#eugene roe x ofc

[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

[kilojulietsierra]

Porch Swing Angel - Eugene Roe x Louisiana!Nurse OFC

Sorry this took way longer to post than I intended, but here it is! Finally!! It's barely edited but hopefully y'all enjoy!

Eugene plays guitar in this one, he sings a song called "Hurricane" by Band of Heathens. It was def not out in the 40's but oh well.

~~~~~~

As soon as Spina emerged from behind the bar with the well worn guitar in his hand and a gleeful look on his face Roe began to regret the singular offhand comment he had made weeks before. He watched his friend wade his way through the crowd with the instrument and Roes face was passive, by no means as excited as Spina.

"Hey, Eugene! You said you could play right. Have a go!" Spina thrust the guitar towards him.

The motion was clumsy enough that Roe reached for it on reflex, concerned Spina would drop it, "Spina, I ain't gonna do that. Go give it back." He pointed back towards the overwhelmed bartender.

"Aw c'mon, he said it was fine!" Spina shoved the guitar at him again.

Roe caved this time and took it carefully, setting his beer down to settle it across his lap at an awkward angle where he sat at a crowded table. "I ain't that good." Even as he mumbled the words his fingers settled on the frets, getting a feel for the old six string. He tuned a string or two to avoid the thought of singing in front of the whole company.

Most the men were occupied in one way or another. If he was lucky maybe none of them would pay attention. Besides the fact that already the boys closest to him had turned to face him. Several egging him on along with Spina.

Caving under the pressure he began to pick senslessly at the strings.

He was rusty. He could feel it. The years of playing with his grandfather came back to him eventually and he got comfortable. A song came to mind and he played through the first few chords testing it out. Roe just played with it at first, lose interpretation of the only song he could come up with. When he looked up next half the pub was staring at him and he immediatly dropped his eyes to the floor.

After another round of persuassion, "C'mon Doc!", "Yeah Doc, sing us somethin'.", Eugene started the first few bars in earnest. Swallowing thickly and ignoring the crowd best he could he sang the beginning of a song that reminded him of Louisiana. Reminded him of home.

"Thirty miles out on the Gulf stream I hear the south wind moan The bridges gettin' lower the shrimp boats comin home"

~~~~~

Lily hadn't had to work too hard to convince the other girls to go to the pub with her. They all knew too well that the airborne had more than ran the regular army boys and brits out of the only pub in town. They all had their own motives, but Lily was mostly just happy for something to break the routine of rolling bandages and collecting dog tags of the boys that would never make it home.

There were only a handful of them tonight and at first they had been swarmed. The paratroopers just happy to see something in a skirt. To that point Lily had found herself trapped in a corner with two of her friends, being talked up by some young man whose jumpwings were as shiny as the day he got them. Which, based on her loose understanding, she would bet was less than a week or two ago.

She had long since stopped giving the poor kid her full attention, beyond accepting the beer he had brought over.

The pub was loud and so when the din suddenly died down and the strum of guitar chords broke the silence in its wake, the girls all turned towards the source but could not see who was playing.

At first Lily was ready to write it off but the strumming grew stronger, more sure of itself, and the tune sounded familiar. When the voice broke through the crowd she couldn't help begin to weave her way through the crowd.

The old man down in the quarter Slowly turns his head Takes a sip from his whiskey bottle And this is what he said

Making it to the source of the music Lily smiled and joined in on the chorus without thinking twice

I was born in the rain on the Pontchartrain Underneath the Lousiana moon

The man playing snapped his eyes up to hers as she joined him and together they continued to sing. Each of them a little more confident.

I don't mind the strain of a hurricane They come around every June

Lily smiled as she found her voice and held the gaze of the solemn, darkhaired paratrooper playing the guitar. The crowd had moved out of her way and she came to stand a short distance away from him as he played. She nodded encouragingly, gave a little winding motion with her hand telling him to play it up.

~~~~~

Eugene quit singing altogether at that point. Not wanting to diminish the girls beautiful voice. So, when she gave him a little signal to pick it up, he took her lead. He found he wasn't playing for the crowed anymore. He was playing for her.

The high blackwater, the devils daughter She's hard, she'd cold and she's mean But nobody taught her, it takes a lot of water To wash away New Orleans.

Her singing overtook him and he wasn't in that pub in England anymore. He was on his Grandmothers porch playing with his grandfather and his uncles on a summer night. He could feel the muggyness, hear the cicadas in the trees and smell the honeysuckle. When he closed his eyes, rocking back and forth as he played outright, he swore he could see lightening bugs behind his eyelids.

She sang like a girl raised on southern baptist choirs and bluegrass. Her voice was rich and strong, husky like maybe she smoked a little here and there. Soulful like she'd had her heart broken a time or two and broken a dozen more herself.

When he opened his eyes next he found her watching him from a few feet away, she held his gaze firm as she belted out the next chorus. Spared him a little smile as she swayed along, her foot stomping out the time. His cheeks were warm when he returned her smile and he had to look away. A vision crossed his mind as he picked and strummed and swayed in his seat. A vision of her perched on the wooden, porch rail behind him in a cotton dress, singing as they all played for her.

At one point, the last chorus, he met her eyes again as he stopped playing. Only tapping out the time against the body of the guitar. Letting her gorgeous voice fill the dead quiet pub all on it's own, every man and woman in the pub hung on her every word.

By the time he played the last few bars out for her, she had come to stand nearly in front of him. Her voice had dropped down to something soft and sweet and without missing a beat they let the music trail off on its own, holding eachothers eyes again until Eugene had to look away.

~~~~~

The crowded bar erupting into shouts and hollers snapped her out of the dream she had slipped into while she had been singing. Whistles and clapping echoed off the walls and suddenly she was a little shy as they all called out for another song.

Amongst the ruccus Lily squeezed her way to the table and carefully perched herself on the edge of it next to where the paratrooper sat with his arms crossed over top the guitar. He smiled when he looked up at her, it's shy and his teeth aren't showing, but his eyes are bright and she liked it. "What else can you play?" She leaned down closer to ask the question.

She was pleasantly caught of guard when a glimmer of something else broke through that shyness and he gave her a grin, "Darlin', if you keep singin' I'll play anything you want."

~~~~~

His response made her smile, with a laugh behind it and Eugene is proud of that. And for some time after that he played any song she asked for, thank God he knew them all, but they were all songs he grew up on and he was grateful for that. THey had made music together until there were couples dancing in a cleared off spot by the dartboard and drunken' soldiers were slurring the words along with them.

Eugene had to control the urge to tell them all to shut up. Let her sing.

She was enjoying herself and smiling wider the more she drank and the more she sang. Roe had lost track of the songs by the time she bowed out and said that was all she had for the night.

For a second he worried she'd disappear once she was done singing but instead she gave him a bright smile and slid off the table to take the empty chair beside him. "I'm Lily Beauchesne," she held out her hand. "My friends call me Beau. It's a little easier."

"Eugene Roe." Leaning the guitar against the wall behind him he took it and felt a wave of heat roll through him that had nothing to do with the overcrowded pub. "Your voice," He started as he let her hand go, "It sounds like home."

For the first time that night it was Lilys cheeks who flushed a pretty pink and she glanced away from him. Her tongue darting out to lick her lips before she reached for a beer and took a sip.

Emboldened by her reaction Gene turned to face her further, "Where you from Lily Beauchesne?"

Lily grinned, enjoying the way his accent colored her name just right and how he didn't stumble over the pronunciation one bit. "Louisiana, little town called Port Barre."

Eugene couldn't help but smile and shake his head. With a little chuckle at the look she gave him he met her eye, "I'm about 50 miles down the river from ya. Bayou Chene"

Her smile doubled in surpise, "You're joking!" She leaned in a little closer and fought back the butterflys in her stomach. "Are your people Cajun?" She asks in what passes for French in south Louisiana.

WIth a nod he responds to her in French as well, "Half. My mothers side."

It's like Lily can't stop smiling at that point. "Mine too! My French is not so good." She uses it though, happy to have something to share with this man she's just met.

That glimmer in his dark eyes comes back again as he tilts his head to look at her. This time he responds in English but his voice is lower, accent thicker, "Sounds real good to me."

Lily blushes again and Roe loves it. Want to keep her smiling and blushing and talking to him all night.

~~~~~

They spend the rest of the night together in their own little world. Sitting close together and talking just the two of them. The friends each of them came left to their own devices while Eugene and Lily got to know eachother. Their conversation flowed between their two languages, their accents blending together. Roe truly wanted to talk to her all night, he wanted more if he were honest with himself and that thought rang louder when Lily had picked his hand up off the table to hold it in her own.

Her tinier, softer fingers caresed his carefully even as she continued on in French, repeating an anectdote about a relative she'd received in her most recent letter from home.

Roe found it hard to concentrate. The sound of her sweet voice lulling him and his attention drawn to they way she had his hand held in her lap. Palm up with her gentle fingers tracing over the lines and creases, brushing over the caluses from working and fighting all this time.

She caught him not paying attention, pulling him back to her by saying his name, "Eugene…" and giving his hand a squeeze.

His eyes jumped back to hers, embarrassed except that her face was nothing but kind if a little teasing,. Every lecture he'd ever received on fratrenization policy spun around in his mind and one by one he tossed hiem aside the longer she smiled at him like that.

He wanted to kiss her. He was going to kiss her

But then Lipton was addressing the crowd. Roe had pulled his hand from her grip and felt the weigh of war settle back over him as the news came. They would be leaving.

When he turned back to her Lily was still smiling, but now it was soft and sad.

Before Eugene could come up with the words she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'll see you again Eugene." She kissed him again, closer to his jaw this time before she added, "I'm sure of that."

As she pulled away from him Gene caught her gently, hookin a finger under her chin and pulling her back so he could kiss her properly. It was short and sweet, but it was a promise of more. "Until next time."

~~~~~

He wasn't sure if their parting words had been true, but he was certain they had both meant what they had said. Would they really see eachother again though? `

Eugene found himself thinking of her quite often. At night in his bunk, on the canvas seat of the plane as they headed for their jump into Holland, and most recently in the back of a frigid deuce and a half shaking and rattling its way towards the front.

When he had a spare moment to think of the pretty nurse from Louisiana it was almost always the same daydream. It was her on a porch swing on a warm summer evening, rocking back and forth in a simple cotton dress with her hair loose and long, just begging for his fingers to run through it. Sometimes he would imagine her singing his favorite songs or a hymm and even in his own mind her voice brought him peace. In these dreams she would smile at him as he walked up the steps to join her, or as he sat across from her picking out a song for her.

She kissed him in his daydreams. Long and sweet and loving and she would blush so pretty, giggling when he would whisper in her ear little things only for her to hear.

He was careful to stop his thoughts there. He'd slipped up a few times, on nights when he couldn't sleep, and thought of her tugging him to his feet and leading him to bed, or of picking her up in his arms and carrying her as she took her turn whispering in his ear until he laid her on top of the covers and took the words right out of her mouth.

Gene knew they did not know eachother well enough to allow himself those kinds of thoughts but God willing he wanted to.

An especially hard bump in the road dug the metal of the truck bed into his back and jerked him from his daydreams. It wasn't a warm, bayou summer, instead he felt the cold seep back into his bones and the darkness outside of the truck swallow him once again.

Dug into his foxholes he tried not to think of her, tried to focus on his job and making it through the next day. Instead, what he did allow himself was the hope that if he survived this frozen hell, he would see her again. That she would be waiting for him.

As much as he wanted to see Lily Beauchesne again, he never would have thought they would cross paths again when, where and how they did.

~~~~~

The jeep weaved its way through the wreckage and rubble of Bastogne and Roe was busy holding pressure on the bleeding leg wound of the soldier stretched out over the hood. The city, what was left of it, was in shambles and the church they were using for a makeshift aid station was little better.

Gene left the basement of the church sometime later, Sisk in capable hands, and with an armfull of fresh supplies. He flagged down a jeep and had just climbed into the passengar seat when something caught his attention.

A voice off to one side that tickled something in his mind. When he looked, as the jeep turned around and pointed back towards the cleared street, he heard it. A familiar voice with a familiear accent. Gene sat up straight and twisted around, not quite believing it was her until she looked up and their eyes met.

~~~~~

Lily had to fight the urge to wipe the blood on her trousers as she jogged across the street to meet the incoming jeep. Her frozen fingers immediatly jumping to the blood soaked bandage over the stump of a young soliders arm. WIthout a second thought she began barking orders and used all her muscle to help wrestle him off the jeep and onto a stretcher.

As they carried him inside something made her skin warm up and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She turned and searched her surroundings until her gaze fell on a retreating jeep. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Eugene, staring right back at her, the same look of shock on his face.

Unable to move she held his gaze. A flood of thoughts and emotions tore through her and she could not look away until the jeep was out of sight.

Eugene was alive. He knew she was here.

~~~~~

When they truly saw eachother for the first time they barely had a moment together but each of them was grateful for it.

Roe had made a point to find her the next time he brought a patient to the church. "What are ya doin' here?" Was not how he meant to speak to her the first time but it was what came out as he came to stand beside her. He liked her all the more when her response was to flash her angry, green eyes at him from where she knelt by a wounded man.

"I'm a nurse Eugene. I'm doin' my job." She stood up straight and had to fight back a wince at the stiff joints and sore muscles that harrassed her body. Lily was ready for a fight but that's not what she wanted.

He knew as soon as the words left his mouth that hadn't come out right, but he was glad she was the kind of woman to defend herself. With a deep breath Gene closed his eyes and started again, "I'm sorry, that's… that's not what I meant."

"That's how it sounded." There was no longer a bite to her words but she stood her ground all the same, "We're what's left of the hospital unit. Got cut off just like y'all."

Gene licked his lips and looked at his boots long and hard before he spoke, "I'm glad you're okay. I just didn't expect to see ya here is all."

Lily nodded, her posture relaxed, and silently accepted his apology. "I'm glad I got to see you."

Gene relaxed too and gave her a careful smile, "So am I."

"Doc!" The driver yelled from the door, "Let's go."

With a scowl Roe looks his way and then back to Lily. HIs fingers twitch. He wants to reach out to her, but doesnt.

She does though. Lily grabs for his hand and holds it in hers for a brief moment. She gives it a squeeze and offers him a sweet smile that nearly reaches her tired eyes. "Until next time. (French)"

"Doc!"

Gene glares towards the door again but gives Lily a flustered little smile before giving her hand a squeeze of his own and heading back towards the stairs.

~~~~~

The next time Roe is there he looks for her almost immediatly, but can't find her. He finally asks one of the other medics, "Hey, have you seen Lieutenant Beauchesne?"

The medic furrows his brow, sparing Eugene a glance while he worked, "Who?"

"A nurse, Lily Beauchesne, y'all might call her Beau. Accent, dark hair."

Finally the other man nods, even shares a sympathetic look with him which Gene didn't quite understand. "She's down on the end."

Roe looks but didn't see her at first. Not until he made it to the end of the church room and looks around. Where he finds Lily curled up on a low table, a makeshift bed, with a blanket over her. His heart drops at the sight of her. "Lily..."

She is balled up as tight as can be on the tabletop, the flimsy blanket obviously doing nothing to quell the tremors that rack her body as she shivers. Her face is pale and sweaty, her breathing raspy and her eyes sunken, hollow and closed tight against the pain. Lily doesn't aknowledge him until he takes a knee beside the table, to get to her level, and lays a careful hand on her.

"Lily... cher, look at me." Roe whispers to her without a second thought as he strokes her hair back from her clammy forhead.

Her eyes open and they struggled to focus. "Gene..." Another shiver overtakes her and she pulls her knees closer to her chest.

"Sweetheart, look at you." He continues to stroke her hair and moves his other hand to cradle the crown of her head, his touch sure but gentle. First brushing over her forhead, then gently tugging one eye open fully with his thumb grimacing at the size of her pupils, and finally stroking the tips of his fingers up her slender throat, the swelling under jaw plain as day. "How long you been like this?"

A wry smile fought its way through her grimace as she dodged his question, "I'll be fine."

His fingers traced the side of her neck once more before he settled his palm over her temple. "You're burnin' up." Roe looked her over and searched around for anything else to cover her better.

"Freezing." She corrects him.

"I know." He searched all around him and finds nothing for her. "You need some water?"

Lily shook her head as vigorously as she was able, "I'll just..." She shivered to the point she was unable to keep still, "I'll just toss it up again."

Suddenly a plan formed in his mind and he was glad to have it. He slid his hand down her arm under the blanket to look for an IV but found nothing. "Let me help."

He made to stand up but her trembling fingers clenched around the sleeve of his jacket. "We don't have anything." She tugged feebly, she wanted him back close to her. "Nothin' to spare." Her words cut off abruptly as she screwed her face up and blindly fumbled over the edge of the table.

Roe fumbled, but finally saw the bucket she was reaching for and holds it for her as she coughs and heaves. WIth his other hand he helped support her weight as she leant off the table and retches until her eyes are watering and her throat hurt. Once she's done he helps her lay back down and pulls her blanket back up to her chin. "Jus' be quiet and rest cher."

Her eyes are closed when she whimpers, "Stay. Just a minute."

WIthout hesitation he knelt down beside her again, his hands cradling her head and face as he leaned his forehead against hers, "I'm right here cher... I'm right here." He strokes his thumb back and forth over her filthy hair and occasionally smooths out the pained furrows in her brow.

WIthout really thinking about it he began to pray over her. He knew there was nothing to be done other than her to wait it out, wait for the fever to break and her stomach to settle. So, he prayed for her healing, for her strength and for her comfort. Prayed for her to sleep. Somewhere in the midst of his praying, still with their foreheads pressed together and his thumb caressing her temple over and over, he began to whisper to her.

"Couldn't believe when I saw you here, I'd thought about seein' you again so often and there you where."

She didn't say anything but she hums and seems to scoot a litle closer.

For a moment he was silent again while he prayed. "That first night, in the bar, I knew I'd fall in love with you. So pretty, so smart, voice of an angel."

Lily let out a whimper and her shivers overtake her for a moment.

Voice steady and calm, Eugene hushes her, "You'll be just fine cher, just go to sleep and let the fever run." He glanced down as her hand snuck out from under the blanket and wraps around his forearm. Gene even smiled briefly as her thumb stroked over his sleeve in time with his own.

Carefully, he pressed his lips to her forehead. "Rest for me, huh cher. Jus' rest for me."

He remained still and eventually felt her relax the slightest big, her face soft and she let out a little hum as she nodded off. Before he stood, Gene brushed a hand over her hair and prayed. "Let her sleep, Lord. Let her rest, and take this pain from her while she sleeps." He kept his hands on her head a moment longer before he dropped another soft kiss on her forehead and stood up straight. HIs chest ached as he looked over her one last time, gave her calf one last, comforting squeeze before he left her to rest.

~~~~~

The pain in his chest that day was nothing in comparison to the pain and dread he felt at the sight of the bombed out church. It's entrance little more than a pile of stone and debris. He nearly collapsed under the weight of a single thought. Lily had been here. Curled up on a hard table, sick and helpless. With a thick swallow he forced down the lump in his throat and turned back to the waiting jeep.

The bombs and explosions a dull echo as he retreated into himself. The world drown out around him to the point that he almost didn't hear it.

"Gene! Eugene!"

The shouts broke him out of his haze just in time for him to turn and see her. "Stop, stop. Stop the jeep." Roe didn't even wait for the driver to slam on the brakes before he had vaulted out of it and ran back down what was left of the street. He all but crashed into her as he wrapped her up in his arms and held her. Lifting her off the ground he hugged her so tight.

Lily didn't hesitate or shy away. No, she wrapped her arms around his neck and burried her face in it the best she could with both of them wearing the helmets.

"I thought you were gone." Gene murmured in her ear.

"I'm right here." She answered back, her voice thick with emotion.

An explosion rattled the whole block and Gene quickly set her down and covered her the best he could as he ushered her out of the open. "Last I saw you, you was down there. I thought…"

Lily just shook her head and smiled at him. "I slept all day after you left. Woke up to the fever broke, right as rain."

Behind them the jeep driver yelled, "What the fuck you think you're doin' Doc? We got to go!"

They both ducked at another explosion, Gene once again covering her body wtih his. Lily held him close after that, "Go. I'll be fine Gene. I'm fine."

Not an ounce of doubt or nerves in him Gene did not hesitate when he pressed her up against the brick wall behind her and kissed her. Properly, fully, like he'd always wanted to. His hold on her pressing them tight together as he claimed her mouth with his own.

Lily moaned, surprised, but quickly kissed him back. Her hands fisted in the front of his well worn field jacket and pulled him impossibly closer.

When they pulled away from eachoter Eugene's eyes drilled into hers as he straightened her helmet. "I'll find you. I promise mon cher, i'll come find you (french)" He kissed her again and relished in the feel of her one more time before he forced himself to pull away and run back to the idling jeep. Gene glanced back at her once, happy to find her watching him until he had turned, and then he watched her dart across the open and join a group of medics and wounded as they went for cover.

~~~~~

Eugene did not see her again for the whole rest of the war.

There were letters that caught up with him however and each one felt like he could breath again. She had written once that she felt much the same. Especially when he had written back to her, telling her Easy Company was finally moving off the line and heading for the crumbling but oddly much safer Germany.

The news that her unit had been discharged came to him in Austria. She was in England waiting to board a big steamer and finally begin her journey home.

Another letter never found him. HIs own company finally allowed to go home themselves, he spent a good part of his time on the boat across the Atlantic rereading the letters she had sent.

In them she had marvelled at how he had healed her, swore that he had his grandmothers gift after all. She admitted how the few times he had called her 'cher' had made her heart race and she never wanted him to call her anything else. She wrote about home, about missing him, about what she would do after the war. She reminded him he had promised to come for her, had promised he would find her.

Each letter was ended the same, "Love, your Lily" with big loopy, cursive letters.

~~~~~

Lily waited patiently for a response to her most recent letter. It never came, but she did not let herself get discouraged. Her patience paid off one evening towards then end of summer.

Her folks and younger sister were inside gathered around the radio. She herself had found she, more often than not, preferred the peace and quiet of the front porch since her return home.

That particular evening she was swaying idly on the porch swing and humming a hymm she had stuck in her head most the day.

The night was quiet but the frogs and cicadias were raising a ruckous and there was a stiff breeze blowing through the trees. The sound of all this very nearly drown out the crunch of boots approaching the front of the house.

When Eugene came up to the bottom step he was already grinning. His back straight, uniform crisp and his face clean shaven. He made eye contact with her as he climbed the few steps to the porch but stopped there to lean against the railing. "Wouldn't believe how many times I thought about you, just like this." His grin grew wider as he removed his cover and leaned his shoulder against the post.

Lily was smiling wide at the sight of him and her cheeks flushed at his words. She had no words of her own, only knew that every muscle in her body was screaming at her to run to him. The look on his face and what he had said kept her in place. He very much appeared to be enjoying the moment of a daydream realized.

FInally he budged, climbed the last step up onto the porch, and made his way over to her.

Once he got close Lily found her words. "You're home." She felt her heart start to race as he sat next to her on the old swing. The ropes creaking under shift in weight and the added motion.

"Yes I am." Roe laid his arm over the back of the swing and grinned at her. Brushed a strand of hair out of her face in the process.

She didn't say anything else before she closed the short distance between them. Excited to kiss him for the first time in nearly a year. The kiss had barely started before she pulled back, "What're you doin' here?" Lily leaned in to kiss him again, not bothering to give him time to answer.

Gene smiled into the kiss and took a gentle hold of her jaw to push her away the slightest bit. "Told you, I was gonna come find ya." He stroked the pad of his thumb over the soft skin below her ear as he gazed at her intently.

Lily grinned, leaned into his touch. "What're ya gonna do now that ya found me?"

Something in his smile changed then,"Oh I got a few things in mind," his eyes narrowed and his tongue darted out to wet his lip before he leaned to whisper in her ear. "Don't know that we ought to talk about that on your Daddy's porch though."

Bolder than he'd ever been he nipped at her ear before placing a kiss just below it and pulling back to take in the pretty, pink flush of her cheeks in the porchlight.

Blushing and chuckling Lily shoved him back playfully.

Eugene took it in stride and continued to smirk. Taking a moment before he pulled her back to him for another, longer, slower, less teasing and more promising kiss. Then he looked her in the eye with a sincerity that Lily had never seen before in any man. "I'm gonna marry you Lily Beauchesne. I'm gonna build you a house, I'm gonna give you as many kids as you want. I'll be a good husband and a good father and I'm gonna love you until the good Lord calls me home."

~~~Epilogue~~~

It was a summer night much like that night, a little over a year later, when Lily woke up to an empty bed. For a moment she simply lay there and listened. The room was silent and the night was still dark. After taking a beat she flipped back the light sheet she'd been sleeping under and put her barefeet down on the still relatively new, hardwood floor.

Gene had kept his promise. He'd married her. He'd built them a house with his, and a few friends, own hands.

As Lily sat in the dark, stretching her back and giving her foggy mind a chance to wake up a little, she thought fondly of that night he had showed up on the front porch of her parents home. He'd won her family over easily. Her mother had been sold on him the moment he'd stepped in the house, removed his cap and introduced himself to her in Cajun French. Her father had been a bit slower, unsure at first of this young man showing up late one evening in uniform and asking permission to start properly courting his daughter. Admittedly, the courting hadn't lasted long. It didn't need to.

Now, here she was, in their bedroom. Alone.

Still she smiled and finally motivated herself enough to stand up and go in search. Really there was no need to search. She found him easily.

Out on the front porch she spotted him through the screen door and watched for a moment. Taking a minute to enjoy the vew. He had his back to her as he paced the porch. He'd not put on any clothes beyond the pair of boxers he'd slept in. HIs hair, still short like he'd worn it in the Army, was tossled slightly like he half-heartedly combed his hand through it at some point.

Finally, Lily pushed her way through the screendoor, carefully sure, but it was impossible to open it quietly.

Eugene heard her and turned to face her. Face tired but with a soft smile. He leaned down to the baby he'd been bouncing in his arms and whispered, (French) "There's your pretty mama."

"What're y'all doin' out here in the dark?" She crossed the porch and stretched up to kiss his cheek and stroke the pad of her thumb over the baby's silky brow.

Gene stared at her in the way he had that looked like he still didn't quite believe he deserved this. "Your boy here was fussin', figured we'd come outside, let you get some sleep." Gene shifted his hold on their son so he could wrap an arm around his wife and pull her in close to press a kiss to her forehead.

Lily allowed it and took a deep breath, "Couldn't sleep?"

He didn't respond, but that was answer enough.There were plenty of nights Eugene couldn't sleep. Instead he just held her closer and kissed her temple.

She settled into his hold and together they stood there like that, listening to the cicadas. After a moment she lowered her gaze to her baby boy in Gene's arms and smiled. His eyes were fighting sleep, his tiny little fingers flexing unconsciously against his fathers chest. Lily turned to press a kiss to the point of Gene's shoulder and smiled as she whispered, "Look at that."

Eugene had always had a calming presence in her life. She often compared it to what his grandmother could do. Lily swore up and down that when that fever had taken hold of her in Bastogne it had been Eugene that had healed her. Of course he shrugged it off, but there was no way to deny that when it came to their son Gene was the one with the magic touch.

Their sweet little boy was smiley and cheerful and they were both grateful for it. They each had their tendencies to become a little dark and withdrawn after the war but their son had more than enough joy for all of them. The trade off was that he slept like his father; for short periods of time and fitfully. Lily could cuddle him, nurse him, sing to him, anything. Eventually he'd go back to sleep. Eventually. All Eugene had to do to get the boy to sleep was hold him.

The same was true that night, as standing there on the front porch their son was falling asleep easily in his arms. Lily kissed her husbands shoulder again and untangled herself to go and perch herself on the porch swing in the corner. From there she watched for the few minutes it took the boy to nod rest the way off and then for Gene to turn to her and whisper, "You stay right there, huh cher. I'll put him down and be right back."

So, she waited, idly swinging to and fro in the dark Louisiana night

When Eugene came back he opened and closed the screen door as quietly as he could and then came to join her on the swing. He sat down beside her and lifted his arm up in an invitation that no longer needed to be spoken and she tucked in beside him. Gene tugged her close and kissed her temple, "I'm sorry we woke you up darlin.'"

Her only answer was to shake her head and squeeze herself in closer to his side. "Worth it."

Gene smiled and kissed her again. He let his mind wander to the daydreams that had gotten him through some of the worst days of the war. This was exactly what he had dared to hope for, moments exactly like this. He kept them swinging slowly to and fro as he held her and thanked God for the life he'd been blessed with after the Hell he'd survived. The Hell they'd both survived.

He was vaguely aware of his wife humming a tune in his arms. Gene smiled and found his eyes suddenly heavy and burning with sleep.

Next thing he knew something was coaxing him to open his eyes. Vision blury he cracked his heavy lids open and in the darkness he saw Lily standing in front of him. God she was beautiful. He thought to himself, she was the only thing he'd ever need. If he survived the war, if they made it out of this alive he was gonna marry this girl. Even in his sleep fogged brain he was certain of that.

That thought jogged something in him. The feel of her hands tugging at him gently forced his eyes open even more. FInally his mind cleared. He wasn't in a frozen foxhole, his hands weren't stained with blood. The woman of his dreams was really standing in front of him. His wife was standing in front of him. Lily. He'd made it home and he'd married her.

"Let's go back to bed." Her voice was soft like her smile

Like most nights the thought that brought him peace when he found himself startled awake was Lily. He'd made it home to Louisiana. He'd married Lily Beauchesne and she'd given him a son. They had made a home together.

His eyes finally focused he smiled and hefted himself up onto his feet and settled his hands on Lilys hips and kissed her. Long and slow and sweet he moved his lips over hers and enjoyed the feel of her melting into him and her mouth opened under his. Eventually her hands pressed against his bare chest and pushed away from him barely.

Gene took in the sight of her, the feel of her, his eyes dark, "I still wake up sometimes thinkin', thinkin' all this just another one of my daydreams. Kind I used to have, over there."

"About me?" Lily whispered with a smile.

"Of course, about you cher." He shook his head and flexed his hands at her waist pulling her in tighter against him. Kissing her again, still longer and slower as she wrapped her arms up around his neck and moaned into his mouth.

She let him tug her close, enjoyed the way his eyes had darkened but still looked half asleep as he pulled away from her the smallest distance necessary to speak. "Just checkin'." Lily smirked and kissed him once more. Then she stepped back and took her hand in his and led him to the screen door with the intention of going back inside.

Her husband had a slightly different idea though as he stopped her in her track just in front of the door, hands on her hips and pulling her back into him as he ducked down to stroke her hair to the side and kissed the side of her neck. When she instantly leaned back against him he chuckled moved his hands under the shirt she wore as he mouthed at her neck greedily. Lily moaned in his arms and he smirked as he lifted his lips to whisper against her ear. "Don't think I'm ready to go back to bed just yet cher."

The End

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #doc roe #eugene roe #eugene roe x ofc #hbowar #band of brothers x ofc #eugene doc roe

[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)

[latibvles]

SAD, BEAUTIFUL, TRAGIC.

beautiful tragic // d-day plus six.

in which the company takes the village of carentan.

masterlist | gallery | taglist

WARNINGS: descriptions of gore, death, and injuries

SUMMARY: the nurses hit the ground running after being in Normandy for less than a week — not that daisy is necessarily complaining, as she’s placed in the first aid station closest to carentan.

She’s never really known how to be idle. Of course, anyone around her could tell her that — but there’s something about this heavy silence that hangs in the air that really smacks her in the face with that realization. It isn’t necessarily her fault, however, because in her defense, she’s been busy since she and her fellow nurses hit Normandy four days ago. Her muscles ache in a way that was almost satisfactory, nails chipped and broken from working with her hands, and for once she’s enjoying with this feeling of dirt itching across her skin. She only had enough time to squeeze in a few hours of precious sleep before she was back on her feet —not so much a shower. Not that she minded.

This however, she did mind, the waiting — staring in anticipation into the open rode and waiting for those first trucks to come with wounded men or corpses. How bad would it be? The rest of their men weren’t getting off the beach if they didn’t secure Carentan, and she had a feeling everybody with half a brain knew that. Including the Germans.

“Hey, Clarke,” she feels a hand come upon her shoulder and squeeze it, and she’s immediately looking to the left to face the one beckoning her.

Virginia Brant, their head nurse, and, as far as Daisy is concerned, one of the best nurses in their unit. Her gray eyes are searching, and she feels Ginny slide her arm down Daisy’s shoulder, going to grasp one of her hands. “Staring at the road won’t will something to happen. Come with me. Rita and Patty are cleaning bandages and I’m sure they could use the extra hands before this all goes to shit,” she raises both brows expectantly, and Daisy nods in surrender, allowing the woman to drag her away from the main road. She watches in fascination as Ginny’s blonde curls seem to bounce with every step she takes.

They’d met back in training a year ago, both of them fresh-faced nursing graduates hoping to put all that school to some good use. Ginny stuck by her ever since — and now was the Captain of their unit. The position always suited her. She’d always been an opinionated, commandeering sort.

Sure enough, Ginny leads her to one of the abandoned buildings that they’d used to establish this field hospital, five miles out from Carentan. Inside, there’s water boiling on the stove and she watches as her two fellow nurses dump bandages unceremoniously into the large metal basin on top.

Well, Rita’s unceremonious and quick about it. Patty is more precise, Daisy watches as she delicately places the bandages in the boiling water as though they were made of glass. Rita notices her and Ginny first, flashing the two of them a toothy grin.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d snap outta it. Ginny puttin’ you t’work now?” she asks playfully. Daisy releases her friend’s hand, and immediately goes to the pile of what she assumes is clean bandages, wringing out the water in them with a lighthearted roll of her eyes.

“I just knew that you’d be struggling without me, and I was feeling charitable today.”

“Oh how kind of you,” Rita drawls in response, eliciting a low chuckle from Ginny.

“Right then — the boys are set to come up on Carentan within the hour. So far we’ve got Easy Company and Fox Company making their way — but no doubt we can probably expect Dog Company falling in soon as well, and Able’s up to the North. Don’t know what firepower they’ve got on the German side, but you remember what it was like at the 42nd,” Daisy wrings out the next bandage a little tighter than what she’s used to, and her eyes flit to Patty, who’s resigned to picking at her bottom lip.

They’d gotten to Normandy early in comparison — as a result there was nowhere for them to set up a field hospital, nothing to set it up with. So they worked at the 42nd Field Hospital until they were ordered to move out. Most of the men they dealt with were some of the first to land in Normandy — and several required surgery. Needless to say, it was a bloody mess, and when things finally calmed down as much as they could, Daisy was the one who held Patty’s hair back as she threw up into a helmet with no liner after losing several patients in surgery.

The girl’s green eyes are clouded with a sort of pensiveness that lets Daisy know she’s probably thinking about that day too.

“Rita, I want you to assist our surgeon. Patty, I want you in preop, and Daisy, you’re on standby till we’re ready to send you down to the aid station. They’re still getting their bearings on who survived Day One so they’ll likely be short on medics. That clear?”

There’s an almost sick, cruel irony in her being ordered to wait, but she knows that it’s not like Ginny meant for things to pan out that way. Just happened to be her turn in this three-way rotation they’d set up. The luck of the draw. And Daisy, apparently, just seems to have poor luck today. But she doesn’t protest, just gives Ginny a definitive nod as she continues to wring out bandages and lay them out to dry. Rita replies with a calm ‘aye aye Captain’ and Patty squeaks out her own ‘You’ve got it.’

With that, their dear Captain Brant leaves the room, and Daisy crosses over to give Patty a reaffirming squeeze on the shoulder.

The sick, cruel irony was that every patient Patty lost hadn’t even made it past preop. She looks to Daisy with a frown, biting her bottom lip. Daisy, in turn, tries to give her a reassuring smile.

“You’ve got this, Pats. Everything’s gonna work out like it’s supposed to.” She brings the girl closer, and Patty tilts her head to one side so Daisy can kiss the side of her head as a means of reassurance.

They’d met Patricia Kegley upon their arrival in England. Daisy’s unit was meant to show an example of skill to the other nurses who had been on standby, waiting for D-Day’s fast arrival. Apparently, Patty was so moved by the display that she asked to be transferred to their unit — it had been finalized just before they were meant to embark to Normandy. Needless to say she was definitely emotional — sometimes Daisy wonders if those rosy cheeks of hers were a direct result of all the tears she’s wept for the fallen men. Needless to say, Patty’s heart was oftentimes, too big for her petite frame to carry.

Patty smiles at her, a wobbly thing but it’s an attempt, and she nods.

“You’re right, Daisy, I just…”

“I know, Patty, I know.”

The thing about rifles is that even when you’re miles off — you can still hear them. Especially when it’s countless rifles all firing off at the same time. Five miles out, she can still recognize the pepper of gunfire, no matter how distant — in times like this it almost feels like the entire field hospital is holding their collective breath. She hasn’t seen Rita nor Patty since they separated after cleaning duty — finding an unoccupied spot to perch upon in case anyone needed her.

There’s a loud, rattling boom, and Daisy cringes. She isn’t sure if it’s a mortar or very well placed TNT, and she can only hope that their guys were the ones setting it off as her knee begins to bounce in anticipation, waiting for whichever jeep is going to speed into the town first and take her away.

The biggest problem with distance is that while she can tell that there’s combat going on — it’s not like she can see it. So Daisy simply has to hope. Hope things are going as well as they can, hope that whoever is there is holding down the fort, and hope that when she does get down there — she’ll be useful enough.

And this is why she hates the waiting, even though it would probably do her some good to refine her patience. Left like this, on standby no less, would almost always lead to her generating the worst case scenarios and running through each of them as though she were her own cruel, sadistic drill sergeant.

The revving of an engine and the calls for aid snap her from her muddled thoughts.

An ambulance revvs through the gravel and two soldiers are unloading a third before it even comes to a complete halt. One side of his face is completely mangled by shrapnel, and she can see smoke pluming from his left arm as the entire place goes into motion. She watches as they carry him off and Patty coaxes the three of them inside, and it doesn’t take long before more and more are coming in. It’s a cacophony of tires screeching, of wailing, dying men, of nurses and doctors ordering about the soldiers to stay or go or hand that here.

“Nurse Clarke?”

A voice snaps her from her own trance, a hand firmly gripping her forearm and she turns to look at whoever called her. He’s got brown eyes, a helmet on, and she immediately recognizes the red cross on his uniform. Daisy clears her throat, rising to her feet but not paying mind to his grip, standing up straighter.

“Yes. That’s me.” It’s immediate. He gives her nothing more than a nod in greeting.

“Eugene Roe. You’re coming with me.” He’s got a thick accent and although he’s very quick to relay this to her, he’s also quick to release her arm as she grabs her helmet from where it rested at her side and the two move quickly down the street to an awaiting jeep on the hospital outskirts. He hops in first, extends his hand, which she takes to pull herself up immediately after. The last thing she sees before they take off is Captain Brant helping a soldier limp into a tent.

“How many wounded?” she asks as the sounds of gunfire grow louder, and she can make out indiscernible shouting.

“I don’t know.” Eugene replies, jaw clenching as they approach.

“If you had to take a guess?”

“We were getting shot down before we even stepped foot in Carenten, if that gives you an idea.” Daisy nods, as the jeep skids to a stop, jumping off without assistance and turning to face Eugene.

“Which company are you a part of?”

“Easy, ma’am.”

“Right. Okay, point me in the direction of your aid station and then just worry about getting your boys to me,” she feels the ghost of Eugene’s hand on her back as he guides her to a building. Gunfire rings loudly in her ears and they’re quick to scurry inside. Already she’s met with the scent of blood, men moaning in agony. She looks to Eugene, gives him a nod, and he’s scurrying off towards the front. Daisy moves further into the building, and after a brief exchange of introductions, immediately falls into step with the men around her.

A man is brought in — although he’s more like a boy — face a ghastly pale color, lip quivering and eyes blown wide.

“Here. Put ‘em here.” She gestures to an empty table and the two men who brought him in set him down. Immediately she’s moving the fabric of his jacket and shirt away, greeted with a bullet hole. Apparently, and unsurprisingly, they’re low on morphine — so Daisy tears a bit of his jacket unceremoniously. “Here. Bite this. It’s probably gonna hurt a lot but I need to get that bullet out, alright?” The boy looks to her, fear in his face, chest heaving.

“I don’t— I don’t wanna die,” is his meek, blubbering reply. Daisy reaches up, letting her fingers caress his face for the briefest moment and using her free hand to put pressure on the wound.

“You’re fine. Just need you to relax for a second and bite, okay? I’ll patch you up real nice.” It takes a few seconds, but he stops heaving and she, rather flippantly, shoves the cloth into his mouth before reaching for the tweezers and giving him one last shared look before she’s pulling out the first pieces of the bullet that had lodged into his side. His scream is muffled, and she winces, but continues.

It takes a few minutes, but she works deftly to ensure all the pieces had been pulled before she’s tearing open a packet of sulfa powder with her teeth and sprinkling it on the wound, then grabbing bandages and wrapping them around his waist, muttering out her own reassurances that he’s doing fine.

“Alright, you’re fine. You’re okay — hey, can someone come move him?! Send him up to the field hospital on the next ride up!” she calls out. Surely enough two medics come, but she frowns when they pick him up too roughly for her liking. “Hey. Easy now, he’s not a sack you can just swing around!”

She wipes off her hands with a rag, and sure enough there’s another patient being half-dragged in, and the roof of this aid station rattles with every mortar blast. She doesn’t slow down. There’s a man with a missing leg, a man with a few face abrasions and a wound in his thigh. She assumes that the man who brought him in is a friend, because when she’s done he makes a joke about her saving the man’s “family line” — if this were any other time, Daisy probably would’ve blushed.

Those aren’t even the worst ones of the day.

She’s just finished removing another bullet wound when the door nearly crashes open and three men come in, carrying a forth. The entire right side of his face is mangled, bloody, and he’s coughing up blood that dribbles down the front of his uniform. Even from across the room she can see the severe burns, the smoke that comes out of his boots. He’s whimpering and heaving and one of the men is muttering out his own reassurances.

“You’re gonna be fine, Tip, I’ve got you.”

Daisy, and two other medics immediately guide them to an open spot. Just as the one man moves to leave with the other two, she grabs his sleeve.

“Your name, sir?” Brown eyes, brown hair, an upturned nose and a look of frustration on his face. For a second she thinks he’s going to mouth off to her, but he doesn’t.

“Liebgott,” he bites out, and she repeats it quietly.

“Alright Liebgott, you stay here with him and keep him calm. Gonna take a second for the painkillers to kick in and we don’t need him thrashing about till then, got it?” As if thrown off by her order, he blinks for a moment. She narrows her eyes and repeats it again. “Got it?!”

“Yes nurse, got it.” he replies, moving into “Tip’s” field of vision. In cruder terms — the left side of his face. She watches Liebgott take his hand and squeeze it, before getting to work herself, cutting away at the fabric aggravating his burns as whatever drug the other medics adminsistered seems to kick in, and his body relaxes, barely reacting as one of them begins to cut away at some of the burned tissue. Make the surgeon’s job a little easier — but there’s not much they can do without proper surgical tools. Continuously, her gaze shifts to Liebgott when she’s moving on to another task, and once they’ve managed to move Tipper and send him up the five mile drive, she does her best to smile at him before he leaves.

The rest of the day goes quickly after that — she’s left heaving in the aftermath, but is conscious of not dragging a hand down her face despite the desire to. Instead, she takes a few steps back, looking about the station as she wipes her hands on her apron. There are men spread out on every available surface, some hooked up to plasma or other fluids, but the pepper of gunfire has died down significantly, and for that she’s relieved. Daisy’s eyes land on a doctor, tucked away in his own corner, and recognizes it as Eugene after a few moments, so she makes her way over.

A man sits on the table, with neatly parted ginger hair and a piercing blue-eyed gaze. Eugene seems to be wrapping a bandage around his ankle. It doesn’t help that he’s the first to notice her presence — she tries not to make her shudder too obvious. Afterwards, Eugene follows his stare, looks up, and gives her something of a smile. Even though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, it’s still warm and inviting.

“Nurse Clarke,” he greets.

“Roe, and this is…” she looks at the ginger expectantly.

“Lieutenant Winters, ma’am,” he introduces himself, and Daisy’s eyebrows shoot up reflexively.

“The one in charge,” she blurts without entirely thinking it through. Rita liked to gossip, so she was more than aware of the ‘Lieutenant Meehan situation’ as Rita liked to put it. He cracks a smile and suddenly Daisy wants to shrink into her own skin.

“Sorry sir I didn’t… I just— well I was gonna have Eugene pass this on but since you’re here I can do it,” she reaches up to scratch the side of her neck, then feeling the sticky substance on her fingertips, does her best not to swear. “Private Tipper’s been sent up to the hospital, they’ll probably be moving him further from there. If you wish to relay that to whoever might be concerned that’s up to you but I figured to notify you. I didn’t take all your guys though.” The last part of her statement garners a laugh from him — brief as it may be, and a small shake of his head as he voices his thanks. Daisy then looks back to Eugene.

“I… better get back to the field hospital. Someone will probably run by with the names of who we’ve got up with us, so keep a lookout for that. Be safe, Eugene. And you too, Lieutenant.”

She doesn’t linger for long after that, opting to scurry out of the aid station and into the now slightly busy town. But she doesn’t get very far, before she collides with another person.

“Long time, no see.”

#fic // sad beautiful tragic #band of brothers #ronald speirs #band of brothers fic #hbo war #hbo war fic #ron speirs #ron speirs x reader #ronald speirs x oc #ronald speirs x ofc #eugene roe #dick winters #richard winters #doc roe

[natailiatulls07]

The golden trio Final

Lando Norris x female!reader

Carlos Sainz x female!reader

Max Verstappen & Female!reader & Charles Leclerc

Summary - Being bestfriends with two famous formula one drivers is never easy, but what will happen when you get involved with yet another formula one driver??

Warning - swearing, talks of throwing up, invasion of privacy, blacking out

A/n - It’s the final, I hope you like it!! My Halloween season starts this Wednesday coming at 5pm BST, all you need about the season is here 🤍

Also Happy Birthday Max!! 🥳

The golden trio

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yourusername posted a story

maxverstappen1 posted a story

yourusername

Italia 😚

Tagged: carlossainz55 charles_leclerc maxverstappen1

Liked by maxverstappen1 and 64,782 others

username What are Max and Charles doing in the first picture??!

= yourusername They we’re digging a ‘cave’ in the sand 😑

= username Ofc they were 😳

username Y/n and Carlos? No! Mum and dad? Yes!

~~ Liked by carlossainz55

charles_leclerc Why do me and Max get bad pics and Carlos gets a nice one of him??!?!

= carlossainz55 Cause she loves me dickhead 😏

= maxverstappen1 So unfair!

username I saw you guys!!

username Well deserved holiday 👏🏻

f1gossip

Spotted: Carlos Sainz and Y/n L/n are really getting spicy on the beaches of Italy. Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc were not there, suggesting a cozy beach visit for the two lovers

Liked by username and 1,356 others

username Good for them!

username Charles and Max were probably off causing shit somewhere lmao 💀

username Very spicy 🙈

username Ngl I think you should respect their privacy

= username See I agree but I love the gossip and I just live my relationship goals through them 🥹

~~ Liked by f1gossip

Gossip Groupchat (White: reader) (Blue: Max) (Red: Charles)

Heyyyy when do you and Carlos get back?????

Soon, idk how long

Ok cool

Why do you ask??

Because…um

Um me and Max are drunk!! 😜

This is why I don’t leave you two for long periods of time

Look Maxy is blacked out!! But I made him look peaceful 😌

Of course he is 😑

Hiiiiiii it’s me Charlie on Maxys phone to send you this cool picture he took!!!

I look great 😍

Might use it for my profile pic on tinder 🤪 The ladies will LOVE it

Look Charlie stay by Max, me and Carlos are on our way

Yayyy Mum and Dad are coming!!

I’m awake!!

I should become a photographer 🤩

I want to throw up

Y/n

Yeah?

I just threw up

Oh god

Yeah Y/n it looks disgusting

yourusername posted a story

username Carlos and Y/n being Max and Charles’ mum and dad is just something I didn’t know I needed 🤭

username IKR Like they’re so mum and dad coded, I LOVE IT

username I’m guessing we all saw Y/n’s story then 💀

username They’re gonna have such a headache tomorrow you just know it!!!

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Tag list: @eviethetheatrefreak @janeholt3 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @namelesssav @amalialeclerc @eugene-emt-roe @skepvids @ravisinghs-wife @bellaturner @roseseraj @darleneslane @jpg3 @minkyungseokie @cha-hot @sarahedwards16 @madszoca

#formula one #formula one x reader #lando norris #charles leclerc #max verstappen #carlos sainz #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz x reader #lando norris x y/n #carlos sainz x y/n #lando x reader #carlos x reader #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #red bull racing #mclaren racing #ferrari racing #f1 x reader #f1 x you

[bellewintersroe]

Eugene Roe x Nurse!Reader Headcanons

A series of headcanons on how your relationship with Eugene slowly turned from platonic to romantic over the course of the war…

So ofc Gene follows the rules, he knows there’s strictly no allowing fraternisation, so no matter what ways he feels about you when he first sees you, he has to push them aside.

you’re close tho, like probably closer to him than the other nurses are- you’re friendly and sweet and kind, Gene asks you often for help and advice and you’d do the same.

Sometimes he’d pretend to himself he didn’t know what he was doing, just so he could come visit you to learn and listen.

Listen, during the war he’d find you sooo soothing to him. It’s no lie the men were starved of female company, and Gene is no exception.

your warmth and presence is so inviting and calming- you’d be so mellow in the times when he thought nobody could be, he’d deffo get super upset to see you down or upset.

Maybe things would slowly get more touchy feely- not in a weird or overbearing way- but like Gene senses your stressed and rubs your shoulder, or you’d place a soft hand on his arm, rubbing his skin over his sleeve.

blushes like crazy- at first he’d be stuttering but I think over time he’d act so cool and collected- on the inside he’s a worried mess for you, especially out in Europe.

his gazes would tell you everything you needed to know, you’d both deffo sense there was something between you, but you know there’s no room to make a move- nevermind that there’s barely any time.

In Bastogne is where I think the friendship would become something with more… blurred lines?

it’s towards the end of your stay on the line, the nurses are kept further back, but you’re so cold and frightened, you got a little lost so you just bunk out in a foxhole not far from the rest of the men, comforted knowing they were around. Still- you were close enough to hear them, but it was too dark to see anyone.

So when footsteps begin rapidly approaching, you’re helpless and all you can do is turn around- your heart stopping and breathing rapid.

“Y/n?! What’re you doing here?!” Luckily it’s Gene who falls beside you in the damp foxhole. Your hand would be on your chest, exhaling in relief as you drop your head, attempting to calm your racing pulse.

“Y/n?” Genes shuddering, but more worried about what’s going on with you. No matter how much he’s suffered in Bastogne he’s still frantically concerned about you.

“I’m ok, sorry, Gene… God you scared me. I got lost out here, just stayed here. I’m too cold to move.”

He’d take one glance over you before covering your hands with his, rubbing them, pulling you closer into him. I don’t think he’d even do it consciously, but you’d be wrapped under his arm, warming up one another.

it probably wouldn’t take much when you’re in that position for you to move closer and share a kiss.

it just kinda happens? You’re both surprised but at the same time you’re not, you don’t speak about it after, but you go on sharing knowing smiles and lingering touches with the common thought in mind that you two just had to be patient.

when the opportunity gives- Eugene takes. If you finally get to be alone, at first it’s a little awkward? He’s a little nervous, but you two would just be able to explore a level of intimacy with one another that you haven’t before.

even if things move slow it’s sooo worth it, Gene would be the kindest, most gentle, patient, loving man ever.

#eugene roe x reader #eugene roe #gene roe x reader #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers x reader

[bloodstainedsaint]

eugene roe x best friend + medic! reader hcs

word count: 900+

warnings: mentions of war (obv) but overall fluffy happy stuff :)

notes: this is really self-indulgent but i hope y'all enjoy it too

first of all, i feel like you're the only person that eugene would ever call by their nickname (at least before babe)

his nickname(s) for you would probably be based off your name or where you're from (if you're not also from louisiana), like “bluebonnet” for texas

your nickname(s) for him would be gene, bayou, or my favorite: genie

when you call him by his real name, that's how you know it's a serious matter

someone would ask: “why do you call doc roe genie?”

“‘cause he makes your wishes come true when he treats you”

if you're from louisiana, then that’s how you know him; otherwise, you guys met in the army, or thru my personal hc: you went to nursing school in louisiana and met him in a town there before the war started

being friends with eugene means that you’re either an extrovert or actually an introvert who is less soft-spoken than eugene and is therefore the more outgoing one between the two of you (bc someone has to be the talker and it's not going to be him)

when he gets mad at you (usually coming from a place of concern, like you were being too risky saving someone…or you didn't eat), he cusses at you/reprimands you in french, and if you don’t know french, then you’re just hearing angry french noises

will give you chocolate bars, a listening ear, and words of advice when you're feeling down (bc his love language is acts of service and quality time)

you’re there to calm him down whenever all his bottled up emotions are too much to suppress any further and he blows up, like with winters and welsh or when he returns from bastogne

you let him know that what he’s feeling is entirely valid and shouldn’t be swallowed down

he’d definitely go off at/death stare anyone messing with you, and you'd do the same for him (but everyone in the company loves y'all so i don't see this happening)

you’re the one who encourages him to talk to easy company’s men, because you know that you could lose them but you’re friends with them anyway and you want him to get close to them too

when eugene’s smiling, you’re smiling because you just want to see him happy

actually, he smiles the most around you, even if it's the fleeting kind

you, as you snuff out the cigarette he was smoking: “how do you smoke and you're a medic? that stuff kills you”

cue eugene hitting you with a slightly annoyed look (he does that a lot) (with love ofc)

when he comes back from the town of bastogne for the first time, you like to tease him about meeting renée

“someone finally understood your gibberish!” or “bayou, why does your face look red? usually you look sickly and pale”

bc that boy looks like a ghost in the ardennes

you’re cheerful when he makes a friend in babe heffron, because until then eugene was only sticking by you

during off-duty times where no one's actively in danger, the two of you are inseparable; where one goes the other is not far, and that goes for anywhere the company takes you

you guys shared a foxhole in bastogne before dike told you two to split up so the company didn’t lose two medics with one shelling

but before that you would huddle up with him for warmth, your head on his shoulder and his head resting on your head

sibling bond fr

from a distance, he smiles as he watches you interact and laugh with the easy guys until you pull him in so he could be part of the camaraderie too

when someone yells medic, one of you goes and the other stays if someone else gets hurt for max efficiency

when the two of you do work together, it's like you guys are in sync, hardly needing to use words to communicate what the other needs to do

you like to mess up his already spiky hair

you can tell when he’s feeling despondent, so you just sit there with him in silence, keeping him company with a few jokes or random stories here and there to get his mind off of things, seeing as he's not really one to vent

if you like someone in the company, trust that eugene is scrutinizing them, making sure that they’re a good match for you and that they’re going to treat you right

he’ll also warn you that having a crush in the military or being in a relationship during war could be dangerous; he has your best interests at heart, but you have to tell him that you know what you're getting into

he WILL tease you a little bit though

“want me to go injure (your crush’s name) so you can treat him?”

cue you smacking him with a “gene!”

he’s protective over you; he’ll stand slightly in front of you when shit starts going down, and if you’re close enough, he’ll check that you're okay first before going on to the rest of the men

you best believe that after the war, you guys are still the best of friends and will keep in touch and visit each other, even if your paths diverge

the rapport between fellow medics is unmatched, and that’s especially the case for you two <3

-

taglist: @mads-weasley, @ronsparky, @dcyllom, @malarkgirlypop

#band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #eugene roe #eugene roe x reader #hbo war #doc roe #doc roe x reader #hbo war fanfic #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #101st airborne #easy company #shane taylor #band of brothers fanfic

[liptonsbabe]

Blood all along

Eugene Roe x fem! reader

Inktober "Snow"

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood, war, the usual in this fandom(?.

a/n: well hello! This is a little something that I did for the inktober! I'm not an artist but I thought it would be cute to write a few fics for our favorite boys on this month! Hope you like it!

Btw English is not my frst language so tell me if something's wrong

ofc this is based on the hbo series and the actors who portray the characters, no disrespect for the real heroes!

You hissed in pain as you disinfected the wound on your leg. You were lucky, the bullet had only grazed your skin and the only thing you had to deal with was trying to stop the bleeding that was staining the snow beneath you red.

Bastogne was being a complete nightmare, the air support that arrived a few days ago was not enough and the battalion's medical team was having serious problems helping all the wounded men.

Having to digging in right along the line and repel the German attacks was the worst moment of the war so far and having lost so many soldiers in such a short time was a very strong blow for everyone.

Malarkey, Muck, Penkala and you were inseparable since Toccoa and losing two of your best friends in the same night was so painful for you, especially cause you trained so hard to become a doctor and still couldn't do anything for them. Don talked to you right after what happened, making sure you were okay, but the truth was that he was just or worse affected than you were, and even if Donald Malarkey always knew what to say to lift others' spirits, at that moment the words were stuck on his lips. The only thing he could do was stay by your side, silent and holding your hand tightly.

Everyone in the company noticed your change in attitude after Muck and Penkala's death. Somehow you turned lonely, quiet, and your hands shook when you were near the soldiers' wounds, something that didn't go unnoticed by Eugene Roe, who asked you to step away from the line for a while and try to forget everything that had happened in the last few days.

But forgetting was impossible. Even if your friends hadn't died, you could never forget the warm, viscous feeling of blood on your hands, the smell of gunpowder filling the air or the screams of pain you heard every day, at every second. Now, every time you closed your eyes, the images of the wounded soldiers appeared among a dark cloud that slowly grew bigger and bigger, trying to choke you.

You hissed again, the cold making the wound on your exposed leg sting terribly. You took some alcohol from your backpack and soaked the gauze with it to disinfect the bullet graze. You smiled a little, remembering how you had gotten hurt.

If you had found the third battalion sooner, Babe wouldn't have fallen into that Kraut's foxhole and you wouldn't have to run through the woods with gunfire hot on your heels. It was kind of fun tho, but your leg was swollen like hell.

You heard footsteps approaching your position and without thinking twice you grabbed the knife that you always carried on your belt. You waited for the shadow to become clearer in the snow to attack, but then you recognized the silhouette and relaxed your body.

Eugene walked towards you slowly. His nose was red from the cold and his hands were hidden in the pockets of his uniform. You put the knife aside and continued cleaning the blood. Eugene sat in front of you, noticing the red snow under your feet.

“(Y/N), you're hurt.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“Wait, I'm gonna help you,” he said and rushed to examine the swelling on your leg. You pushed him away “You should've come to me sooner.”

"It wasn't necessary. Don't worry, the bullet didn't hit me. At least not completely. Plus, I'm a doctor too, remember? I can take care of this by myself.”

"Doesn't matter. I wish you'd let me check you properly. Edward told me what happened.”

"Who?" You frowned, not understanding who he was referring to. Then you remembered that Eugene never called anyone by his nickname “Uh, Babe.”

“Yeah.”

“I asked him not to do it, I didn't want you to worry.”

“Well, no matter what happens, I will always worry about you” then he removed your hands from the wound and took the gauze carefully. Roe cleaned your wound and took the time to check that it was indeed a simple bullet graze. He put some ointment on it and blew on your swollen leg for a couple of seconds. You sighed cause the air from his mouth felt like a kiss on your skin and relieved the burning momentarily. You admired the firmness of his hands and the way the blood no longer scared him. He pulled a bandage out of his jacket and started wrapping it around your leg.

“Eugene, how can you stand it?”

He looked up for a second while continuing to manipulate the bandage. “What d'you mean?”

"I mean this. Still standing after everything that has happened."

Eugene stopped. His fingers rested on your bandaged leg and he thought hard for several seconds. He looked at you and could see how broken and tired you were.

"I pray. Sometimes"

“There must be something else” You sniffled, wanting to stop the tears. Eugene sighed, “Something that makes you feel like it's worth staying here.”

“I think there is always something good at the end of the road. I think that… beyond this forest, beyond this frozen hell… there's something that gives purpose to what we are doing. And I hold on to the thought that everything I love will be there when I come back” he said and caressed your cheek “And maybe, with a little luck, I can convince you to come home with me” You laughed through your tears and Eugene squeezed your hand gently. “I'm sorry about Muck and Penkala. I know you feel guilty for not being able to help them, but I'm convinced that they believed firmly in you, and that if it had been different, you'd be there, trying 'til the very end.

Your tears were uncontrollable and Eugene hugged you tightly, he let your pain come out of your chest and let your tears be carried away by the heavy snow that fell from the sky. Roe stroked your hair and kissed the top of your head.

“Everything's gonna be okay and i promise you that I'm gonna take you home,” he whispered in your ear. “I promise, (Y/N), I do promise.”

#dick winters #band of brothers #eugene roe #hbo war #lewis nixon #bandofbrothersedit #carwood lipton #bill guarnere #bob #easy company

[skiesofrosie]

all is fair, but matters of the heart

joe liebgott x ofc (amy calloway)

summary: joe doesn't quite know why he's even fighting the war anymore, until she starts to give him reason.

word count: 6.7k+ words

a/n: this is a long one, so i don't know if anyone would want to read it, but if you do, then do enjoy. all characters based only from the show. oh, and ps. these photos do not belong to me. :)

1942

Joe Liebgott is a reckless man disguised in a fight for honor.

perhaps, it's the notion that he has nothing to lose. if fate decides he should take a bullet through the heart, than his mother had six others still beating.

it’s not that he believes his life to be disposable, it just seems he was meant for more than to sit behind a wheel and drive a yellow cab. though, the smiles that would linger on his customers’ faces when they shut the door as they leave, always drew a smirk of satisfaction to his lips. Joe was an expert at bringing laughter to the table.

but there was something untamed in the depth of Liebgott’s soul, and he figured the war would be the key to unchain it from its cage. it was the mask he was looking for, a place where he could ravage against an enemy because the lines of good and bad were nowhere to be found.

many will say that Amy Calloway is soft-spoken, elegant, and revoltingly kind — everything that the war is not. there were no more men in Easy Company to question her placement. nobody would say it, but the thought would linger in the back of all of their minds: that a woman, a small and reserved one at that, is assigned to be their medic and last more than ten minutes on the battlefield.

but she will not let them prod at her flames with gasoline on their fingers.

everyone thought it, but only Joe would say it.

“and the woman has barely said anything since she got here,” he rants over lunch, mouth full of spaghetti that's spitting out to Webster, who flinches in distaste. it didn’t help, Web thinks, that Joe has the tendency to speak like there's a microphone in his lungs. “if she goes, that’s another loss for E company, and another medic down. fuckin’ hell–”

there’s a reason she keeps her composure intact. the Calloways spanned generations through the military. her own father had fought as a pilot in the first war, and her mother was a nurse, drafted at the same base where he was stationed. she told Amy the stories of quieter days, where daylight would be a welcome deception to the true face of volatile combat. of course, it is days like those her parents would sneak away, and in the doings of a weekend pass, they married and conceived Amy right in the middle of war.

but she also told her of the days when there wasn’t an inch one could go where blood did not stain the sterile floors, the white curtains and every leaf in a potted plant. it is in this chaos, she would say, that it is most important to remain patient with mankind.

“as a medic, you’d be gambling with their lives otherwise,” she remarked. “become too riled up to do your job right.”

of course, this excludes the fact if they are shooting at you.

that day in the cafeteria however, Amy is not yet weighed down by the tribulations of saving lives. they are not in the crossroads, so she can afford a little gamble.

Amy is seated just two tables down from Liebgott, letting the comfort of a silence in her fellow medic, Eugene Roe, speak louder than his obnoxious tongue. it's one thing to insult her capabilities as a medic, but it's another to base judgment on whether she would survive to her being a woman. she did not train for nine months to be berated by a man with an ego. when the words left his mouth, implications that she was a liability to the airborne infantry, the budding flame began to release its fumes in her blue eyes.

“Roe,” she calls, Eugene’s attention snapping to her. “i’m gonna get a second round.” he nods and pronounces he could use another plate too. oh, if only he had known he would get caught in a—albeit tame—crossfire.

and Liebgott dares to lock eyes with Amy, winking as her figure approaches his table. “ah, and here she is, Easy’s very own princess.”

“i appreciate the honor, really,” she replies, nonchalant. Liebgott scoffs, and he is about to blurt another unremarkable comment when she snatches the mic from his chest, “perhaps, i don’t say much, especially to you, because i don’t waste my breath on people who aren’t worth it.”

“the fuck did you just say to me,” he spat, nearly kicking his seat back. before he can even stand, Floyd grabs him by the shoulder and shoves him back down. the room is deafeningly silent, save for the clang of pots and pans in the distance. “jesus, Lieb,” Talbert says, exasperated, “you gonna square up with the woman?”

“looks like you’re ready to take it.” it is quite amusing what the choice of rebuttal could do to a man. his shoulders are tense, and his lips are pulled into a sneer. a smirk betrays her attempts at schooling how smug she felt. she pays no mind to the way his eyes fall to her lips while he licks his own clean. “you got anything else you wanna fucking say?”

“that you have to trust me,” she states, and his fingers that were about to lift a cigarette to his mouth pauses mid-air. “i wouldn’t be here, chosen for Easy if they weren’t damn sure i could keep your legs and your arms attached to your body.”

Joe is surprised to find no snark in her tone. it was no testimony to prove her case, just a statement of her belief. and despite himself, he is impressed at which she holds it with pride, cementing her position in black, permanent ink.

when Amy turns around, she closes her eyes for a split second longer than usual, and breathes out a sigh of relief. funnily enough, she was never one for confrontation. she laughs at the sight of Eugene, who is trailing close behind her, but darting his eyes to every corner of the room in pure discomfort.

it was misplaced to Joe, the scent of lilies and jasmines she left in her wake (but, of course, he barely noticed). he huffs in annoyance, but as the clock ticks by, the rowdy chatter starts to intrude into his head like noise pollution. he wonders if somebody had punched a hole in the roof, because an irrepressible feeling of guilt began to pour in and drown his cocky charade. and he knows Webster has caught on. his bunkmate took one look at Joe, shoving the spaghetti around silently in his plate, and began chortling to himself. 

a whistle blowing stabs at his eardrums, and he groans when Sobel walks in. “Easy Company is running up Currahee!”

1944

there is a shift in Joe Liebgott, and not in the way he would expect.

he joined the infantry as a complete rascal, aimless with his gun so as long as it points to the enemy. whether in bar fights or with machine guns, and especially in the aftermath of D-Day, Joe is a walking grenade. 

but there are a few instances, in the throes of his rage, when fiery strikes would perish into complete duds. and in each occasion, she was there.

ever since that day in Camp Toccoa, he had attempted to keep his distance. keyword: attempted, and failed. it is quite a feat to achieve, especially when he feels her presence like the sun, even as she shies away into the corner of a room. and joe may be a reckless man, but he’s hardly stupid. he knows there is something in the way she brings him serenity. in a place where the soil comes infused with blood, agony and finality, she was the lone flower that found the strength to bloom within it all. and in her roots are humility and grit — all things that holds the stem of her beauty. 

truth be told, it is not like him to restrain from matters of the heart. people believe Joe to be a man who doesn’t think, only does. that he does not feel, simply acts. but the reality is quite the opposite. he drives himself into carelessness, oftentimes crashing into a dead end, because he feels too much. his rationality is uncaring when the question of fairness is at hand. and Joe—watching his friends, watching her, on the verge of death—feels that this entire war is the definition of unfair.

he keeps his distance from Amy Calloway, because if there is one thing he is careful of, it's to not make her fall for someone like him. and he knows she feels it too.

if not love, they both walk a tightrope—one end tells them both to just let it go, and the other begs them to take a chance. 

they balanced a step forward when he felt the soft skin on her hands slip over his fist, back when they were on their way to England. in his defense, everyone was on edge on that ship, awaiting the hellfire; even more so than now, when sacrifice was something they just had to expect. and his outburst, because of course Joe had to throw a punch somewhere, was egged on by Guarnere running his mouth.

“Joe,” she whispered. “Joe,” she muttered, even quieter, but her lips felt closer to his ears. her presence overwhelmed him with the way she stood so close to his right, grabbing onto his biceps to force him down. despite the scowl on Bill’s face, and the three, maybe four other soldiers straining to keep him still, it was when he felt her fingers clasp over his own that he tampered the fire in his breath. “don’t let him get to you, he’s just being a fucking idiot.”

it was most difficult to not meet her eyes, what with the way he felt her breath on his neck.

they took another tip toe forward, when he spotted her clear as day, shrouded in a darkness thick with trees that strayed into an abyss, from about 100 meters away in Normandy. he’d like to say it was because of her glassy blue eyes, or her porcelain skin, but really, it's because he’d recognize that short stack figure of hers anywhere.

“flash!” Joe whisper-yelled, throwing his hands up when she whips her head around and points her rifle, laser sharp, at him. “Joe?”

Amy lowered her gun, her chest visibly rising and falling in a rush of panic. Joe managed to crack a light, teasing grin then, in hopes it would put her at ease, “i should report you for breaking the regime, Private Calloway.”

and it did, for a few seconds. taking a few steps in crunching leaves, she was about to retort—until gunfire cut her straight off.

hastily, they dropped to the ground, dragging their bodies against the soil with their elbows and fists, and found themselves hidden behind a tree. as they were clinging as close to each other as possible, the sides of their arms and legs trying to fight for cover behind the trunk, a single thought crossed Joe’s mind: this is the first time he has ever shown fear. and of course, he thinks, as the bullets stop flying, it’s in front of her.

in the name of fury, he was about to channel his fear into an air massacre with his gun. that is, until he heard the shaky exhale of her breath, stark in the eery quiet. and in knowing she was there, alive, by his side, he could already feel his rage slow down by a fraction.

“hey,” he stammered, leaving her side to crouch at her front, “are you hit anywhere?” he asked, because of course she’s not okay. she nodded a no, and closed her eyes to regain composure. before he could deliberate his actions, he reached a hand to cup her cheek, eyes scanning her face intently. “we have to keep moving, find the others.”

and there went the savage in his heart, tamed simply with her presence.

after Carentan

there is something about Joe, and the way his warmth seeps through her in waves.

Eugene would always say he was a wild one, and to be frank, his point has been proven one too many times. it was easy to let loose at camp, because everyone believed they were invincible—especially if you bulldozed through Sobel’s dictatorship. and she liked that he was never one to back down from a challenge. with each taunt he threw into her lane as they hiked up Currahee (“keep up princess,” “can see through your shirt, Ames,” “big steps short stack”), it sparked a flame in her body that made her legs pick up their pace.

but here they are, having scraped by Carentan with 65 casualties. they are most certainly not invincible anymore, and with her and Eugene being medics, they know that better than anyone else.

the war is changing everyone, but especially Joe Liebgott. 

“you’ve seen better days,” she says, lightly teasing as she cracks his door open. at the sound of her entrance, he kicks his legs to sit up on his bed, setting the newspaper on his pillow. he huffs a single, mirthless laugh, and nods in what seems like annoyance, but Amy knows it’s not at her. “here, i got you some…well, i guess you can call it soup. god forbid he kills me for calling this shit.”

he chuckles, albeit soft, but genuinely at that. he turns to sit on the side of his bed, facing her as she takes the one right opposite. they are back in England now, taking residence in a hostel, somewhere in the countryside (they never really knew where they were). the rest of Easy Company were drowning their sorrows at the bar downstairs, but Joe, he had enough.

“not interested in watching the wolf pack rip apart a dartboard?” he questions, and she shakes her head. “probably for the same reason as you. i just need a break. Gene and I, we…went to go visit the wounded men.”

a thick silence hangs in the air when that sentence leaves her breath. it is usually comfortable with Joe, the quiet. the both of them need not say any words to feel safe when they’re next to each other. but this time, she knows there is a question stuck in his throat, one he isn't quite sure he wants the answer to.

“he’s okay,” she mutters, afraid to probe, but even Joe Liebgott is too tired to light up. “Tipper. he looks—“

“like piss?” he added, and she chuckles. it floats into his ear like the twitter of a nightingale, prompting his heart to start beating again, slow and steady. “like absolute shit. a little more than roughed up, but, he’ll make it through.”

he nods and his shoulders sag ever so slightly, feeling relieved at the news. he doubts Tipper would’ve made it if not for Amy, who sprung into action not even ten seconds after he yelled out for a medic. she was always there, and especially for him. and Amy knew, that if he ever called, she would run. there’s a clear tiredness in his eyes when she looks at Joe, and the spark in them clearly struggling, but she thinks them to be as beautiful as they were two years ago. 

“you know,” he mumbles, all of a sudden, “you’re my fucking miracle.”

she was about to laugh, but it dies on her tongue when she sees him, looking nothing less than serious. in fact, with the quiver in his voice, he almost seems vulnerable.

Joe is still the same aggressive bloke who surprises her with his softer traits. the day she walked into the nurse wing back at Toccoa, paying visit when he broke his foot on a run, she nearly squealed with delight to find him flipping the pages to Frankenstein by Mary Shelley—one of her favorites. he had pretended to shove his book under the pillow then, as if to upkeep his feisty image. but that was the first time they laughed together, and they shivered in unison when they spoke of the monster.

the only books either of them can read in Europe are dusty, torn up papers they’d find beneath building rubbles. the same Joe who walked around with a permanent smirk now had a scowl almost always worn on his lips. his snarky words now stemmed from hatred instead of humor, and he was quick to anger, like poking a lion with a stick.

but, Amy knows she has a way of calming him down. in fact, everyone knows. if another time, she would have spent her nights overthinking the way she could always feel his brown-eyed stare from across the room, completely unwarranted. but Amy didn’t see it fitting to place gravity on what that all meant, at least not right now. it is better to just stay close to him, and be a shoulder he can lean on because the world has turned so, so vile. whatever she felt, it just wasn't important anymore.

her lips fall apart slightly at the intensity in his gaze. “what do you mean?”

“i mean,” he says, rising to his feet slowly, “i don’t think i would be sitting here without you.”

“joe, you knows that’s not true,” she replies, a little unsure. craning her neck upwards as he closes the gap, slowly, from his bed to hers, she continues, “you’re a strong fighter. one of the best in easy, and that’s why you’re here.”

he doesn’t say anything to that, opts to kneel down on one knee instead. she is his lone flower, still heavenly beautiful even if a few of her petals have fallen. an unguarded smile breaks out on his face at the sprinkle of red dusting her cheeks. he reaches for her hands, the skin now much more coarse, unable to control the way his eyes keep darting to her lips.

“that’s not what i meant,” he murmurs, inching his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath clouding over. Amy is barely breathing at all. but as she finds herself pulling closer towards him, their lips barely grazing each other, a creak of the wooden floors ‘causes her to flinch back.

and it's a sound that would go unnoticed by Joe. 

the door to his room slams open to reveal a floundering George Luz. “oh,” he jolts, a deer in headlights as he realizes to have interrupted a moment. “children,” he coughs, flustered by the way Joe is glaring at him. “we’re moving out.”

dread swarms the nerves she was feeling before, but as she looked back at Joe, quiet and deflated (and utterly heartbroken), she didn’t quite know which was worse.

the tightrope, now thinning and flimsy, had yanked them both backwards.

Bagstone

it’s rare that Joe, a man who seeks thrill, ever backs down. and for some reason, whenever he so chooses it winds up being the most unfortunate timing. the one time he’d hesitate to call on his opponent in a game of bluff, he would lose all his pennies. that one day after school, when he chose to bike home through the civilian route instead of his usual, dangerous back alley, and was met with an accident that’s left a scar on his right knee.

there's one mantra he keeps pinned to his forehead, one his mother ingrained in his mind: if you’re going to take a risk, then trust yourself to couch the fall. and Joe is hardly scared of a few broken bones.

he just wasn’t prepared for the insurmountable pain of a broken heart.

the scene rewinds in his mind like a broken tape, the way her body flinched at the touch of their lips. he wonders if it was in panic, or in pure regret. either way, he’d rather not know. and it reminds Joe that his soul is not made for love anyways, so he exerts his desolation by doing the most reckless thing of all—he avoids her. and this time, it doesn’t stop at trying.

it’s better this way, he decides. they were sitting ducks in the center of the war, and to be distracted, is practically asking to be hit. 

of course, his resolve cracks just a little when disappointment storms in her eyes as he denies yet another shitty bowl of soup she’s saved for him. he knows he’s being a fowl idiot, when he pretends to be distracted with a book, or writings letters in his room, when she seeks a moment of his solitude. the day she found him, playing dice with Luz and Talbert, not even fifteen minutes after proclaiming to be busy for the nth time, she had stopped asking.

(she wonders if he sought her as an outlet in a moment of weakness. Joe wouldn’t do that, she tells herself.)

but the worst, to Joe, is when she stops reacting altogether. Easy has been shoved to the front lines of Bagstone, forced to make defense in the piercing, icy snow with no ammo and no winter gear. when he’d pass by Amy waiting in line for some chow, her lips chapped and skin faded, she would morph her discontent into a strained smile, and leave their conversation at hello. and what makes it even worse, is that he doesn’t have a right to be annoyed.

it’s better this way, he tells himself. cut the tightrope lose now, save them from any grief.

but it is in his attempts to cut his losses, that the most painful loss cuts through him. it never occurred to him, in the equation of his decisions, that she would get hit.

nothing would slice through Joe more then the screech of Amy’s voice, ripping through eruptive shells of 88s. his body immediately freezes, the sound of the artillery strike somehow muffling as he searches the distance. he runs, when hears another wretched scream tear through his ears, every fiber of his being set ablaze in total dread. he runs, even as a small piece of flak shoots through his shoulder. and when he sees her, laying, pulsing, with blood streaming out her neck—well, he never wishes to feel that anguish stab at his veins ever again.

“medic!” he yelled, from whatever is left in the back of his throat. “Roe!” he collapses by her figure, murmurs words of i’ve got you, sweetheart, i’m here. he grabs a piece of cloth, tucked in her red-stained jacket, then presses it at her neck as a poor attempt to slow the bleeding. screaming, falling trees, wailing orders, frantic footsteps, and Luz who runs towards them, they all swirl into a blur, because in that moment, the only thing existing is the sight of her inching closer and closer to a demise. “hey, hey,” he gulped, whispering, while his free hand strokes her hair as her eyes begin to flutter, “keep your eyes open for me.”

even in despair, her blue eyes are the most beautiful thing. to him they are as rare as a pearl that washes ashore into the sand. and even if from afar, he’d do anything to keep them blinking.

her hands are trembling, far too much in pain to fully move, but he knows how hard she's trying. he barely notices the way Doc Roe shoves him off, and when he does, he is too far in shock, his back glued to the snow. the flecks of white are barely traceable in scatters of ash and soil. it feels like the sky is falling, the darkness hovering over his nose with the glow of a meteor shower. he thinks he would be okay if it just swallowed him whole.

“Liebgott,” Eugene calls, grabbing at his uninjured shoulder. “Lieb, snap out of it,” he exclaims, and reality surfaces back into his mind. “we’re bringing Ames to the aid station, and we need to get your shoulder patched up. come on.”

before Luz can slip his arms under her body, Joe pushes him off to carry her himself, with Eugene on the other side. “we got you, Ames,” Eugene coaxes. “you’re holding up just fine, sweet girl.”

yes - his lone, beautiful flower that found the strength to bloom amidst an entire war.

Joe hops into the back of the jeep first, and the trio then lays her body across, with her head resting on his lap. her eyes are starting to flicker, darting at every corner, and her hands lightly flail, but they are just too weak and tired. he holds her chin with his thumb and index finger, and brings his head down close to her, occasionally jumping as the jeep roars through broken roads. “hey, beautiful,” he mutters, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. “aren’t you a pretty thing,” feeling the ghost of a bitter smile on his lips.

she renders him speechless when her fingers, slowly raising and quivering, begin to trace softly at the shape of his lips. he feels a choke in his throat and is unable to restrain his emotions, letting a single tear fall from his eyes and down her skin.

he questions the world and its fairness, because Amy of all people, did not deserve this.

“she’ll be okay, Liebgott,” Doc Roe tells him, completely worn out. “she’s a strong woman, you don’t even have to worry.”

for a while, he wasn't permitted to abandon the front lines—the numbers were dropping, and Joe was one of their best. but everyone was worried about him. he was the resident firecracker of Easy Company; confident on the battlefield, and spared no hesitation in combat. he was unafraid to cast his spitfire, even if it was against an officer. but like every other man, Liebgott had his limits. the spark in his eyes began to dissipate long ago, from the first sight of a fallen soldier. but he, compared to most men, held on the strongest.

Amy going down had just about forced him over the edge. the fire in Joe Liebgott had died the second he heard her scream. he felt only anguish, and it began to consume him.

he barely slept, he barely ate, he barely moved, and only did so when called to fight. some days after he’d stopped counting, having ignored the mush that Talbert left at his feet, Sergeant Lipton came creeping by his foxhole. and clearly, word has travelled on the state of Joe, who was on the brink of delirium in the middle of a harsh winter. Lipton informed him that Captain Winters had requested him as a battalion runner. months ago, he would’ve refused in favor of the action. but this time, he perked up, knowing that could’ve been a few days to spend by her side.

“take about an hour and get yourself a hot meal,” Captain Winters ordered as he briefed him on his duties, back at headquarters. Winters was distracted by a map, as much as Joe was distracted with the field hospital. “do what you need to do.”

to hell with a hot meal, he thinks, making his way straight to the aid station.

the dead weight dissolves from his shoulders the second he sees her, back facing him, awake, and chatting with Doc Roe and another wounded Easy soldier, Skinny. the hospital is plenty gray and dull, and Joe had to keep from pulling a face at the lack of an eye in one of the men. but even so, the sight of her, alive, is enough to invigorate a few pulses in him. his feet are planted to the ground, arms bent against his waist. he lets his head fall downwards, closes his eyes and heaves a sigh.

“hey Doc,” Skinny says, groaning as he accidentally twists his broken leg, “Doc...think you can get us outta here before they move? i don’t wanna be stuck here when Easy’s rollin’ out.”

“you do that, and you’re gonna need to cut off your leg,” Eugene replies, lighting up a cigarette as Amy chuckles. a very luckily, small piece of shrapnel had busted a couple of bones in Skinny’s leg, before Amy got hit—they were sticking out as she drove him into town. “keep doing nothin’ for once Skinny, this is basically the Ritz Carlton.”

“so where’s my fuckin’ champagne?” he gestures mockingly. she snorts at that, “i’m sure Malarkey can pull something out of his ass.”

“hopefully not a fucking bullet,” Eugene mutters. “isn’t that the golden shot?” Skinny adds, “you’re practically Easy royalty.”

she takes a good look at Eugene. the bags under his eyes have turned purple, the skin on his fingers are tearing and bruised, and though he was always quiet, now he seems more distant. now that Amy is down, he's the only medic keeping those boys intact. but there is no use in pointing it all out, not unless he wants to speak first. there is nothing that can be done either way.

“what,” Eugene asks, speaking under his breath, “i think i can make front cover on news looking this god damn handsome, don’t you?” she would’ve shoved him if not for the bandage that was wrapped tightly around her neck, and weaved through her arms. sometimes it was hard to breathe in them, but perhaps, it was the better than having the flesh in her neck spill out. it is a miracle that it's not that.

Skinny scoffs, shaking his head as he stares at his broken leg. “nah doc, i’m the prett— Liebgott.”

scrutinized, is what Joe feels when all three of them whip their heads to face him clearly. with the way she furrows her eyebrows, looking concerned all over, it was clear he— “look like shit. damn, 88 got yer face or something,” Skinny jokes, and Amy rolls her eyes. she would’ve shoved him too for that. 

Eugene nods at them then, standing up to take his leave. “alright,” he says, “rest up both of you. and don’t try to get outta here before you can.” as Eugene turns around and makes small talk with Joe, she cannot help the way her eyes fall taking in the sight of him. if she thinks Gene looks exhausted; well, Joe looks deathly pale. 

“you’re not taking care of yourself,” is the first thing Amy says when he takes the chair Eugene was seated in. he chuckles at the observation, but it's empty, lacking in amusement. “Joe, when’s the last time you’ve properly eaten? and your shoulder, how’s it feeling?”

he scoffs, feeling something between annoyed, and a spill of warmth. “shit Amy, you’re wrapped up like a fuckin’ mummy and you still gotta fuss over me. how bout ya let me worry about you this time? i'm at your service, princess.”

“hey look at me,” she gestures to herself, as much as she could in those bandages anyway. “i’m sitting up, i’m talking, i’m not fuckin’ sliced up like Toye and Guarnere. jesus. i’m basically as good as new, Joe. do you know what’s the first thing Guarnere said when he got here? ‘hey Amy darling, i always knew i’d end up in bed right next to ya!’ blown off leg be damned.”

despite the mental kick he sends Bill up his ass, Joe can’t help but laugh at how comical she's acting—it was always the other way around, him scouring every excuse to make her laugh. at the crack of his snickers, Amy smiles at him too. she's always loved the sound of his laugh, but it has become so rare, that each time he does, she tries to memorize every single note to replay it again and again.

“they keeping you both in check in here?” he asks, tipping his head at Skinny, who's just been floating in the background of them two. Skinny nods, “Doc’s right, this is basically Ritz Carlton. i got nurses at my beck and call, they bring food to my bed, what else could a man ask for?”

Joe breathes a laugh, but as he looks to Amy, he fails to catch his breath. she is looking at him with such tenderness, and her smile grows wider as he stares back, at a loss of what to say. he doesn't know if it's appropriate, considering the way he’s ignored her for weeks. he thinks that Amy shouldn’t even be bothered with him. but no, she’s looking at him like he’s the first taste of rainfall to her drought.

“why did you stop talking to me Joe?” she questions lightly. there is no bitterness in her tone, just a plea to say the truth. a truth that they both know, but have allowed to go unspoken. and now that she is really asking, he finds it hard to make an answer—bare his imperfect heart, and hand it to her, even though he knows that is where it will be safest.

his head hangs low, feeling ashamed at his choice to be a coward. but she moves her fingers to tilt his chin up, forcing him to meet her eyes. as she begins to stroke his cheek, he finds himself leaning into her touch without even thinking, raising his hand to meet hers and hold it in its shape.

(“you have to trust me,” she once said.)

finally, he speaks his mind. “i thought i was doing us both a favor. you’re just everything good, and you deserve someone who’s not…who’s not me. i don’t know how to do any of this, i don’t know how to give you the best and even then i think you deserve so much fucking better than that. so i, i chose to surrender. keep a distance between you and me, as if i could live without you. and i think i’ve always known this, and i've never admitted it to myself, but i’ll admit it now—i really, really can’t live without you.”

there was something untamed in Joe Liebgott, back when he signed his name in 1942. he joined the war, ready to release that vigor and channeled his rage into the way a single bullet would zip through the air and pierce through the enemy. he was a seeker of thrill like moth to a flame, but the longer they spent in Europe, the more his resolve crumbled into the remnants of the friends he had lost. now, over two years later, he has become a fragment of his old self, finding it hard to reason why he still bothered shooting the rifle. he was tired of it, tired of all the noise, all the pain, and found the only thing that gave him adrenaline was the sound of her laugh, and the feel of her touch.

and it is her touch, in that moment, that holds his left hand tenderly, bringing it to her lips to kiss the back of it. “Joe, you are so much more capable of love than you allow yourself to think.”

Joe is trying to survive, because he knows his mother is waiting at her front porch for his return. he is trying to survive, because fuck, he actually enjoys the ease of driving people around. he loves making them laugh and seeing the city pass him by. he is trying to survive, because he wants to find out who Joe Liebgott is without the war, placed deep into his mind. 

but he needs to survive, because when he gets back to the States, he is going to buy Amy that lily and jasmine perfume she always used to wear back at Toccoa, spritz it all over his home until she's ready to move in with him herself. but right now, that’s reaching too far.

he is no longer fighting the war just to fight, he thinks, while inching forward to press a soft, warm kiss to her lips. this time, the chaos of the aid station did not make her flinch, 'cause there was only him.

no, he is fighting to survive, for her.

1945, Austria

“is there a reason you call me a little flower, Joe?” Amy asks.

“because come sunshine or rain, you manage to keep being so fuckin’ beautiful,” Joe answers, shrugging.

she blushes at that. Joe, whose face is half covered by a new comic his sister has just mailed in, smirks in satisfaction. there is no doubt who has the upper hand of turning the other into mush—it was Amy, and it annoys him that she never even has to try. whenever he gets a chance to make her even a little flustered, he takes it, and he rubs it in her face.

his attention flickers back to the comic for a second, before he looks at Amy again. Amy, though busy with her coffee and crossword puzzle, darts her eyes to him and back playfully, throwing in a wink—and he laughs at that. setting his comic book down, he walks the close distance to her wicker chair. their hotel balcony they're sat on faces the mountainous, green view and it's so glorious that it seems more like a painting. there are birds flying through the skies, a few of the Easy boys yelling rambunctiously through some baseball, and hot water in the showers.

“Joe, what—” her thoughts are cut off when she’s engulfed by both of his arms, muscles in his tank flexing as he carries her whole, and plops himself down in her chair, before cuddling her on top. “what?” he says, smirking as she chuckles, before settling back into his arms. it feels surreal, to Joe and Amy both, being able to bask in the quiet of each other, in the comfort of their own room (well, sneaking into each other’s rooms). they didn't have to wake up breathless in the face of an artillery strike, and they didn’t have to steal kisses in the cover of the night. everyone knew about Amy and Joe (especially Skinny, god bless him having to watch them kiss), but they were in the middle of a war, and about to be promoted on the basis of their discipline.

in fact, it felt wrong sometimes, taking advantage of the luxury in this place. but they’ve also just dragged their minds through Haguenau, Thalem, and Landsberg, where they found that the scale of brutality committed was much, much bigger than they figured humanely possible. perhaps Colonel Sink thought they deserved a reminder of what the world was like when it was still good. it all felt wrong, but everyone preferred to be imposters in the sunshine, than burn alive underneath it.

“you told me,” Joe asks, caressing her waist and her thighs lightly, “that you wanted to open a little bookstore when this is all over.”

fiddling with the necklace around Joe’s neck, she nods. “what about it?”

“where?” he asks again. Amy notices the way his tone is not only questioning, but nervous. “where would the dream Calloway bookstore be?”

she sits up slowly, placing a hand on Joe’s chest which he cradles with his own, rubbing his thumb back and forth on her skin. “i don’t think i’ve really thought much about what i’m gonna do beyond this place Joe…i, i don’t know. anywhere back home’s gonna be better than here. i just need to get away.”

“home?” Joe asks, “you’ll go back home?”

(my home, Joe thinks, is wherever you are.)

the sound of the scenery washes over their reverie. the afternoon laze is settling in, the men that were playing baseball now dispersing, remaining a distant sound from where Amy and Joe's room was. none of that matters to Amy though, because she's focused solely on Joe, slowly grabbing his hand and raising to kiss the back of it. it reminds him of their time, withering away in the freezing cold of Bagstone, but he shoves that thought in the back of their mind. they are in Austria now. and though they were awaiting on orders for the Pacific, for now, they were safe.

“home is the where the heart is,” she marvels, her smile growing. “so yes Joe,” she continues, reaching into his heart, “i’ll be going wherever home takes me.”

thank you for reading.

#band of brothers #band of brothers x ofc #joe liebgott #joseph liebgott #joe liebgott x ofc #band of brothers x oc

[geralt-of-baevia]

Begin Again: Chapter Three

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Summary: When Penny starts working at AFC Richmond as their new head photographer, she catches the eye of a certain mustached, happy-go-lucky, head coach of the team. But can their spark endure through the season’s pressures and the demons of their past?

Pairing: Ted Lasso x OFC (Penny Fletcher)

Word count: 4.5k (YOWZA!)

Warnings: Drinking, flirting, etc.

A/N: Alright, I know this chapter took a while but it's a BIG one. This chapter was so much fun to write and I think you're all going to like it 😍😍😍

Beta: Thank you to @midnightswithdearkatytspb for proofreading and the AMAZING banner! I love it.

Tiny Tag List: @tegan8314 @rosesheerio @eugene-emt-roe @floralsightings @imvibin69 @justsomefunshit (Let me know if you want to get added!)

The next morning I was terrified to go to work. I paced the apartment, looking at my phone every two minutes, counting down until I had to leave. 

“Penny, why are you so nervous?” Jo asked, giving me sarcastic smile. Sometimes I just really wanted to slap her. I narrowed my eyes at her, folding my arms across my chest and shifting my weight to one hip. 

“Oh, I don’t know, Jolene, maybe because my colleague I fancy saw me showering naked-”

“I mean, that’s usually how you shower-”

“-so not only do I have to face Ted over that, but I’m terribly nervous about what Jamie bought as replacements…”  I said, shifting my weight to my other hip. She playfully rolled her eyes at me. 

“Penny, Jamie is loaded. I have no doubt that he got you only the best quality things to replace your equipment,” she told me, “Also, it's nice to finally hear you say you fancy Mr. Lasso because I thought I was going to have to waterboard you or something to get it out of you.” 

I let out a big huff, finally going and deflating in the armchair as an act of defeat. 

“Joey, I just can’t face Ted-”

“Would you like me to drive you to work today? I’ve got the day off so I can take you, Even walk you in if that’ll help?” she offered. I gave her an over-exaggerated pouty face, sticking my bottom lip out. 

“I would wove that vewwy much,” I said in a mock baby voice. She laughed, shaking her head at me. 

“Go get the car warmed up, I’ll get ready really quickly,” she said, walking over to the hallway, “keys are on the hook.”

I squealed excitedly and shot up out of my seat. “Thank you, Joey!” 

My leg bounced the entire way to work, and every so often Jo would put a comforting hand on my knee to calm me. 

“Honestly Penny, I think you’re making a way bigger deal of this than you need to,” she told me as we drove onto Nelson Road. My heart started nervously pounding in my chest. 

“Okay, but what if he doesn’t bring it up? Do I need to? I just don’t want it to be a giant naked elephant in the room!” I exclaimed with a laugh. 

“I mean, you could make it fair-”

“Jo, I don’t want to see him naked-”

“HA, that’s a lie. I know your pervy little mind,” she said as she tapped her pointer finger to her temple, “you’ve already thought of that man naked, plenty. And now probably in the shower with you…” I felt my cheeks burn hot and rosy. She wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t something I wanted to think about as I went into work and had to see him. 

Jo pulled into the parking lot and parked. Once the car was off my body grew hot with anxious anticipation and I could feel my heart beating in my entire torso. We got out of the car and as I was getting my bag from the backseat, I heard my name being shouted. I looked to my left and saw Jamie approaching me, a large shopping bag in his hand. 

He gave me a giant smile once he saw I had his attention. “I got the goooooooods!” 

I giggled a little bit as he jogged over to us the rest of the distance. 

“Jamie, thank you so so much for doing that,” I told him once he was at the car. He scoffed. 

“Penny, it's the least I could do. How else are we supposed to get that wicked sliding shot?” he gave me a friendly wink and I pulled him into a hug. 

“Oi, so you’re the one who broke my little bird’s camera, huh?” I heard Jo ask. Jamie pulled back from our hug and turned to Jo. 

“Now Penny, why haven’t you introduced me to your gorgeous friend here?” he asked, looking Jo up and down. I looked over to her just in time to see her roll her eyes playfully. 

“Jamie, this is my best mate and roommate Jo, Jo this is-”

“Jamie Tartt doo doo doo doo doo doo, oh I know who he is,” she said with a smug smile, also looking him up and down. The sudden tension between them made me feel like I shouldn’t be there. 

“Well, now that this has been such a lovely and not at all awkward introduction, shall we go inside? I’m going to need to set up the camera before I do anything today,” I said with a huff. Jamie and Jo both nodded in agreeance, and we all went inside together. 

We walked with Jaime to the locker room, and the closer we got the harder my heart beat in my chest, and my stomach grew sour. But to our surprise, Ted wasn’t in the coach’s office; only Coach Beard and Roy were to be found. 

“Oi, where’s Coach?” Jaime asked Beard, and Beard shrugged in response. 

“I’m not sure. He just said something came up last night and he wasn’t going to be able to make it today,” he explained before turning to me, “I know we were supposed to get some coach shots today, but maybe we’ll wait until next week?” 

I nodded, my stomach easing a little knowing Ted wasn’t at work today. Jo nudged my side and leaned close to my ear and whispered, “I’m sure something came up alright…” I shot her a look, rolling my eyes at her. 

“Is everything okay, Fletcher?” Roy asked. He had gotten in the habit of calling me by my last name. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t question it. I looked up at him from Jo and shook my head.

“No my friend Jo here was just making an inappropriate comment,” I said, looking back at her and giving her a stern stare. She stifled a laugh before turning back to Roy. 

“And I’m Jolene by the way, so nice to meet you all,” she said, giving them both a small wave. Coach Beard’s eyes grew wide at the mention of her name and I giggled. 

“God, I wish Ted was here so that I could have experienced you two learning her name for the first time together,” I said, causing Roy to break his stony stare and crack a small smirk.

“We’re a fun pair, huh? Best mates who are both named after famous songs. What are the odds, right?” Jo piped in. 

“You’re really named after the song?” Beard asked. Jo nodded. 

“My parents went through a country phase when my mom was pregnant with me,” she said with a shrug, “they had just wished I was born a red head and not a blonde.” 

We all chatted for a few more minutes before Jo and I left the guys to start practice, heading out into the club to go to my uncle’s office. Once the door was shut behind us, I turned to Jo. 

“Okay, but what the actual fuck was that with Jamie?” I asked with a breathy laugh. She threw her head back with a laugh. 

“Oh god, nothing is going to happen with that boy. He thinks he can try, but I don’t think so,” she proclaimed proudly. I playfully rolled my eyes at her. Knowing her as long as I did, I knew when she was into someone, even if she played it cool. 

We made it to our destination, and I knocked on the door after we approached it. 

“Come in!” I heard Uncle Leslie say from the other side. Jo opened the door and my uncle’s face lit up when he saw us. 

“Hello, Penny! And hello, Jolene! It’s been forever since I’ve seen you!” he said excitedly. He closed his laptop and placed his elbows on the desk, resting his chin on his now intertwined fingers. “How can I help you ladies?” 

“Hello Mr. Higgins, it’s very nice to see you as well,” Jo said cheerfully. 

“Well, I don’t know if you heard, but Jamie broke all of my camera equipment yesterday,” I said with a sigh, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of his desk and gently setting the fragile bag in front of me. He gave me a forced, flat smile. 

“I did indeed. Jamie came to me after you left to ask what he should get,” he told us, “did he get the correct equipment? I only know so much about photography. But I did tell him the person at the camera store would know best.”

“I mean, honestly I haven’t even looked at it…”  

I pulled over the bag that Jamie brought me and opened it up, my eyes lit up at the site of what he got me. 

“Well? Is it okay?” Jo asked. I nodded as I pulled the box that had the camera body out of the bag, putting it in my lap. 

��Okay? This is like, top-of-the-line stuff,” I said, looking up with a huge smile. I was in disbelief. The camera I was holding in my lap cost more than I was willing to truly consider. 

After we looked over the new equipment together, I got myself set up in a corner of my uncle’s office and Jo left to go get her day started, not needing to stay any longer since Ted wasn’t here.

I spent the rest of the day setting up my camera, replying to emails, updating my computer, and catching up with my uncle. I hadn’t spent this much time with him since I was a teenager, so it was nice to reconnect with him. He was always my favorite uncle. 

“Do you have any fun plans for the weekend?” my Uncle Leslie asked me as the day was finishing up. I sighed, looking at my phone to see if I had any notifcations. 

“Well, I think Jo and I are going to go to the pub. She wants to celebrate my first week at my new job,” I said with a content smile. I was very much looking forward to having a couple of drinks and just shooting the shit with my best mate. 

“Oh that sounds like a good time. You deserve it! You’ve honestly blown all of us away just on your first week. I’m very proud of you,” he said, a sincere grin spreading across his face. 

I felt tears sting behind my eyes. Quickly I tried to blink them away, but it was no use. They spilled down over my cheeks and I hotly wiped them away. 

“Thank you, Uncle Leslie. That means a lot.”

When I got home, Jo was already at least a third of the way ready for going out. I set my stuff down next to the door and she came out into the living room, toothbrush still in her mouth. 

“You need to get ready,” she mumbled flatly around toothpaste. 

“But it’s barely 6 o’clock,” I half whined at her. She rolled her eyes at me before heading back into the bathroom. I followed her, leaning against the doorframe as she spit into the sink. 

“Well, it’s going to take you at least 30 minutes to get ready, and then we have to still get there which will probably take around the same amount of time. So we won’t even get to the pub until like 7. And we can stop at that fish shop you like before we go too,” she explained, “so in other words, get your arse ready. Please.” 

I jokingly rolled my eyes at her and headed to my room to get ready. I threw on something acceptable but still comfy, an outfit that wouldn’t turn too many heads but was still sexy. 

Once I was done getting ready, I went over to Jo’s room and hovered in the doorway again. 

“How does this look? Yeah?” I asked before spinning to show off my outfit. 

“You look fit,” she said with a cheeky grin before turning back to her mirror to finish her makeup, “if only Ted could see you…”

I scoffed at her. “Yeah, well, I’d like to forget about him for an evening and just relax, mmkay? So no mention of him from here on out.”

She turned to me again, drawing an X over her heart with her pointer finger. “I cross my heart and hope to die, I will not mention the mustached coach for the rest of the night.” 

I giggled. 

“You better not.”

After a train ride and a stop at the chip stand, we reached our destination. I was thankful for the little pub that Jo and I always went to. It was small and quaint, in the basement under some other business. The exposed brick walls and dim lighting made it feel homey and comfortable. We found it one night while searching for somewhere to get a drink after work when we lived in this neighborhood a few years back. One visit and we were won over, it becoming our 'usual' spot.

We ordered two pints and a shot of whisky each at the bar, and then went over and sat in a small corner booth by the fireplace. We took our shots and I quickly moved on to my beer. After downing about half of mine in one gulp, Jo shot me a disheartened look.

“Penny, you need to relax-”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” I asked with a sarcastic laugh as I gestured to my drink. 

“No no, we need a toast!” she exclaimed. She raised her glass up and I followed suit.

“To Samantha Penelope Fletcher! The bird who has overcame so much shit in her 29 years and finally got her dream job!” she said with exaggerated enthusiasm, clinking our glasses together. We each took a large swig of our beers, me finishing mine. 

As we set our drinks down on the table, I watched as Jo’s eyes flickered to just behind me, before returning her gaze to me. She raised her eyebrows, a mischievous expression growing on her face. 

“What?” I asked. Her face slanted into a sarcastic grimace, her eyes shifting away as she took another drink of her pint. 

“Jolene, what?” 

“Well, lets just say ‘he who shall not be named’ is sitting over there at the bar,” she said with a nod of her head. My whole body grew hot and my stomach soured. I wanted to turn around and look, but my body wouldn’t move. “And it looks like someone here needs another pint…”

I huffed, my lips trilling. “And you’re not going to go get it for me, are you?”

She shook her head no. 

“You’re going to make me, me, your bestest mate in the whole world go?”

This time she nodded her head. “Go my little nymph, go!” 

I narrowed my eyes at her before gritting out a, “fine,” to her through my teeth. A wicked grin played across her face. 

“Man, I might have to move to a closer booth so I can hear…” I rolled my eyes at her as I stood up, shimming my fitted black dress down to its proper position before grabbing my empty glass and heading towards the bar. 

I felt as though another person was in control of my body, telling my legs to keep moving in the direction of Ted. Once at the bar I stood behind him for a second, trying to figure out the best way to approach this. I decided that buying myself a drink and just 'noticing him' would have to do.

As I took a seat at the bar next to him, I raised my hand up to get the barman Albert’s attention, raising my empty glass once I had his attention. After ordering my drink I pretended to not notice Ted at first, but did a fake double take to realize it was him.

“Ted?" I asked, giving him another look over. He glanced up from his drink, apparently not having realized that anyone had sat down next to him. He gave me a look over, before realizing who it was, or at least I hoped so.

"Oh! Well hello there Penny Lane," he said a bit more cheerfully than his facial expression showed, “I almost didn’t recognize you…”

My face furrowed in confusion. “How so?”

"Well, I'd have to say you're much more dolled up than you are at the club," he said, hiding a grin in his glass before taking another drink. 

I felt myself blush, hoping that the dim lighting would hide that from him, but I doubted it would. Thankfully, Albert came over and handed over my drink, momentarily distracting me from my warm, rosy cheeks. I thanked him, holding out cash to give to him, but Ted stopped me.

"No, no. Put it on my tab," he said. I slowly retracted my hand back away, putting my money back in my bra. Albert gave me a knowing wink before nodding to Ted.

"Well, thank you. You didn't have to do that," I told him before taking a sip of my drink. He shrugged, giving me a small smirk and a sideways glance.

"It's the least I can do. After…you know," he said before trailing off and gulping down the last of his drink. He set it down on the bar, motioning for another. I couldn't read the emotion on his face. 

“Oh, Jesus, Ted, I mean, honestly-”

He cut me off. “I apologize for cutting you off because my grandma taught me you never interrupt a lady like this, but I’m currently the perfect mix of guilty, booze and well, stupidity, and I have to get this out before I burst like a can of Pillsbury crescent rolls,” he sighed before turning to me, our eyes meeting. 

“I need to say how sorry I am about yesterday. I can’t- I can’t stop thinking about how vulnerable and exposed you must have felt. I mean, gosh Penny. I don’t even know what to say. I’m just-I’m just so embarrassed. If I had known that you were in there-”

I put my hand on his forearm to calm him and stop him from rambling on. 

“Ted, first off, please breathe,” I said, giving his arm a soft squeeze. Not breaking eye contact with me, together we took a deep breath through our nostrils and then out, my eyes darting to his slightly parted lips. I nodded in approval, and he nodded back. “Better?”

“Yeah, yeah better,” he said with a sigh. I moved my hand from his arm and picked up my beer, taking another drink. 

“You know,” I said, wiping the corner of my mouth with the pad of my thumb, “I didn’t realize I had a triple threat see me naked…”

His eyebrow knit together and I giggled at his confusion. The booze was definitely settling in my bloodstream. 

“Yeah! Now tell me, how does one become whisky? Exactly how much whisky are you? Is it an even ratio to the guilt and stupidity?” I explained. A stupid grin suddenly appeared on his once forlorn expression at my dumb joke. 

“I’d say it’s probably a 40/30/30 thing,” he replied with a scrunch of his nose. 

“Is the 40% whisky, because if so we have a problem Coach Lasso,” I giggled. He took another sip of his drink, resting it in his hand. 

“Then maybe a 10/40/30,” he corrected. I paused, doing the mental math through my beer fog before laughing. 

“Ted! That’s only 90%,” I joked, pushing on his shoulder playfully. I watched my hand almost like it was a foreign object, it seeming to have done that all on its own. I brought it back to my beer, taking a drink. 

“How did you know this was whisky?” he asked, lifting the glass in his hand. 

I shrugged. “I know I might be drinking pints right now, but trust me, I know a good whisky when I smell one. May I?”

I put my beer down and held my hand out for his drink. His eyes lit up, both taken aback and impressed by my actions. He held his short glass out to me and as I took it, my fingers brushed his. My heart started pouding in my chest at the feel of his skin under my finger tips, and I had to remind my tipsy brain to focus on the drink and not it’s owner. 

I swished the glass around before bringing it up to my lips and taking a small sip. The amber colored liquid stung as it hit the back of my throat, causing my face to wince slightly. 

“Good god Ted, you’re drinking this whisky neat? Like, not even on the rocks?” I asked, making a face at the glass as I handed it back to him. He chuckled. 

“Well, what can I say? I’m a purist at heart when it comes to drinking,” he said proudly. 

“Or your tastebuds are just shot after only drinking something you could sterilize a wound with during WWI,” I said with a laugh. 

As I picked up my own drink to get the taste of the whisky out of my mouth, Ted took it out of my hand, bringing it up to his lips without saying a word. His eyes widened as he realized what I was drinking. His face soured as he swallowed, coughing a little. 

“So you’re-you’re telling me, you just now were talking about how mine tastes like rubbing alcohol, when you’re sitting here in front of me drinking a Guinness? That drink is more bitter than Scar when Simba was born and he knew he was never going to be king,” he said, giving my glass an amusing glare. 

“Um, yes. This tastes like hops and has hints of coffee and chocolate. It’s absolutely delicious,” I stated proudly, taking my beer back from him, “and didn’t your grandma teach you to not take a drink from a lady without asking when she taught you about cutting them off mid sentence?”

The expression on his face was nothing short of impressed. “You have happily surprised me, Penny.”

“How so?” I questioned, genuinely curious for his answer. As I took another drink waiting for him to reply, I felt my body grown warm, my vision getting a tinge fuzzy around the corners. The temperature of my body continued to rise between the alcohol and my nerves, even though those were currently masked by faux confidence from the before mentioned booze. 

He opened his mouth to talk as I began to take my jean jacket off and placed it on my lap, exposing my shoulders to the cool air. His voice hitched in his throat, causing him to cough a little, his eyes never leaving me. 

“Yes?” I pressed, raising my eyebrows at him. 

“Oh, yes, um, sorry,” he said, and I could tell he was fending off embarrassment. “Just that I never expected you to drink pints of Guinness and know whisky by the smell or…”

His cheeks turned red, and after his eyes scanned down my body he buried his nose in his drink, taking an audible gulp. My eyes widened and I couldn’t help but let out a giggle. Ted’s eyes darted back to me as he brought the drink down to the bar. 

“Well, I think there’s a lot that would surprise you about me,” I teased with a smirk, picking up my drink and chugging the last half. I set the glass back down with a loud clang, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. He raised his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side in interest.

Before I could get other word out, I felt a familiar hand on my shoulder. Ted looked over my shoulder at someone and I followed his gaze, turning around to see Jo. 

“ It’s Joey! TED! You have to meet my friend. You’re going to LOVE her name,” I exclaimed a little too loudly. 

“Hello, I’m Jolene, this little blonde bundle of Guiness’ best friend and roommate,” she said, putting a hand out to Ted. He took her hand in his and shook it. 

“Nice to meet you Jolene- wait Jolene?” he asked, it dawning on him. A stupid, drunk, shit eating grin spread across my face. “Wait, you mean like the hit song by our Lord and Savior, Miss Dolly Parton?”

Jo smiled. “That’s the one!”

“Well butter my butt and call me toast. Best friends with names from song titles? That’s pretty gosh darn cool if I do say so,” he said, his speech slightly slurring. 

“Isn’t it the best?!” I stated, still too loudly.

“Alright, well it was very nice finally meeting the man I shouted ‘wanker’ at for a long time, but I do believe I need to get this little light weight home. Did she drink an entire pint while over here?” Jo asked Ted. He nodded. 

“And made fun of me drinking whisky,” he added.

I giggled to myself, thinking back to that interaction. “It was hilaaaaaaarious. You should have seen his face!”

“Ohhhhhkay Penny, let’s say goodbye to Ted,” she said, putting her hands on my shoulders to help me get up. As I stood my knees wobbled, thankfully Jo caught me though. I draped my jacket over my shoulders, it making me want to be in my bed cozy and warm. 

“Are you going to be okay getting her home, Jolene?” Ted asked, a look of concern on his face. 

“That’s very sweet of you Ted, but I’ve got her. This isn’t going to be the first time I’ve had to cart her drunk ass home…or the last,” she said, turning to me and giving me a wink. I scoffed, giving her an over exaggerated face. 

“Alright then. Well, was nice to meet you Jolene,” he said, nodding to her with a large grin, “and it was good seeing you Penny.” 

“It was good seeing you, too, Coach. And thank you for my beer! That was very kind of you,” I said, giving him a smile. 

“Anytime, Penny.”

As Jo and I began to walk away, I stopped, my brain acting before my common sense could catch up and stop it. I leaned in close to Ted, my lips practically brushing his earlobe. 

“I was going to tell you,” I started softly into his ear, “one thing that might surprise you about me is that I didn’t hate you walking in on me naked, and I don’t think you hated it either.” I stepped away, giving space for me to see the shocked but relieved look on his face. 

I gave him a scrunched nose smile. “Goodnight, Coach.” 

Jo and I exited the bar, and the moment we were outside she stopped me, holding me arm’s length. 

“Did you just tell Ted what I think you did?” 

I giggled. “Mmhmm.”

She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and began to walk us in the direction of the tube. “I can’t wait to tell hungover Penny what you just said.”

#ted lasso #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso x ofc #jason sudeikis #florence pugh #ted lasso fanfic

[liptonwashere]

requests for edits are always open!

about me

My first name is Samantha. I go by either Sam or Lena; whichever one you like.

I'm a 21 year old self-taught editor from Venezuela. I made BoB and The Pacific edits while trying to survive life, yaaay :)

INTJ 4w5. Aquarius.

Spanish / English

I love calisthenics, Carwood Lipton, music, baking, reading, economics, and editing ofc :)

edits

bob lookscreen

winnix - american teenager

speirs - be agressive!

bob - skyfall

bob - battle of the bulge

speirton

bob - soldier by fleurie

bob - i ain't worried

bob - spanish sahara

speirs - maneater

bob and the pacific parallels pt. 1

george luz - i'll be around

eugene roe - l'enfer

the beauty of band of brothers

john basilone and lena riggi - the ghost of you

masters of the air - in the air tonight

interests/fandoms

🎵 music (all over the place): the smiths, radiohead, dpr ian, kendrick lamar, elvis presley, nothing but thieves, mac demarco, arctic monkeys, muse, taylor swift, lady gaga, nf, conan gray, onerepublic, mitski, taemin, my chemical romance, queen, paramore, troye sivan, hozier, frank sinatra, agust d, jungkook, gemini, monsta x, one ok rock, sabrina carpenter, lana del rey, natalia lafourcade.

📚 books: all quiet on the western front, testament of youth, goodbye to all that, storm of steel, poilu (louis barthas), sassoon's poems, the great gatsby, poe's short stories, crime and punishment, no longer human, the brothers karamazov, frankenstein, the art of war.

📺 tv shows/animated series/anime: band of brothers, the pacific, generation kill, hannibal, sherlock, the legend of korra, arcane, hxh, snk, peaky blinders, castlevania, the boys, silo, only murders in the building, brooklyn nine-nine, the office, true detective, the punisher, daredevil, hawkeye, the mandalorian, andor.

🎥 fav movies: the pianist, the godfather, top gun maverick, spirit: stallion of the cimarron, a knight's tale, blade runner 2049, the grand budapest hotel, the dark knight, jojo rabbit, 1917, knives out, sound of metal, parasite, the gentlemen, kingsman, into the spider-verse, hacksaw ridge, sicario, the big short, whiplash, prisoners, inglourious basterds, the winter soldier, good bye lenin!

TikTok

Instagram

Ko-Fi

that's a wrap!

#should have done this a long time ago #this took an embarrassing amount of time

[coco-bean-1218]

Finally finished these! I was inspired by @softguarnere ‘s rendition of the social media au and decided to give it a go. We have aesthetics based on where the characters are from, lifestyle and monumental events (i.e., wedding, career, honeymoon)

*Keep in mind, Claire has more than one love interest in the story, so this is one possible outcome.

*All pictures are from Pinterest

#social media au #wbwnmh #well behaved women never make history #band of brothers oc #band of brothers fic #my first oc story #my oc #chuck grant x ofc #eugene roe x ofc #chuck grant #floyd talbert #eugene roe

[kilojulietsierra]

Hi! I just found your account randomly and I absolutely LOVED your Speirs fic. It was so good. I can’t wait to read more Band of Brothers from you!!

Thank you so much! I’m glad you loved it and grateful for you letting me know! Messages like this make my day. 💚 I was working on the Eugene Roe fic yesterday and should have it ready to post soon!!

#band of brothers #hbowar #ronald speirs #ron speirs #band of brothers fanfic #doc roe #eugene roe #ron speirs x ofc #anon ask

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 24: Good Ol' Bill

Summary: “Hey.” Bill grabs her arm. He gives her a sage nod. “We’re gonna be okay, kid.” A/N: Behold - some of the first bits of this fic that I ever wrote! These scenes and interactions have been living rent free in my brain for almost a year now, so I hope that you enjoy them Warnings: blood, death, grief, injury, language, war Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @lady-cheeky @latibvles @ithinkabouttzu @lieutenant-speirs @mrs-murder-daddy @hxad-ovxr-hxart

Belgium, 1945

It’s the strangest interaction that Zenie has ever had with another person, to say the least.

When Zenie had wandered far off into the trees by herself, it was because she knew better than to take her chances using the same latrine as everyone else during the day. She didn’t expect anyone else to be this far out. Let alone him.

“What are you doing out here, trooper?”

The merry sounding voice is incongruous with the barren snow and scarred earth that it echoes through. Zenie jumps. After drawing a deep breath to slow her thudding heart, she turns to face him.

Lieutenant Dike’s expression is open and expectant. He’s never spoken directly to her before. She’s never been this close to him. There’s a chance that no one has. Most of what she knows about Dike and his mannerisms comes from watching Luz do impressions of him. With Winters she had intentionally kept her distance to avoid being found out. With Dike she doesn’t have to try because he’s never around. But is this really where he comes? To the middle of the woods – the middle of nowhere?

“Trying to use the bathroom, sir.” At least she’s being honest.

Dike nods. He stands, staring, both at her and without seeing her all at once.

After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Zenie clears her throat. “Is that a problem, sir?”

“Hm? Oh, probably not. Good, secluded place for it, I suppose.” He steps past her, not even bothering to look back at her as he calls, “Well, good day, Private.” Then he disappears into the trees.

Zenie stands still, watching his retreating frame until he’s out of sight. She turns the interaction over and over in her mind as she makes her way back to the rest of Easy Company.

“Jesus Christ,” Bill spits when she tells her friends about the interaction. “They’ve really put a maniac in charge of the company, haven’t they?”

George laughs. “Good, secluded place for it, I suppose,” he mimics perfectly in Dike’s voice. He shakes his head. “This guy is going to get us killed.”

“They oughtta put someone else in charge,” Bill says. “Like Compton. He’d do good.”

“Yeah, but with our luck, they’d probably pick Peacock instead.”

“Or Shames,” Zenie adds, thinking back to all of Shifty’s complaints about the other lieutenant.

“Either way,” George says with a shrug. “At least they would be here.” He laughs. “Just wandered off into the trees, huh? Like something out of a campfire story.”

“Telling campfire stories, are we?” Lipton’s cheerful voice announces his presence as he steps up to their little group. They all share a knowing glance – here’s a man who could lead Easy Company. Lipton smiles at them, his voice simultaneously playful and chastising when he asks, “Which one is it? The one where a bunch of paratroopers all get blown to bits standing around in the middle of the woods when they should be in their foxholes?”

They can’t really argue with that. But now might be the time to voice their concerns; for the hundredth time – but maybe this will be the time that does some good.

“Actually, Sir,” Babe pipes up. “We were talking about Lieutenant Dike.”

Lipton frowns. “Ah.”

“Tommy here had a  . . . weird interaction with him earlier.”

“Weird how?”

“He found me out looking for the latrine,” Zenie explains. “And then he just wandered off into the woods. He disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” Lipton raises his eyebrows.

“Yes, Sir. Never saw where he went. Haven’t seen him since.”

Lipton allows himself a harsh sigh through his nose. He must be – has to be – just as frustrated as they are, if not more so. Whatever he feels, he does a good job at hiding it.

“Well,” Lipton says finally. “There’s not much that we can do about Dike. Just try to keep yourselves warm and keep from getting hit by German artillery.” In other words: get back into your foxholes.

They all nod. “Yes, Sir.”

“Driver?”

“Yes?” Zenie asks.

Lipton points to Zenie’s hands. “Driver, where are your gloves?”

Zenie crosses her arms, tucking her cold hands into her armpits. She had been sharing a foxhole with Joe on New Year’s Eve when the Germans had decided to send them a little present to ring in the New Year. He took shrapnel to his arm and got sent to the aid station. Meanwhile, Zenie’s gloves had gotten blown to bits during the shelling after she foolishly took them off and laid them out in an attempt to dry them. Trench knives, it turns out, are not the best tool to use when attempting to make holes in socks that you hope to turn into gloves. Good thing she doesn’t need the extra pair from the “feet, hands, neck, balls” rhyme that Muck loves to remind them off. The fabric no longer looks quite like either socks or gloves, but at least she has something on her hands. First Toye’s boots, then Zenie got hit in the arm, then Toye took shrapnel to the same place, and she lost her gloves. The two of them are bound to lose something during a shelling.

“They uh – they got blown to bits a few days ago.”

“Huh.”

“But I’ll be fine,” she assures him.

They say their goodbyes as Lipton leaves them. In a stellar imitation of Dike’s voice, George smirks at them and offers, “Good day, Private.”

His Dike impression is coming a long way, with all the opportunities for making fun of him that the lieutenant unwittingly provides them with. Even Joe, when he makes his glorious return from the aid station later that day, chuckles when Luz recounts Zenie’s story just for him.

“That’s pretty good, Luz,” Joe admits as he gives the radioman a friendly slap on the arm.

Luz shrugs. “Eh, it’s okay. Needs some work, but it’s coming along.”

“Is it true?” Popeye asks when Easy Company returns to their position near Foy that afternoon. The Virginian’s eyes are wide as he looks at Zenie expectantly. “About Dike? Did he really just walk off into the woods?”

“How’d you hear about that?”

“Everyone’s heard about it.” Shifty nods towards Luz, several feet in front of them as they walk. “Don’t think there’s anyone that he hasn’t previewed his impression for.”

“Except for Dike, I hope,” Zenie says. Although if it really came down to it, Luz probably would do an impression of Dike to the lieutenant’s face. Dike would probably misunderstand the joke and take it as some kind of flattery, accidentally giving Luz all the more to work with. The idea makes her giggle, and beside her, Shifty and Popeye also laugh.

It’s good to be back with them. She can only hope that they don’t get sent to the Out Post this time. After every round of German artillery fire she had had to wonder where they were, if they were okay. Now if she can just keep them near her and the rest of Second Platoon –

“Hello, boys!” Bill chirps as he hops into a foxhole between Zenie and Shifty. He slings an arm over each of their shoulders, beaming at them.

“Hey, Bill. You sharin’ a foxhole with us?” Shifty’s question is polite enough, but he still glances around the other sergeant at Zenie, brows slightly furrowed.

Bill shrugs. “Well, everyone else has been findin’ shit in their foxholes, and this one looks clean enough.” He sits down. After exchanging a glance, Zenie and Shifty slowly take a seat on either side of him.

This isn’t the first time that this has happened, now that she really thinks about it. Ever since Shifty got to come back from the OP, Bill has managed to show up in whatever foxhole the two of them have been sharing. And, just like now, he’s had no problem making himself comfortable sitting right between them.

Shifty must be realizing the same thing. He gives Zenie a knowing look, but he bites his bottom lip and says nothing.

“Bill, what’s really going on?” Zenie asks.

The Philadelphian gives her an incredulous look. “What do you mean? Am I not allowed to sit with my friends?” A hint of a smile pulls at his lips as he leans in and lowers his voice. “Or to keep an eye on them?” He puts his arms out again and pats them both on the shoulder. “That’s right; no hanky-panky on Ol’ Guarno’s watch!”

“There hasn’t been any –“ Shifty clears his throat. “– uh, hanky-panky.”

“Really? Not even in, I dunno, Paris?” Heat rushes to Zenie’s face at the same moment that Shifty’s eyes go wide. 

“How did you - ?”

“Nothing gets past me, kid.” Bill winks. “Word along the rumor mill is that you finally lost your virginity, supposedly on that pass to Paris. After I learned your secret, well, it didn’t exactly take a genius to piece it together.”

Babe. It had to be Babe! He was the one she told about losing her virginity. Of course he told Bill! They might be her friends, but the last thing she needed was for them to know details of her sex-life. She buries her face in her hands to hide whatever face she might be making.

“Hey, it’s all right.” Bill pats her on the back again, and when she looks up, he’s smiling, though Shifty’s cheeks are still a little pink. “Just watchin’ out for you, la mia sorellina.” My little sister. Zenie doesn’t have time to fully process his words before her friend turns to Shifty. “Just don’t go hurting her, okay?”

“I would never,” Shifty says.

Bill smiles. “I know.” He claps his hands and stands. “Well, now that that’s taken care of, I guess I better go find a foxhole.”

Neither of them speaks after he leaves. Zenie squeezes her eyes shut, like if she’s very still, the embarrassment will wash away and Shifty will forget about the interaction.

There’s a laugh, bright and crisp – from Shifty. He’s still chuckling when Zenie opens her eyes. The sniper shakes his head. “Good old Bill.”

“I’m sorry,” Zenie says automatically. Her face is still warm.

“Don’t be,” Shifty replies, voice still bright. “You’re our girl. He’s just watchin’ out for you.”

Il mio fratellino, Bill had once called her. Now he’s corrected it to la mia sorellina. He’s always been watching out for her, since way back in Toccoa. Even when she had been ready to fight him on her first day there. That’s what it feels like, then, for someone to always have your back. It’s not bad.

Somewhere nearby, a shell explodes. Screams of “Incoming!” follow it as the earth begins to shake. Zenie hunkers down, getting as low in the foxhole as she can, Shifty tucking in beside her.

Now she understands why their old position looked so different when they returned. The snow that blankets the ground is dirty, all churned up and mixed with soil. This is no peaceful woodland scene from a winter postcard. No, between the trees that have been broken down to nubs, the excrement that waits at the bottom of several foxholes, and the piercing explosions that shatter the air and shake the earth, this is the furthest thing from peaceful.

It ends suddenly. Zenie sits up and looks around, rifle at the ready. Her eyes dart in every direction. Behind her, Shifty takes the same position, watching the opposite direction. He’ll be able to see any approaching Germans from a mile away. Zenie has no doubt about that. After all, this is the same man who, just days before, realized that the Germans had disguised a tank as a tree.

“Anything?”

“No. No – “ Shifty stops short. Somewhere out there, a voice is carried through the forest. It sounds hazy. The echo distorts is, making it hard to pinpoint its location.

“Who is – “

“Stay in your foxholes!” Sergeant Lipton yells as he runs by. He stops a few feet away from them and looks down into a different foxhole. “Are you good, Popeye?”

“I’m one hundred percent ready to kill Germans, Lip!” Their friend chirps. As Lipton passes, he catches sight of Shifty and Zenie, offers them a big smile and a thumbs up, which Shifty returns.

Shifty relaxes a little. “That can’t be the end.”

“You think they’re trying to zero us in?”

“Hmm.” A crease appears between Shifty’s eyebrows. “They – “

Ka-BOOM!

So close to the line, maybe the Germans can hear them. Maybe they took their speculations as suggestion and started the next round of artillery fire.

Once again, Zenie slides down into her foxhole and braces herself. Trees crackle overhead as they burst into pieces, raining down all around them and impaling themselves into the frozen earth. No wonder so many of them have been hit by shrapnel. Zenie unconsciously reaches for the place on her own arm where she got peppered with it. Lucky, indeed.

“M-MEDIC!” A deep voice thunders out.

Snow crunches as Eugene goes racing by. He doesn’t stop to answer when a few men call out, “Who got hit?” Duty calls, and Eugene always answers.

From somewhere nearby, an all too familiar voice screams for help. His South Philly twang is strong, even with his raised voice. “Is anyone there?!”

Babe! Zenie leaps from the foxhole. Shifty reaches for her, but she’s already gone.

An entire tree was felled during the bombardment, collapsing right on top of Babe’s foxhole. Through the branches, everyone who crowds around can only just see the top of his helmet, can make out the shape of a hand reaching up for them.

Babe sounds . . . desperate, almost, as he urges them to get him out. It’s not a tone that Zenie has ever heard from him before. Like his sadness after Julian’s death, it feels unnatural on someone so happy-go-lucky.

Breathless, Babe manages a laugh and a smile when they manage to pull the tree away. “Think I went overboard on the cover for my foxhole?” He jokes.

Zenie manages to laugh it off, too, as do most of the others who arrived in time to help him. Except for the one person who’s known for laughing, that is.

From the corner of her eye, Zenie catches a flash of Luz racing by. He doesn’t stop at the sound of their chuckles, doesn’t even look at them. Focused, he hurries back to his foxhole.

There’s some commotion from the direction that he came from. With Babe uninjured and accounted for, Zenie steps away from the group and follows the direction that Luz just left.

A metallic scent stains the air, mingling with the scent of burned trees and charred earth. Freshly snapped trees litter the ground. And the ground around the shattered pieces is that peculiar mixture of snow and dirt that has become such a familiar sight in their month watching the line. This snow, though, has an extra quality to it – blood. Zenie doesn’t have time to wonder where it all came from, because at that moment, she spots a leg lying a few feet away from two figures sitting amongst the destruction.

Joe is in the center of it all, Eugene kneeling in front of him, trying to stop the blood that’s flowing freely from the place where his leg has been blown off. A few feet away from him, a trail of blood leads to another man who’s sitting propped against a tree, gritting his teeth and staring at his outstretched, mangled leg.

Zenie freezes.

From where he sits in front of the tree, Bill looks up at her. When their eyes meet, he holds her gaze, steady as ever.

“Hey, Tommy Boy,” Bill calls to her. “Be a pal and light me a smoke, would ya?”

Somehow, she finds herself on her knees beside her friend. She can’t feel her hands. They won’t stop shaking as she fumbles for the pack of cigarettes in her pocket. Bill doesn’t complain, though, about how long it takes her to remove one from the pack, to finally light it and place it between his lips.

“Thank you,” he manages around the cigarette.

She might reply. If she does, she can’t hear her own words over the pounding of her heart. Her spine turns into a tube of ice water, making her shiver as she watches her friends. This can’t be real. Out of everyone, Bill and Toye can’t be the ones going home.

“Bill, you’re goin’ first,” Eugene calls.

Bill nods, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Whatever you say, Doc.”

The next thing that she knows, some of the men are loading Bill onto a stretcher. He yells out in pain when they move him, cursing as they touch his injured leg. The cigarette in his hands falls to the ground, extinguishing itself on the snow. Numbly, Zenie stamps it out.

“Hey.” Bill grabs her arm. He gives her a sage nod. “We’re gonna be okay, kid.” As chipper as he can manage, Bill calls out as they carry him away, “I told ya I’d beat ya back to the States, Joe!”

Someone touches Zenie’s arm, making her jump. Sergeant Lipton is studying her with his all-knowing eyes. “Tommy, are you okay?”

He doesn’t stop her when she walks away, never answering his question. No one calls out after her or tries to follow her.

She doesn’t make it back to Shifty in their foxhole. Instead, she drops down into the nearest one that she sees. Her helmet feels heavy in her hands as she removes it and runs a shaking hand through her hair. Any time that she cried as a little girl, her mom would stroke her hair like this.

But Mama isn’t here now. No one is. She’s all alone.

Words – the words she wants to scream up at the sky, up at God, if He’s really up there – stick in her dry mouth, lodging in her sandpaper throat so that she chokes on them. It’s not until she’s been sitting there, shaking for a thousand years, that she manages to loosen them enough to whisper to no one the single sentence that keeps racing through her mind.

“What the fuck?!”

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #shifty powers #shifty powers x original female character #shifty powers x ofc #bill guarnere #eugene roe #babe heffron #joe toye #my writing #oc zenie mcglamery #hbo war fanfic #hbo war

[dcyllom]

Tag Game

thanks for tagging me @xxluckystrike :)

post the names of all of the files in your wip folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it, a small moodboard, or tell them something about it.

i honestly don't have that many wips, because i'm writing two quite long fics simultaneously, and i went a bit melodramatic with some of the titles, haha.

"I Hear the Bells Toll" (canon character x nurse!ofc)

"The Long and Winding Road to Home" (canon character x soe!ofc)

"horrid no good very sad alternate ending" (brain rot for previous fic, platonic? omc x ofc religious flavour)

"secret santa hbowar 2023" (self explanatory)

"doc roe sad fic so sorry eugene " (eugene roe oneshot)

no pressure tags: anyone who hasn't been tagged yet, i made my post a bit late :)

#tag game #mutuals #i love doing this sort of thing lol

[hellitwasyoufirstsergeant]

For the Ask Game: Eugene Roe!

do i like them: gene has my whole entire heart, he’s one of my fav characters ever!

5 good qualities: i know it’s a lazy answer but all of them 😭

3 bad qualities: is being too selfless a bad quality? Idk I really can’t think of anything he’s my perfect baby boy 😭

favourite episode/etc: bastogne ofc! Shout out to that crossroads scene though

otp: gene x me 🥰 jk I guess it’s gene and renee

brotp: eugene and winters!! Underrated duo

ot3: ummm idk I can’t really think of one?

notp: I guess I don’t really ship gene romantically with any of the other BoB guys!

best quote: “you oughtta know” angry gene is the sexiest gene okay

head canon: at the easy co reunions after the war, gene would happily give the guys free medical advice because some of them can’t always afford healthcare, and gene even reads textbooks in his spare time to be sure he’s giving accurate advice

#thanks for asking my dear! #ask game #eugene roe