyone calls me Emmy.” I say semi waving my hand from under the pile of clothes I am holding. 

“Emmy, what on earth are you doing here?” the man who I believe to be George Luz says smiling. 

“Well I heard you needed medics so, here I am.” I let out an awkward laugh. “I better go get changed, but I guess I will see you around?” I cringe, when was it hard to talk to a group of men? 

Luz chuckles, “I’m sure we will Emmy.” a cheeky grin forms on his face. I don’t know what that smile means but I move quickly to find somewhere to get changed. I feel the men watch me as I go, I hear them fall back into conversation once I am out of view. 

I turn around looking for a place to change, in front of me a field spans out with trees in the distance, behind me the men have made camp and are lying in the grass, huddling around in groups talking. I turn in a circle, trying to find the best spot. There are trucks parked on the grass but men sit in them as well.

“Emily.” Someone calls from behind me, I whip around to see a tall man standing in the shadows, I glance down at his arm a white band on his sleeve shows the red cross, the sign for medic.

“You must be Doc?” I say moving closer to him.  

“I am indeed, I have your medic pack here. Bull told me to give it to you.” He hands over the army green bag with the red cross mark on the front. I take it trying not to drop the clothes I am holding. 

“Thank you, Doc.” I say. 

“Call me Gene.” I nod at his response, “Do you know what is in this bag?” he asks.

“I think so? A powder that stops infections, gauze, scissors, Tourniquet, medical tags, safety pins, tweezers?” I say off the top of my head, I actually have no idea what could be used in the 40's. I am so used to modern medicine, they would have no gloves, no alcohol swabs to disinfect gear.

“That’s about right, but I will let you have a look through by yourself if you have any questions come ask me.” he says turning to leave. 

“Ok, thank you Doc. Sorry Gene.” I say loudly as he walks away. 

“Miss Lane.” I hear from the other side, OMG now what. I turn to see Winters poking his head from the tent. I straighten, this man seems to be in charge here. I can't piss him off. 

“Yes, Sir.” I make my way over to the tent. 

“Emily, are you wanting to change?” he motions his head to the armful of clothing I am carrying.

“Yes please Sir, I couldn’t find anywhere private.” I shuffle forward and into the tent. Winters steps out, closing the flap behind him. I move quickly putting the clothes down on the table, I start by taking off my shoes and socks. Then shimmy my pants down, kicking them to the side. I empty the pocket of my uniform top, my hand grips something cold. I pull it out to inspect it. My mouth drops. No goddamn way! I clutch my phone in my hand, letting out a strangled gasp. 

“Everything ok Emily?” Winters asks from outside the tent. Oh fuck! I thought he left, he’s probably making sure that no one comes in while I change. 

I clear my throat, “fine.” my voice cracks, “I’m fine.” I say in a clearer voice. OMG, OMG, OMG I mouth. How the hell did I not lose this. I tap the screen and almost shriek, it lights up. The time and date have not changed from when I was back in my own time. I open the screen, no bars. Well I would be more surprised if I did get reception. 87% battery, I need to keep this on me, I mean if I go back to my own time I don’t want to have to buy another phone. I power down my phone and place it on the table. I search through my pockets, pairs of medical gloves, I place them down next to the phone. I pull more from my pockets: pens, pencil, a mask, hand sanitiser, omg I could kiss myself for always having the most full pockets. The last thing I pull out is a small black case, I open my earphones to find them sitting in their charging ports, the green light flashes. God I am good, they’re fully charged. But unfortunately I am unsure how long they will last as I can’t power them down like my phone. I place them down on the table as well. I take my name badge and pin on watch off my top as well. 

I quickly get changed into the uniform given to me, leaving on my bra and underwear I slip into the pants doing the belt on the tightest loop so they don’t fall down and a white cotton t-shirt, I pull on my black thick socks and combat boots. The boots are a bit big but if I wear a couple pairs of socks they should be fine. I button up the long sleeve shirt, pulling on my jacket. I tuck the helmet under my arm and the medic kit is slung across my body. I gather the items from my pockets and slip them into my kit for safe keeping. 

“Almost done in there?” Winters asks from outside. 

“Yes Sir.” I reply, the tent flap opens as he walks back in. Winters scans me from head to toe, a small smirk forms on his lips. 

“You forgot one thing.” Winters reaches into his pocket pulling out the red cross band. He gestures for my arm. I reach out my right arm, he steps forward and slides the band up, I look down at him watching him intently. Winters eyes meet mine, I look away quickly embarrassed I was caught staring. Winters laughs softly pulling safety pins from his pocket pinning the band to my sleeve, as he pins the last one I gasp. He looks up worried, scanning my face, “Got you.” I smile, his face cracks into a smile. “Indeed you did.” 

He finishes pinning the band taking a step back to admire his work, I feel my face flush shy from being scrutinised by him. 

“Well now you look the part.” He steps forward again, taking my helmet from under my arm. He gently places it on my head. “You always wear this, you got it?” I nod the helmet falling in front of my eyes from the movement. He chuckles, pushing it back up.  

“Well I think you should show me how good your skills are.” Winters crosses his arms in front of him. 

“My skills?” I am confused. 

“I have a wound on my left leg, ricochet bullet. Gene was going to come dress it but you’re here now.” He sits as he talks, pulling up his pant leg for me to see the wound. I kneel down in front of him to better look at the wound, the lighting in the tent is poor but it will have to do. I pull gear from my medic bag, gauze and a fresh bandage. I pull down his sock to see the affected area better. The bandage on his leg is dirty, blood has seeped through the previous dressing. I look up at him as he watches me. 

“You should be keeping off this, no?” I ask, wondering what the other medic had told him. 

“I mean I can’t really, these men rely on me.” he sighs, he looks tired. I cannot imagine what this man has seen, his face looks young but his eyes hold scarring memories that he will never be able to unsee. 

I remove the bandage on his leg, the wound appears small, and the wound bed appears to be granulating and no slough seems to be present. There appears to be no sign of infection, I press the back of my hand over the area to feel if it is hot to the touch, which it isn’t. There is no sign of erythema around it and the edges are actively healing; they pucker up due to the trauma of the ricocheted bullet entering the skin. 

I feel Winters’ eyes on me as I assess the injury. “Do you have water?” I ask looking around. 

Winters pulls a canteen from his belt, handing it to me. I tip the water from the canteen onto a couple of pieces of gauze. Then pouring the water onto the open wound, “ah.” Winters gasps flinching. 

“Sorry.” I say continuing with my task, I clean the injury itself and around it, to help stop bacteria from entering the wound. I pat the skin dry, I apply the new clean dressing tying it around his leg to secure it. I sit back on my haunches looking up at Winters, he smiles seemingly impressed with my work.          

“So what’s the verdict nurse?” he tilts his head as he asks the question. 

“No sign of infection, which is good. Should be healed soon. It would heal faster if you didn’t walk on it so often but I can compromise with you on that. How about when you have time, you elevate your legs, to help reduce the swelling.” I say gathering my supplies and tighten the lid back onto the canteen before handing it back to him. 

“Well I guess I can do that for you.” he says, taking the canteen from my hands. I stand making my way to the exit. 

“Goodnight Captain Winters.” I say. 

“Dick.” he replies.

“Where?” I exclaim. 

The man looks confused, I stare at him eyes wide. My hand lifts to point at him. 

“Yo..” I mumble. 

“Me.” He says pointing at himself. 

My eyes are big as saucers at this point, what is this man asking me?

“Right now?” I ramble.

“What?” his face scrunches in confusion. I mean he’s cute, but like I just met him. I reach my hands up to my top button undoing one. 

“I mean I guess.” I say slowly unbuttoning my top, unsure if this is the request he just made. 

“Emily what are you doing?” He seems genuinely concerned.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?” I stop unbuttoning, I think I have read this situation very wrong. 

“My name is Dick, Richard Winters.” He states.

My mouth falls open and my cheeks become hot, I’m sure my whole face has turned the darkest shade of red. 

“Dick short for Richard.” I gape, the cogs in my brain finally turning. 

“Your name is Dick.” I half shout, covering my mouth. I hastily do up my buttons. I am so dumb what is wrong with me, I could hit myself. 

“Well… ah… goodnight Dick” I mumble hurrying out the tent. The cool breeze brings relief to my hot face, I fan myself trying to catch my breath. I need to find somewhere to sleep or hide, I need the ground to swallow me whole, that's what I need.   

I rush back to the group of men most of which are sleeping, I see Bull’s larger figure sitting quietly talking to others. I make my way to him, carefully stepping over the men sprawled on the floor. I sit next to Bull. He appears to be my comfort, not that I know him well but from the interactions I have had with him he seems to be a kind person. He smiles down at me when I seat myself next to him.

“Saw you in Winters’ tent, everything ok?” he asks, leaning closer for me to hear him. 

“Yeah, yup, oh yeah, fine I’m fine, so good, grand even, yup everything is a-ok” I ramble quickly looking back at the tent I just ran from, cringing at how the interaction ended. I wanted to curl up and die. 

“Ahh, are you ok?” Bull frowns in confusion, tilting his head to get a better look at my face that I ducked down out of view. 

“Yes, yup.” I reply, popping the p at the end of my sentence. 

“Alright, get some rest.” Bull says, lending me the blanket from his legs, I slip under it next to him relishing his heat. Exhaustion pulls at my eyes, even on the cold hard ground my body yearns to rest. Bull moves next to me coming closer so our bodies are almost pressed together, I rest my head on my medic bag, as the world around me fades.

#band of brothers #fanfic #reading #tropes #authors #BoBcrack #DICK?!WHERE?! #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x FEM!OC #captain winters #bull randleman #george luz #donald malarkey #eugene roe #PLEASE READ! #story #lewis nixon #joe toye #webster #Bill g #babe heffron #She's silly goofy and we love her

[footprintsinthesxnd]

So as requested here is a little introduction to my new OC for Eugene Roe in the upcoming and coming series:

Heart to Heart

It follows the story of Eugene falling in love in the summer of 1941 before he enlists the following year. A summer romance was the last thing he expected but when he meets Violet everything changes. The only problem is Violet has a secret that will break his heart.

I’ll tag a few of my mutuals here but let me know if you’d like to be added to the series taglist 🩵

Tags: @georgieluz @malarkgirlypop @next-autopsy @xxluckystrike @mads-weasley @she-wolf09231982 @docroesmorphine @liebgottsjumpwings @bucky32557038ww2 @hesbuckcompton-baby @iceman-kazansky @msmercury84 @hanniewinnix @liptonsbabe

#heart to heart #band of brothers #Eugene Roe #Violet Elwood #Eugene Roe x oc #new series

[indigo-graves]

My Links ao3 wattpad ff.net

Soft | Roy Kent -ao3 -ff.net -wattpad

After | Roy Kent (One Shot) 18+ -ao3 -ff.net -wattpad

Softer | Roy Kent coming soon

This Dance | Joe Liebgott

This Dance Pt. 2 | Joe Liebgott 18+

Falling | Carwood Lipton 18+

Rusty | Lewis Nixon

Rusty pt. 2 | Lewis Nixon 18+

Curahee | Joe Toye

Warmth | Eugene Roe

#fic masterlist #fan fiction masterlist #fan fiction #fan fic #fanfic #fanfiction #band of brothers #band of brothers fan fiction #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fic #BoB #joe liebgott #carwood lipton #lewis nixon #joe toye #eugene roe #smut fic #band of brothers smut #band of brother smut fic #joe liebgott x oc #joe toye x oc #lewis nixon x oc #joe liebgott smut #lewis nixon smut #carwood lipton smut #hbo war #hbo war fic #ao3 #wattpad #ffn

[she-wolf09231982]

Chapter 1-Rosaria Marie Leone

Summary: Chicago native, Rosaria Leone (leh-OHN), was stationed in Aldourne, England awaiting further instructions to her next duty location. She finally received orders to Bastogne after the 326th Medical team was captured on their way to the town by German soldiers.

The church in the town was converted into an aid station to lodge wounded soldiers that came in from the front lines, but with medical supplies running low and shortage of medical personnel, the Americans were in desperate need of more medics and nurses to keep up with the workload. To her surprise, she finds a few silver linings by befriending a local nurse, Renée Lemaire, and Easy Company’s medic, Eugene ‘Doc’ Roe. 

A/N: OC Introduction/Rosaria Marie Leone (leh-OHN), EugeneRoeX!FemMedic, WW2, Character introduction, Post D-Day, She/Her Pronouns, Military Terminology, Band of Brothers References, Mentions of Weaponry, Smoking, Mentions of death, Blood, Medical Terminology, Italian and French with English translations

Story takes place during Episode 6-Bastogne

*These stories may not fall entirely in accordance with the TV series timeline. I do not know the real soldiers the actors portray in this series, so please understand I show no disrespect. Some or most of historical events and character interactions in my fanfics are fabricated purely for the sake of the enjoyment of fiction*

~~~~~~~ 

Bastogne September 1944 

“Rosaria Marie Le-Leeee-on-” the charge nurse, Agatha Hannigan began with difficulty, as she looked over her spectacles at the orders given to her by the young woman standing before her. 

“Leone.” The young lady articulated. She was used to people mispronouncing her last name. 

The older lady’s lips pursed into a thin line, clearly displeased with being corrected by a replacement. She scribbled a few things on the orders. The charge nurse looked back at the young woman, scanning her from head to toe with every ounce of disdain behind her eyes. 

“Why are you wearing soldier’s fatigues? Where is your ward dress uniform? And your apron and head scarf?” Hannigan snapped. 

“This is all I ever worn, ma’am. I’m a field medic, so this is my initial issued uniform.” she explained. 

Hannigan sniffed at her, then wrote a few more notes on the orders. 

“Alright, Rosaria Leone-” 

“It’s just Saria-” 

 “-you and Renée report to me and I report to LT Doc Ryan.” she explained paying no mind to Saria’s statement. 

Saria sighed, “Yes, ma’am.” 

As she followed Hannigan, they approached a young nurse stirring a large metal pot hanging over a pit in the fireplace. The smell of the steam proved it wasn’t any kind of food she had been mixing but used bandages that were being laundered. 

“Renée-” Hannigan bellowed. 

The girl turned upon hearing her name. She met the charge nurse and Saria halfway as she dried her hands on her apron. 

“-this is our new nurse, Rosaria Lenonni, just in from Aldourne.” Hannigan introduced. 

Saria rolled her eyes but remained silent, not bothering to correct her again. 

Renée extended her hand, “Bonjour! (Hello!)” she greeted in French. 

“Ciao. (Hello.)” Saria returned in Italian with a warm smile shaking Renée's hand. 

“You speak Italian?” Hannigan asked. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Hm, a lot of good that’ll do you here. You do know you're in Belgium, right? Renée, you got her from here.” Hannigan snipped, waving her hand as she walked away. 

“Oui. (Yes).” Renée replied turning back to Saria, “-Don’t mind her. You’ll get used to her.” she whispered with a grin. 

“I’m sure.” Saria responded. 

“Viens avec moi (Come with me), I’ll show you around.” Renée gestured to Saria to follow her. 

~~~~~~~ 

December 1944 

The months flew by and before Saria could blink, a layer of snow covered the grounds in and around Bastogne. She quickly befriended Renée and the other Congolese nurse, Anna. Together, they worked side by side tending to the wounded, and endured the aftermath of what happened outside of the Church/aid station when soldiers were brought to them. The horrors of blood and gore came in overwhelming waves, but Saria, Anna and Renée worked through the carnage as a team to do what they needed to do to save the men that were brought to them.  

More often than not, soldiers have succumbed to their injuries because medical supplies were becoming scarcer. There was very little of everything they needed, and it seemed more and more men were being brought to them daily. They were unable to evacuate the wounded or receive medical supplies due to heavy German advances. Not only did the Germans prevent escape for the injured, but they also captured the 326th Medical team and integrated them into their own medical team to tend to their wounded soldiers.  

“Lost another one today.” Renée said to Saria as she sat next to her on a pew against the wall. 

Saria shook her head, “Seems to be happening more often, doesn’t it?” she acknowledged. 

“Peut-être (Perhaps).” Renée replied as she reached into her apron pocket pulling out a half-wrapped bar of chocolate. 

She removed the paper and broke off a piece, handing it to Saria. 

“Chocolat?” she asked. 

Saria looked at the candy in Renée's hand and smiled weakly as she took it from her. 

“Merci.” Saria thanked. 

“Prego.” Renée returned in Italian, “Your French is getting better!” she added. 

Saria laughed, “You don’t have to be nice about it, Renée, I know it needs work.”  

“No, I insist! Your practicing is paying off, mon ami (my friend).” Renée encouraged. 

“Well thanks to you.” Saria pointed out. 

As they sat there enjoying the sweet treat, a handful of soldiers came in with an injured man on a stretcher, as a medic walked in after them. 

Renée and Saria rushed to the men with the injured soldier. 

“No, no. Here. Put him here.” Renee instructed. 

“Yes, ma’am.” the head soldier carrying the stretcher obliged as they lifted him onto a bed. 

“Is he bad?” Saria asked the medic. 

“No, lower-leg wound. No morphine.” he replied in a deep calm voice. 

Renée took a quick look at the right leg then nodded. 

“I’ll get more bandages.” Renée relayed to Saria. 

Before Renée could leave the medic was following her, “Nurse, have you got plasma I can--?” 

“Wait. Please.” Renée urged before disappearing into another room. 

The medic furrowed his eyebrows, discouraged by Renée's response. Saria felt a wave of guilt for him.  

She looked back at the soldier on the bed that they just brought in, “What’s your name, soldier?”  

“They call me Skinny.” he responded with labored breathing. 

“I’m Saria. We’ll get you squared away, ok?” She reassured him with a warm smile. 

He nodded with a forced grin since he was obviously in pain. She covered him with a blanket and turned to the same medic standing alone in a doorway watching Anna pack a thigh wound of another soldier while Renée assisted. 

The medic turned to Saria, “Hey, what’s going on here? Why aren't these men being evacuated?” 

Saria was a little taken back by his dismayed tone. 

“We can’t evacuate. We’re cut off, this is far as it goes.” she replied as she side stepped him to get to Renée and Anna. 

~~~~~~~ 

Renée and Saria had returned to Skinny with a bottle of liquor and a glass, pouring him a hefty amount to drink as a pain remedy. 

Skinny looked up at the two nurses then looked at the medic, “I think I’m in heaven, Doc.”  

The medic smirked briefly. 

As Renée and Saria began walking away, the medic called after them, “Nurse-” 

“This way.” Renée said, as she motioned him to follow. 

The medic walked along side Saria while they followed Renée to the rear of the church where all the supplies were being stored at an extravagant altar. 

“I need Morphine. I need bandages. Whatever you got. We’re down to nothin’.” the medic explained. 

“Ok, I can give you a little, but not a lot.” Renée replied gravely. 

Saria picked up a small wooden crate filled with IV bottles, syringes, and a few syrette cases. 

“You can have this today. Do you want that?” Saria asked him. 

“Oui. You got plasma?” he questioned urgently. 

“A little. Are you a surgeon?” Renée queried. 

“No. We don’t got no surgeon.” he replied with a bit of sting behind his voice. 

Saria placed a handful of torn cloth into his crate, “What’s this?” he asked, holding up the bulk of cloth. 

“From the beds.” Saria replied. 

“What, sheets?” he clarified. 

“Yes, for bandages.” 

A look of shock appeared on the medic’s face as he stared at her. 

“It does the job.” Saria said with a soft smile and a shrug. 

He nodded, placing the bandages back in the crate. 

He stood tall before Renée and Saria when they were done packing the crate with supplies,  

“Merci.” he thanked in a low honeyed southern accent. 

“Prego.” Saria responded. 

The medic shot her a look of confusion, tilting his head studying her like a puzzle. 

“Comment vous appelez-vous? (What do you call yourself?)” the man asked Saria and Renée. 

Renée looked at him, then looked at Saria expectantly waiting for her to reply. 

“Go on, this is a perfect time to practice, mon ami. (my friend).” Renée encouraged Saria. 

Saria’s eyes flitted between Renée and the medic,  

“Uh-” was all Saria could manage until she heard Renée again. 

“Tu peux le faire, mon ami (You can do it, friend).”  

Saria took a deep breath, “Je m'appelle Rosaria Leone (My name is Rosaria Leone).”  

A smile tugged at the corners of the medic’s mouth. 

“My name is Renée.”  

“I’m Gene. Eugene Roe.” 

“Where are you from?” Renée asked Eugene. 

“Louisiana. Half-Cajun. Et toi? (And you?)” he returned. 

“Bastogne.” Renée answered. 

Eugene looked at Saria. 

“Chicago.” 

His eyes widened like a deer in the headlights. 

“Oh, I thought maybe you-” 

“No, I’m American. My parents were born in Tuscany, Italy.” Saria explained. 

“I see.” he discerned. 

There was a brief silence before he nodded at Saria then turned to follow Renée to the exit. 

“Addio, Eugenio. (Goodbye, Eugene).” Saria called after him in Italian. 

Eugene turned while still walking away displaying a coy smile. 

After some time, Renée returned from showing Eugene out. Her cheeks were rosy, and she wore a subtle smile as she mindlessly stirred the boiling pot of bandages.

“Renée?” 

No response. 

“Renée?” Saria said again a little louder. 

Renée looked at her startled, “Oui?”  

Saria laughed, “You were gone for a good couple of minutes. Où étiez-vous? (Where were you?)” Saria stated. 

Renée smiled, “I caught up with our new friend to give him some chocolat.” 

“That was nice of you, Renée.” 

“You can see in his eyes he’s seen some awful things. He needed to be shown some kindness.” Renée explained. 

~~~~~~~ 

It wasn’t the last time Renée and Saria saw Eugene Roe. The second time he had visited, Renée and Saria were frantically trying to stop a soldier from bleeding out from his mid-section. As Saria tried to pack the wound where the source of the bleeding was while Gene had been wiping the blood away so she could see where the artery was. The soldier expired leaving Renée, Gene, and Saria disheartened and lost in their own thoughts.  

Saria sauntered towards the spiral staircase to the main entrance so she could go outside to get some air. Eventually, Renée and Eugene joined her. Saria sat by a pile of broken furniture in front of the church, with her face buried in her hands. Renée sat next to Saria draping an arm across her shoulders pulling her in for a side hug. 

“Ça va mon ami? (Are you alright, my friend?)” Renée asked. 

Saria only nodded; not even sure she really was ok. 

Eugene observed each of their hands. Saria’s hands, bruised with remanence of the soldier’s blood after failing to wash all of it off her knuckles and nails and Renée's hands bearing the same appearances. Renée pulled a new bar of chocolate from her apron pocket and began tearing away the paper.  

She broke off a section, nudging Saria, “Tiens, belle amie (Here, beautiful friend).” 

Saria accepted the chocolate, “Vous êtes trop gentil. (You’re too kind).” 

Renée offered Eugene the candy, but as he took it from her, he smiled. 

“What?” Renée asked. 

“Your hands.” Eugene gestured to her and Saria. Saria slowly looked up at him. 

“Our hands?” Renée reiterated. 

He nodded, “You’re good nurses.” he complimented. 

Renée looked at her hands, “No. I never want to treat another wounded man again. I’d rather work in a butcher’s shop.” 

Eugene’s eyebrows drew inward hearing her statement. 

“But your touch calms people.” he defended, “That’s a gift from God.” he added. 

Renée shook her head, “No, it’s not a gift,” she flipped her hands over to look at the back of them, “God would never give such a painful thing.” she proclaimed. 

“Renée, you don’t mean that.” Saria insisted. 

“Oh, mais je le fais, mon ami. (Oh, but I do, my friend).” Renee said with a weak smile. 

A jeep pulled up with yet another wounded soldier, “Nurse! Nurse! We need some help over here!” 

Renée looked over her shoulder, “Stay and rest awhile longer, mon ami. I’ll take care of this.” She said to Saria as she gave her an encouraging hug before she stood up and ran off. 

A moment of silence passed before Eugene spoke again. 

“Is that how you feel, too?” he asked her. 

Saria sighed, “No. I don’t.” she replied confidently shaking her head before meeting his gaze. 

“Glad to hear it.” he affirmed with a slight smile as he looked back down at the candy bar in his hand. 

Saria folded her hands in her lap. 

“Comment se porte ton français? (How’s your French coming along?)” Eugene quizzed her with a mischievous grin. 

Saria looked at him alarmed, and slightly embarrassed. She rubbed the back of her neck and began to blush. 

“Oh, uh-” she began, “-tellement, tellement (so, so.)” she replied. 

Eugene chuckled, “I've heard you do better than that.” he declared, “Tell me something new you’ve learned. Peut-être que je peux aider. (Maybe I can help.)” he offered. 

Saria felt heat rise from her collar. 

“Ce serait généreux de votre part, Eugène (That would be generous of you, Eugene),” she managed to say, “-merci.” 

“Prego.” Eugene answered modestly in Italian with a welcoming smile. 

Saria laughed aloud at his playful response. 

“Guess I could return the favor and teach you some Italian.” she suggested. 

“Sure.” Gene allotted. “Guess I’ll be heading back to the line then. See ya around, mon ami.” He stood and ran towards the jeep to hitch a ride. 

Saria watched the jeep speed off with Eugene in the front seat, saying a silent prayer to herself for him to be safe when he makes it to the front lines. 

~~~~~~~ 

Christmas Eve 1944 

The third run in with Eugene, he brought in an Easy Company soldier, with an IV already applied. As they carried him in setting him down onto a cot, the receiving medic, Jones, began hounding Gene for the man’s information. 

“Where’s his tag?” Jones looked all over the man’s person, then looked at Gene again, “Where’s his tag?” 

Eugene stared at his buddy lying on the cot unable to move. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Jones pushed. 

Eugene looked at him calmly, “Paralyzed.” he responded simply. 

“What?” Jones asked. 

Eugene sighed, “He’s paralyzed. Can’t feel a thing.” he clarified. 

Renée saw him from across the room, “Eugene?” 

Gene looked at her, his spirits lifted the moment he saw her smile. 

“Eugene.” Renée greeted him. 

“Renée-” he replied with frail delight in his voice. 

“Are you-” Renee started to ask before she was interrupted. 

“-Renée, I need some help over here!” Jones called from the back. 

“Are you all right?” Renée continued as she walked towards Eugene. 

“Renée! We need you!” Jones called again. 

She looked towards the rear of the church where Jones was then huffed in frustration. She met Gene’s disappointed expression, gave him an apologetic smile then scampered off. 

“Bonjour, Eugène.” Saria greeted. 

“Bonjour, Rosaria, mon ami. (Hello, Rosaria, my friend),” he returned with a fleeting smile. 

Saria looked Gene over, “You ok?”  

He met her concerned guise with soft tired eyes, “Oui.” he responded plainly. 

Saria gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “Je suis toujours là, mon ami. (I’m always here, friend.)” Saria reassured him. 

He looked at her and nodded, “Merci, mon ami.” he replied managing a genuine smile. 

Saria returned a smile then proceeded past him. 

“Oh, and Eugene-” she called back to him. 

He turned to her. 

“Joyeux noël. (Merry Christmas.)” she projected somewhat cheerfully to him, sending him a wink before he could reply. 

Eugene smiled to himself, feeling that bit of warmth in his heart that he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

~~~~~~~ 

Eugene returned to the line, only to have to go back to Bastogne to bring LT Welsh to the aid station that night. Upon entering the town, everyone was in a panic, running to find cover from an imminent German air raid heading towards the town.  

Upon hearing the siren alerting the town of the attack, Renée and Saria began assisting the wounded who tolerated the ability to move to evacuate the church.  

On the other side of the town, Eugene could see the enemy aircraft approaching. He started to race towards the church to see if Renée, Saria, and Anna had been able to reach safety. As he sprinted towards the aid station, the bombers passed overhead releasing shells on every building in their wake until one hit the church, releasing a mushrooming blast from the steeple. Another bomber deploying a bigger explosive, shattered the foundation of the stone building, sending it to shambles to the ground below. 

Eugene stopped in his tracks, shielding his eyes from the piercing light from the blast. Frozen from shock and disbelief, his mind began piecing together the possibility that Renée, Saria, and Anna were still in the church during the bombing. To this thought, he began running again, pushing through the crowds to reach his friends. 

~~~~~~~ 

Eugene searched relentlessly for the three nurses. As dawn approached, he began to lose hope. He had asked everyone he bumped into if they had seen Renée, Saria, or Anna. Everyone he asked either hadn’t known the whereabouts of any medical personnel or had conflicting stories of who made it out or not.

Just when Eugene was ready to give up, he saw a familiar figure sitting on a pile of stones that had collapsed from the church. As he cautiously approached, he recognized the face of this young woman seated before him. 

“Rosaria?” He addressed the woman with strain behind his voice. 

Saria turned slowly; her bloodshot eyes met his hopeful face while tears trailed through the dirt on her cheeks. When she saw it was Eugene, her tear flow increased beyond her ability to see. 

“Eugene.” she gasped as she tried to stand to meet him. As she did, she lost her footing on the gravel. 

Eugene snaked his arms around her, pulling her into him so she wouldn’t fall forward. 

“Hey, now! Je t'ai eu (I got you).” he exclaimed. 

He helped her stand up right, pulling her square to him so he could talk to her. 

“Are you ok!?” he asked. 

“I-I’m alive.” Saria stuttered. 

Eugene kneaded her shoulders with his hands. 

“Et Renée? (And Renée?) Anna?” he dared to ask holding Saria steady by the shoulders. 

Saria looked away from Eugene and began to sniffle. Eugene waited. 

She reached into her pocket, pulling out a blue head scarf and handed it to him. He took it from her, realizing it was the same one that Renée had worn. 

He stared at the blue cloth in his hand as everything began to sink in. 

“We-” Saria tried to explain but her overwhelming anguish had her struggling to speak, “-we were evacuating as many men as we could. Renée had----gone back inside to find Anna right before the first shell dropped on the church-”  

Eugene redirected his eyes onto Saria. He swallowed hard, biting back the tears he felt building up. 

“When the first bomb hit, I tried to go in to get her...then the second one hit blocking the entrance to the church. I couldn’t get to them, Eugene.” Saria whispered, staring over his shoulder reliving the horrific scene as if it was replaying in front of her on a movie screen. 

She started to shake her head, “If I had only gotten there sooner-” 

“No,” Gene placed a hand on each side of her face bringing her attention to him, “what happened to Renée and Anna is not your fault. You hear me?”  

Saria’s tears spilled over like waterfalls.  

He pulled her into his chest, allowing her to sob into his jacket as he stroked her hair. 

“Ssshhh,” Gene soothed, “Je suis là, belle amie. Je suis là (I’m right here, beautiful friend. I’m here.)” 

~~~~~~~ 

#band of brothers #hbo war #eugene roe #doc roe #shane taylor #eugene roe x reader #eugene roe x oc #ww2 #army #101st airborne #easy company #eugene roe imagine #oc #medic #nurse #combat medic #chicago #italian #french

[coco-bean-1218]

Well-Behaved Women Never Make History

Chapter One: Something In The Way

Chapter Soundtrack

Summary: Claire leaves her home and starts her journey to Camp Toccoa.

A/N: Hello, everyone!! Welcome to Chapter One of Well-Behaved Women Never Make History! I am very excited to finally start this story and share it with all of you! I hope you enjoy and feel free to like, comment, and reblog!

Warnings: Swearing, period-typical behavior

Taglist: @whollyjoly @footprintsinthesxnd @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike

Credits: Moodboard 1 made by @xxluckystrike Moodboard 2 made by @footprintsinthesxnd Thank you both so much!!!

June, 1942

Detroit, Michigan

10 a.m. Eastern Time

———

Detroit's Union Station was a bustling hub of wartime activity, its vast halls echoing with the hurried footsteps of soldiers and civilians alike. The morning sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows over the faces of families clustered around their loved ones. Amidst them stood Claire O'Connor, surrounded by an imposing fortress of luggage, her dark brown hair pulled back into victory rolls, dark red lipstick painted on her lips, her stoic expression betraying none of the apprehension swirling inside her. 

"Damn, Claire, are you planning to open a boutique down there?" Emma, her older sister, teased, one hand affectionately resting on her sister's shoulder while her eyes danced with mirth at the sight of the luggage.

Claire offered a wry smile, pushing up her glasses with a finger. "Hey, you know me, I'm always prepared," she quipped, the edge of her humor tinged with nerves. "You can never have too many pairs of underwear."

Their father, Mr. O'Connor, chuckled, adjusting his glasses with a patient smile. "War or no war, I don't think the enemy will care much for your matching luggage set."

"Ha-ha, very funny, Dad," Claire retorted, a tight smile betraying her simmering nerves. Peyton stood beside Claire, a single duffel bag slung over her shoulder, her posture composed—a sharp contrast to Claire's cluttered state.

Mrs. O'Connor, Claire and Emma's mother, clucked her tongue as she adjusted one of the smaller bags atop a mountainous suitcase. "You've got enough to last through the war and back, honey bee," she said, her voice equal parts exasperation and concern. "Remember, you're going to be a medic, not a debutante."

"I know, Mom. It's just—" Claire hesitated, biting her lip. "It feels like I'm packing up my entire world."

"Because you are," Peyton interjected softly, coming to stand beside Claire. Her own belongings were neatly consolidated into her single bag, the stark contrast between the friends' preparations mirroring their differing paths. Peyton's mom stood a few feet away, her pride battling the sorrow in her eyes.

"First time for everything, right?" Claire continued, her attempt at levity falling flat in her own ears. Her gaze shifted between the faces of her family and Peyton, trying to memorize them before the journey ahead.

"Exactly. It's an adventure, Claire," Peyton replied, reaching out to give Claire's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Just think of the stories we'll have to share."

"Right," Claire forced a chuckle. "Yours will probably be publishable. Mine will be too bloody to print."

"Your sense of humor is as dark as ever," Peyton replied.

The arrival of Peyton's train sliced through the air, the shrill whistle echoing off the station walls. The machine billowed steam like a specter of change, heralding the imminent departure. Everyone's attention turned to the locomotive, its metallic body gleaming beneath the Michigan sun.

"Train for Des Moines now boarding!" the announcement cut through their conversation with the sharpness of a knife. 

"Guess that's my cue," Peyton said, her usual grace faltering just a bit. 

"Promise me you'll write?" Claire's voice was steady, but her brown eyes betrayed her anxiety. 

"Every chance I get," Peyton promised, pulling Claire into a fierce hug. "And don't go falling for any charming soldiers without telling me first."

"Who, me?" Claire managed a smirk. "Charm isn't exactly my Achilles' heel, you know that."

"I know, but stranger things have happened," Peyton said with a knowing look. "Just promise me you won't shut yourself off from the possibility of love."

"Oh, I'll keep an eye out for any dashing heroes trying to sweep me off my feet," Claire replied dryly. "But don't hold your breath."

With a final squeeze, Peyton released her friend and turned to her mother, enveloping her in a long hug before stepping back with a brave nod. 

"Go get 'em, journalist!" Claire called after her, her teasing tone belying the tightness in her chest.

Peyton turned at the steps of the train, grinning broadly. "Wait for my bylines, Claire! They'll be front page before you know it!"

As Peyton disappeared into the train, Claire watched the doors slide shut, her heart sinking with the finality of the moment. A lump formed in her throat as she waved goodbye to Peyton, her best friend whom she had known since childhood. The train let out a low rumble, lurching into motion, gradually picking up speed and pulling away from the platform.

"Godspeed, Peyton Nelson," Claire whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Nearly an hour later, the shrill whistle of Claire's train tore through the lingering silence, signaling the impending departure and severing the last tenuous threads tethering her to home. Her family clustered around her like a protective shroud, their faces etched with pride and worry.

"Here it is," her father said, his voice thick with unspoken emotions.

"Looks like it," Claire agreed, hoisting her suitcase with a grunt. Her hands trembled slightly, the weight of her decision settling on her shoulders along with the overstuffed leather.

"Train for Atlanta now boarding," the conductor called out, his voice a steady beacon amidst the clamor.

"Remember to keep your head down and help others do the same," her father said, "And look out for yourself."

"Can't make any promises," Claire quipped, "But I'll do what I can."

"Let's just hope the Army's ready for you," Mrs. O'Connor added, a twinkle in her eye that mirrored Claire's own spark of defiance. "They won't know what hit 'em!" Her embrace was tight, a desperate attempt to imprint the feeling of her daughter onto her very soul. 

"I'll write every single day until you're sick of me!" Claire promised, offering a watery smile. "And when I come back, maybe I'll have a dashing paratrooper to introduce to you. Wouldn't that be something?"

Mrs. O'Connor winked at her daughter, “A fiery girl like you rarely returns with just tales of heroism and bravery. You're bound to turn a few heads, I'm sure of it!"

Laughter bubbled up from Emma, cutting through the tension like a lifeline thrown across turbulent waters. "Oh, brother, that poor man!" her sister said, hugging her tightly.

Her dad chuckled, the lines around his eyes deepening. "Just make sure he knows how to handle a fearless woman." 

"And don't let those men step all over you," her mother added in a firm tone, "You know what I say, 'Men ain't shit,' except for your father, of course."

"You know me, I don't like toxic masculinity," Claire replied with a smirk.

As the conductor's voice reverberated through the station once more, signaling the imminent departure of Claire's train, she picked up her mountain of baggage and stepped onto the platform. Claire climbed the steps of the train but paused at the top to cast a final glance at her loved ones. "Bye! Wish me luck!" she called out.

With a deep breath that did little to steady her heart, she entered the train. Claire made her way down the narrow aisle, finding a seat by the window in the last car, where the world could unfurl before her like a map of possibilities. As the vehicle jerked forward, she pressed her palm against the glass, maintaining eye contact with her parents and Peyton's mother until the station was nothing but a speck in the distance.

She settled into the rhythm of the rails, the clack-clack of wheels turning over tracks like a metronome counting down to her new reality. The heat was oppressive air thickening in the cramped space, sticking her blouse to her back and making her glasses slide down her nose. 

As the landscape outside blurred into a collage of greens and browns, Claire pulled out "The Great Gatsby" from her bag. She immersed herself in the opulent tragedy of Gatsby's world, finding a strange comfort in the characters' doomed pursuits. "I always thought of myself as Gatsby and Noah as Daisy." she thought to herself, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

Hours melded together, marked only by the rhythmic sway of the train and the occasional jostle of fellow passengers. When the heat became too oppressive, she switched to Freud, his theories a stark contrast to Gatsby's opulence and glittering disillusionment. "Id, ego, and superego," she mused aloud, her voice lost in the clatter of the train. "Which one got me into this mess? Freud would have a field day with me."

As dusk began to paint the sky with strokes of burnt orange and dusky violet, Claire pulled out a sheet of paper and began a letter to her mom. Her pen hovered above the page before it skated across, detailing the mundane aspects of her journey—never hinting at the undercurrent of fear that gnawed at her insides. "Dear Mom," she wrote, "the scenery is beautiful, although it's hard to appreciate fully when you're being slowly roasted."

Her hand hesitated, hovering above the paper as memories of Noah surfaced unbidden. Claire reached into her handbag and retrieved a photograph. It showed her and Noah, side by side, innocent smiles frozen in time under the banner of their high school graduation. Their graduation gowns billowed like hopeful sails, caps thrown mid-air, smiles wide and oblivious to the future. "Oh, Noah," she whispered, tracing the outline of his face. "Always fixing things, but never saw what was broken." 

Her fingers traced the lines of his face, the awkward angle of his glasses—a mirror image of her own. She wondered where he was at this exact moment, if the sea was kind to him, or if the churn of the engine lulled him to sleep each night. "Be safe," she whispered into the fading light, her lips brushing against the cool surface of the picture. The train carried her onward, through the dusk and into a future as uncertain as the war itself.

The night stretched before her, each mile a note in a song of departure and anticipation. Claire leaned her head against the window, watching towns and fields blur by, while inside, her heart beat a staccato rhythm of longing and fear—an intricate dance of the times.

As the morning sun pierced through the curtains, bathing the train compartment in a soft golden glow, Claire stirred awake, her cheek imprinted with the pattern of the window's glass. She blinked groggily as she stood up and reached for her luggage to retrieve a fresh outfit from her suitcase. 

Stepping into the narrow hallway of the train car, Claire made her way towards the washroom at the end. The rocking motion of the train beneath her feet quickened her pace, her hand steadying on the metal railing that lined the corridor. 

She reached the washroom door and gave it a gentle push, stepping inside and locking it behind her. The tiny room was a welcome refuge from the constant movement of the train. Claire changed into her fresh clothes — a burnt orange and white striped blouse and matching orange skirt that billowed softly around her knees — and stuffed yesterday’s clothing into a laundry bag. 

As she adjusted the collar of her blouse, the train lurched unexpectedly, causing her to stumble mid-button. Catching herself on the sink, she cursed under her breath and quickly finished dressing. 

With her heart still hammering in her chest from the sudden movement, Claire took a moment to collect herself before unlocking the door and stepping back into the hallway. 

Upon reaching her seat, the conductor’s voice echoed through the car, announcing their arrival in Atlanta. Claire collected her books and the letter to her mother, tucking them into her bag next to Noah's photograph. With a hefty sigh, she hoisted her bags—one, two, three—onto her shoulders and hips, a cumbersome dance that drew snickers from a couple of soldiers nearby. Atlanta, the city humming with the war effort and Southern charm, sprawled out before her, daunting in its vastness.

The stifling heat of Georgia smothered Claire the moment she stepped off the train, a harsh welcome to the South. She maneuvered through the bustling station, dragging her excessive luggage behind her, the clicking of her heels lost in the shuffle of footsteps and the murmur of countless conversations. 

The bus was already rumbling when Claire approached it, and as she climbed aboard, she felt every eye bore into her. She was a curiosity— a woman unaccompanied by a man among rows of young soldiers whose lives were set on a wartime metronome.

"Camp Toccoa," she said firmly to the bus driver, who raised an eyebrow but handed her the ticket without comment.

"Hey, doll, you boarding with all that?" one of the soldiers called out, nodding towards her luggage pile.

"Unless you see it sprouting legs and walking itself on, yes," Claire retorted, her voice edged with the wit she wielded like armor.

Another soldier piped up, "What's your story? Headed to entertain the troops?"

"Medic training," she clipped, pushing her glasses up her nose with a stubborn tilt of her chin. "I'll be patching up your sorry asses on the battlefield. Consider yourselves lucky."

Murmurs rippled through the bus as she maneuvered to an empty seat at the back, her bags wedged between her and the aisle. The curious glances didn't cease, though they became more surreptitious. Claire could feel the weight of their stares, the silent question marks punctuating the air around her. 

"Never seen a dame wanting to be in the thick of it," a soldier across the aisle muttered to his neighbor. "She's got guts, I'll give her that."

"Or she's crazy," the other replied, not unkindly.

"Both," Claire interjected before she could stop herself, eliciting a few chuckles. It was an odd sensation, this camaraderie laced with isolation. She hunkered down in her seat, pulling out her unfinished letter to her mom, and tried to resume writing, but the words seemed frivolous now, floating aimlessly on the page. Instead, she tucked the letter away, leaning her forehead against the cool window glass, allowing her thoughts to drift.

"Hey, combat medic," the same soldier ventured again after a few moments, "You got a fella waiting for you back home?"

Claire answered, staring blankly at the seat in front of her, "Nope."

The soldier whistled low. "Well, that's a damn shame. A pretty gal like you, brave enough to sign up for this mess," he said, gesturing to the bus full of soldiers. "There must be plenty of fellas fighting over you back there."

Claire chuckled bitterly. "Fighting over me? More like running in the opposite direction," she replied, a self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. 

The soldier's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "Nah, I can't believe that. A dame like you? Trust me, there ain't a fella worth his salt who wouldn't be lining up for a chance with you."

Claire sighed, her eyes fixed on the soldier's earnest expression. "Well, I guess they must have missed the memo," she retorted with a forced chuckle.

"I'm Danny, by the way," the soldier said, extending his hand towards Claire.

"Claire," she replied, shaking his hand. 

Danny had thick, dark hair and eyebrows, deep brown eyes, and a slight stubble showing he had recently shaved. He was handsome, no doubt about it.

"You said you're gonna be a combat medic, right?" Danny asked, genuine curiosity in his eyes. "At Camp Toccoa, if I heard you correctly. Ain't that where the paratroopers train?"

Claire nodded, a glimmer of defiance in her eyes. "Yeah, that's right. We'll be jumping out of perfectly good planes."

Danny whistled, impressed. "Well, I'll be damned. I could never. I'd crash land, splattering my guts everywhere like a burst tomato."

Claire laughed, "Thanks for the visual. I'll think of that as I plummet to my death."

When the bus finally came to a halt, the driver's voice announced, "Camp Toccoa, final stop!"

Claire stood and wrestled with her suitcases once more. Danny offered to help, but she politely declined. With a determined stride, she walked down the narrow aisleway towards the steps. 

"Good luck, Miss Medic!" Danny called out.

"Yeah, you too, Dollface," she teased with a wink. With a final heave, she managed to walk down the steps of the bus into the sweltering heat. 

"Watcha thinkin', Danny?" his companion next to him asked.

Danny grinned, shaking his head, “Nothin’ much," he replied, his gaze set on Claire as she stood outside the entrance to the camp.

The camp sprawled before Claire, a collection of low-lying buildings nestled amidst the dense Georgia forest. Stepping onto the dirt road, she was greeted by the stark white letters on the wooden sign: 'Camp Toccoa.'

She stood there, alone now, the dust settling around her feet. Before her lay a path lined with uncertainty, with courage demanded and comfort stripped away. To enter meant embracing her choice fully, to become part of something far greater than herself. 

---

#yes I did use Stephen Sanchez as a face claim #and what about it? #well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers oc #band of brothers x ofc #my first oc story #my oc #easy company #hbo war #eugene roe #eugene roe x ofc #chuck grant #chuck grant x ofc

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 22: One Tough Broad

Summary: "I just needed to be someone else for a bit." A/N: I have not spoken French in about three years now, so Gene's dialogue might be completely wrong. But at least I tried 🤷🏻‍♀️ Also, while I've never seen raspberries growing on Currahee, there are so many plants, who's to say they're not somewhere along the trail? Warnings: mentions of war, injury, hospitals, language Taglist: @latibvles @lady-cheeky @liebgotts-lovergirl @lieutenant-speirs @ithinkabouttzu @hxad-ovxr-hxart

Belgium, 1944

Full of purpose, Gene leads Zenie from the Jeep to the town’s large church. (Perhaps it’s not very big – she’s just used to the small, white, wooden churches of the South where congregations squeeze together in hard pews to sing and renounce.) He hustles her right past the crowds outside, only sparing a glance at the piles of bodies lined up against a low wall. The scene steals the breath from Zenie’s lips, but there’s no time to stop.

“J'ai besoin d'une infirmière,” Gene announces when they enter the church. Some other medics glance up, but none answer. If he had wanted their answer, he would have asked in English.

Instead, it’s a young Frenchman’s voice that replies, “De quoi avez-vous besoin?”

“J'ai besoin de parler à une infirmière. C’est urgent.”

When the young man – Is he a doctor? He doesn’t wear an armband or uniform of any sort. He might be just a young man – rushes off, Gene once again guides Zenie. This time, he starts her toward the back of the church, to a more isolated area.

He finds a small room and leads her into it, shutting the door behind her before rushing back to check on Skinny and his leg. For a few moments, Zenie is alone in the dim room, waiting. Her only companion is the patch of wintery sunlight coming from a small stained-glass window on the wall above her. Some old crates stacked in the back corner provide a place for her to sit. She practically falls onto them she feels so exhausted, though the morning has just begun.

When Gene returns, a young woman follows him into the room. Zenie jumps up as the door quickly opens and shuts. The action makes Gene’s brows furrow.  

“Thought you might feel better if you had a, um, a woman to help out with the stitchin’ and all.” When Zenie blanches, he rushes on. “Don’t worry. I trust her.”

The woman is young, maybe the same age as them. Kind eyes survey her as she looks between Gene and Zenie. Though Zenie can’t understand what she says to Gene in French, the question in the woman’s eyes is clear: Who is this soldier, and why are we alone? Whatever Gene tells her, her realization is just as clear.

The woman approaches her the way that one approaches an animal that they are afraid of startling. She motions for Zenie to take a seat and then does the same, settling in on a box across from her. Her hands are folded in her lap when she nods to Zenie’s jacket and asks, “May I . . . ?”

“Yes.”

Zenie assumes that Gene has told this nurse about her situation, but the woman still starts slightly when she pulls back Zenie’s jacket and sees the bandages wrapped around her chest. Her shock is momentary. Her face quickly settles into a mask of concentration as she and Gene inspect Zenie’s arm.

She bites her lip to keep herself from flinching every time they pick a small fragment of shrapnel from her flesh. When she offers her a flask to draw from, she gratefully accepts it and downs the firewater, grimacing at the taste, as the nurse begins stitching up the long gash on her arm.

Before she knows it, it’s all over.

“Très chanceux.” The nurse pats Zenie’s good shoulder and helps her shrug her jacket back on. From the pocket of her apron, she removes a strip of bedsheet that she uses as a sling to secure Zenie’s arm. “Could have been much worse. Could have . . .” She doesn’t have to finish. Her eyes flick upwards, toward the stained-glass window behind Zenie’s head. “Someone is watching over you.”

“You won’t tell?” Zenie blurts out.

The nurse offers her a small smile and shakes her head. It’s all the reassurance that she needs.

“Thank you.”

She nods, then turns her attention to Eugene. “J'enverrai des fournitures avec vous.”

Zenie breathes a sigh of relief when the nurse leads them out of the room, back into the makeshift hospital proper. She hands Gene a small box and begins loading it with what she can. Not able to understand the French words they exchange, Zenie’s eyes wander, taking in the scene around her.

Wounded men are everywhere that she looks, some far worse than others. A feeling that Zenie cannot bring herself to name clings to them, its grip growing stronger with every breath that they take, waiting for its moment to strike. Weary and worn medics weave their way through them. Nurses hold hands and offer solace when and where they can.

Passing through them, she catches a flash – ever so brief – of dark hair rushing by with a man on a stretcher. Zenie pauses for a moment to stare. More nurses and medics follow, and Zenie loses sight of who she thought that she saw.

“How are you feeling, Skinny?”

Her fellow paratrooper looks up at her from the cot they have him situated on as he waits for his turn to be helped. Pain is evident on his face. His eyes are hazy with it, and glassy with that expression that she’s come to know from seeing him in bars and pubs after he’s had a little something to drink.

“They gave me alcohol, but I don’t think it’s doing any good.”

“You’ve built up a tolerance to it with all your partying.”

Skinny grimaces. “I guess. Hey, how about you? They fix up your arm?”

“Yeah. I’m going back with Doc Roe.”

“Oh.” Skinny settles back onto the cot, his body loosening with the action. “You’re getting out of here pretty quick, then.”

“The nurse said I was lucky.”

“You are,” he grumbles. He lifts his head a little, making sure she’s still there. “Hey, Tommy. Do me a favor, yeah? If you see Shifty and the rest of the guys, tell them that I’m gonna be okay.”

“I will.”

“Tommy!” Gene clutches the box of supplies tightly as he rounds the corner. He nods towards the door; time to go.

“Bye, Skinny.”

“Bye, Tommy.” For the sake of her friend, Zenie pretends not to notice the frown that tugs at his lips when she steps away, leaving him alone in a place so full of pain and suffering . . . and death.

Father Maloney is holding mass when they return. A good number of Zenie’s friends are kneeled before him as he speaks Latin. Bill and Babe tried to explain it all to her once, but she can’t figure out if they’re being blessed or reprimanded for their sins.

She thanks Gene for everything and then makes her way towards the group. “Go,” she can hear Father Maloney saying as she approaches. “and fight bravely for your country, and for your God.”

Well, she thinks, that answers that question.

The men stand. There are sighs of relief and a few laughs.

“Well guys,” Skip Muck says with a grin. “If we die now, we’re dying in a state of grace! Isn’t that right, Babe?”

The Philadelphian laughs, starts to say something, then stops short as Zenie and Gene approach. His eyebrows disappear underneath the rim of his helmet.

“You’re back?!”

Zenie can’t help but smirk. She might have a sling on her arm and a nasty looking scar where the nurse – or Renée, as Gene says her name is – stitched her up, but she’s back with Easy Company where she belongs. What was it that Bill had said when he made his glorious return from the hospital?

She claps Babe on the shoulder, smiling when she quips, “Had to come back and keep your ass in line, Heffron.”

Beside him, John Julian laughs. Babe, on the other hand, still looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Boy, Bill will be glad to see you,” Julian says. “None of us knew what the hell he was gonna do when we heard you got hit.”

Me neither, Zenie thinks, remembering how her friend had reacted upon learning her secret. Not badly, but . . . She wasn’t exactly around long enough to deal with any fallout. Beads of sweat appear under her helmet at the thought of what might have happened after she left – or what might happen now that she’s back. If Babe and Julian are joking around with her, then Bill didn’t announce her secret to the world the second that Gene swept her off to dig the shrapnel out of her arm. She hoped that he wouldn’t. Maybe she won’t be court martialed or sent home – today, anyway.

For a moment she stands frozen. Not for the first time, blood rushes in her ears like roaring ocean waves as she considers her options. Should she return to her foxhole? Or find someone else to share one with? She could always try her luck wandering to the outpost to find Shifty, could hide out there for a while.

Fate decides for her.

If there’s one thing that Zenie has learned in all the time she’s known Bill Guarnere, it’s that his insistence that you should never volunteer for anything is a lifesaver. With a sling on her arm, she shouldn’t be on a patrol. Sergeant Martin’s eyes pass over her, not even considering taking someone who’s injured his dominant arm. She slips away as Gene, Julian, and Babe all gather around for their sudden orders, her heartbeat still echoing in her ears.

Grey clouds and the branches of barren trees block the wintery sun that hangs somewhere overhead, out of reach. Its position is impossible to find, and the time is just as impossible to calculate. But if she had to guess, Zenie would wager that Bill is out doing his rounds right now, making sure that everyone is okay – or as okay as they’re able to be in this place. That will give her a minute to figure out what to say when she sees him. Or at least to give her a moment alone where she can breathe.

Her foxhole comes into sight. At almost the same moment, a helmet appears over its rim, shadowing eyes that latch onto her with suspicion. She stops in her tracks.

“Tommy?” Bill jumps out of the foxhole and stands before her in an instant. Over and over again, he looks her up and down, his mouth agape. “You’re back!”

Slowly, she nods. No one else is around, but she asks in a quiet voice, “Should I have stayed in the town?”

Bill’s eyebrows knit together. “Should you – what?” Understanding dawns on his face. “Oh!” He lowers his own voice. “I didn’t turn you in, if that’s what you mean.”

He didn’t say anything. Zenie’s heart slows a bit. Her secret is out, and so far, he’s kept it.

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Bill repeats. “Jesus, Tommy. You’re my friend, that’s why!” He drops back down into their foxhole. When Zenie doesn’t move, he gestures for her to do the same. They sit for a moment, staring out at the line, neither of them speaking.

When Gene learned her secret, he had called her brave. He wanted nothing in return except for her to take better care of herself so that her secret wouldn’t get out. Shifty had also called her brave, back when he uncovered the truth. He had promised not to turn her in, to be in her corner. So far, Bill has said that he hasn’t turned her in. But what happens now?

She glances at him from the corner of her eye. He’s looking straight ahead, out into the nothingness of the snow.

Ages later, Bill sighs. “So . . . Can we talk about . . . this?”

This. This lie, this charade. This secret.

“Okay.” She didn’t have this conversation with Gene; he hadn’t asked why or how she did any of this. With Shifty, she had made the first move by asking what he wanted to know. But with Bill . . . He’s a wildcard. There’s a reason that wild is part of his nickname.

“Okay,” Bill echoes. Silence, for a moment; not something Zenie is used to experiencing around him. When he finally speaks, his voice is much softer than usual – another change of pace. “So you’ve been pretendin’ to be a man this whole time?”

Zenie’s own voice is nothing but a whisper. “Yes.”

“How much of it all was true, though?”

Most of it, she realizes for the first time. She never lied about where she was from. And other than using a fake name, she’s never lied about who she is. Everything that she’s ever said about her family, her early life, her likes, her dislikes – it was the truth.

“My name isn’t really Thomas Driver, obviously. Other than that . . . Almost everything else has been true.” In all the times that she’s wondered how her friends would react if they learned her secret, she never got as far as imagining how she would explain what she’s done or why she’s doing it. Now she’s grasping at straws. “I just needed to be someone else for a bit.”

Still looking out over the rim of the foxhole, Bill nods. “What is your name, actually? Can I ask?”

“Zena,” she admits. The name feels different in her mouth now and fits strangely in her ears. For years now, the only person who has called her by that name has been Shifty. “Zena B McGlamery. But almost everyone back home calls me Zenie.”

“Zenie.” For the first time, Bill looks at her. Like Shifty before him, he’s looking at her for the first time and seeing Zenie instead of Tommy. He tilts his head. “What does the B stand for?”

“It’ll stand for Beat Your Ass if you tell anyone.”

Laughs burst forth from them both. Good; despite everything, she can still make him do that, at least.

“Beatrice,” she amends. “It was my Granny’s name.”

“Granny. God, if she could see ya now!”

Oh God. Who knows what she would say.

“Is that why you did all this?” Bill asks, his voice quiet again. “After she died – Wait! That letter from your ma, right before the jump. Christ! You really did run away! This is why they didn’t know you joined the army.” Half of his mouth quirks upwards as his eyes flick over her, taking her in in a new light. “You know, for someone so quiet, you really got a rebellious streak, huh?” He punches her playfully on her uninjured arm. “Shoulda known you were one tough son of a bitch that day with the raspberries. Er, one tough broad, I mean.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t remember that?”

He squints at her, like it’s the most unbelievable thing in the world that she doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “When we first got to Toccoa, when they were makin’ us walk up Currahee to get us used to it, Luz pointed out some berries along the trail. Everyone was worried they were poisonous – wouldn’t take a chance with ‘em, especially since there were briars everywhere. But you said ‘They’re black raspberries!’, shoved your hand through the briars, and picked a handful for all of us. Your hand was covered in juice and blood from where the thorns snagged your skin, and you didn’t even care. It was only the second day I’d known ya, and you’d already stood your ground against me and gotten covered in blood just for a few berries.” Bill makes a noise that’s half laugh, half scoff. “I just remember thinkin’, ‘This goddamn shortie is tougher than he looks.’ And I was right – I just didn’t know the half of it back then.”

Granny had taken her out to pick black raspberries when she was young. Of course she would recognize them, try to pick a few if she had the chance. But try as she might, she can’t place this specific story in her memory. She’ll just have to take Bill’s word for it.

The Italian shrugs. “Anyway. God, I still can’t wrap my mind around the whole thing.”

“Well, now maybe it all makes more sense.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Doc Roe and Shifty. That’s it.”

“Since when?”

“Since Toccoa. But Shifty didn’t confront me about it until England, the night that you tried to give me that pin-up.”

He winces. “Sorry ‘bout that. I probably look real stupid now.”

“No,” Zenie assures him. It just makes her look like more of a liar.

Before she can tell him as much, Bill’s eyebrows knit together. “Your ma,” he says, his mind back on the letter from the day of the jump. “She really has no clue. You gonna go back to her when the war ends?”

Zenie hesitates. Mama promised she would protect her. Yet her father . . .

“Probably.”

Bill tilts his head. “Probably?”

“My father,” Zenie explains. “I don’t know what he would do if I came back. Running away, everything I’ve done . . .” She makes a vague gesture, like that explains everything.

“Ah.” Bill leans back against the packed earth of the foxhole, his gaze once again wandering out to the expanse of snow before them. He shakes his head, the action causing his helmet to make a scraping sound against the dirt behind him. “I said I was gonna get you home to your ma, remember? That still stands. Even if I gotta put your old man in his place.”

The mental image of Bill escorting her back into her home, of such a wild young man getting in her father’s face like some sort of brave prince facing the wrath of a dragon, is enough to make her smile. Something she could never hope to do, but that her friend could do without batting an eye.

“You said that you needed to be someone else for a bit,” Bill notes. He falls silent again.

“Yes.”

“I dunno, Tommy. If anything, maybe this whole thing allowed you to be more yourself.”

More herself? Tommy is a role she plays. Someone who’s brave and who has friends and who does all the things that Zenie herself could never hope to. They’re completely different.

When she doesn’t respond, Bill shrugs again. “Just a thought.”

“Your first one ever?” She teases.

He grins. “You know, kid? I think you’re gonna be okay.”

#band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers #band of brothers x ofc #band of brothers x oc #shifty powers x original female character #shifty powers x ofc #shifty powers #bill guarnere #oc zenie mcglamery #eugene roe #my writing #like a girl (like a man)

[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

[trashbag-baby666]

Guys I have covid so hit me with more request prompts from this list!! Ive got a few boring days ahead of me!!!

Taking requests for:

Band of Brothers:

Joe Liebgott

Webgott

Luztoye

Baberoe

Winnix

Speirton

The Hunger Games:

Finnick Odair

Top Gun: Maverick:

Rooster Bradshaw

Hangman Seresin

OC’s:

Daisybilly

Baberoe/Graham

#request #finnick odair x oc #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #thg fanfiction #the hunger games #band of brothers #joe liebgott #george luz #david webster #joe toye #luztoye #webgott #babe heffron #eugene roe #baberoe #dick winters #lewis nixon #winnix #ronald speirs #carwood lipton #top gun maverick #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #hangman seresin #jake seresin