would eat up anything with spears x a combat medic/nurse reader :)
Learn to be Lonely
Ron Speirs x reader
A/N: The way that I went feral upon seeing this request in my inbox. I immediately knew I had to commandeer it to add to my soft!Speirs agenda. Thank you for the request, Anon, and I hope you enjoy this! 💕
Warnings: sickness, mentions of war, the author probably confusing "lie" and "lay" (it is what it is; we're just going with it at this point)
Amidst all the chaos, it's the little pockets of peace like this that make you feel, just for a moment, like things could be almost normal again. Despite the fact that some of the Haguenau buildings that Easy has been quartered in have missing walls, are covered with a thin tissue of dust, and that the world perpetually looks as dull as an oncoming rain cloud, waking up before the men and sitting up at the kitchen table sipping on warm coffee provides a moment of what's as close to relaxation as you can get under the circumstances.
Eugene always arrives shortly after you sit down with your coffee. Neither of you talk much, but you're grateful for the company -- your thoughts become a little too loud if no one else is around, but something about your fellow medic provides a sense of comfort. Even when you do talk -- even when it has to be about the war you're both trying to forget for a moment, and the men, and how they're doing -- it's pleasant.
But this morning, something seems to be on Doc Roe's mind.
There's no denying that you're both observant; it just comes through in different ways. Whereas Eugene is quiet and enjoys people-watching, picking up on the men's little ticks and mannerisms, you're more outgoing, getting to know them and their thoughts and feelings on a personal level. It's what makes you work so well as a team -- you're able to compare notes and spot problems with them almost immediately. Which means that you can also spot problems with each other.
Eugene sits across the grimy kitchen table from you and takes a sip of the bitter coffee you brewed. His brow is furrowed, which wouldn't necessarily be unusual, but he keeps frowning into his coffee cup. Several times he opens his mouth slightly and draws a breath, like he's getting ready to say something, but then he stops himself and takes a sip of the coffee instead.
"Something wrong?" You finally ask.
His slender frame jerks as he looks up at you. He blinks. "Oh. No." He pauses. "I'm not sure."
You sip your coffee, waiting for him to continue.
His voice is quiet, like he's afraid someone might overhear him, and he looks almost puzzled when he admits, "I think that something might be wrong with Captain Speirs."
"Speirs? That's the last thing we need. First Lipton, now him . . ."
"Well, I'm not sure." Eugene frowns down at his coffee again. He shakes his head. "He's hard to read."
"That's an understatement."
"I noticed it last night, when most of the men were downstairs, joking around and playing cards. He stayed towards the edges of the room, and then I saw him slip out early and head upstairs. I assume he went to bed."
That in itself wouldn't be so unusual; Captain Speirs is a private person, and when Easy Company isn't in active combat, he's often more of a presence than a part of the group.
"I don't know," Eugene says again before you can point this out. "Something about him just seemed . . . different. Off, even."
"Maybe he was just tired," you suggest, even though you're not able to think of a single time during the whole war that you've seen the legend of a man anything other than alert.
"Yeah." Eugene agrees. "Maybe."
Voices approach the kitchen, and a second later, some of the men start shuffling in, roused and fortified by the smell of coffee -- however bad it may be.
"You checked on Lip yet?" You ask your fellow medic. And then your morning continues just like any other one.
--
Something is not right, you think to yourself as you watch Skinny and Liebgott march off in defeat, looking frustrated. It's the fifth time since that morning that someone has asked you if there's any chance that you know where Captain Speirs is. And, you have to wonder as you make your way towards the bedroom in the quiet corner of the house most of the company is quartered in, maybe no one has thought to do the obvious thing and check his room.
You pause just outside the door, unsure. You don't know Speirs particularly well. He's the Captain, yes, but he's more distant than other officers. Would he even want someone to check on him? Where others might see it as a gesture of concern and goodwill, someone like Speirs might see it as overstepping, you reason as snatches of rumors play in your memory.
No. You make up your mind -- you're a medic and it's your job to watch out for the health and wellbeing of these men. If he sees it as overstepping, then it's his problem. Your raise your fist and knock on the door before you can talk yourself out of it.
It's quiet, and slow, but from the other side of the door, you can just make out the sounds of movement. A moment later the door handle squeaks and a pair of dark, sunken eyes peers at you from the door's crack.
The door opens wider to reveal Captain Speirs, but not as you've ever known him. Whereas your Captain stands tall, alert, and ready to move at a moment notice, this man moves slowly, and keeps blinking, like he can't get his eyes to focus. Not to mention the shakiness in his hands as he opens the door.
"(Y/N)?" His voice sounds hoarse.
It takes you a minute to find your voice. "Captain Speirs, Sir. Are you okay?"
He blinks rapidly for a moment and then leans against the doorway. Even in the low lighting of the hall, his face glistens in a sheen of sweat. "(Y/N), I think . . . I think that something is wrong." He squints at you. "Aren't you cold?"
"No, Sir. Are you? You're sweating."
"Am I?" He sounds shocked, but his brow only furrows slightly.
"Captain, everyone has been looking for you all morning."
The Speirs that you know never would have been in a situation like this, you have to remind yourself, but if he had, he would have jumped into action the minute he realized something was wrong. But this Speirs doesn't seem fazed. Yes, you affirm, something is wrong.
Speirs shuts his eyes and draws in a deep breath -- or at least, as deep a breath as he can manage. You step forward and prod him with gentle hands, back into his room, back into bed. He doesn't protest.
"Sir, have you eaten anything today?" You ask as you cover him with a blanket. "Have you had anything to drink?"
He shakes his head. You had assumed as much. You're already planning a course of action for how to deal with this. Making sure that the Captain doesn't get dehydrated from isolating himself all morning is just another step in that plan.
"I'm sick, aren't I?" He asks when he sees you rummage through your medic kit for something to give him. Something in his voice is different than you've ever heard it. He doesn't sound defeated, exactly, but he sounds tired and . . . sad?
"I'm afraid so. You might have picked up Lipton's pneumonia. We'll have to figure out what this is so we can fight it."
Strong hands scrub themselves over his face as he sighs. "Hate bein' sick," he mutters.
You reach out and pat his shoulder -- without even thinking about it, just like you would for any of the other men -- as you assure him, "We're going to fix that."
--
What would you do without George Luz? you have to wonder. You've seen other men in Easy practically beg him for the chocolate bars and cigarettes being shipped in, only to be refused. But the second that you asked for an extra food ration and had only sent him a beaming smile when he asked why you needed it, he tossed one to you with a wink, and even gave you first dibs on some of the medicine that had arrived that morning. Being friends with the radioman in charge of supplies has it's perks.
Even though it takes a minute for him to pack some medical supplies into a box and asks you to take some to Doc Roe, you don't think much of it -- someone as private as Speirs probably isn't very keen to have you rushing back to play doctor in a space as personal as his room.
You're in such a good mood after seeing the shocked looks on the rest of the company's faces when Luz gives into you that you smile all the way to Lipton's room, where you know Eugene will be. You trade off some of the medicine Luz sent you with with a quiet "I found the Captain" before you head back.
You knock lightly on the door of Speirs' room before entering with the food ration and medicine, despite the fact that you know he's inside, and that he should be lying on the bed.
Should be.
He's sitting on the side of the bed, feet flat on the floor, hand on his knees and head bowed, looking fatigued.
"Captain?" You question.
"I thought --" he stops, swallows thickly. "-- I was going to look for someone."
"For who? Me?"
He nods. "I just . . . nevermind."
Well okay then. If it weren't for the fact that you were so worried about him, seeing him act so unlike himself might be a bit funny. Who would have thought that Ron Speirs, of all people, would be a person who would get loopy when sick? You would have imagined him to be someone who muscled through it.
Gently, you help him lie back down. You make sure he eats and you give him some medicine. You even give him gentle reassurances that he'll be better soon, just like the good medic that you are. But something stops you from leaving him and moving on to see if anyone else in the company needs looking after.
"Will you be okay, Sir?" You ask.
He shrugs. "Do I just stay here? And sleep through this?"
"That would probably be the most conducive to your recovery. No paperwork and overworking yourself like Sergeant Lipton."
You wouldn't be surprised if he protested, insisting that there are things to be done and that he's going to do them. Instead, he frowns.
"I'm quarantined in here by myself." Something about the way that he says it tugs at your heart strings. You're trying to decide if the sickness is causing him to act unlike himself or reveal something about who he really is when he says, "I hate being alone."
"Really?" There's no time to stop the surprise from slipping out. If he notices, he doesn't care. He only nods. "But everyone thinks that you prefer it."
Silence starts to settle over you like the dust that perpetually covers so much of the house's interior, but you decide to break it before you even really figure out why. "I could stay with you, Sir. If you would like."
He blinks up at you. "You would? You're not afraid of me like the others?"
He might as well have punched you in the gut, what with the way the sentiment lands. You're just as guilty as everyone else, thinking of Speirs as some sort of demigod who prefers solitude to human companionship.
But suddenly he's not that person anymore. He's not Speirs the Killer. He's not Speirs the Legend. He's Speirs the man. He's a man. And he's sick. And he's lonely.
And he seems like he really wants you to stay with him.
You perch on the edge of the bed and run your hand through his sweaty hair under the guise of checking his temperature. "Why would I be afraid of you?"
A hum of contentment escapes him as your fingers card his dark locks. His eyes flutter shut, but just before they can, he sighs, "Well, I'm glad you're not." And then he falls asleep before you can ask what he means by that.
It would be easy to leave. He's asleep and he wouldn't notice. There are other things you could be doing. But you said you would stay, and you have no intention of turning yourself into a liar.
Part of you wonders if he'll feel better when he wakes up, become embarrassed by what he admitted, and send you away. Something that you can't quite name stirs within you as you watch him sleep, and you find that you don't want that to happen.
However you two might feel about what has just happened is something you can deal with later. For now, you're content to just watch the legend -- no, the man -- look uncharacteristically peaceful while he sleeps.
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