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sergeant-spoons · 1 year

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Fool For Love

Pairing: George Luz x Female OC

Word count: 5144

Tone: Friends to lovers, pining, angst, late-night phone calls, risky decisions, is it too late?

Summary: She’s more than a little tired at work, but then he comes on the line, after all this time, and she can’t hang up. They get to talking about their days in the war and upcoming reunions, and as it becomes increasingly clear she is hiding from him (and everyone), he resolves to bring her back to them as best he knows how—with his unerring love.

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @thoughpoppiesblow @victoryrollsandredlips @now-im-a-belieber @50svibes @mgdln97 @tina1938 @drinkwhiskeyandsmile @ask-you-what-sir @indecisiveimpatience @whovian45810 @brokennerdalert @holdingforgeneralhugs @onlyyouexisthere

I originally wrote this with Nixon but found it worked much better with George; I was also inspired to write more of George and Talbert’s friendship by the scene in “Points” where they play cards and George’s soothes Tab’s unease. This is also partially a fix-it fic, I must admit, because Talbert all but disappeared from Easy post-war. In this fic, he sticks around.

"Yes, that's exactly it."

George peered down the hall, spying the phone that was usually latched neatly over the kitchen counter now placed to Talbert's ear. His friend nodded slowly, listening to the speaker on the other end.

"Right, you're... busy."

A muffled something from the other end that might have been 'got to run' or 'give him my love', George couldn't quite tell. Tab swiveled, shuffling over the threshold into the hall. He peered one way, missing the eavesdropper, then spotted him down the other. Waving George over, he pressed the phone to his shoulder.

"Somebody from Easy's on the line. Come say 'hi'."

George grinned. It would be good to hear from one of the guys. The annual reunion was swiftly approaching, and the time of year had rolled about when he really missed the men and the camaraderie they had shared. Sloughing off his jacket, he draped it over the countertop stools as he came up to the phone. Tab held up a finger as he fronted an introduction.

"Yeah, hey, do you have another minute?" A beat, listening. "Great. I've got somebody here who wants to speak to you." A half-smile. "Yes, it's George. Uh-huh. Okay. Talk soon."

"Heya."

Silence for a beat and George had made up his mind to repeat the greeting when:

"Hey, George."

His heart leaped into his throat, and he smoothed his palm over the receiver, swallowing hard.

"Leah." He pinched his nose. "Uh, Corporal Hedgecomb."

"Hey. Hey, how are you?"

"Good." Better now that I'm hearing your voice again.

Had she always sounded this weary? For most of the war, yes, he remembered well, but he would have thought peacetime would restore her spirits and vigor. He missed the lightheartedness she'd born all throughout Toccoa and Aldbourne, despite Sobel, despite the war, despite the back-breaking sexism she had to carry on top of it all every damn day.

"Look, George, I'd love to chat, but I'm real busy-"

"Please don't go."

He could almost picture her pursing her lips, those sweet lips, the ones he should have kissed so long ago.

"Oh, alright."

She leaned away from the receiver and called to someone nearby, her voice distant as she pleaded with an apparent coworker to take up her station for another few minutes.

"I can stay a little longer."

"Good. Great." He searched for something to say that wouldn't scare her away. Realizing too late he hadn't returned the cordial question, he extended it now: "How're you, Corporal?"

"Busy," she said, and it seemed almost a joke but for the strain present in her voice when she answered. "It's not bad, though, work keeps me occupied."

He smiled fondly down at his shoes. "You haven't changed, then."

"What do you mean?"

"You said that a lot back in, uh, Mourmelon, and Hemmen."

"Did I? It seems like so long ago."

"But not long enough."

They both knew he meant the absence of war, not the distance its end put between them.

"Hear-hear. Oh, and George—you don't need to call me ‘Corporal’. We're not in the service anymore."

"Ah. Right."

A few seconds as George considered whether or not to just be out with it already or mention something less monumental. On one hand, he was running out of time, on the other, he could mess this all up with three little words and listen to the phone click off, his ardor dismissing him from her cares.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Leah asked, soothing the tension steadily rising like a high tide up to their chests and their hearts.

"It's good to hear your voice."

"Yeah, yours, too."

He glanced at a split envelope on the counter and gathered a question he hadn't realized was burning him up until that very instant.

"About the reunion...?"

"Yeah, yeah. I got your letter, and the one from Sink, with the fancy seal and the flag stamp and the big, official heading-"

"You're not coming."

A long, long pause, broken only by a sigh that barely bled through the wiring.

"Yeah."

"That's not really an answer, Leah."

"No, I'm not coming."

"Why not?"

"I- it just doesn't- it wouldn't work out."

George squared his jaw, scared she was implying what he feared she always might.

"I mean, business really kicks up around here this time of the year, and I don't know if they can spare me. Not that I'm vital to the department, or anything, but any personnel they can keep will help."

"Uh-huh."

At her slow sigh, he gathered she'd easily picked up on his skepticism.

"What's the real reason, Leah?"

She didn't answer for a good fifteen seconds. George attended his watch to distract himself from the weight of her silence.

"George, I'm sorry, but d'you really think any of the fellas wanna remember they served with a broad? No."

"What? That's bullshit! Why the hell would you think that?"

"Watch your mouth, buster, you're a bad influence."

"What?"

"If you go off like that, I'll do it, too, and I can't be swearing like a sailor anymore. I've gotta be all proper in the office."

"What about out of it?"

"Since when am I ever not at work, these days?" She scoffed wryly, drily. "Nevermind."

"Corporal Hedgecomb, I swear to God, if I have to send Bill Guarnere and Babe Heffron to kidnap you from whatever martyr's pit you've dug for yourself, I will."

She managed a chuckle, and he could tell it was more for his sake than her own. "Nah, no more foxholes for me. Or for you."

"Or Bill or Babe."

"Don't send them," she warned. "They've got families of their own, right? Kiddos to tend to and others on the way, not to mention their wives, the lovely ladies with enough smarts to handle the three brain cells those two split amongst themselves."

George snorted. "So, no envoys. Alright, I'll drive up there myself and take Perconte with me. God knows he could use the break. Can you believe he doesn't even get Christmas off?"

"No!"

"I know, right? It's the post office, not the goddamn army-"

"No, no, it's not..." Leah audibly cleared her throat. "I meant about you, um..."

"Oh."

"What I mean to say is it's alright. I don't need the persuasion in person."

"Without it, you won't come to the reunion."

"With it, I'm more likely to stay put. So we're at an impasse."

"Alright, fine, but still, you never answered my question."

"Your question?"

"Why the heck-" He hoped she was smiling. "-would you think the men wouldn't want to remember you?"

"... If I was a man, it'd be different."

"Yeah, no shit, but I just don't get it, Leah. You were everybody's sister, cousin—heck, mother. Without you, Jackson wouldn't still have his face and Hoobler would be missing a whole lot more than a foot."

"But-"

"No. You really should come, doll, you haven't been to the last two."

"And nobody but Lip's seemed to care," she blurted in a voice small even for her five-foot-one frame. "Ignore that, please."

"No, I definitely will not." George glowered at the begonias in the calendar that hung opposite the kitchen counter. "Whoever told you I didn't care is a lying sonuva-"

"George."

It was by her tone that he abruptly understood: no one had imposed this opinion on her, she had conjured it for herself.

His cheeks flamed, akin to his heart. "Goddamnit, Leah, the only people I care as much about as you are Tab and Lip, and you know with them, it's not- it's not the same."

He knew he'd said too much when she didn't try a joke or a chuckle or even a dismissive cough. Instead, she remained silent. A muted voice, another woman's, asked her something and she replied she'd be there in a minute. Her voice returned to him as she brought it back to the receiver.

"I know you tried to find me, once."

George tried and failed to steady his breathing. He hoped Leah couldn't hear just how anxious he'd become.

"How'd you figure that out?"

"You sent Lipton to my door with the biggest bouquet in the state of New York. Now, I've never seen a man more committed to his wife than the good lieutenant, and he doesn't even live up here. What the hell could he be doing so far north other than carrying out some favor for somebody we both knew?"

"And you figured it was me?"

"I didn't have to think too hard on it once I saw the flowers."

"You remember them?"

"They were lilacs, George," she all but whispered. "You're the only one I ever told about those being my favorite."

George sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his shoulders stiffening as the breeze against the roof of his mouth went straight to his brain.

"Lip told me you'd just about vanished."

"I wasn't home that day."

A frown creased his brow. "But you saw the flowers."

"A neighbor did, out the window-"

"Don't lie to me, Leah." He set his jaw, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "You never were a good liar."

"Fine! I was there and I didn't open the door. Happy?"

"You hid from him."

The accusation caused her to deflate, signifying its truth. He could sense the change even from the receiving end, her face invisible to his eyes, miles and miles away.

"I thought it was for the best-"

Feeling unable to endure another voice crack from the cage of weary isolation Leah had forced herself into, George interrupted.

"The best? For who?"

"For you!"

"But not for you."

She choked on her words and coughed to regain them.

"I'm not some pretty little housewife, George!” she cried. “The war was the only time in my life I felt reasonably put together, and like I could do something. Even better, something worth doing. Really, I don't know what I expected, after it was all over. I can hardly keep myself afloat, nevertheless- no, shit, no, pretend you didn't hear that."

"So that's it." His finger, twirling the spiraling cord around each knuckle, stilled. "You won't come because you don't want their pity."

"Or yours," she reminded with a sternness he knew she rarely possessed. "I want them to remember me better."

"If they can't see you're still our beloved-" My beloved. "-Leah, with a chocolate bar always at hand for some poor homesick sap and the best hugs in the company, then they've all gone crazy and they don't deserve the honor of knowing you."

"The honor?" She scoffed. "Come on, George."

"I mean it. They'll be glad—no, overjoyed—to see you, and if they're not, then- then I'll-"

"What am I supposed to do, pretend everything's fine? While they're off getting married and having families and buying houses and securing steady, profitable occupations, I'm wasting away in the middle of fuck-all nowhere, so far up New York state, you'd be surprised it wasn't Canada, trying not to end up on the streets and so bitterly alone I've started writing poetry! I’m writing sonnets, George, sonnets!”

Leah laughed a sob. George was already reaching for his car keys.

"I'll be there tonight."

"What?"

"I will be there-"

"No. No, you won't."

"Yes, I will. I don't care if it's a five-and-a-half-hour drive. I don't care if you're scared. I don't care if I'm the last person you want to see."

Silence for long enough he guessed she might have hung up. He'd begun to fiddle with the left cuff of his button-down when Leah finally spoke.

"You know how long it would take you to get here."

"What kind of enamored moron would I be if I didn't?"

She laughed, and George wished he could believe it was the call signal that made her sound so hopeless.

"Only if you bring Tab along with you," she said, and he got the sense she was only playing along. "Roll down the windows, the fresh air'll do him good."

"It's December. He'd rather sit in a sauna for five hours."

"Remind me why he still hasn't moved out to California yet?"

"Me," George joked half honestly. "But hey, you're getting me sidetracked. So I'll bring Tab... anything else you want me to pick up on the road?"

"Um." A pause, amid which he could guess she tried to swallow but found her throat too dry. "No."

"If you say so." He checked his watch again, something of a nervous habit. "Y'know, I could probably make it in five hours. The traffic's bound to be lighter the later it gets."

"Uh-huh. You might have to wake me, depending on how late you get here."

"You won't wait up?"

"I work three shifts for two different jobs, George. Sleep is a blessing."

"Right." He swallowed. "Well, you can call in sick tomorrow. To both jobs. And maybe for all the days after that."

"No. No, I can't do that."

"You don't think I'll actually come."

"No, I don't, because I'm really not worth the trip."

Her words sounded like a hammer falling upon a bare anvil, the elements rebounding off of each other with a deafening, heartwrenching clang.

"Leah?"

"Yeah?"

"There's one thing I won't stand from you, and it's that kind of bullshit."

"Wha- what?"

"Don't ever talk like that about my future Mrs. Luz again."

She inhaled sharply into the phone. George squeezed his wrist and prayed that what he was about to do wasn't the most reckless undertaking of his life.

"I'll see you tonight. Probably with a ring. No, not probably. Definitely."

Leah squeaked.

"Damnit, I love you, and I'm not about to stand here while your neverending, wonderful, harmful selflessness keeps you away from the great thing we could be. And from your friends! And happiness! But mostly me. Because I'm selfish like that. But hey, if it means saving you-"

He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

"-then I'll be the most selfish man in the world."

"George-"

"I love you. See you in five hours."

He shoved the phone so jaggedly into its cusp that he missed the latch entirely and the implement took a bungee jump toward the kitchen floor. Yelping a curse, he swung it back up and placed it where it belonged, stepping back from the counter with a long sigh. He glanced at the liquor cabinet above the sink in wistfulness but didn't bother to address it further. He'd drive better if he could see straight. Still, the thought of going to her like he'd wanted to all these months and the absurdity of what he was about to do combined were more than enough to make him dizzy. Tab might have to take over for the last of the journey—or, even better, the first, the middle, and the last.

Speaking of the devil's best friend, he'd vanished upstairs to the third-floor study. He never listened in when someone made phone calls like this, even if they were from his own line. Kind of funny, how George wouldn't think twice about eavesdropping whereas Tab went out of his way to avoid overhearing.

"Floyd! Floyd, get down here!"

Swift, steady footsteps, barely preceded by the scrambling scuffs of a chair being shoved backward.

"What is it?" queried his friend from the top of the stairs.

"No time to explain, just get down here!"

Tab proceeded to make his way speedily down, taking the steps two at a time. He followed George around the corner to the garage door, calling his name with another question mark to follow when he received no direct answer. George spun the car keys around so they pressed into his palm, feeling the metal indent his skin as he opened and pushed through the narrow aperture.

"I'm going to go bring my future home, and you're coming with me."

Tab's sigh was almost feigned as he reached back through the doorway to retrieve his coat as well as his friend's. "George, it's almost seven p.m. And I have work tomorrow, as do you."

"So? Love won't wait, my friend." He twirled the keys again and tossed them over the hood of the first of the three vehicles before them. "Besides, you get to drive."

Tab shook his head. "I get to?"

George flashed him a lopsided smile and slid into the passenger's seat. After a beat's more hesitation, his friend followed his prediction and joined him in the car. Tab turned the ignition and they each settled into their accommodations, preparing for the lengthy drive ahead. The garage door rumbled upward—only the most up-to-date technology for friends of the Nixons—and they pulled out into the fading light, the wet afternoon bleeding into a thankfully drier evening.

"How much did you have to drink before deciding on this mad chase?" Tab asked as he leaned over the backseat to watch where he was reversing.

"None."

"None?"

"None," George repeated, and whatever he'd mustered in his tone to guarantee the truth softened something in Tab's tired eyes. His friend sat up a little straighter, and the energy so often sapped from him by hours clerking behind a desk began to return in increments as they drove. At first, they spoke of the usual things; the clearing clouds, an unruly driver here and there, the meaning of life and what changes peace had brought to their world in the past three years.

"Three," George mused after a time, "isn't that a strange number to decide on a reunion? One, I understand for a high school, two for a college, but three doesn't fit anything. A birthday, maybe, but-"

"It's one for me," Tab reminded him with no shortage of gentle reprehension. "I skipped the last two."

"So did she. But she won't be skipping this time, and neither will you."

"... Yeah. About that—what's your plan, here?"

"With what?"

Tab glanced off the road for just an instant to shoot George that disbelieving eyebrow that had always been able to pry any damn thing out of him, all the way back to Toccoa.

"I know, I know, with Leah." George swallowed. "Leah Hedgecomb."

"Yeah, with Leah."

George waved his hand in front of his face as if reading aloud a banner. "Hopefully the future Mrs. Leah Lowry Hedgecomb Luz." He couldn't help a small smile. "Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" He snapped, remembering something vital to his mission. "Oh, shit, right, I've gotta get a- Why are you looking at me like that?"

Tab's spine had gone so taut, it almost seemed to be imitating the straightness of the lampposts they were driving beneath on this long, northbound route. The light from each lamp faded into and back out of the car within a half-second. Once the darkness of the night truly settled it, they would seem ever the brighter and the quicker, keeping the men awake and alert but allowing them no more than a passing glance at each other's expressions.

"Does she know that?"

"Know what?"

"That you're gunning for her to be your wife?"

"As of, uh-" George studied his wristwatch. "-an hour and ten minutes ago, yes."

"Jesus Christ."

His daredevil friend gave a low whistle. "Well, now I know this is a crazy plan. What else could make the pious Floyd Talbert take the savior's name in vain?"

"Oh, come on, Luz. Me? Pious?"

George snickered, and Tab sighed.

"Look, I'm sorry, but you gotta admit this is nuts! You're in love with a woman you haven't seen in a year—a woman who's been purposefully avoiding you, I might add."

"She loves me, too."

"What?"

"She told me back in Austria the day she left." George thumbed his belt loops anxiously. "She told me she loved me and I oughta come find her after the war if I felt the same."

"And you did, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but we never spoke of it again." George licked his lips, then confessed, "I have to believe she meant it. It's all I've got, Floyd."

"You need to stop for a minute and think this through."

"And you," his determined compatriot contested, "need to shut up and turn left."

"Why?" Tab asked, nonetheless rounding the requested corner.

"Because we need to make a detour to Cartier before they close at eight-thirty, and right now, it's eight-o'-one."

"Woah, woah, woah."

Tab pulled over to the side of the otherwise empty street. He shifted the car into park and turned as fully as he could in his seat toward George.

"Are you serious about this?"

"Floyd," George replied softly, almost timidly, "this is the first time I haven't second-guessed myself in three years. Yes, I'm serious."

His friend considered, glancing out the windshield onto the pavement and gravel of the road and its side.

"Besides, this is partially your fault."

"What?"

"You know I've loved her since Benning."

Tab's brow twitched. "Well, yes..."

"And you put me on the phone with her just like that, like you knew it was the best thing for us both."

"Um..."

"Come on, Floyd," George pleaded, flashing a smile, "help me out just this once-"

Tab visibly stifled a snort of laughter.

"-and you can be the best man—nay, the officiant—at our wedding."

"Sometimes, I think you've finally gone mad." Tab smiled as he shifted the car back into drive. "Alright. Let's go get the ring, and then the girl."

George let out a whoop, tossing his hands up and smacking them on the ceiling. He winced, shaking out his fingers, though his grin never faltered.

"By the way, I meant it, about the wedding."

"I'm not ordained."

"So? I don't particularly care what denomination ya are, so long as you can marry us."

"... I don't know if that's legal, Luz."

"What, freedom of religion?" His friend shot him a skeptical look. "So sayeth the Quaker's best friend."

"What- George, he's not-"

Tab huffed and went quiet, giving in (and up).

"I'll look it up and figure it out when we get back," he relented. "Dick probably knows something or somebody..."

George smirked, turning his face toward the window to hide the true warmth of his enthusiasm.

"Yeah. He prob'ly does."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leah meant to stay up, to wait. She knew she'd feel like the worst idiot in the world should morning come and she was still sitting in her dark living room, alone; nevertheless, she allowed herself hope and trust for the first time in many years. She tried to keep her eyes open, but seeing the toll of midnight after a sixteen-hour shift proved a difficult task, and she drifted off in her old, raggedy armchair with a blanket over her legs and one shoe half-off her foot.

When the rapping on her door startled her awake, it was precisely 12:46 a.m. When she stepped up to the door, it was 12:50. When she gathered up enough courage to actually turn the knob and pull, it was 12:52.

"-so let's just go and come back in the morning, she's clearly not-"

The two men standing under her porch light, their heads and shoulders dusted with snow, froze and stared at her. Talbert's hand dropped from the back of his neck. George looked like he was trying to convince himself she was more than a memory.

"... home."

"George?"

He stumbled forward and she couldn't help but lurch into his embrace.

"What- what are you doing here?!" she gasped, wide awake now that he was really here with her, his arms sending shockwaves up and down her body. "George, you drove all this way?"

"I drove," Tab suggested sheepishly, raising his hand in a sheepish wave, and Leah forced herself to let go of George to hug him.

"I didn't believe- You actually- How? Why?"

"He loves you," Tab chuckled, nodding at George. "Thought that was pretty clear by now. You mind if I come in? I thought it couldn't get any colder than Rhode Island, but sheesh, New York's something else..."

Leah started nodding without really understanding what he'd asked, and he started humming “White Christmas” as he stepped past her and into the semi-heated house. Left alone on the porch, George and Leah stared at each other for a beat. Once they'd remembered the other was truly here, they all but leaped back into each other's arms. Leah's chest felt tight. She heaved each exhalation into his shoulder like it just might be her last. How long ago was it that such a fear could become their reality at the drop of a hairpin, or, in their case, the flick of a grenade pin? Too recent, too fresh.

"Hey, hey, catch your breath," George said, stepping back to cup her cheeks in his hands, scanning her face worriedly. "You cold? You want my scarf? My coat? My sweater? Hell, I'll give you my socks, if you want, though I don't think you do-"

"You came."

"Of course, I came," he cut himself off. "I brought Tab, just like I promised, and a ring to boot."

Leah flushed. "You didn't."

George dropped down on one knee.

"I did."

Leah squeaked. George beamed to hide the terrific pounding of his heart.

"Leah? Sweetheart?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Marry me."

She couldn't seem to speak, but she was nodding so fast George could only take it to mean yes. He put the ring on her finger, and she promptly flung herself into his arms and knocked them both off the porch into the nearest snowbank. George burst into such laughter that it woke the neighbors.

"Screw them," he muttered as the complaining started from an upstairs window. "I'm not afraid of nobody and nothing anymore."

"Oh, yeah?" Leah giggled, still half-certain she was dreaming, shivering a little. "When'd you get so brave?"

George smiled, drawing his thumb tenderly across her cheek to brush away a wispy curl.

"When I got you."

A beat.

"You will marry me, right?"

Leah turned and kissed his cheek, then his lips, and George felt like he could take on the world.

"I love you," she whispered, "and I've waited six years for you to ask me that question, so yes, George Luz, yes, I will marry you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You drove how far to get to her?"

Leah and George shared an amused smile. No matter how many times they told this story, there was always someone who'd only heard snippets and couldn't quite believe it until they got the straight facts from the source itself. This time—most entertainingly—it was Speirs, their former captain. The humor of his confusion was only added to by Lipton, who was standing beside him with such an expression of This is the farthest thing from a surprise, Ronald that it made Leah stifle a laugh against her hand.

"As far as I had to," George answered Speirs, squeezing Leah's hip affectionately. "I'd have driven all the way to California if I had to. Up through Canada, down into Mexico, or all the way into South America—I'd go anywhere. I'd even sneak aboard a ship if she was somewhere overseas."

"So... how far?"

"Five hours," Leah chuckled. "Five hours and them some, 'cause he had to stop to get the ring."

"And I was the one behind the wheel," Tab reminded with a twinkle in his eye, and George lit up, delighted that he'd made it to the reunion after all.

"And you still get to officiate, Floyd!"

"Yeah, yeah. Just tell me when I'm needed, and I'll be there."

"Huh." Speirs paused to think, then took a sip from his whiskey glass. "I'll admit, I never pictured..." He waved at George and Leah, though not at all rudely. "This."

George's arm was slung around Leah's waist and her cardigan was tied just above his hips—the only thing more obviously signifying their relationship was the silver band gleaming on Leah's left hand. Leah pressed a kiss to George's cheek, and as Speirs shook his head, astonished, George let loose a delirious peal of laughter.

"Stop that," Leah giggled, ruffling his hair. "You sound like you're already drunk."

"Oh, honey, I am."

She quirked a brow. "Oh, yeah? Since when? You’ve only had one- oop!"

He'd dipped her toward the floor, his lips ghosting over hers, and when she realized she was not, in fact, falling, she smiled.

"Drunk off you, sweetheart," he whispered as their friends started to holler, noticing the couple's open display of affection.

"Then kiss me, Mr. Luz."

"Happily, Mrs. Luz."

"Wait-" She put her finger against his lips, teasing him. "I'm not the missus just yet."

He groaned. "Why must you remind me? Cruel woman..."

A slight shift in his stance let Leah know he was starting to strain himself by holding her there, so she grabbed him by the collar and pressed a searing kiss to his lips, bolstered by their friends' whistling and cheering.

"I don't think I can wait much longer," George admitted as he brought his fiancée back up to stand. "Literally and figuratively. What with you in that dress, and everybody here—heck, why don't we do it tonight?"

"Do it? Get married, you mean?"

"Get married, run away, honeymoon, hook the moon and drag it down to earth," George hummed, swaying her to an imaginary tune. "You name it, I'll make it happen, sweetheart."

Leah looked at him, and her eyes, brimming with tears of gratitude, struck him with so much love he felt faint.

"So? Whaddaya say, my dearest Leah?"

"Yes. Tonight!"

"Huzzah!" George leaned over his shoulder. "Floyd! It would seem your services are needed much sooner than planned!"

Tab looked up from the buffet table, a slice of chocolate cake halfway to his mouth. George and Leah shared a look, then burst into teary laughter, holding on to each other with no intent to ever let go.

"I think they're really gonna do it."

"About time." Dick Winters sidled up to his friend, then nodded at the cake in his hand. "Is that any good?"

Still watching George and Leah, Tab wordlessly passed the cake to Dick, who, in turn, Dick handed it off to a salivating Frank Perconte.

"Dick," Tab queried, "do you know how to officiate an elopement?"

"Not officially-"

"Didn't think so."

"-but I know a guy."

"Of course, you do."

They eyed the happy couple, now dancing to the music Lipton had conjured from the radio, and shared a small smile despite themselves.

"Think you could get him here within the next half-hour?"

Dick checked his watch.

"Uh..."

"Correction: think you could call him up and have him teach me this whole honorary pastor business on the fly?"

Smiling, Dick started for the payphone on the other end of the bar.

"Now that, I can do."

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lovememadly92 · 1 year

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Why Do Fools Fall In Love?

Hello everyone! Hope everyone is well! I have decided to post my fic on AO3. I will be leaving a link to every chapter on here! Thank you so much and have a good day/night! Mature contents are mentioned in the story, read at your own discretion. 18+ only. Minors DNI.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers oc #george luz #george luz x oc #fanfiction

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1waveshortofashipwreck · 4 months

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

Easy Company x Fem!OCs

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

Words: 1,314

Find the fic's navigation page here !!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~

Chapter Two

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

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

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malarkgirlypop · 7 months

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

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

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

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

“Yes?” Winters replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are they celebrating?” I ask.

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

The Germans?

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

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

Where am I? What is going on?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m independent, Sir.” I state.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Doc.” I say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My skills?” I am confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight Captain Winters.” I say.

“Dick.” he replies.

“Where?” I exclaim.

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

“Yo..” I mumble.

“Me.” He says pointing at himself.

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

“Right now?” I ramble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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bandagesandloveletters · 20 days

Text

Band of Brothers Masterlist

𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜, 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸'𝚖 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘, 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝙱𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚔. 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎!

Tag list: If you like my work, feel free to comment, and I can add you to a tag list for any future works either in general or for a certain character.

Lewis Nixon

Cold as Ice -A little something where Nixon learns to ice skate but it’s all part of a deeper plan. Pairing: Lewis Nixon x OFC.

Richard "Dick" Winters

Hidden Love - A request written around the reader and Dick having a hidden love for each other. Pairing: Richard Winters x Reader

Chuck Grant

Get Well Soon - Chuck gets a visitor to cheer him up. Pairing: Chuck Grant x OFC

Floyd Talbert

Frostbite and Kisses - In the cold depths of Bastogne, a little warmth is always welcome. Pairing: Floyd Talbert x OFC (Rosie Moretti)

George Luz

Sentimental Journey - A dance brings two kindred souls together. Pairing: George Luz x OFC (Ellis White)

Joe Liebgott

A Sergeant's Sorrow - A conversation between two friends after Brécourt. Pairing: Joe Liebgott x Platonic!OFC (Lizzie Welsh)

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hesbuckcompton-baby · 7 months

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When You Know, You Know - Ronald Speirs x OC

Summary: A night of drinking with Valerie and the men leads Ron to realise that he's in much deeper than he thought

Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption/intoxication

Word count: 2.8k

Tags (Mostly using the taglist from the original fic): @50svibes @cagzzz107 @yentroucnagol @mads-weasley @mrsalwayswrite @dcyllom

A/N: This oneshot is building on from the characters/storyline established in my fic Just Come Home, which you can read in its entirety here. For those of you who have read it already, this is set roughly between chapters 5 and 6. Enjoy!

I can't even tell if this is good, I just needed to write for them again, I miss them so much

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"I win again!"

"God dammit!" George Luz cried, throwing down his hand of cards upon the table as Valerie laughed, taking a sip of her drink and revelling in his distress. Easy Company had been in Berchtesgaden for almost a week, and already boredom was beginning to set in, remedied seemingly only by late nights of drinking, card games, and music which they had begun to host almost daily in the huge abandoned hotel at the end of the main street.

The huge dining hall was bathed in a low, golden glow, a refuge from the darkness outside, and a gramophone crackled away in the corner, playing record after record of German music only a few among them could understand. A few portraits of prominent officials hung on the walls - survivors of the initial scourge which had seen the men clear out anything of value - their faces vandalised beyond recognition, drooping unevenly on their hooks. The large, circular tables that had once hosted wealthy guests to the town were now used for rowdy games of all kinds, stacks of empty glasses growing taller by the hour.

It had been almost two hours since Valerie had found herself dragged into one of these games. The men had clearly thought her light competition, but in those two hours, not one of them had won a single round. As the night wore on, and she continued to prevail, they grew only more determined to continue, to find a hole in her strategy to exploit, to finally beat her, for God's sake.

"I mean, Jesus, I just don't understand it," Tab sighed, frowning as he poured himself another glass of whiskey, staring wearily at his own hand in the realisation that he never could have won. "How can you win every goddamn time?"

Val chuckled, patting him on the arm in consolation. "I think it might be time to call it a night, eh gents?"

Luz shook his head. "No. Nuh-uh. We're not leaving until I win."

"You better be careful you don't run outta money first."

Tutting, he reached into his pocket for some more cash. "You better donate this shit to a charity or something when you get home, God knows you don't fucking need it," He lamented, muttering something to himself about big fucking houses and rich fucking parents.

With a grin, she accepted her winnings, sliding the money into the pocket of the coat she draped over the back of her chair. It was not her own coat - none of Valerie's clothes were her own, all of them pilfered from the abandoned closets of rich German wives, fleeing in a hurry with their rich Nazi husbands. But in the grand scheme of things, she hardly felt guilty. "Pleasure doing business with ya, Georgie." Val teased, her tongue drawn between her teeth.

A wide archway separated the main dining room from the smaller, private hall next door - a more intimate space for what had once been the wealthiest of hotel guests, but which now belonged to the officers of Easy Company, a huge central table proving the perfect place for late night games of poker.

Ron stared at the unimpressive cards in his hand, suppressing a frown, his infamous stony gaze playing in his favour once again. He would not win this game, but as long as Harry continued to play as badly as he had so far, he would not lose either. The sound of laughter in the next room pulled his gaze - and there she was. Valerie's face flushed red as she laughed, her cheeks creased as she tilted her head back, George Luz chuckling beside her at whatever he had said that was so damn funny. He wasn't sure he had ever made her laugh like that - but Ron knew he wasn't a funny guy, not like Luz at least. A few months ago, he might have felt the inkling of insecurity bubbling in his chest, but not now. Despite all the things that made him seem so intimidating to the other men, it seemed Ron was stuck with Valerie whether he liked it or not.

He did.

The sound of someone noisily clearing their throat pulled his attention away from the next room, and as Ron looked across the table, he noticed Nixon staring straight at him, brow raised. "Hm?" He asked, mirroring his expression.

"You gonna take your turn?" Nixon asked. "Or you gonna keep staring?"

Ron decided not to acknowledge this second question, instead swiftly taking his turn, placing his cards down forcefully, as if making a performance out of it. He wasn't staring. Just... watching.

In the corner of the dining hall, the record that had been playing stopped with a crackle, and Valerie stood up to change it, sliding her cards into her pocket to prevent Luz from cheating. The man scoffed at the mere suggestion, but they both knew he wasn't above taking a peek. As she neared the gramophone in the corner, Chuck Grant came passing the other way, their shoulders brushing against each other as he headed back to his own table. "Ooh, Val," He spoke, stepping up behind her as she flicked through the box of records. "You gotta try this."

Looking up, she accepted the glass in his hand, stifling a cough after her first sip as the liquid burned her throat. "Oh, fucking Christ, what is that?"

"No idea. Malark's recipe - good though, right?"

"Good, but I think it'll kill me," Val confessed, flicking through the box of records with her free hand.

"That's the spirit," He chuckled, patting her on the shoulder before turning to return to his table. "Drink up."

She grinned as he left, taking another sip of Malarkey's dangerous concoction before selecting a record. Their titles had all been in German, so Valerie had been forced to make a decision based off of the covers alone, and as such was slightly taken aback when upbeat folk music came blasting through the gramophone's horn, although the men around her seemed too engrossed in their games to even notice.

Returning to the table, interrupting Luz and Tab as they talked strategy, she put down her drink, taking a seat. "What's that?" George asked, nodding towards her glass.

"No idea. Malarkey's makin' 'em over there apparently."

He paused momentarily, slowly sliding his cards into his pocket as if Val actually needed to cheat to win. "...Don't mind if I do."

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Just over an hour had passed since the last time Ron had looked over at Valerie - Harry had lost their last game, predictably, and the officers had been darting between conversation and cards ever since, the energy slowly draining from the room as the night wore on and they began to find it harder to focus on the more technical games. The group had noticed the main dining hall growing steadily louder as the night progressed, but the disturbance had not been enough to warrant their attention until suddenly a smash rang out, accompanied by a series of whoops and laughter.

Craning his neck to see what was happening, Ron's gaze fell upon the portrait of Hitler that Valerie had taken a knife to on their first day in town, his face now stained with dark red wine, a few shards of glass embedded in the canvas. Still seated at her table, Val let out a hearty laugh, her cheeks flushed bright red as if she had caught a chill. But he knew it wasn't that.

Of the men of Easy Company still occupying the hall, not a single one of them appeared sober, the scent of alcohol lingering on the very air. Sitting across the table from Valerie, it appeared George Luz had actually fallen asleep, suddenly roused by the sound of the wine bottle exploding into hundreds of fragments the moment it struck the wall.

"Aw, shit," Nixon sighed. "Looks like they found the good stuff."

Across the room, Skinny Sisk tripped on the edge of a tablecloth that had been left dragging across the floor, tumbling to the ground in a mass of flailing limbs. Val let out a guffaw of laughter, clapping her hands in delight as she slumped further in her seat, reaching for another sip of whatever the hell was in her glass.

"Alright, ok," Ron muttered, rising from his seat and crossing the room in a moment, prying the drink from her hand before it could reach her lips. Val opened her mouth in objection, brow drawn with outrage, but the sudden appearance of the infamous Captain Speirs seemed to sober up the rest of the room, the other men taking the hint to calm themselves and begin shuffling out the door to return to their billets and sleep off their drunkenness.

"I wasn't done with that, yunno," She drawled, barely noticing as Luz drifted away from the table, rubbing at his temples in an attempt to nurse an already developing headache.

"Yeah, you're not gonna be, either," Raising the glass, Ron took a sniff, expression twisting into a grimace. "Jesus. How many of these did you have?"

"I... do not know."

"Hey, Speirs?" Harry called from the next room, clearly impatient to get back to their game.

"Uh, yeah - deal me out, ok? See you fellas tomorrow," He nodded, placing a gentle hand on Valerie's arm to help her to her feet. She swayed slightly, but could certainly walk, and as Ron helped her to the door, he emptied her glass into an unused ice bucket as they passed.

She probably could have made it back up to her room entirely unscathed, even the wobble in her step ebbing away as they exited into the night air, but Ron wasn't sure he'd be able to live with himself if he let her go anywhere alone. "I'm not plastered by the way - I've been plastered, this ain't that."

"Whatever you say," He breathed, arm still secure around her as they descended the front steps to the hotel.

"I'm serious."

"I believe you, dear," Ron nodded, and a giddy grin made its way across her face at the term of endearment. It had slipped out before he could stop it, and he was suddenly grateful for the minuscule chance that she would remember it the next day - he did not in fact believe her.

It was quiet out on the street, the men who had scattered returning promptly to their nearby billets, turning Berchtesgaden back into the ghost town it had been when they had found it. The street lamps cast puddles of golden light as they passed beneath them, his gaze momentarily wandering to Val's face. Her hair had come loose, a strand hanging limply in her face, and the tip of her nose flushed pink in the cool air. Without a word, Ron shrugged off his jacket, slinging it over her shoulders. She did not hesitate to slide her arms into the sleeves, wrapping the jacket tightly around herself, and playing it off as a yawn when she took a deep breath, smelling the scent of his cigarettes that permeated the fabric.

They were mere feet from the front door when Ron felt Valerie slide from his grip, turning to watch as she took a seat on a nearby bench, one foot tucked behind the other, hands in her lap as she looked up at the night sky above.

"Almost there, c'mon," He urged, gesturing for her to follow.

"Come sit down."

Ron didn't move, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Val, come on, you'll catch a cold out here, let's get you insi-"

"Just sit down, Ronald!" Val demanded, almost laughing. She always seemed so ceaselessly amused by him - he wouldn't pretend not to enjoy it, but it struck him as odd sometimes.

Folding his hands awkwardly in his lap, Ron took a seat beside her on the bench, a polite gap left between them. It couldn't have been more than a couple of inches, but it might as well have been a mile for how tempted he felt to move closer.

Her gaze had not shifted from the sky above since the moment he sat down, and after a while spent sitting in silence, he allowed himself to do the same, peering up at the stars above. There was a full moon out that night, hanging like a beacon above them, never quite allowing the town to fall into total darkness as it bathed the ground below in its glow. It was quite marvellous, really.

As weight pressed down on his shoulder, Ron felt his breath catch in his throat, so desperate was he to preserve the serenity of this moment as Valerie leant over, resting her head against him. He scarcely dared more, for fear that he would shrug her off - it was almost comical, the battle-hardened Captain Speirs, who ran past half a dozen tanks at Foy twice over without fear, suddenly paralysed at the prospect of pushing her away.

"Our families are looking at the same moon back home," Valerie said, her voice muffled against the fabric of Ron's jacket as she turned her chin into the collar. "I like thinkin' about that." When she spoke it sounded drowsy, exhaustion tugging downwards at her eyelids.

"C'mon," He urged again, matching her softness. "You can't sleep out here, you'll freeze to death."

Val nodded slowly, her hair catching on his shirt. "That'd be very inconvenient for you."

"Out the the two of us, I don't think I'm the one getting the short end of the stick in this scenario, Val."

"Ah, but you'd miss me," She sighed with a dramatic flourish of her hand, pushing herself up from the bench with a grunt. Ron had not had the chance to stand up himself before Valerie started walking, the sway in her step settled as she confidently made her way down the street.

"You're going the wrong way, dear," He pointed out, gesturing to the front door, mere feet away from them.

"I know that," Val rolled her eyes, turning sharply on her heel and marching up to the front step as he chuckled. Taking the step up, she looked back at him. "C'mere," She ordered.

"What do you want now?" Ron teased, already moving to do her bidding. Taking a step up to stand beside her, they faced each other, shoulders pressed against the front door to the house they were billeted in. Leaning forward, Val pressed her body flat against his, her chin resting on his chest, face tilted up towards him. He could feel her breath, escaping through parted lips and fanning his neck as he peered down at her. Their faces were mere inches apart, and oh, how he had wanted to give in at that moment - give in to the months they had spent together, growing ever more enamoured by her with each passing day. Putting her weight on her toes, she began to push herself up towards him, their lips barely parted, so close their noses brushed against each other.

She was drunk. Ron knew this - could see it in her flushed cheeks, could hear it in her slow words. It would not happen like this. Placing soft hands to either side of her face, he held her back as gently, as tenderly as he could, his thumb skirting across the soft flesh of her cheek as Valerie eased herself back onto her heels, her eyes like dark pools under the light of the street lamp, as wide as he had ever seen them.

"Goodnight Cap'n," Her voice was scarcely a whisper as her hand found the door handle, opening it onto the great foyer inside, the heels of her shoes clacking against the floorboards as she trailed inside. Ron would follow soon - would climb the stairs to his own room along the hall from her own - but for now, he held back, watching on as Val headed upstairs, his jacket still hanging off her back as she disappeared down the hall, the sound of humming trailing after her even after she was gone from sight, fading away with the sound of a closing door. It wasn't until now, when Ron was alone in the foyer, did he realise he was smiling - beaming even. It was very... un-ron-like. But she had wanted to kiss him.

He had done the right thing. He knew this.

But Jesus Christ, was he in deeper than he thought.

#band of brothers #ronald speirs #ronald speirs x ofc #ronald speirs x oc #band of brothers oc #band of brothers fic #hbo war #hbo war fic #hbo war oc #george luz #floyd talbert #lewis nixon #harry welsh #chuck grant #donald malarkey #oc: valerie

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trashbag-baby666 · 5 months

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

Taking requests for:

Band of Brothers:

Joe Liebgott

Webgott

Luztoye

Baberoe

Winnix

Speirton

The Hunger Games:

Finnick Odair

Top Gun: Maverick:

Rooster Bradshaw

Hangman Seresin

OC’s:

Daisybilly

Baberoe/Graham

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footprintsinthesxnd · 8 months

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All for a few Hershey bars

George Luz x OC (Julian) So this is a little fic I wrote a while ago but only recently proofread for my lovely friend Julian @georgieluz I’ve had the best time writing this for you Julian and we have definitely had more than a few laughs and cried over the Easy Company boys. I’m so glad I met you Julian.

“Jules, will you come here and help me with this, and stop gawking, you're gonna start catching flies,” Webster huffed, heaving the large, wooden crate of medical supplies off the truck. He watched the young boy in amusement as Julian scuttled forward, apologising before tripping over his own feet again.

“How the hell you made it through boot camp Jules, I will never know.” Julian only nodded in response, unable to meet Webster's eyes as he followed suit, lifting one of the large crates from the truck and following him inside. Doc Roe was organising the boxes, instructing the paratroopers where to leave them. He smiled warmly at the approaching men.

“How ya feeling today, Owens?” Roe asked, eyeing the young soldier curiously, one dark eyebrow raised and an amused smile gracing his lips. “Your head stopped hurting?”

Julian nodded, sheepishly looking down at his boots.

“Yeah he’s doing just fine Doc, hasn’t walked into any doors yet today,” Webster jested, recounting how Julian had walked head first into an open door, earning himself a few stitches, a sore head and a rather embarrassing evening being teased by his platoon.

Roe nodded, seemingly satisfied with Webster's answer and left the men to their job.

“So…” Webster began cautiously. Julian could see the cogs in his mind working, straining to find the right words. “What was it that had you so…distracted yesterday?”

Julian almost choked on his own words, “Ohh… nothin’… nothing really I… it was nothing. I’m just clumsy.” He began raking his fingers through his strawberry locks nervously.

“Hmm,” was all Webster replied, obviously content with his reply and little was said on the topic for the rest of the afternoon, much to Julian’s relief. How was he supposed to explain that George Luz was the reason for his stitches?

“Hey Luz, who are ya hiding those Hershey bars for, huh? Come on, you at least gotta give me one?” Liebgott protested, reaching across the counter, snatching at thin air as George swiftly manoeuvred the bars away from his dirty hands.

“GET OFF! They aren’t for you!”

“Well, who the hell are they for then?” Liebgott demanded, his short fuse burning close to the end, dark eyes boring into George’s and had George been a weaker man he may have relented, but he was stubborn and instead tipped the four remaining bars into his pocket.

“They’re for Captain Nixon. He asked me to put them aside for him.” George lied, hoping that his fellow paratrooper wouldn’t see straight through his lie. It was easier to say they were for an officer than he was squirrelling them away for a certain red-headed bookworm who had stolen his heart with his constant clumsiness and awkward smile.

Liebgott groaned but being the undoubtedly stubborn man he was he still tried to grab George’s uniform and he hurried away. He dove headlong out of the door and into the night before Liebgott had a chance to snatch them from him.

Julian sat in the darkened doorway, a wintry breeze blowing through the archways sent a shiver up his spine, as he carefully palmed through the battered, dusty pages of ‘Le Petit Prince’. It was a well-loved copy and he felt a deep sadness in his heart that the owner had to leave it behind. ‘A book can transport you to other worlds’ his father had told him when he was a young boy, having spent many an afternoon reading in the family's small study. Julian thumbed the corner of the page, folding it over and closing the book silently. It felt like a lifetime ago that he’d last seen his parents, so many things had changed in that time. There were things he had seen that would stay with him forever, things that haunted his every waking moment. The face of a certain radioman with his boyish charm and effortless laughter was one of those many things. George Luz. Why George Luz of all people? He’d often asked himself the same question. Why had this loud-mouthed 24-year-old from Rhode Island become the object of his desires?

“What ya got there?” The voice startled Julian causing him to launch the book forward into a puddle as he fumbled for his M1.

“Woah! Woah! Easy there, it’s just me,” George appeared from behind a small group of Sycamore trees, hands raised in surprise. Julian rested his M1 on his thigh, a long sigh leaving his lips, “Jesus George, way to give a man a heart attack.”

George let out a bellowing laugh, resting his hand sympathetically on Julian’s shoulder.

“Sorry Jules,” he sat down beside him, chocolate eyes boring into Julian’s emerald ones, the specks of sunlight running through them creating road maps. It was one of the things George observed about Julian when they’d first met. He always noticed the golden flecks between the greens, it was one amongst many of the features he perceived about the copper haired paratrooper. “What had you so deep in thought?”

“Oh…umm nothi…nothing,” Julian stammered uncontrollably, fiddling with the hem of his worn, khaki jacket, pulling at the loose thread to avoid meeting George’s eyes.

George frowned sadly, “Julian, please don’t keep all your feelings bottled up. We’ve all been through so much but if you don’t talk about it…”

“It’s you,” he all but shouted, watching as George’s eyes morphed into wide saucers at the sudden outburst from the usually quiet paratrooper. “It’s you.”

“What’s me?” George asked when he was able to speak again, he never thought he could be rendered speechless, especially not by the man he’d been unintentionally staring at since Toccoa.

“It’s you,” Julian said exasperated, he’d never meant for things to go like this, he’d wanted to tell him but not here, not right here in the middle of the war. “George you have no idea the effect you have on people, the effect you have on me. You’re all I can think about all the time and it kills me because…” Before Julian could continue his rambling George pulled him impossibly close, crushing their lips together. Julian squeaked at the sudden movement, his brain short-circuiting as he tried to comprehend what was happening, George’s warm lips engulfing his own. The kiss lasted seconds but Julian felt as if they were frozen in time. His life seemed to flash before his eyes, all the moments he’d spent longingly watching George all unfolding to this very moment.

George waving his hand in front of his face brought Julian back to the present.

“Wow,” was all Julian could mutter, causing George to snort, burying his head into the crook of his neck and sighing contentedly. Julian wrapped his arms around his fellow paratrooper, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to do that.”

George hummed, “Probably the same amount of time I’ve waited to do it.” Both men nodded, chuckling to themselves, their breaths billowing into the dark night sky. For a moment, just for a signal moment, they both believed that everything might be alright.

Taglist: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @sharpshootershifty @liberteuniteegalite @msmercury84 @hbowardaily @desert-fern @mayhem24-7forever @floralfloyd @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @im-chinese-believe-it-or-not @sir-mr-dr-roe @sonne-liebgott @liptonwashere @blvestxr @mads-weasley @mrsgeorgeluz @vera-keller

Let me know if you’d like to be added to/removed from my Band of Brothers taglist

#band of brothers imagine #band of brothers fics #band of brothers #george luz #George Luz x oc

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softguarnere · 1 year

Text

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter Seven: Nvwatohiyadv & Saoirse

Summary: If this is what Hell feels like, at least it’s not as lonely as all those days back home in her room.

A/N: An update? After all this time? I'm just as shocked. I'm trying my hardest to keep up, but I have so many papers and projects due this semester that updates may be a little infrequent for the next few weeks.

Also a massive thank you to the wonderful @latibvles for supplying the name of Zenie's first kiss 🫶🏼You are so beloved And for those of you who like chapter titles, nvwatohiyadv is the Cherokee word for liberty, while saoirse is Irish for freedom - just trying to combine both parts of Zenie's heritage

Warnings: alcohol, smoking, religious trauma, period typical attitudes and terms in regards to race, homophobia, improper binding techniques, language, brief mention of vomit

Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @mrs-murder-daddy @lieutenant-speirs

August 1943, New York

Most of them are spilling their alcohol soaked guts onto the docks with retches that hurt to listen to. The few of them that didn’t partake in the guzzling of whiskey the night before are strong stomached until they step onto the SS Samaria, and then they too are sick to their stomachs.

Hardly any of them have ever been on a ship before, and it’s taking them a while to get their sea legs. Funny, how they can fling themselves out of perfectly good airplanes, hurling themselves toward a cold and unforgiving ground, but a ship against the rocking of the waves is what makes most of them feel ill.

But something else is getting to Zenie. Not the usual nerves that send a chill down her spine whenever she spares the occasional moment to be anxious about the possibility of being found out. This is something else. It’s almost like homesickness, or tender feelings for the place she’s about to leave behind.

Life jackets on, they all pack together on the deck as the Samaria leaves New York. She’s short enough that she manages to claim a place by the rail without anyone complaining that they can’t see. After all, just like her, everyone is vying for a peek of Lady Liberty herself.

She’s beautiful. Tall. Elegant. Set against the hazy backdrop of orange sky and mist rising from the waters around her, she’s more of a figure, looming larger than life as they sail by.

Zenie has only met her paternal grandparents a handful of times, but now a memory of her grandfather’s voice whispers to her in his thick accent. “. . . I looked out across the water, and there she was. Her torch guided the ship like a lighthouse, pullin’ us in. All my doubts about leavin’ Ireland left me then. How could I be nervous, with such a lass watchin’ over me?”

Guilt turns into a rock in her stomach. Her father’s parents worked hard to get out of Ireland, to get themselves and their descendants to America. And here she is, willingly going back to the place that they fled.

And now the fine lady watches Zenie as she goes in the opposite direction – leaving America for Europe. If the statue were real, she might recognize something of her Irish grandparents in Zenie and offer her the same strength that she did them so long ago.

What about her other grandparents? The ones who are one hundred percent all-American, whose parents and their parents and the ones before them had been in America since time immemorial. Lady Liberty never welcomed them – they were already here.

It’s silly, really, to wonder whether or not a statue could afford some fondness or sense of protection on a person, but Zenie can’t help but wonder if the figure protects her and her liberties, too, when the world seems so keen on keeping those rights away from her and other Indians.

No. A statue can’t protect anyone, or their liberties. Not really. It’s Zenie and these men and all the other people fighting this war that are protecting those freedoms. The statue is just a reminder of what is often overlooked; it gives an icon to an ideal. If anything, the statue doesn’t represent some omnipresent force that welcomed her grandparents when they immigrated, but rather regular people and their beliefs. The statue only exists because someone believed in something enough to give the world a giant reminder of it.

Well then, what does Zenie believe in?

The lady looming over the water must have some sort of answer. Just as she welcomed Granda into America so long ago, she now watches Zenie leave it – both McGlamery’s traveling towards something that they believe in, though their journeys go in opposite directions.

Go, the godlike figure on the island seems to tell her. Go forth and protect and defend what I represent. For people like your Irish grandfather, who believed in liberty. And people like your Cherokee Granny, who hardly got to see it.

Lady Liberty is stuck in place. Zenie knows what that feels like. But she’s not immobile now. She unstuck herself because of feelings of suffocating in one place. Now she keeps going because she believes in what she’s doing. She believes that she’s a part of something that’s good.

How could she feel guilty with such a lass watching over her?

The longer that they’re on the ship, the more grateful Zenie becomes that she’s not in the Navy, or the Marines, or the Coast Guard. Or any sort of sailor, actually, carrying her secret or not. It’s hot and crowded and miserable. The men stink and personal space is quickly becoming a foreign concept. Her large feet trip her up on the ladders several times, and the only thing that keeps her from tumbling down and crashing onto the decks are the quick hands of her friends that fly out to catch her by the arm.

Toye claps her on the back once after helping her stay upright. She hopes that he mistakes her wince as one of relief and not her dread that he might feel her bandages.

If anything, her secret is only making her experience aboard the Samaria more miserable than everyone else’s. The farther down into the ship they go, the hotter and more crowded it becomes. The binding around her chest makes it harder to breathe, and even though the men all have a few beads of sweat along their hairlines, she feels like she’s glistening with it. All she can do is hope that by some miracle, the ship will reach her destination faster than anticipated, because the second that Zenie sees the hammocks packed together to provide them with a place to sleep, she has a feeling that she won’t be doing much of that – not when the mercury is so high and the oxygen so scarce.

If her feet don’t floor her in this crowded place, the realization that hits her does: where will she change? Clean up? Relieve herself? They’ll toss her out to sea before the ship even sets sail.

“You look like shit, Tommy Boy,” Bill deadpans.

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, I’m bein’ serious. Have a cigarette or somethin’.”

“Maybe you should find Doc Roe,” Luz suggests. He slings his pack over his shoulder and sighs up at the racks above them, resolving himself to climb up to the top where there are still a few that are unoccupied. “If anyone wants to offer a trade, now’s your last chance.”

Toye makes a show of stretching out on his rack, which is close to the ground. “I’m good.”

Bill flips open his lighter and holds it to the end of his cigarette. “Same here.”

Finding Gene is probably her best option. He’ll have some sort of suggestion; he always knows what to do. But right now the boat is hot and she’s exhausted.

A vague memory of a church sermon from her childhood flashes through her mind. The pastor, his booming voice like a canon as it echoed off the walls of the church, lecturing the congregation about the fires of Hell that awaited them if they strayed from the flock. He gave the lecture so many times that she could be remembering any given Sunday of her childhood. As a young girl, the danger of the Underworld seemed to lurk right beneath her feet, the ground threatening to split open and reveal lapping flames that would swallow her up if she so much as fidgeted during the service. The Sunday after she had her first kiss – with that pretty Lucy Jordan from out of town, with the pretty hair and the soft lips – she sweated in her family’s pew as she awaited the inferno to take her. When nothing happened, the fire and brimstone didn’t seem quite so threatening, or even all that real.

The heat generated from the bodies all tightly packed around her does make her wonder, though, if this is what the nether regions of the afterlife feel like. At least she’s surrounded by friends. The thought makes her chuckle to herself as she plops down on a rack. She removes a cigarette from the mostly untouched pack in her pocket, nicks Bill’s lighter, and fills her lungs with the smoke, hoping it will help her nerves.

She glances around, chuckling again as she picks up pieces of scattered conversations from the men. If this is what Hell feels like, at least it’s not as lonely as all those days back home in her room.

Yeah, she thinks. Not too bad.

“My brother’s in North Africa,” Bill’s voice draws her out of her thoughts. “He says it’s hot.”

“Really?” Malarkey snarks from behind him. “It’s hot in Africa?”

“Shuddup.” Malarkey’s hard expression melts as he laughs. Bill rolls his eyes. “Point is, it don’t matter where we go. Once we get into combat, the only person you can trust is yourself, and the fella next to ya.”

Or woman. Lady. Lass. Dame. Whatever slang term Philadelphians use for girls.

Would they trust her, if they knew her secret and then found themselves next to her on a battlefield? Eugene would; he had said she was brave. If there’s anyone I would trust in combat, it’s someone as fearless as you.

Maybe someone else on the ship is fearless in the same way that she allegedly is. Maybe they share the same secret. That’s a nice thought. She would trust these men – these fellas – if the bullets were flying, but if they knew the truth, they would probably never trust her again.

“Long as he’s a paratrooper,” Toye says.

Zenie might not be a man, but she is a paratrooper. She went through the same training as everyone else here.

“Oh yeah? And what if that paratrooper turns out to be Sobel?” Luz asks as he hauls himself up the racks. Looks like he couldn’t convince anyone to trade spots with him.

Above them, someone else’s voice sounds off with a response that she misses over the din of whoever is above her shifting his weight, making the rack squeak. Another thing that reminds her of Sundays in church: learning to tune things out. She doesn’t need to get her feelings hurt by listening to them talk about who they do or do not trust – because while Tommy falls into one category, Zenie most likely falls pretty firmly into the other.

The next thing that she knows, the rack beside her is shifting as Bill stands, and then the people around her fall quiet as Liebgott’s voice fills the space. “I’m a Jew.”

“Congratulations.” She can’t see him, but Zenie can hear the smug smirk on Bill’s face when he responds, “Now get your nose outta my face.”

He deserves it, friend or not, when Liebgott swings at him. He should know better than to say something like that, and she’s planning on telling him so when she jumps up to help the others hold the two men apart.

A sharp pain blooms in her chest, sending her stumbling back into the racks. A gasp escapes from her lips. No one notices – they’re all too busy trying to keep the first Easy Company casualties from occurring before the ship reaches England.

She’s never been hit in the breast before. And now someone’s elbow has just jabbed her there, managing to hurt even through the bandages.

That’s it. She’s got to solve this problem.

It’s a miracle that she doesn’t get jabbed again as she pushes through the throng of bodies. The miracle balances itself out with the fact that she doesn’t see Gene anywhere among them, and no one seems to know where he is when she throws the question out to them. Instead she finds –

“Tommy!” McClung yells above the rest of the voices that swirl around them. In a second, he’s pushed through the crowd and caught up to her, Popeye and Shifty right behind him. “Where’re you off to?”

“Any of y’all seen Doc Roe?”

“No.” Popeye tilts his head. “Are you as sick as ol’ Shifty Boy here from all that whiskey?”

“Just eat somethin’,” Shifty suggests with a nod. “A couple of those donuts from the Red Cross girls had me right as rain.”

Popeye claps him on the back and flashes her a winning grin. “He learned that from me.”

“No, it’s –“ She offers a vague, sweeping gesture with her arm. The heat. The tight space. The lack of privacy. “I just need some air.”

“We were goin’ up top, anyways. We’ll come with you!”

It’s easier to push through the crowd when she’s got three friends helping her clear people out of the way. Earl pushes through the crowd like it’s nothing. Popeye calls out greetings to people as he goes. Zenie scans everyone’s faces, looking for Gene, reassuring herself with the thought that he’ll know what to do and he’ll come up with a plan for how to handle all this bandage business.

“Fuckin’ ridge runners,” someone scoffs as they force their way through the crowd.

At her sides, her hands immediately ball themselves into fists. She scowls, looking around for whoever might have said it. Cobb is sitting on a rack nearby, and she’s willing to bet the comment was thrown from his direction.

“Hey.” A gentle hand places itself on her shoulder and urges her forward from behind. “Just ignore him. Been enough fights on this boat for one day.”

“But –“ She feels herself deflate under Shifty’s touch. He’s right; they’ve been called worse.

The salt on the breeze is unlike any kind of wind that she felt back at home. During the more pleasant times of year, mountain breezes feel friendly and teasing as they play with her hair and snap flags on their posts. The wind from the sea that greets them abovedeck carries a sense of adventure. It’s powerful – powerful enough to carry them somewhere new.

It fills her lungs and whispers to something in her soul. All those days of sitting in her bedroom feeling suffocated and sorry for herself. Now she’s the farthest away from home that she’s ever been, and (as long as she’s not crammed in the bowls of the ship with the other men) she can breathe.

“Feelin’ better?” Shifty asks. His hand hasn’t left her shoulder. Zenie finds that she doesn’t really want him to remove it.

“Much.”

Earl gestures to all the space around them. “Look at this! This is way better than being trapped belowdecks.”

“Well, it’s a long way to England. We can probably spend as much time up here as we want.” I know I will be, Zenie doesn’t add as she relishes in the cool breeze and the sound of the waves.

“We oughtta sleep out here,” Popeye says. “Better than sweatin’ for hours at a time and listenin’ to everyone snore and complain about the heat.”

Shifty nods in agreement. “We oughtta.”

So they do.

The first night of the voyage, they return to their racks with everyone else. Zenie stays awake all night, listening to people pant in the heat, grimacing every time a rack squeaks as someone shifts their weight. Some people manage to doze, but she spends the next day groggy and vows that she’ll take Popeye’s suggestion. Her friends don’t take much convincing.

“Like camping.” They’re all sprawled out on the deck, hoping that any non-coms or officers that catch them won’t send them back below. The waves slapping against the side of the boat are loud but soothing. In the growing darkness, Zenie can just make out Shifty’s smile. He’s in his element. The others agree, and she doesn’t admit that no one has ever actually taken her camping before.

Instead she’s intent to just be there, the ocean sounds sending that thrum of adventure running through her core as it carries her far, far away from that noble statue back in New York. Far away from the loneliness of her room and straight into the next leg of her adventure. Surrounded by friends.

Not too bad.

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phyllisthefirst · 3 months

Text

[Masterlist] [on ao3]

George Luz x OC

Summary: Phyllis Baker is with the 506th to do her job, nothing more, nothing less. But between men like her superior officers, who don't believe she should be there at all, and men like George Luz, who keeps distracting her with those damn puppy eyes of his, that might be easier said than done.

Warnings: Depictions of war, mentions of injury and death.

Tagging: @next-autopsy - I'm finally back with George and Phyllis' story! I really struggled with this chapter, but at the end of the day, we moved the plot along a teenie tiny little bit and that's all that matters.

As always, this fic is entirely about the fictionalized representations of the men of Easy Company that we see on the show. I mean no disrespect to the real men by writing this.

No tired sigh, no rolling eye, no irony - Part 5

Normandy is a blur, jumping into fire and landing in wet marshland and then walking, walking for miles and miles in the dark without seeing a single soul he knows. Sometimes he hears voices, but he hides in the hedgerows until they pass and it always turns out to be German patrols. Eventually, after hours and hours, George finally spots a sign pointing towards a town whose name he recognizes. He almost cries when the little town finally comes into view and he spots nothing but American uniforms.

Most of his friends have already made it to the town; some have been here long enough to take out a whole cluster of German machine gun nests. Some aren’t accounted for yet, Lieutenant Meehan included. It’s still chaos, but George gets to sit down and rest for a little while at least.

After that, there’s more walking and then the chaos and terror of taking Carentan, under fire from what feels like every direction. It’s the first time George has to apply what they’ve trained for in practice, and it’s nothing he feels at all prepared for. He doesn’t have time to linger on that observation before they’re already moving on, more walking through flooded fields and more being shot at and digging improvised foxholes into the hedgerows.

And now he’s sitting in the dark once again, listening to the occasional bouts of gunfire, the whistle of German mortars. The waiting is nerve-wracking but at least he’s not alone. With his brothers around to keep watch, he once again allows himself a rare pleasure that he’s indulged in only when it felt too difficult to stay awake and keep trudging on: He thinks of Phyllis, and of that kiss on the airfield, and the things she said before it.

It was unexpected, and something in her expression tells him it wasn’t just a surprise for him but for her as well. He could bet she hadn’t planned on kissing him. He isn’t even sure if she’d planned out the words she said to him - they, like the kiss, sounded like they were ripped from her by some deeper impulse. And that impulse is the most important thing, really, proof that she cares for him, enough to sneak onto the airfield to make sure he knows.

That’s what he should be focusing on, but in moments like this, half-asleep in a foxhole, it’s still too tempting to linger on the memory of that kiss: Brief and harsh, an act of defiance in the face of their hooting audience. From what he’s come to know of Phyllis so far, he knows she’s a private person, mortified at the idea of drawing attention by a show of emotion. He can only imagine how much of an effort it must have cost her to come up and kiss him.

It makes it all the more precious, despite how brief it was, and it makes hope soar within him whenever he allows himself to remember it. On nights like this, that hope translates easily into imagined scenes of their next meeting, whenever he makes it back to Aldbourne. Perhaps they’ll meet at the pub, perhaps run into each other on the street. Perhaps he’ll go look for her at battalion HQ or at her billet (he doesn’t know exactly where it is, but Aldbourne is small and she’s mentioned the old lady she lives with, he’ll figure it out). Perhaps she’ll seek him out again, use that HQ knowledge to anticipate his return and wait for him at their barracks. Perhaps, now that she’s managed one public display, she’ll find it easier to do, and he’ll be greeted with another kiss. Perhaps she’ll run and throw herself into his arms for a passionate embrace, like an actress in a movie. He entertains the thought for a moment, imagines how he’ll close his arms around her and lift her off her feet…

Alright, it probably won’t play out like that, but he allows himself the thought while the night slowly wanes away.

It doesn’t matter how it will happen exactly - what matters is that he sees her again.

***

Phyllis wasn’t prepared for Normandy. There was a vague notion that she might be following the 506th to the European mainland once the coastline was secured, but no concrete plans had been made for her - she’s too far down the line of essential personnel, somewhere after the troops themselves, the engineers, the medical officers and nurses, the chaplains and mortuary teams. She wasn't even sure if she'd be going here at all, let alone a few days after the invasion. But then Lieutenant Meehan’s plane crashed with a good chunk of battalion staff on it, and suddenly there aren’t enough people over there who know what to get where and when and how, everything they’ve meticulously planned out for weeks.

And just like that, she’s on a troop carrier across the channel, along with nurses and mechanics and other noncombatants, and after barely managing not to throw up on the choppy trip, she’s disembarking on a beach that is stained red. For a moment, she suspects some strange geological quirk, then it hits her: The beach is red with blood, the blood of all the men that died here mere days ago.

She's led to one of the the tents that have been set up in the dunes, a little inland but still close enough to the beach to be within walking distance of the transport ships landing daily with supplies - weapons and tanks for on-site assembly and food and medical supplies she and the other orderlies and supply officers send in different directions. She's in charge of getting the 506th their designated supplies, which is more than anticipated since apparently, most of the supplies the men were supposed to carry with them have been lost during the jump. Unfortunately, it’s not exactly easy to get her hands on everything she needs, let alone more than expected. The medical supplies in particular are being fought over tooth and nail, with hundreds of injured men still being treated on and near the beaches while they wait to be shipped back to England.

As expected, Phyllis is woefully unprepared for actually being on the front lines, beginning with the fact that she came here in her regular uniform and leather shoes - sensible ones, yes, but still not suitable for traipsing through mud and wet sand. She barely manages a few hours before she twists her ankle and goes down rather spectacularly. To her luck, it happens right in front of an infirmary tent that just had most of its patients evacuated, and the nurse sitting outside for a cigarette break takes pity and helps her over.

She looks at Phyllis’ shoes and tuts disapprovingly.

“Did no one tell you what things are like over here?”

Phyllis shakes her head, embarrassed.

“It was a bit of a spontaneous decision, sending me here.”

The nurse’s expression softens minutely.

“Wait here,” she orders and disappears into the aid station tent. Phyllis doesn't protest. The woman’s take-charge attitude reminds her of her friend Millicent, the hardware store owner turned nurse she met in Aldbourne. Not for the first time, Phyllis wonders where her friends are right now. Her group of friends among the nurses has been sent over here two days ago and are moving inland just behind the men as they secure ever more ground. She’s been hearing a little about how the landings have been coming along, more than the general public has been told in the radio broadcast, but even around headquarters, little more is known than that most of the men missed their designated drop zones and struggled to converge again.

Her morose thoughts are interrupted by the return of the nurse, holding out a pair of boots - worn-in but in good condition, apart from the splatters of mud and other things she doesn’t want to think about. Actually, she doesn’t want to think about the history of the boots at all, she decides.

“They’ll still be too big, but if you stuff some rags into the front, they should be better than what you have on now.” She hands her some of the rags in question, and Phyllis takes boots and rags gratefully.

Sitting down on the crate the woman had rested on earlier, she starts taking off her heeled shoes, grateful that her ankle seems to have escaped her fall with nothing more than a faint twinge and won’t require medical attention.

“So, how long have you been here?”, she asks, hoping that some conversation will distract her from the awkwardness of trying to change shoes while sitting in the open wearing a tight uniform skirt. Then again, looking at the soldiers either resting or working around the aid station, she doubts anyone will pay her any attention.

“Two days.” The nurse takes a long drag of her cigarette while Phyllis waits for her to elaborate. She doesn’t.

“I hear the casualties were fairly severe, here on Omaha.”

The nurse laughs humorlessly.

“Fairly severe… It was absolute carnage. We’ve only just finished moving out the most serious cases. The ones that lasted long enough, that is.” She breaks off to take another long draught. When Phyllis glances over, she can see the woman’s hands shaking, her eyes turned towards the horizon with an empty stare that she’s seen on too many men on this beach. Then she turns her head and meets Phyllis’ eyes, roaming over her curiously. “What are you doing here? You’re not a nurse.”

“I’m assisting the 506th with logistics and clerical duties. I was supposed to stay behind in Aldbourne but…”, she can’t bring herself to casually mention how many people had to die for her to find herself here. The woman has probably seen and heard enough death these past two days. “Well, things changed, and now I’m here.”

The woman nods. Taking one last drag of her cigarette, she drops the short bud and stamps it out on the sand.

“Welcome to the war.” She holds out her hand, and Phyllis shakes it, trying to ignore the reddish tint of blood that won’t quite scrub off. If she wants to do her job well, she’s going to have to get a lot less squeamish, and quickly. “I’m Mary Wilson.”

“Phyllis Baker.”

“Well, Phyllis, it’s been nice meeting you. Keep us medical personnel in mind while you see to your logistics duties, will you?”

“I will. Thank you for the boots.”

Mary nods.

“Nothing to thank me for. I have to get back to work. It’s been nice meeting you, Phyllis.”

Phyllis starts on a polite reply, but Mary has already turned to walk back into the tent, and Phyllis figures it’s time for her to get back to work as well.

She gets up and takes a few tentative steps in her new boots. Even stuffed, they're a little wide and they clash horribly with her skirt, but the ground feels a lot steadier under her.

***

It’s several more days until she spots her first familiar face: Colonel Sink arrives in a jeep riddled with bullet holes and stops right in front of one of the tents used to gather and sort supplies. By now, Phyllis has managed to scrounge quite the pile for the 506th, which she now proudly presents.

The Colonel looks pleased indeed, asking some more questions about what kind of supplies she’s been able to procure and which have proven difficult, and once she’s answered all his questions to his satisfaction, Phyllis decides that this might be a good moment to address something that’s been weighing on her mind.

“Sir?”

He looks up from the clipboard he was inspecting, raising an inquiring eyebrow, and she takes a deep breath for courage.

“I know it’s not my place to ask, but I’ve made some friends in Aldbourne, particularly among Easy Company. Is there any news about how they’re doing?”

The Colonel’s eyes narrow suspiciously, and Phyllis’ stomach sinks - she may have just made a big mistake.

“Miss Baker, are you aware of the risk I took sending you here? You’re a good worker and a hell of a logistics specialist, and you did a solid job stepping into a role you weren’t trained for. But if word gets around that I took a young woman with no military or nursing background to the front lines of the European invasion, I’ll have some explaining to do. If it turns out that that woman conducted herself in any way improperly with the men, perhaps ended up finding herself in a bad situation…” He pauses for effect, and Phyllis blanches at the implication. “Well, I’ll be lucky if I ever get to lead a man in this campaign again, let alone a woman. So, if I hear so much as a rumor about your behavior here, you will be shipped home faster than you can say transatlantic passage. Is that clear?”

“Crystal clear, Sir. I won’t forget my position here, or your trust in me.”

His expression softens again.

“As for Easy, they suffered some casualties, like the rest of the Airborne, but most of the men have found their units. A few Easy squadrons destroyed a German artillery battery, and by now, they should be securing our hold on Carentan.” He pauses. “Now, I’ve made an exception and gave you intel above your clearance just this once. It will not happen again. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

He nods briskly.

“Good. Back to work then. The mortuary team has made some headway identifying bodies, and someone needs to go over the lists and see to it that supplies are adjusted accordingly. Reports from further inland should be coming in over the next few days, so we’ll get a clearer picture. I’ll have all casualty lists sent straight through you.”

Despite the gruff tone, Phyllis recognizes it as the gift it is: Colonel Sink is giving her a chance to follow up on the fate of the men fighting out there without having to tell her anything himself. She has to suppress the urge to launch forward and hug him - she’s sure that would not go over well.

“I’ll get to it right away, Sir.”

For the next few days, she sees nothing but the inside of her tent and long lists of names, which she studies intently. For every list that doesn’t hold a name she recognizes, she sends a prayer heavenward, and every night she repeats it: Lord, let my friends be alive. Keep them safe, and return them to me.

***

For all the ways George has imagined being reunited with Phyllis, nothing could have prepared him for the way it actually happens.

He's already made it almost back to England, sitting on a beach in Normandy and trying to ignore the debris and suspiciously rust-coloured patches of sand all around. They've been pulled off the line two days ago, and apart from a little bit of walking, they’ve since spent the time sitting around waiting to be shuffled onto a carrier, except there never seems to be one ready to take them. So they sit, increasingly bored and irritated, and the only thing keeping George from going fully mad are his sappy fantasies of a grand reunion with Phyllis. Which is why he first thinks she's a figment of his overtired imagination when he suddenly spots her on the beach, following Colonel Sink down a row of Easy and Fox company soldiers. He's just wondering if he should be worried about how realistic his fantasies are becoming when Perconte elbows him in the side.

“Hey, isn't that Phyllis? The hell’s she doing here?”

George shakes his head. It isn't Phyllis, it can't be, because Phyllis is all the way across the channel, safe and sound in England.

“No, it definitely is.” Perconte, unaware of his friend’s turmoil, starts waving at her enthusiastically, followed by several others of their friends. But Phyllis looks straight ahead as she stalks past them, eyes fixed on Colonel Sink’s head.

George's stomach drops. He doesn't like this one bit. On this beach it may feel like Normandy is firmly in Allied hands, but George knows that, a mere day's walk from here they were still taking shelter from German artillery. They may have clawed their hands into this slim stretch of coastline, but the Germans are far from defeated.

“What is she doing here?”, he mutters to himself. Briefly, he considers getting up and going after her to ask. But Colonel Sink is speaking to her and she's busy taking notes, and he knows better than to interrupt her when she’s working. He’ll have to wait for a better time, as much as it sets him on edge.

That better time almost doesn't arrive before they're loaded onto their ship, with Phyllis quickly disappearing again to take care of something or other. Eventually, he gets desperate.

Despite their orders to stay near the tent they've been set up in and wait to ship out, he slips away to start searching for her, orders be damned.

He finds her in the cluster of tents serving as battalion HQ, making her way from one tent to another with her ever-present clipboard in hand.

Before she's spotted him, he's grabbed her hand and pulled her behind one of the tents, shielded from view by the dark canvas and a steep rise in the dunes.

“What on earth…”, she only seems to register now who abducted her, and her face brightens immediately. “George!”

She moves toward him, and he wonders if this is the moment of their passionate reunion - but she catches herself and draws back again.

“How are you here?”, he blurts out, not very intelligently.

“I was sent over to help out after Lieutenant Meehan's plane went down. There were several men from battalion HQ on it and they needed everyone who knew at least some of their plans.” The mention of Lieutenant Meehan's fate, the fate he shared with so many other men, is enough to chase off all lingering hope for a romantic moment.

“What the hell were they thinking, sending you here?” It comes out sharper than he intended, and her eyes flash in anger.

“They were probably thinking that they need every person doing their job, wherever it needs doing. And that's what I'm doing, believe it or not.”

He deflates again, too tired to fight.

“I’m sorry. It's just…” I thought you were safe, he wants to blurt out. I need you to be safe. But this isn’t just about what he needs. “I didn’t mean to imply that you shouldn't be here.”

Her face softens, slowly.

“Like I said, it wasn't exactly planned this way. Colonel Sink has already given me a lecture on how much he's risking taking me here and how I have to watch my conduct.”

There's something like pleading on her face, and he wonders frantically what she's trying to tell him. Is it her attempt to explain why she didn't acknowledge him this morning? Sure, it stung in the moment, but he doesn't even care right now, not when the most pressing issue is her safety, and how much danger she's in and how much he wishes she wasn't.

“Just… be careful, alright? I’m not saying you can’t handle yourself, but we're still very close to enemy territory and you haven’t exactly been trained to fight.”

“I know, and I will be careful. Battalion HQ is supposed to stay back a ways behind the line, anyway.”

He wants to point out what he’s quickly come to learn in his time here: That “the line” is not as fixed a concept as she seems to think, that everything can still shift in a heartbeat. But he doesn't know how she'd take it, if she'd think he was patronizing her again. Before he can make up his mind if he should say something more, there are voices rising from a nearby tent, and she looks around nervously.

“I should go. Colonel Sink is expecting these papers.”

She’s already turning, getting ready to rush off, when she throws one more cautious glance around, turns back to him and grabs his hand.

“I'm glad you're okay, George.”

She holds his eyes for a moment, her expression filled with such genuine warmth and relief that it's almost overwhelming. Then she strides off, but the impression of her skin on his, warm and soft, seems to linger as George watches her walk away.

It's only almost as good as her kiss on the airfield, but it's better than all his imagined scenes of reunion. And right now, it's enough.

#george luz #george luz/oc #george luz x oc #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #my writing

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sergeant-spoons · 2 years

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Darling, Swing, and a Sapphire Ring

What is it about George Luz that inspires me to write friends-to-lovers fics? Oh, wait, no, I’ve got it. It’s those big brown eyes and that big cheeky smile.

Luz, you’ll be the death of me yet.

Pairing: George Luz x Female OC

Word count: 11,003 (well goddamn)

Tone: Best friends to lovers, flirting/banter, postwar reunions, dancing around feelings, quite a lot of pining

Summary: He’s got an engagement ring and a reunion to attend—now all he needs is a real, live, not-so-genuine fiancée.

"You want me to pretend I'm your what?"

"My girl!"

"I still don't get it."

"My girl! My beau! My beloved!"

"Yeah, George, I understand that part, but why?"

"I need you to pretend to be my girl for the reunion this weekend," George Luz repeats patiently, then pouts when all he gets in response is a deepened frown. "Why are you lookin' at me like that?"

"Because-" Magdalena Saas splutters, flapping her hands in emphatic circles. "Because that's nuts! It's absurd! Totally asinine!"

"Really pulling out the thesaurus for that one, sweetheart."

She shoots him a dirty look, and his smile starts to drop.

"You really think it's a bad idea?"

"I think it's an awful idea, George, and there's no way in hell I'm going through with it."

He looks genuinely baffled.

"Now why would you say a thing like that?"

"Let me think." Maggie ticks off her impressions on her fingers. "First off, charades like this never work out the way you think they will. Secondly, everyone plus your mother knows you and I are just friends. And thirdly—well, thirdly, it's a lousy idea!"

"That's only two valid points," George declares. "The third's more of an unproven opinion."

"Well, isn't two enough?"

"I mean..."

Maggie's head falls back and hits the bedframe with a thunk. She's managed to avoid blushing up until now, when George sucks in a breath through his grimace and tucks his hand between her head and the hard wooden frame, his palm caressing her hair.

Thirdly, this is not at all the kind of proposal I wish I'd get from you—and for the cherry on top, you're clueless.

"Fine."

"Fine?"

She crosses her arms and turns her head towards him, and just when he's thought he's won her over, she adds, "My third point is that you've clearly not thought this through."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"What if I prove you wrong?"

She sits up and squints at him. He flashes that lopsided grin she adores and she sighs, slouching again as she waves for him to go on.

"I'm listening."

"I've been thinking about this for two and a half weeks."

"And you're only just letting me in on your little scheme the day before?"

He waffles. "If I told you I kinda had to work up the nerve to ask, would you believe me?"

Seeing the crease of his brow and the sheepishness in his gaze, she glances aside, shushing the fluttering of her heart, and tells him she would.

"Good, 'cause it's true."

"Uh-huh. So what's your plan, anyway?"

"Huh?"

"If you really have been thinking about this for two and a half weeks, surely you've got some semblance of a plan."

"Yeah! Yeah, sure I do."

Maggie reaches over and taps his knee. "Then let's hear it."

"Well, to make it short and sweet—like you-"

"Of course, you had to go there."

"-you come with me to the reunion tomorrow, we pretend we're together, everybody is completely awed because they've never seen a more perfect couple-"

"Debatable."

"-and we go home happy and a little bit drunk after a night of fun!"

Maggie presses her lips together on one side of her face and thinks about what he's asking from her. On the surface, it's not much—pretend to be his girlfriend for four or five hours—but there's a lot she knows he probably hasn't considered. She loves George, but he's not the best with foresight. For one, it probably hasn't occurred to him that she's not going to know anyone there.

"But I will," he says happily when she brings this up, "and I'll introduce you to every single person there, if you want, and then you'll know everybody, and everybody will know—and adore—you."

"If you say so," she blusters. "Well—then what about getting there and back?"

"We'll take my car."

"Really? How close is this reunion?"

"A two-hour drive. One-and-a-half if we don't hit any traffic."

"Oh." This is a likable detail. "Alright, that's reasonable."

"I wouldn't be asking you if it wasn't."

She tries to be skeptical, but he's right. He's never asked anything of her he didn't think she could do. And this is the first ask she can think of that she's been hesitant to agree to.

"You do have a good track record," she admits, and he beams, knowing he's starting to win her over.

"Any other questions?"

"What's the expected attire for this thing? Am I good in jeans or should I wear a dress?"

"A dress," he answers, and she can tell he's being honest, not just picking and choosing what he himself would prefer. "As good as you look in those Levi's-"

"Stop looking at my ass."

"-it's a bit more of a formal event. Not suit and tie fancy, but button-up shirt for me and a dress or a skirt for you."

"Or a pantsuit?"

He grins. "Or a pantsuit."

"Hmm..." She pictures her wardrobe. "Yeah, I can work with that. Are we gonna be dancing?"

"All night long."

"My comfortable pumps it is, then."

"Pumps?" He scrunches up his face. "I don't think there's gonna be any tires that need inflating at the dance hall, sweetheart."

"It's a type of heel, darling."

"Oh." He laughs at himself. "Well, in that case, definitely go with the comfortable option."

"I mean..." She gestures to the pumps, sitting on a shoe rack across the room by the closet door. "They're a beat beaten up, I've had them for so long-"

"You think anybody's gonna be lookin' at your feet?"

He tickles her socked foot and she shrieks a laugh, careful not to move too sharply as she kicks his hand away. He grins and leans back against her bedframe, and when she tries to remember how they ended up sitting on the carpet like this instead of on her bed where the gin rummy game is still spread out, she can't remember.

"Are we talkin' a dinner party, or just dancing?"

"We usually go out to eat in a big group after everybody's tuckered out—usually, we get tired of poker, but this time, it'll be dancing, so my guess is we'll all get hungry quicker."

"And will there be drinking?"

"You know it."

Maggie laughs. "Well, you know me. So long as there's good beer, good company, and the potential for good food, I'm happy."

"Then I think you'll really enjoy yourself tomorrow."

"Only if I agree to this batshit crazy idea of yours."

"It's not that crazy," he insists, and though she knows he's probably right, she holds out a little longer.

"It's a little crazy."

"Yeah, maybe a little."

George adjusts his seated position, turning to look at her more fully, and Maggie half-wishes he hadn't—it's much easier to deny him when he's not mooning at her with those big brown eyes.

"There anything else you wanna know?"

Yeah—what am I supposed to do when we come home and I'm not yours anymore, because I never was yours, and probably won't ever be yours? What the hell am I supposed to tell my poor heart then?

She swallows back the premonition of regret and flashes a smile.

"Nope. Not unless you've got more to tell me."

"Well, there is one more thing..."

Maggie sighs dramatically, tossing her hand upon her forehead. "Oh, will the demands ever end?"

He snorts a laugh. "It's just one thing. One relatively small thing. I think."

"Alright, spit it out. Do I have to wear a wig? Fake teeth? Dye my eyebrows blonde?"

"What? No." He shakes his head as if clearing a startling image. "We gotta get engaged."

"What?"

George laughs, but she can tell he's nervous, very nervous, and she gets the sense he thinks she'll rescind her agreement now that this particular detail is out in the open.

"When I told the fellas, I may or may not have boasted about, um, my girl. A lot. And then Guarnere—love the guy, but he likes to run his mouth—started blabbin' about how he didn't believe me, and I just sorta blurted it out, and that got them impressed, so I ran with the bit, and now..." A sheepish smile is paired with a shrug. "They wanna meet my fiancée."

Maggie sighs yet again and pinches the upper bridge of her nose.

"Oh, George, darling George, what am I ever going to do with you?"

"Marry me?" His cheeks pinken. "I mean, only hypothetically, for this very specific event, and maybe for the next time you pretend to be my girl-"

"The next time?!"

"Forget I said that!" He gulps, studying her expression with wide eyes. "Well? Will you still go with me?"

Maggie considers. She could get something out of this, make a deal of it. She deserves something in return, really, for all the heartbreak this is no doubt going to cause her. After a moment's more thought, she nods, just once, and George beams.

"I'll do it on one condition."

He flashes those puppy-dog eyes and Maggie wonders for a moment if she should do this simply because she loves him.

That's exactly why you shouldn't be doing this, you cretin.

"Yeah? What is it?"

She squints at her best friend, then tosses her hair, feigning ignorance.

"I get to be the best woman at your actual wedding."

George seems relieved. "Oh, thank God."

Maggie gives him a curious look. "What did you think I was gonna say?"

"No idea," he laughs, "I'm just glad you picked that. I mean, you're a shoo-in for the position anyway-"

"Then maybe I oughta ask for something else."

"No, no, that's perfect," he says, laughing anxiously.

"Too late! I've changed my mind."

"I just had to run my mouth, didn't I?" He tugs at his ear. "So... what else?"

"It's... a secret."

He gapes at her, and she reaches out and shuts his mouth with her thumb and forefinger on his chin. She almost believes it when he swoons, and she leans back, rolling her eyes.

"Alright, Drama Queen, you've had your fun."

"I'll grant you your wish," he swears, rolling around to kneel before her. "Anything you want, my dearest Magdalena, is yours."

"Oh, yeah? Anything?"

"Anything."

"I wish you would find yourself a real fiancée instead of roping me into your bullshit."

George grimaces. "Okay, I can grant any wish except for that."

"Damnit." She scrunches up her nose. "Um..."

His smile turns into a smirk. "You don't actually know what you want from me, do you?"

I do, actually, but it's something I don't think you'd give.

"I do," she bluffs, "but I'll keep it a secret until the morning after we get back. Then you'll really squirm."

"Oh, yeah. Lots of squirming to be had right here."

"Shut up," she groans, then pushes at his arm when his smirk grows "Hey, watch it, buster, I could still change my mind. If I want to keep my payment secret—don't look at me like that, you know I don't want your money—then that's my prerogative."

"Fine, fine—but you'll do it? You'll go with me? As my fiancée?"

Rationally, she knows it's not for real, but when he looks at her like that, asking her to be his...

Don't think about it too much.

Too late. Her heart skips a beat.

"...Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll go with you. As your... fake fiancée."

"Yes!"

George throws his hands up, then grabs her face and plants a wet kiss on her nose. Maggie makes a face and rubs her sleeve across her face, but George is beaming so wide she can't help a small smile of her own.

"Oh—and you're driving."

Her best friend stops his preemptive celebration to pout.

"But Maggie-"

"Here we go."

"-all the guys'll be drinking, and it's a reunion, I can't just pass up a party-"

"Fine. You're driving on the way there."

"Yes!" he hisses through his toothy smile, pumping the air with his fist. "You're the best, you know that, Mags?"

She sighs, but lets him wrap his arm around her and kiss the top of her head regardless.

"Yeah, yeah. Just put on a ring on it and let's get back to gin rummy."

"Alrighty, I will."

He produces a small velvet box from his back pocket, and Maggie has to stare at it for a solid four or five seconds before she believes it's actually real.

"Sweetheart?"

She rolls her eyes to hide how her heart has started skipping all around her chest and holds out her left hand almost flippantly.

"You really have been planning this for a while, haven't you?"

"Two-and-a-half weeks."

"How'd you know my ring size?" she starts to ask, surprised that it fits so well, but he interrupts, rambling the way he does when he gets excited.

"Well, now that we've made that decision, we gotta figure out what you're wearin'! Not that you don't always look pretty, but I wanna make you the star o' the show, y'know? Everybody's gonna be so jealous o' me, sweetheart, just you wait..."

As Maggie watches George pick through her dresses and blouses and two pairs of work overalls she hasn't worn in a month, she leans her head against her hand and wonders what on earth she's gotten herself into. The metal of the ring on her finger presses to her temple, a stark reminder that the stakes for this are high.

And I bet they'll just keep getting higher.

"You know, you've got two—three—of the same dress in here. Different colors, same cut."

"Yes, I do know. It's my closet, smartass."

She moves her hand in front of her face and examines the ring while he's got his back turned to her. It's a silver band with an inlaid sapphire. Nothing too fancy, but certainly elegant. It's beautiful. It's perfect.

"Do you prefer blue or brown?"

"What?"

"For the dress. Blue or brown?"

Lifting the ring to her face, watching the sapphire twinkle in the orange-tinted light of her bedroom lamp, she can't conceal a small, giddy smile.

"Definitely blue."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Why did I let you talk me into this?"

George puts the car into park and leans over the side of the seat, his signature, surefire grin flashing across his face.

"That is not a very reassuring look."

He attempts a sympathetic pout, but when he bats his eyes at her with those downturned lips, he resembles a basset hound so sufficiently that she snorts a laugh.

"Now you just look extremely regretful."

He tries again, emphasizing the pout, and Maggie starts giggling (and it's only half from nerves).

"George Luz, you are the picture of remorse."

"Ah, but I made you laugh," he says, smiling again. "You wanna head inside?"

She hesitates, and though she tries not to look down at her hand, feeling the ring where it has hugged her third finger ever since last night (she didn't have the heart to part from it even while sleeping), she does. Softening, George reaches across the gearbox and lays his hand on Maggie's knee. She draws her lips between her teeth and pretends she’s hardly noticed the feeling of his palm against her skin.

"This is gonna be great," he vows. "It's you, me, all my buddies, and all their girls—good people, remember? And good beer, or so Perconte promises. And dancing! You like dancing."

"Yep," she chortles weakly, swinging her fist across her chest, "I do love me a good shindig."

George pauses, then squeezes her knee, his thumb brushing a little higher up her thigh. Maggie almost squeaks but manages to catch the sound behind her teeth.

"You know what we're gonna do, Mags?"

"What?" She coughs lightly into her fist. "What are we gonna do, George?"

"We're gonna dance a whole lot, so you won't hafta talk much if you don't want to."

A smile creeps onto Maggie's lips, and as she pats George's hand where it remains on her leg, she fails to notice the relief that sags his shoulders when he sees she’s relaxing.

"It's not all the people that's got me nervous," she admits. "It's... Well, it's that I'm afraid I won't play the part right."

"Pfff," he scoffs, fondly wrinkling his nose up at her. "People'll take one look at us and go 'Yup. That's George and Maggie. Always have been, always will be'."

"You think so?"

"Sweetheart, I know so."

They share a smile that lasts a bit too long for friends (but just right for the relationship they're supposed to have) until a bird flying straight past their windshield startles them and they look away, laughing awkwardly. They get out of the car. On one side, George locks the doors and takes a deep breath. He can't let it on, but he's starting to have doubts about this ruse—is one afternoon of pretending worth the sting of tomorrow, when they'll go back to how they really are and laugh about this later? He's not so sure anymore. On the other side of the car, Maggie straightens her blue dress and looks up at the four o'clock sun with a smile, her confidence revived, oblivious to George's fresh uncertainty.

"Ready to go, sweetheart?"

He offers her his arm and she gladly takes it.

"Ready as I'll ever be, darling."

Once the excitement of their arrival has subsided (Maggie is unsurprised to learn George is very popular among his former Company), George takes her up beside him and grins at the friends who've come up to greet him first.

"Fellas," he announces, "I'd like you to meet my gorgeous fiancée."

He turns and shows her off on his arm, proud as a peacock, and for all the ridiculousness of their ruse, Maggie can't deny she feels rather special with him going on like this.

"This is Ms. Magdalena Saas-"

"Call me Maggie."

"-soon to be Mrs. Magdalena Luz. Can you imagine that?"

"Yeah, Luz, that's usually how matrimony works," teases a friendly face out of the already amicable crowd. He takes George's hand to shake, then Maggie's. "Harry Welsh. Great to meet you, at last, Maggie. Luz here hasn't stopped talking about you for weeks—not that I'm any better about my own wife."

Flustered stupid, Maggie can only nod and blurt out a meek, "Oh?"

"Oh, yeah. Every time I call, it's Mags this and Maggie that." He chuckles. "I think he talks about you more than I talk about Kitty."

"Now that's saying something."

A smart young woman with a brilliant smile has appeared; she beams at Maggie, brightening up visibly when Welsh wraps his arm around her.

"I'm Kitty."

"I figured."

As they shake hands, Kitty laughs. "You do seem like a good fit for George—at least, from the stories Harry's told me."

"Better than good!" George declares, and the mystery of his sudden disappearance is solved when he hands Maggie one of the two beers in his hands. "She's absolutely perfect."

Maggie can feel her face heating up. Luckily, before she's forced to make a witty quip to deflect what she takes for a lie, Harry makes a face and jokes a complaint at George.

"Hey, what about my beer?"

"And mine?" Kitty laughs.

"I'm goin', I'm goin'," George laughs, waving off their teasing. "You stay put, Mags, I'll be right back."

He leaves them again, but not without planting a quick kiss on Maggie's knuckles, the left hand that blatantly bears his ring. She can feel her face heating up. Not for the first nor the last time tonight, she wonders if she's made an irrevocable mistake in agreeing to this mad plot. George gets a fiancée and points with his friends out of it, and she gets—what? A place at his side at his wedding to another woman and the whatever-it-is she's calling a secret but can't even decide for herself. Her throat gets tight, but she swears she won't cry, not until she's home and alone and this unreal night is over.

"Maggie, was it?"

It's Kitty, looking at her with growing concern.

"Sorry if I'm being nosy, but are you feeling alright?"

Maggie shifts on her feet, wishing she had pockets or a handbag or really any place to put her hands. She fiddles with her fingers and averts Kitty's well-meaning smile.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine."

"You sure? That's the same kind o' shifty-eyes bullshit-"

"Harry."

"Sorry, love. The same kind of shifty-eyes nonsense I pull when I'm not feeling well." Welsh frowns. "Come to speak of it, I usually come down with a cold this time of year..."

"Oh, no-" Maggie forces a laugh. "-I'm in good health."

But are you heartsick? Kitty asks with her eyes, and as much as Maggie wishes she could hide it, she's never been much good at camouflaging her heart. Just as she's about to mutter some excuse and run away to sit in the car until the reunion is over, George resurfaces. Once he's passed along the second pair of beers to his friends, he wraps his arm around her waist and tucks her against his side as if she belongs there. After a beat, she relaxes, reminding herself who she's doing this for.

"Hope you didn't miss me too long," George says, and when he steals a fleeting kiss on her cheek, he scans her gaze to make sure she approves. She puts on a smile and nudges his shoulder with her own, and his smile grows just enough for her to relax.

"Miss you?" She turns to Kitty and laughs. "I couldn't get rid of him if I tried."

She giggles. "He does seem rather attached."

"Hey," George pretends to complain, "I brought you a beer!"

Maggie giggles. "Oh, darling, you know I'm just as bad about you."

He looks astonished, and Kitty and Harry both laugh, not knowing how she has offered this confession like it's a known fact. George puts on a smirk and winks at his 'fiancée', who doesn't have to fake the blush his affection brings to her cheeks.

"That's right. Who could ever get enough of the one and only George Luz?"

He tickles her waist with the arm he's got around her, and as she almost spills her beer laughing, she has to remind herself he is her best friend and nothing more, no matter how affectionate he is tonight.

"Oh, stop it, you," she protests, pressing herself against his side to get away from his wicked fingers, and he grins.

"You know you love me."

"Uh-huh."

She expects him to drop the matter, but he persists.

"What? You mean to say you don't?"

"Oh, brother. Here we go again."

"Stop the party, there's been a murder—of my heart!"

"Kitty, S.O.S."

Kitty, who has been laughing this whole while, sobers herself up enough to pat Maggie sympathetically on the shoulder and then promptly lapses back into laughter.

"Harry, are you hearing this?" George gasps, clutching his beer to his chest and almost spilling it down his shirt.

"Loud and clear."

"She's trying to turn Kitty against us!"

"You are such a drama queen."

Maggie grins and tips her hand at Welsh. "Thank you. Agreed."

George sighs and droops his head, sipping forlornly at his beer until Maggie gives him a pitying look and nudges a kiss onto his cheek. He lifts his chin and sniffles.

"I hope you know that I, at least, love you."

"I love you, too, George."

Pretending not to mean it is difficult, and when his grin finally returns in full force, she has to look away lest he realizes the truth to her words—or, worse, he gets the idea to confirm their played-up affections with a real kiss. Hiding in her beer, she listens to George chat with Harry about this and that for a minute more before they part ways, her and George going to meet other friends while Kitty and her beau try to find a spot at the packed bar.

"You think they bought it?"

Maggie's smile flickers, but she nudges George's arm and scrunches up her nose at him playfully. "Of course, they did. We're two peas in a pod, you and I."

He beams. "Yup. We go together like peanut butter and jelly."

"Sunshine and summer!"

"Rainstorms and cuddles!"

Maggie laughs. "I dunno about that last one..."

"Pfff." He loops his arm around hers as they walk. "The only good thing to do on a rainy day is cuddle up with blankets and popcorn and a good movie—and especially with good company, if you've got it."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." He shoots her a smile a bit fonder than she expects it to be. "Next time it rains, I'll be sure to call you up."

Maybe this time it's not so unwarranted when her heart gives a tremble.

"I'll bring cookies."

"And I'll pick the movie?"

She quirks a brow. "Just so long as it's not Seven Sinners again."

"What, you didn't like it? I mean, I've only seen it fourteen times, I could go for one more."

"Fourteen?! You've really seen it fourteen times?!"

"Sure have." A cheeky grin. "Viewing number fourteen was with you. And I, for one, wouldn't be opposed if you were there to make it fifteen..."

"Jesus Christ Almighty." Maggie shakes her head. "Watch it again on your own rainy day time, not on mine."

He snorts a laugh. "Oh, fine."

"But hey, if you're gonna watch Meet Me in St. Louis again—don't watch it without me!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, love."

Before she can wrap her head around the new pet name, he's started cheering a name, and he drops her arm (not unkindly) to embrace a trio of men who are all grinning to see him.

"If it ain't George Luz!"

"Babe Heffron! How you been?"

"Good, good. Bill and I joined a pool team." Heffron wiggles his auburn eyebrows. "You oughta see us on a good night—we rock the damn house!"

"Yeah, playin' with my techniques," grumbles another who's grinning just as much as smirking. "Still never got that game from you, Luz."

"That's 'cause I beat you at darts one too many times and you never wanted to play me in anything again, Johnny."

The group howls with laughter, and just when Maggie thinks now would be a good time to slip away and maybe find Kitty again (or a stiffer drink), George steps back and takes her hand.

"Fellas, this is the love o' my life," he says, and when he stumbles on the last word as if realizing what he's just said, Maggie doesn't notice, too caught up in the second use of 'love' in reference to her over the last few minutes. "'Member when I told you 'bout my fiancée back at that poker night last month? I know you couldn't make it, Malark, but I bet one o' these two fools mentioned it sometime."

"Johnny did," chuckles the second ginger of the trio. "Said you talked about her the whole night."

George grins. "Sure did. Drunk and sober."

As the other two grin, remembering the circumstance likewise, Maggie finds the courage to step forward and offer her hand. She means to shake and introduce herself, but her left hand is her dominant, and all eyes go to the ring. The one George has called Malark lets out a low whistle as they all crowd around.

"That is one helluva ring."

"That's a sapphire, right? Pretty."

"You musta saved up for months for that, Luz."

Maggie draws her hand back, self-conscious, only to realize what they're saying is not just complimentary but their honest revelations. Her face feels warm. She thought the ring was just a costume piece George had bought or borrowed from a friend in the theater business (of whom he has many). Knowing he went out of his way to buy a real genuine engagement ring for her—well, for tonight—has her feeling all kinds of ways—but no, she ought to focus, not break the facade. While she's been reeling, George has been telling the story of where he got the ring, and though she regrets missing most of it, she catches the last bit about seeing the ring in a shop in New York City and knowing it was perfect for her. Malark whistles a second time and (perhaps a little belatedly) extends his hand to shake. Maggie, embarrassed enough as it is, almost blurts out an apology when the ring in all its glory grazes his skin.

"Donald Malarkey, ma'am," he says without batting an eye. "Pleasure to meet you."

The other two echo the sentiment (while looking her up and down appreciatively) and she repeats it back to them as she learns their names. Malarkey's fellow redhead is Edward Heffron, who they all call Babe—"'Cept for my girlfriend, funny enough."—while the man with the perpetual smirk to his smile is John Martin.

“Admire while you can, gentleman," George encourages, squeezing Maggie's hand where he still holds it between them. "You'll never see such a beautiful woman again."

Maggie has to put her beer down on the nearest table before she sips at the wrong time and chokes on it.

"George!"

"What? It's true."

"It is most certainly not true."

Maggie swats his shoulder harder than she means to, but his smile doesn't even falter and he grabs her hand to kiss the finger with his ring on it.

"Says who? Says you? 'Cause if so, you are very wrong, like super-duper levels of wrong-"

"George!"

"Mags!" He bats his big, brown eyes at her, and she melts. "Can't I be proud of my girl, too?"

"He sure can—and should."

"Bull!"

A tall, broad man with a cigar perched in his crooked smile shakes George's hand heartily, then does the same to Maggie, adding a kiss to her cheek for good measure.

"Pleasure, ma'am," drawls the tall man. "Denver Randleman, at your service."

"Charmer," George grumbles, wrapping his arm around Maggie's back, and she wonders for half a second if he's jealous.

"It's a good thing I like the charmers," she teases him, testing the waters, and when his brow bends down, she hurriedly adds, "I wouldn't be marrying you if I didn't."

Immediately, the frown is gone. He lights up like the star map in her living room, the one he nearly knocked over just a few hours ago when he burst into her house with a dozen roses and a cheery promise that he'd make tonight worth it. For the most part, he's lived up to that pledge.

"Marrying him!" Malarkey whistles for the third time that night. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"What?" Maggie chortles. "Did he used to be a- a playboy, or something?"

Heffron bursts into laughter, and George, a little disgruntled, pushes him into Martin. They have a brief joking spat before tuning back in to what Malarkey's been saying about George.

"-was a bit of a flirt, sure, but honestly? I thought it would take longer for him to find somebody who lived up to his expectations."

"Oh, yeah?"

"He's really a hopeless romantic," Malark goes on, oblivious to the squinted, disapproving look he's currently receiving from George. "But hey, so am I." He raises his glass. "To love!"

"To love!"

They all drink, George and Maggie a bit more than the rest for the same undisclosed reason.

"And thank God he tripped over you," Heffron jibes, nodding to the sapphire on Maggie's finger. "You're a saint for takin' him off our hands."

George grumbles a retort, but then Maggie kisses his cheek, and all his discontentment vanishes in an instant. It doesn't go unnoticed by either of them that this is the first time she's been the one to initiate physical affection tonight. George hands his beer to Heffron and fans himself with his hand, spouting nonsense about how hot she is until she takes him by the arm and drags him away to—as she excuses to his friends—"find a better use for his stamina on the dance floor".

"My beer!"

Grinning, Heffron raises it in a toast and takes a sip—it's his beer now. George pouts, but the look lifts when Maggie bumps his hip with her own.

"You can have mine," she laughs, picking it up off the table, "just stop gushing about how great I am!"

He scoffs. "Now why would I do that?"

"Because, um..."

They've found a spot on the edge of the dance floor, but they can't go out there with the beer still in hand, so they trade it back and forth as they talk.

"Because?" He prompts, his smile turning a little devilish. "You can't even think of a reason."

Maggie makes a face. "I do have a reason."

"Then what it is?"

Passing back the glass as it quickly empties, she leans in and whispers in his ear, coming up with an excuse on the spot.

"Think of how many guys have brought their girlfriends and wives here."

"So?"

"You don't wanna offend anybody by saying rash things like that. I certainly don't wanna offend anybody."

"By bein' your pretty self?"

"George," she murmurs, but she's blushing, and there's no hiding it from him.

"Hey, I'm not the outlier here." He nods toward a couple across the room, raising his voice. "Look, Bill's over there showin' off his wife."

The man George refers to is standing with a crutch on one arm and a very pretty, very pregnant woman on the other. Maggie hums under her breath.

"Wow, they sure didn't waste any time once he got home."

George chokes on his beer. Stifling his laughter into snorts as Maggie rubs his back, trying to coax the breath back into him, he gasps, "Guess not."

"Heya."

Malarkey, along with Heffron, has followed them over after a detour to the bar. He glances between the pair, a brow quirked amusedly.

"What'd I miss?"

"They're flirtin', ya dingus," Heffron reprimands jokingly. "Leave 'em alone."

Maggie's face suddenly feels hot. George sighs, leaning close to whisper a reassuring joke in her ear that's meant for her and her alone. When his breath tickles her ear and she shivers, she wonders if there is some universe where this isn't a charade and he feels a chill when she comes so near. She giggles belatedly, and Malarkey chuckles, sipping at his drink.

"Say, how'd the two of you meet? From what I heard, they tried coaxing it outta Luz the last time some o' the guys met up for poker, but no dice."

"It's not a very remarkable story," Maggie deflects bashfully, and George pouts.

"Aw, c'mon. It's remarkable to me, sweetheart."

"Sorry, darling-" Without thinking much about the familiarity of the action, she draws her thumb across his upper lip, ridding it of a thin layer of foam. "-I guess it is a little bit remarkable."

He beams and pleasantly surprises Maggie when he holds her closer, practically hip-to-hip, his arm snug around her back.

"You know, you really were the talk o' the night." Martin quirks a slight smile. "All good things, of course. 'Luz's wonderful fiancée' and all."

"Of course," Maggie gasps, baffled, and when George kisses her cheek, she turns to him beseechingly. He pats her hand and turns to his buddies with his typical grin.

"We met at Cape Cod last summer, on the beach."

"Right," Maggie breathes. "I remember it like it was yesterday."

Heffron, along with the others, grins. "Yeah? Do tell."

"It was about a year ago—last June."

Maggie glances at George, hoping he'll let her take charge of this lie of theirs for just a minute, just for the part that is completely true. He seems happy to oblige, his smile widening as he nods for her to go on.

"It was a very hot day, so I was out with some friends on the beach. I'd just come in from the water—I like to surf, see—and I was just getting ready to sunbathe when darling George here-" She jostles her pretend beau a little, pleased when it makes him laugh. "-was running to catch a baseball and tripped right over me."

"He what?" Malarkey gasps as Heffron throws his head back in laughter.

“When I said you tripped over her, I didn’t actually mean it, Luz!"

Malarkey’s laughing now, too. "I knew you were clumsy, George, but holy hell!"

George hits his arm in a friendly punch, mumbling that his balance is just fine, thank-you-very-much, but when he looks back at Maggie, there's an affection creeping into his gaze that surprises her. Sure, they're friends, and they've been friends for a while, but he's looking at her with the kind of tenderness she'd expect him to show to—

To someone he really does want to see walking down the aisle to him one day.

"What can I say?" George quips, taking over when he sees Maggie has hit a standstill. "The minute I saw her-" He lays his hand over his heart. "-I fell."

Malarkey, Heffron, and a newly resurgent Bull Randleman all groan, but when Maggie laughs, they light up with smiles fonder than she expects.

"Wow. Somehow, Luz, you've managed to find the one person who actually laughs at your crummy jokes."

"They're not crummy," George and Maggie chorus, and Malarkey and Heffron share a grin.

"Uh-huh."

"They're not!" George insists with Maggie nodding right along, glancing up and down his face while he's too indignant to notice.

"Fine, they ain't crummy," Heffron concedes. "But hey—what happened next?"

"I took one look at her and told her I was gonna marry her someday."

Maggie can't help a laugh. "I think it went more like 'Sorry for tripping over you, can I marry you? Today?'"

Even Randleman rumbles a laugh.

"And what did you say?"

"No," Maggie admits, stifling her own amusement. "I said no."

"I'm pretty sure you hesitated," George insists, trying to maintain some of his dignity, and though Maggie shrugs mildly, willing to accept this, Heffron is apparently not.

"You sure it ain't 'cause you were helpin' her to her feet after knockin' her clean over?"

Malarkey jumps in on the action. "And then the first thing you said to her was 'sorry, marry me now'—jeez, Maggie, your head must've been spinning."

"It was," she giggles.

"If I'm hearin' this right-" Even Bull inputs his two cents. "-sounds like you were still strangers at that point."

"We were."

"But now," George interrupts, reclaiming the floor, "we're not. In fact-" He wiggles his ring finger as if it's Maggie's, grinning like this story really is the beginning of a happily ever after. "-we're engaged!"

"And congratulations for that!" Malarkey exclaims, beaming. "Say, would you mind if I took your girl for a spin on the dance floor, Luz?" He nods at Maggie. "If you want to, of course."

"Yeah, alright," she agrees, and George echoes the phrase, though a little more breezily than she would have expected. She gives her hand to Malarkey and they step out onto the dance floor, joining the multitude of veterans and their beloveds already two-stepping the night away.

"You sure can dance!"

As her partner twirls her, Maggie laughs. "Thanks! So can you!"

"You think so?"

"Yeah!"

"I'm glad!" He nods over at the other side of the dance floor. "I'm tryin' to catch the eye of the girl behind the bar over there, and my buddy Perconte—he lives kinda local—told me she likes to dance, so..."

"You want me to help you look good?"

Malarkey shrugs, too sheepish to confirm it, and Maggie grins.

"Any friend of George's is a friend of mine!" She clicks her heels, takes his hand, and kicks their dancing up a notch. "All you had to do was ask."

They jitterbug and jive out on the dance floor for a good ten minutes. About halfway through, Maggie twirls Malarkey three times and mutters in his ear with each pass that the pretty girl from the bar is looking their way. He straightens up, shoots her a grin, and dances some of the best swing Maggie has seen in years—not that she would give up George as her permanent dance partner for the world. They even get a small round of applause when the song on the radio trumpets its last riffs, and Maggie pushes at Malarkey until he takes a small bow. In return, he has her curtsy, and when she looks up, her cheeks warm, the first thing she sees is George looking at her from a dart game he doesn't seem all that involved in. There's a gap in the crowd that fills in an instant, but the look on his face has her heading for him immediately.

"Are ya winnin', champ?" she teases, coming to hang nonchalantly off his arm, and he gives her a crooked grin.

"'Course, I am."

A man Maggie doesn't yet recognize lands a perfect shot, and amidst the cheering of other onlookers, he turns to the pair, grinning.

"That'll be one lovely pack o' smokes, Luz."

"Damnit."

Maggie snickers as George puts down his beer to free one hand, and he wrinkles his nose up at her. She kisses the corner of his mouth and he beams until his darts opponent clears his throat.

"Aw, c'mon, Buck, didn't we used to play together?"

"Yeah," Buck chuckles, "used to." He takes his tan cap, the words 101st Airborne emblazoned in white on the front panel, and tips it at Maggie. "Evening, ma'am."

"'Evening, ma'am'," George mimics, fishing the cigarettes out of his pocket, and Maggie laughs as he hands over the goods.

"I'll reimburse you."

He waves her off. "Nah, you don't hafta-"

"Shh," she says, perking up, and when he follows her gaze over to the bar, he tenses up.

"Malarkey? What about 'im?"

"Just watch."

George's shoulders are still stiff, but he complies, and together, they spectate as Malarkey leans on the counter, stalling the pretty bartender. She seems interested, glancing him up and down, and when he jabs his thumb back toward the dance floor, Maggie grabs George's hand and squeezes.

"What-"

"For good luck."

George goes quiet, leaving Maggie unaware that the thought of his mere self being a sort of good luck charm to her has left him in a real tizzy.

The bartender Malarkey is flirting with glances over his shoulder at the dancers, then back at his smiling face. Maggie squeezes George's hand a second time.

"Moment of truth."

After a beat, the woman sets aside the glass she's been wiping with a dishrag and starts to nod, a smile creeping onto her lips. Maggie doesn't realize she's grinning twice as wide until she looks back at George and sees him visibly ease, uttering a laugh that betrays his relief.

"Didn't think you'd be playing matchmaker tonight, sweetheart."

"And I didn't think we'd be so good at being engaged, so what's the bigger surprise here, darling?"

He blinks at her, whatever tease he'd been about to toss back dying on his lips, and her cheeks heat up.

"Forget I said that."

"Yeah, nope."

"George-"

"Absolutely not forgetting that." His grin is infectious. "You're right, sweetheart, we are excellent at being engaged."

Maggie is still embarrassed, but as he holds her by the hips and sways her a little, her own lips start to turn back up.

"I guess we really do go together well."

"A little too well." His mouth turns up on one side, but his usual confidence is missing from the look, and it catches Maggie's attention. "You know, for a minute there, I was a little afraid Malark was gonna steal you away from me."

She laughs lightly. "Who, little old me? I'm lucky as hell I somehow managed to get you, George, no way I'd leave you in the dust like that. Besides-" She wiggles the fingers on her left hand. "-I'm clearly quite committed."

He doesn't banter back as she expects; in fact, he's fallen completely silent. The seconds pass and her cheeks heat up as he just stares at her, the beer in his hand dripping condensation down his wrist, all but forgotten.

"Don't talk like that," he says quietly, and she glances aside, chuckling awkwardly as she reaches for a counter napkin.

"Right, right, sorry. This isn’t real." She pats his wrist dry. "Where'd you-"

"No, not that."

"What?" She looks between his damp skin and the napkin, confused. "Did you... want your hand to be wet?"

"No, no-" He shakes his head, but she only glances up briefly. "-don't talk like that about you being lucky."

Maggie eases, laughing gently. "Why? I meant it. There ain't nobody out there like my George Luz."

He quirks a small smile, but it's fleeting, and she realizes she's misunderstood him again.

"Thanks, love-" He's frowning, and it makes her sad. "-but it's the 'somehow managed to get me' bit that I'm stuck on."

"... Yeah, I kinda figured that out as you were sayin' it."

"It's not true, Mags. There's no 'somehow' in there. You-"

"Didn't really get you," she reminds him for her own sake more than his, forced to check her overeager heart. "But, uh..."

"What?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, you're kind of the only guy who talks to me... on a regular basis." She clears her throat. "Who's my friend, I mean."

"That's stupid."

"That you're my friend?"

"That men aren't falling over themselves for you like you deserve."

There's such righteousness in his gaze when she meets it that she can't help but blush and stumble over her words. He takes this as if he's said something wrong and sighs, looking away. After a beat of uncomfortable silence, he turns back to her with a smile plastered on his face and downs the rest of his beer in an impressive swig.

"Wanna hit the dance floor with me?"

She can tell he's faking his enthusiasm, but she matches it, taking his hand when it is offered and letting him lead the way.

"Hey, George?" she asks as he finds them a spot on the edge of the floor, not far from where Malarkey and his pretty bartender are dancing with stars in their eyes.

"Yeah?"

She lifts up her hand only to discover it's still holding George's. They share a brief laugh as they find a rhythm in the music.

"Where did you get this ring, anyway? Was it really in New York City?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He's distracted by something, but what, she can't tell. As they keep dancing and he trips over his feet more often than usual—noticeably so—she starts to worry. Then he almost knocks over another couple and she drags him off the dance floor, brushing off his apologies for windmilling his arms like that.

"I don't know what's gotten into me tonight," he says, and though she can tell it's a lie to make her worry less, she pretends to believe him, only worrying more.

"That's alright—I think I've had enough dancing for now," she replies, pretending she's tuckered out, and he nods, quickly leading her away from the epicenter of the music and chatter. They find a table near the back, one of the only empty ones, and when she sits down, kicking up her feet, she's not surprised that he doesn't join her.

"Why don't you go socialize?" she suggests, deciding that must be what's on his mind.

"You sure?"

"These are your people. Go make 'em realize just how much they've missed ya." A smile as she reaches up and pats his cheek. "You're a real hoot, George Luz. Life o' the party."

He's smiling again, but still, he hesitates.

"I don't want to just leave you here."

She laughs. "I think me and my aching feet will survive."

A wince. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be." Sincere, her smile grows. "Really, you should go talk to people. That's what we're here for, George—not for this song-and-dance with you and me but for you to catch up with your buddies."

Finally, he gives in, his smile growing where he had not before allowed it to. He leans down, kisses her right on her lips, and as he steps back, he tugs fondly at a loose curl by her ear.

"Thanks, love."

He's gone into the crowd before either of them has realized what he's just done wasn't supposed to happen, and Maggie's startled gasp almost makes her fall backward, chair and all. Kitty Welsh—savior that she is—steadies her and pulls up a chair, but Maggie is so bewildered that she hardly registers Kitty's teasing greeting.

"Hello? Maggie? You with us?" Kitty frowns. "Frannie, did you happen to catch how much this dear's had to drink?"

The very pretty, very pregnant woman that Maggie recognizes as Bill's wife huffs as she lowers herself into the next available seat. "Nope," she replies once she's settled in, "but I know drunk, and pretty Miss Dazed here ain't drunk."

"He kissed me."

Kitty and Bill's wife—Frannie, her name's Frannie—share a look.

"Yeah, honey—is that... unusual?"

"Well, I mean, we're engaged... I just can't believe it."

"Ah." Kitty relaxes. "Young love."

Frannie rubs Maggie's shoulder, and it's quite soothing, enough so that Maggie snaps out of her shock.

"You're still in the honeymoon phase, aren't ya, sweetcheeks?" Frannie supposes. "Still can't believe you got that happy ending?"

"Yeah," Maggie sighs happily, using the better part of her willpower to keep herself composed and play along with their assumptions. "Yeah, that's about right."

Kitty's smile grows. "That's sweet. You really love him, huh?"

"I do. I really do."

It's such a relief to admit it after all this time that the admission comes out louder than Maggie means it to. She covers her mouth and giggles when the two wives fondly echo the sentiment for their own husbands.

"Bill's a handful, but he's my handful." Frannie giggles. "Not that I'm an angel, either."

"Oh, hush. You're better than he deserves."

"Kitty!" Frannie playfully swats her friend's arm. "What if I said that about you and Harry?"

"Then you'd be wrong."

Frannie rolls her eyes. "No justice for the wed."

"She's married, too," Maggie points out, nodding to Kitty, and Frannie lets out a booming laugh that has her husband grinning broadly at her from all the way across the room.

"I knew I'd like you, sweetcheeks." A small smirk as she reaches over and pats Maggie's hand, the one with the ring on it. "I think you'll enjoy married life."

"Oh, and speaking of," Kitty chimes in, "congratulations!"

"Oh—oh, thank you."

Both women are now beaming at her, and Maggie isn't sure how she manages to keep her chin up and pretend she's really one of them.

"When's the wedding?"

"It's, uh..."

"Late October."

"George!" Maggie clasps her hand to her chest, playing off the shock he's given her as a joke. "I thought you were mingling."

"Yeah, I was, but I missed you."

She blushes, and Kitty and Frannie share a knowing look.

"Well, we'll leave you to it."

They get up and start to leave, and Maggie isn't sure she wants them to. She can't find it in herself to say so, though, so she faces her heart—otherwise known as George Luz—and acts as if he left her with his usual smile and not a very unusual kiss.

"You didn't have to come back so soon-"

She gives a start as soon as she looks up.

"George, what's the matter?"

"Matter?"

"You've gone pale."

"Oh." He glances to and fro. "I... I think I need some air."

She's seen this before. Sometimes the memories from the war will hit him out of nowhere and Mr. Life of the Party will need a minute to himself. She's not surprised it's happened here, with all his buddies from the service, so when he looks at her imploringly, she takes him by the hand and scans the venue for the closest exit.

"Alright. Let's go get some air."

He heads for the back door, and though she tries to tell him it only leads to an alleyway, her words fall on deaf ears. She squeezes his hand, trying to remind him she's right here by his side, where she'll always be, no matter what, even when it hurts to know she can't promise him any of that out loud. He knows she cares, right? She wouldn't be here with him tonight, with this beautiful, damning ring on her finger, if she didn't care.

She just hopes he doesn't see all the way through her. No coming back from that.

The door hasn't finished shutting behind them when George drops Maggie's hand. He leaves her on the stoop, crossing the few short strides to the opposite wall of the alleyway. He leans against the tattered bricks, crosses his arms, and takes a few slow breaths. Patient, she sits down and waits for him to ask anything of her, anything at all.

"God, this was a terrible idea."

She knows what he means as soon as the words are out of his mouth. It still doesn't lessen the sting—but there's no shock to the admission. After a few seconds of waiting for him to go on, maybe to take it back, she leans her elbows on her knees and sighs.

"If it helps at all, I was kind of expecting this to happen."

"Expecting what to happen?"

"You to figure out you didn't want... this." A faint chuckle. "I mean, it was your idea, but sometimes impulsive things like this-"

"Impulsive?"

"Yeah. Impulsive."

"No."

"No?"

"Seven months and one day."

This timespan does not ring a bell anywhere in her memory. She looks up at him, her confusion evident in her expression. He's still leaning on the brick wall, but he's straightened up, and the color is returning to his face.

"Sorry?"

"Seven months and one day. That's how long I've had the ring."

"... Okay?"

She blinks. If there are dots to be connected here, she can't find them. George groans and rubs his face with his hands. Maggie starts to rise, but he shakes his head, and she sits back down.

"So you've had the ring for seven months."

"And one day."

"And one day," she amends. "Is... something about it bothering you?" She curls her hand into a fist and hides the blue gemstone against her skirt. "I can take it off. If anybody asks I can say I didn't want to drop it dancing and put it away for safekeeping in the car."

He's still quiet, and it's so unlike him, so unnerving, that she wants to cry.

"George, it's alright, I'll take it off-"

"Don't!"

"Don't?"

"Please don't," he says, and he's begging, and she doesn't understand.

"Why not?"

"I- I can't see you without it."

She balks. "What? What does that mean?"

Maggie can count the number of times she's left George Luz speechless on one hand. Beholding the terror in his eyes as he gapes at her is the most frightened she's been since the war ended. Steeling the last of her nerves, she jumps up, stamps her foot, and, for the first time since this lie of theirs started, stands her ground.

"Christ Almighty, George, if you don't tell me what the fuck is bothering you so much, I'm gonna go back in there and drag Malarkey away from his pretty bartender for another dance!"

"Oh, please don't do that."

She throws her clasped hands out at him like a last-resort prayer.

"Then tell me what's wrong."

He drops his hands to his sides. They hang there, empty, until she steps forward and takes them to hold. Finally, he draws his gaze up to meet hers, but it doesn't last long before his attention falls to her lips. Twice.

"I want it to be real."

This, combined with how he licks his lips before glancing at hers for the third time, knocks the breath out of her.

"What?" she tries to ask, but all that comes out is a whisper—and worse, her voice breaks.

George takes it the wrong way. He steps back, drops her hands, and presses his back against the bricks as if he can blend in, hide from her there. Unfortunately for him, his shirt is not red but a pale blue. She helped him pick it out not six hours ago. She would have gone with a nice forest green—she thinks he looks especially excellent in the color—but she was worried it would remind him too much of his Airborne uniform, especially today.

"I shouldn't have said that."

She startles back into the moment. They've been staring at each other; only now has one of them (him) broken the silence.

"George-"

"Just- just go back in there and tell them I went out for a cigarette break, they'll get it, they know how it gets, with the nicotine—and jeez, it's June again, did you know Normandy was in June? It must'a been in the papers, you prob'ly read all about it-"

"You really did buy the ring for me, didn't you."

It's not a question. It's all clicking into place; the more he rambles, the more anxious he gets, and the more she hears threaded between his buzzing. Knowing she's come to understand makes him fall silent and look away. She feels as though she can feel his heart beating against her very own. He's afraid. She wants to tell him Don't worry, I am, too, but when she steps toward him, he turns his gaze further away, looking down the long alley at the quiet street.

"Did you? Buy the ring for me."

He tries to take a deep breath, but it shakes, and they can both hear it.

"George, please."

He nods, just once, but it's enough.

"You bought the ring for me because you actually did want to marry me."

"Did?" He chuckles hoarsely. "Whoever said it was a 'did' and not a..."

He trails off, but they both know what he almost said.

His voice drops and his head goes with it.

"God, I really wish I had you- shit, I mean, a smoke right now..."

"A smoke?" she asks skeptically. "You want me to go ask that Buck fella for one for you? I'm sure if I was nice about it, he'd-"

"No!"

He lurches toward her, then freezes as if he's forgotten he's supposed to be walling himself away from her. He swallows; she watches his Adam's apple bob.

"No?"

"Don't go."

"Alright, then do you want a smoke or do you want me? Because I can give you one of those things, but probably not the oth-"

"You!" he cries, and it's as if the words have been ricocheting around his chest all night, made louder every time his heart skips or flutters. "Always- always you."

He scrunches up his face as if he's trying not to cry, and Maggie drags her knuckles under her eyes, trying to diminish her own tears.

"Goddamnit," he whispers. "I'm sorry, Mags. I'm real sorry."

She sniffles. When he shuffles a step towards her, it's instinctual; he's quick to retreat again. Finally brave enough, she goes and wraps her arms around him. It takes a moment, but he returns the embrace, a bit clumsily but no less earnestly than he might have yesterday, before this all began.

"I'm sorry, too."

"For what?" He snorts derisively at himself. "What in the hell could you possibly have done that's more insane than buying your best friend a goddamn engagement ring-"

"Falling in love with him the day I met him, how about that?"

He gapes at her.

"You what?"

She sighs. His nose flutters; his breathing is still unstable.

"George, when you asked me to marry you that day on the beach, I didn't freeze up 'cause it was such a startling thing to ask a stranger—even though it definitely was-"

"You didn't?"

"No. No, I froze up because I looked at you, with your big, brown, puppy-dog eyes and your smile all stricken by something that I think might have been awe, and my first instinct was to say yes and marry you on the spot.”

"It was?"

"Yeah, it was."

Maggie shrugs, running her hands up and down George's arms, hoping to soothe him. Her touch, accompanying her confession, seems to do the trick.

"It took all of five minutes for me to fall in love with you then and I'm still in love with you now. Now, I dunno if that's crazier than buying somebody an engagement ring before you've asked 'em out on a first date... But hey, if our standard here is longevity—whether it be two and a half weeks or seven months and one day—then I'm pretty sure I win."

They share a faint laugh, always watching each other's expression, worried one will frighten the other off if they say just one thing too much.

"Only by a few months."

"Aw, there's that smile." Maggie reaches up and caresses his cheek, and to her continued delight, he leans readily into her touch. "I love that smile."

"Sweetheart?"

"Yeah?"

He turns his head and nuzzles a kiss into her palm, and the warmth that fills her chest is more comforting than he could ever know.

"What was that secret you wanted from me? After this was all over?"

"Honestly?" Her smile turns a little shy. "It was you all along."

His grin falls, and for a moment, she's terrified he's only now come to realize all she's been saying. And yet, he doesn't turn away, he steps toward her, and his lower lip is trembling when he murmurs:

"You really do love me."

"I really do," she confirms, still a little afraid he's going to run despite the ring he's now taking off her finger—

"George? What’re you-"

"I know this might not be the best place, but I wanna do this right before I lose the nerve."

He drops to one knee. She gasps, and again it sounds strangled, but this time, he takes her surprise at its harmless face value.

"Marry me, sweetheart?" He's choking up, she can hear it in his voice just as much as she can see it in his eyes. "Marry me for real?"

"Yes," she whimpers, "yes, I'll marry you for real—but for the love of God, George, kiss me."

He surges up to meet her, and they embrace like they've been waiting an aeon for this moment. It kind of feels like they have, even though they've known each other for only a year. He kisses her dizzy and she returns the favor. His hands on her face, caressing her arms, bunching up the back of her dress at the small of her back to pull her flush against him—it's all she's ever imagined and more. When she twirls a brown curl around her finger and accidentally tugs, he groans into her mouth. She nearly has a heart attack from all the things it—he—makes her feel. When they stumble back into the dance hall, drunk off each other, they beeline first for the bar. A celebration is certainly in order—be it two toasts or ten—and if they get too drunk, someone here will get them a hotel room or a taxi. Maggie spots Kitty and Frannie and breaks away, murmuring apologies when she sees the pout already forming on George's face.

"Meet me over there," she mumbles against his lips, delaying to kiss them several times before making her departure.

"You look happy," Kitty remarks as Maggie floats on over. "Happier, I should say, happier than you've looked all evening."

"I am, and for jolly good reason!"

Maggie's two new friends lean over the table towards her, pleased that she has come to them first with her shiny news.

"Oh, go on," Frannie urges, "Spill the beans!"

"It's George- well, it's both of us, really!" Maggie blurts out, hasty in her elation.

"What about you?"

Triumphant at last, Maggie raises her left hand and shows the ladies that magnificent ring and the real, genuine promise it comes with.

"We're engaged!"

While Frannie looks confused—

"Weren't ya already?"

—Kitty's smile quickly turns knowing.

"Frannie, I think our friends Maggie and George might have been fooling us until, say, five minutes ago?"

George reappears—it seems he has missed Maggie just as much as she has missed him in the forty-five seconds they've been apart—wrapping both arms around her torso and cuddling her to him. Where the drinks he was supposed to get have gone, Maggie doesn't know and doesn't much care.

"More like seven," he mumbles into her shoulder blade, and she giggles, placing her hands over his on her stomach. They sway a bit, and Maggie turns her head to feel his glorious kiss again. He pecks her neck—mostly innocently—and little flares spark fire through her stomach.

"Love you, darling."

"Love you, too, sweetheart."

Frannie looks at the fawning couple, then at a very satisfied Kitty, then back at Maggie.

"We love you, too, Frannie," Maggie giggles, a little delirious. "And Kitty, of course."

Kitty raises her glass in a mirthful toast. "Why, of course."

Frannie shuts her gaping mouth, blinks several times, then leans back in her chair.

"Mhmm. Okay."

She takes a deep breath, then hits the table with a soft open palm, and fixes her incredulity directly on Maggie and George, who couldn't be bothered less.

"What in the flying fuck did I miss?"

#band of brothers #george luz #fanfiction #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers one shot #band of brothers fic #hbo war show #george luz x oc #one shot #george luz fanfiction #hbo war show fanfiction #hbo war show one shot #hbo war show fic #long shot

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mccall-muffin · 1 year

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Love vs. Hate - Part 13 // Joe Liebgott x OC

Summary: Technical Sergeant Olivia Stark knows the military. Raised in a military family, a graduate of military school and OCS herself, she is transferring from the 82nd Airborne Division to the 101st. Between new friends and what appear to be foes, she becomes a part of Easy Company, 2nd Battalion, 506th PIR.

Warnings: Language, little smooch

A/N: Ahhhhh I'm so excited... Finally business is going down. Sorry to let you wait so long ;) Finally we have our first Joe and Liv moment. Whuuup!

Here is my Masterlist

Tag List: @brassknucklespeirs

July 31, 1944 - Aldbourne, England

I stand outside the barn where the others are already eating and wait for Don. He wanted to get something with Alton. I look impatiently at the clock when I hear a motorcycle. And then I see the two of them. They're coming at me, and I almost have to dart out of the way to keep them from running me over. "Holy fucking shit!" I curse lightly and glare at the two. They get off the bike, grinning. "Are you guys in your right mind?!" I shout at the two of them. "What's the matter, Liv? Nothing happened," Alton laughs, and I shake my head. "No, nothing at all... You guys just almost ran me over." Don puts an arm around my shoulder and leads me to the barn. "Now, don't get carried away, sweetheart." "I know it's your birthday, Don, and we still want to celebrate your promotion, but that doesn't mean you have to be negligent."

Don shakes his head and leads me inside. I go to the table and sit in the empty seat next to Tab at the table next to Skip, Penk, and George. I don't realize until later that Liebgott is also at that table. Don and Alton get us something to drink. "Hey, Hoobler. Be quiet for the man," Skip calls out, and Hoobs looks at us with a grin. Then we quickly realize Smokey is standing out front, about to say something. "The Night of the Bayonet," he announces, and we're all laughing already.

The night was filled with dark and cold When Sergeant Talbert The story's told, pulled on his poncho And headed out To check the lines dressed like a Kraut

"Why is everyone in such a hurry to get back? Hospital food don't suit you?" now asks Don, who has returned and squeezes himself between Liebgott and me while Alton settles down opposite Tab. "We don't need you anymore, Tab," he says, and we laugh.

Upon a trooper, our hero came Fast asleep, he called his name Oh, Smith - Get up; it's time To take your turn out on the line, So very weary Cracked an eye, all red and bleary Grabbed his rifle, he did not tarry Hearing Floyd but seeing Jerry

"Way to go, Smithy," someone calls, and I glance briefly over at Smith, who is holding his hands in front of his face in shame.

'It's me,' cried Tab. 'Don't do it,' and yet Smith charged Tout de suite, with bayonet He lunged, he thrust, both high and low And skewered the boy from Kokomo

We cheer and clap as I feel a hand on my shoulder. It's Buck, gesturing with his head for me to follow him. I stand up, and Don looks at me questioningly for a moment, but then he's listening to Smokey again. Buck leads me to Nixon, Winters, and Harry, where Nixon explains the next steps. I glance briefly at Don, who looks at me skeptically. "Sergeant Stark, would you please brief the men?" Winters says, and I nod. "Yes, sir." The officers then leave the farm. I take another quick breath and then continue into the room.

"Couple of announcements, men," I call out, and some listen up, but not all yet. "First... Hey, listen up!" I call out again until everyone is listening to me. "First, the training exercise scheduled for 2200 has been canceled," I say, and the men start cheering. I smile briefly. "Secondly... all passes are hereby revoked." Now the men are no longer cheering. Some boo, and others discuss disappointedly with their neighbor. "We're heading back to France. So, pack up all your gear. We will not be returning to England, boys. Anyone who has not made out a will... go to the supply office. The trucks depart for Membury at 0700. As you were." With these words, I leave the barn.

Outside, I take a deep breath and then light a smoke as Lip approaches me. "Back to France, huh?" he asks, and I nod. "Looks like it, yeah." For a moment, we stand silently next to each other. "How are you doing?" Lip asks, and I look at him from the side. "So far, so good... Why do you ask?" "No reason. It's not always easy, and breaking this news to the men isn't pretty either." "Well, they'll be aware that we're not here for fun and that it was bound to come to this sooner or later." "I guess you're right."

As I finish, I toss the smoke on the floor. "So, I'm going to see how we can improve Don's birthday. See you later, Lip." "See you later, Liv."

I step back into the barn as Don is already walking towards me and thrusting a beer bottle into my hand. "Thank you for this lovely birthday gift," he says, and I look at him, slightly shocked. "Come on, as if I could do anything about it." "I know, Sweetheart, I'm just kidding. But still. Come on, let's get drunk."

Turns out we weren't sent to France after all. Plans changed utterly, and we stayed in Aldbourne. We have received some replacements, but they are having trouble fitting in. The so-called Toccoa men won't let them in and are usually rather dismissive of them, which I find obtuse. They had the same training as we did. They may not have fought in Normandy, but still, they kind of earned their wings.

Anyway, we're still in England. Still in Aldbourne waiting for further orders.

September 10, 1944 - Aldbourne, England

Laughing, we sit in the pub. Don, Muck, and I have our pints in front of us and are studying the new replacements they sent us. "Some of them look like they haven't even had their voices changed yet," I grin, and Don nods. "Definitely," Malarkey laughs. "So when do you get yours changed?" Liebgott, sitting next to us, asks and looks at me. "Again, Liebgott? Really now?", Muck groans and looks at him. "What? That's a legitimate question." I defiantly stick out my chin and turn in my chair in his direction. "Probably when you get yours," I return, and the men around us laugh. Liebgott squeezes his eyes shut and looks at me angrily. If you can dish it out, you have to take it.

Next to Malarkey, one of the replacements sits down with Bill. "And this here is Sergeant Olivia Stark... Don't screw up with her, or she'll chew you up and spit you out." The replacement looks at me with wide eyes. "This here is Babe Heffron. He's from Philly, too," Bill introduces him. "Welcome," I laugh and shake his hand. "Take special care of her here, all right? She's our fucking Sweetheart. But hands off, yeah?" says Bill, pointing his finger at Babe. Liebgott, next to us, snorts, earning him a look from Don before turning to Babe as well. "She's my best friend, you understand? No funny stuff, or I'll come after ya," Don threatens. "Guys! Guys! Let him have it... Don't take them too seriously, will you? They're just kidding." "We just want to make it damn clear that you're important to all of us, Liv, nothing more," Bill grins. Beside us, Liebgott nearly chokes on his beer, and I turn back to him. "Okay, what's your fucking problem now?" I ask him, annoyed. Liebgott slowly starts to stand up and looks at me. "They are speaking for themselves, but I don't like you," he hisses before leaving the room and walking outside. His words hurt, even though I shouldn't care about them. I press my lips together and watch him go. "Don't listen to him, Liv... Come on, you know how he is," Don says, but then I'm already standing up, which makes Don, Muck, and Bill groan. "Leave him, Sweetheart; he's not worth it," Bill says, but I don't listen to him and follow Liebgott outside.

In front of the bar, I see Liebgott walking away, and I follow him quickly. "Hey!" I shout, but he doesn't listen to me. I catch up to him and hear him groan in annoyance. "What do you want, Stark? I really don't have any fucking nerve for you right now, okay?" I ignore his words and stand in his way. "What's your fucking problem with me? What did I do to you to make you hate me?" I ask him, staring into his dark eyes. He raises an eyebrow but says nothing. "Because, as far as I know, I'm relatively likable," I say, and he snorts. "How modest," he says, taking a drag on his smoke. "I'm serious, Liebgott. What have I done to you?" "Nothing," he then says with a shrug. "Then why do you hate me?" "I never said I hate you. I said I don't like you. There's a difference." My breath is quickening now. "And what did I do to make you not like me?" I then ask desperately, not knowing why he drives me to despair. "Jesus Christ, Stark!" Liebgott then says a little louder. "There are just people you don't like for no reason. Get over it!" he says and wants to go on, but I stop him again. "I can't accept that, however... If we're going to get through this war with each other, then we have to be able to trust each other, and I'm going to try to do everything I can to make you..." I babble, and Liebgott rolls his eyes. "For fuck's sake, Liv," he curses before taking my face in his hands and placing his lips on mine.

Completely startled, I stand there and am so surprised that I don't move. Liebgott wets my lips with his, and slowly I awake from my rigidity. I put my hands on his chest and return the kiss. Joe's lips lie sweet on mine, and his hands wander to my hips. Suddenly he breaks away from me, turns on his heel, and disappears into the darkness. Still perplexed, I stare after him, not understanding what the hell just happened.

"What the fuck?" I hear behind me and turn around, only to discover George Luz walking towards me. "That... That was Liebgott. Did he just really do what I think he did?" asks George, and I nod slowly. "And that to you?" I nod again. "Oh fuck! This is too good," he then laughs and wants to go in. "George! No! Wait!" I call after him and quickly follow him. "George Luz! You don't say a fucking word about this, or I'll sit on you," I call after him, but that doesn't stop him. As he runs into the bar, I reach him and wrestle him to the ground before sitting on him and twisting his arm back. The men around us start laughing. "Jeez, George, what did you do to piss Liv off now?" laughs Don, looking down at us. "Liv, come on! Get off me!" whines George from under me. "No. Not until you promise to shut up!" "I can't, and you know it!" "Promise!" "I can't." I tug a little harder on his arm, and George groans. "Promise! Come on, George! And this all can be over real quick." Suddenly I notice someone standing in front of us. It's Lip, looking down at us with raised eyebrows. "Oh, hey, Lip," I say, looking at him sanctimoniously. "Liv..." he says, and with another look from him, I slide off George and push him off me. "One word George and I'll do worse to you than that," I hiss at him, and he grins at me. "It's okay, Sweetheart. My lips are sealed." I stand up and go back to Don and the others.

"Hey, you all, listen up. I got an announcement to make." Smokey then calls out. "This here is Carwood Lipton." "He's already married, Smokey," Don calls out, and we laugh. "This here is Carwood Lipton: The new Easy Company 1st Sergeant. As befitting his position... he says he has to make an announcement". Smokey continues, and I grin at Lip for getting promoted. "Sorry to spoil the mood, guys, but we're moving out again," Lip says, and the mood immediately plummets. He presses his lips together and looks at me briefly before leaving the bar again.

My gaze sinks to the table, and I push my glass in front of me. "Hey, cheer up, Sweetheart," Don tries to cheer me up and puts a hand on mine. I look him in the eye and smile forcedly as the door opens beside us, and Liebgott walks back in. Our eyes meet, then he briefly looks at Don's hand on mine and immediately turns away. Again my gaze lands on the table, and I withdraw my hand from Don. "Okay, what the hell was that?" he asks, looking at me. "What happened between you and Liebgott?" he asks, looking at me promptly. Muck also slides closer and looks at me as well. "I'd like to know that, too," I smirk briefly and then look at my best friends. "Well, we've been bickering... Then I yelled at him, and he yelled at me..." "What's new?" grins Don, raising an eyebrow. "And then he kissed me." My two friends stare at me blankly as if they didn't hear me.

"He what?" asks Muck after what feels like an eternity. "He kissed me." "You're shitting us, Liv! No way! Liebgott? Kissed you? Kissed?" then Don says, and I raise my eyebrows. "Yes, Don... Kissed me on the lips. But if you don't believe me, ask George. He saw it." "Is that why you sat on him?" I nod. "It's not like everyone has to know what happened. Besides, I'm still fucking confused myself." "Holy shit. So what did you do?" asks Don then. "What do you mean?" "When he kissed you... What did you do?" "I just stood there at first, not understanding shit anymore, and then..." "And then?" "Then I kissed him back?" "Wow, Liv! That's really... Something," Muck laughs, and Don smirks to himself, too. Then Don holds out his hand to Muck. "Payday Skip," he grins. Confused, I look at the two of them. "What the fuck is going on here?" "Oh, just a little bet between us. I've known from the beginning that Liebgott was only acting this way because he's into you. And you got involved in his squabbles because you're into him," Don says smugly.

"This is bullshit! For the thousandth time: I'm not into him," I say, crossing my arms. "Ah, is that so?" asks Don, amused. "Then why did you kiss him back? Usually, when a woman doesn't like you kissing her, you get slapped in the face, or at least she pushes you off herself." "That' s... Not true. I was just too startled to realize what was happening," I try to talk my way out of it. Suddenly Don leans over the table and presses a kiss to my lips, but I immediately push him away. "Don?! What the fuck?" I ask him, surprised, and he grins. "See?" "Fuck," I curse, and Muck and Don laugh. "That doesn't mean a fucking thing, Malarkey!" I grumble. "And Liebgott kissing me is probably part of his deranged plan to mess with me," I say, waving it off. "Oh yeah?" now Muck grins. "Then you should have just seen the deadly look our dear Joe just gave Malark when he kissed you." I look up at Liebgott, but he is looking stubbornly ahead. "I knew it. So come on, Muck. I wanna see your money." Don grins, and I roll my eyes. "Can we stop this now, please? I'm so sick of you guys," I say, but that only makes Muck and Malarkey laugh harder. "You love us, and you know it, Sweetheart," grins Don. "Yeah, just keep on saying that to yourself until you believe it."

Suddenly George comes to our table. He is still grinning. "What are we talking about? About that little kissing game, Liv played with Joe outside?" I groan in annoyance. "Please tell me you didn't tell anyone, Luz!" "Don't worry, sweetheart. My lips are sealed. But what exactly is going on? Are you and Joe a thing?" "What? No! We're not!" "That's unfortunate." "Why?" "Because you guys looked really cute together. Like two drowning people finally getting their breath back. Except you were each the breath." "Jesus Christ!" I put my head in my hands as the other three laugh. "Come on, Liv. We're just kidding. I'm still interested in where this is all going," George continues to quip. "Nowhere at all! There's nothing between Liebgott and me, and there never will be, got it?!"

Angrily, I stand up. "Come on, Liv, stay. We really are just kidding," Don tries to hold me back. "Stick your kiddings somewhere else. I don't want to talk to you anymore today!"

Don's POV: Angry, Liv stomps away from our table and joins Joe Toye and the others. "You think she's really mad?" I ask around the table. "Oh, come on," George waves it off. "She's just pissed because she knows we're right." "You guys really think Joe is into Liv?" Skip asks. "Why else would he kiss her?" I ask, looking at my best friend. "Well, who knows... Maybe he thought he could hook up once, and then he changed his mind?" "You don't believe that yourself!" I raise an eyebrow. "Who knows..." "No, he's totally into her. And she likes him." "I agree with you, Malark," George says, and we both look at Skip. "Joe wouldn't risk getting kicked out of the Airborne, or even the Army, just because he wants to get Liv laid. That would be stupid. There are plenty of willing girls out there for that. But in the Army, fraternizing is strictly forbidden, and you know it."

"Should we go for it then? Help these two lovebirds?" Skip then asks, and I think for a second. "Hmm, I rather think not. I could see Joe pulling away from her for now after today. He's revealed himself too much." "That's true..." I glance over briefly at Liv, who is already laughing again, and then my gaze wanders to Joe. I watch as he keeps looking over at her, which makes me smile. Maybe my stubborn best friend will manage to be happy someday, after all.

#Band of Brothers #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joe Liebgott #Don Malarkey #Skip Muck #George Luz #bobedit #bob #Part 13 #I love that chapter #Joseph Liebgott

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1waveshortofashipwreck · 3 months

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Should've Been Born Later, Nix - Chapter 4: The First Night

Easy Company x Fem!OCs

Chap. Synopsis: What will happen to Easy Company the night of their Fall?

Words: 3,502

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Author's Note: Hi everyone! Hope y'all are having good days so far~ Also, I want to let you know that I'm open to writing Bonus Content for the series! If there's a particular scene you'd like to be written in more detail, or any specific headcanons, please don't be afraid to let me know! As always thank you a million times over for all the support and I love you all dearly!! 💖

Once at home, the boys all filed out of their makeshift clown cars, Chrys retrieving the black duffel bag she put the men’s things in from the trunk. “I’ll keep these in my room till y’all need them,” Chrys said.

Speirs, Guarnere, and Toye all started to protest, before captain Winters put a stop to it. “Men, we can clearly see that the atmosphere around weapons is different in 2023, I don’t like it either, but we need to follow our hosts on this one,” he explained to his men. The men grumbled but agreed with their CO.

“Alright y’all! Have we got everyone?” Zay asked, her “mom friend” instincts kicking in - she always had an instinct to take care of and protect everyone around her, maybe that is why she went into nursing.

Speirs performed a silent headcount before responding, “Yeah we have everyone, lead the way!” Zay smiled in gratitude at Speirs, turning on her heel before her bouncy saunter could be seen leading the pack. Chrys hung back to talk with Toye, probably about what kind of guns they have - it was a bit of a hobby for her. No one but Winters saw the subtle glare Nixon tossed at Joe after he started chatting with Chrys. Finally, he had something to fire back at Lew the next time the intelligence officer said something about Zay. Everybody, focused on their own conversations, missed Speirs pulling something out of his pocket. Ron inspected the colorful pens he had swiped from the receptionist’s desk, “Sharpie Premium Highlighters” displayed along their sides. Speirs had never seen pens with these colors before, so of course, he needed to have them.

Before they knew it, the group was at the elevator. While this was a larger elevator and could fit all twelve of them, they were once again squished like sardines. While Zay wound up being squished against the back wall with Liebgott, Chrys was squished towards the middle, Nixon on one side, Toye on another. Now, it was Winters’ turn to sit back and enjoy the show. Nixon immediately began to strike up a conversation, causing Toye to return the glare Nixon cast his way earlier. Dick let out a silent chuckle, unaware of the similar situation happening behind him. Joe Liebgott, feeling confident, subtly slung his arm around Zay’s shoulder.

“Sorry, doll, it’s just so crowded in here,” he said in a quiet voice, a smirk evident on his lips. Zay simply snickered and rolled her eyes, letting Joe keep his arm around her. If looks could kill, Luz and Roe would have been accused of friendly fire. They were towards the front of the elevator, turned to the side to help fit everyone in. They were glaring at Liebgott, who simply returned to them a smug smile. When the elevator dinged and the doors opened, Zay moved from beside Joe to the front and led the pack on their way, unaware of the situations around her.

As the group filed out of the enclosed space, Roe made sure to wait for Liebgott, “It’S jUsT sO CrOwDeD iN hErE.” He mocked him with a low voice, ensuring Zay didn't hear.

"Hey, I'm the one that got to put my arm around her," Liebgott replied to the medic. The self-satisfied soldier continued walking ahead with the group, while Roe was fuming internally, praying it did not show up on his face. Meanwhile, Zay led the group down the hallway to a door that read 553. The door opened to reveal a modest but comfy apartment. There was a combined kitchen/living area, with the kitchen to the right of the front door. In front of the group was a coffee table with a full size couch against the wall. Flanking the couch was a loveseat and an armchair, framing the coffee table on their respective sides. Directly across from the couch was the entertainment stand, the boys trying to process all the electronics they have never seen before. Across the room was a sliding glass door that led out to the apartment's balcony. To the right of the TV was a small hallway with a door on the left, on the right, and at the end.

"Welcome to casa del Bennett!" Zay cheered as everyone filed into the apartment - there was an eclectic feel to the furniture and decorations. It was easy to see that Zay and Chrys collaborated on the decor, neither of them losing their styles to the other. The decor was a mix of bright, cheerful artwork and trinkets, with posters and models of cars mixed in all around, a perfect blend for the sisters. “Make yourselves at home!” Zay stood beside the kitchen as the boys took a look around, Chrys making her way back to her room, opening the door on the right side of the small hall and disappearing behind it.

“This is a nice place you’ve got!” Luz said, plopping down on the couch in the living area. Toye and Guarnere politely sat down on the loveseat, while the rest of Easy Company gathered to stand in the living area rather awkwardly.

Zay smiled and locked the door, a nervous habit, before walking off down the hallway. “Y’all get comfy, I’m gonna change my clothes really quick.” With her signature bounce, Zay went into the door on the left of the hallway. Easy Company was left to fend for themselves, at least for a few minutes. Roe helped Malarkey sit in the armchair, while the medic opted to sit beside Luz on the couch, close to Malarkey if he needed anything. Bull rested on an arm of the loveseat, while Liebgott took the last seat on the couch, securing Luz in the middle. Winters and Nixon stood off to the side, next to the loveseat, and Speirs rested on an arm of the couch, beside Roe.

“What do you think all that is?” Malarkey asked, motioning to the entertainment center. While someone from 2023 would recognize the twins’ internet router, PS4, Nintendo Switch, and bluetooth speaker as common electronics, the boys had absolutely no idea what they were looking at. As if on cue, the two sisters returned to the group, both having changed their clothes. Chrys was wearing a black sweatshirt with an Alfa Romeo logo the boys did not recognize on the front with a pair of plaid pj pants. Zay opted for an oversized, navy blue t-shirt with the band Queen’s logo on the front, though once again, unrecognized by Easy Company. The shock displayed on the men’s faces came from the fact that Zay seemed not to be wearing anything on her lower half. While Chrys sat on the ground, close to Guarnere and Toye, Zay stood confused at the boys.

“Is everything okay?” She asked, concern thick in her words.

“Um… I think you… forgot something in your room,” Luz mumbled out, bright red and trying his best not to stare at Zay’s legs.

“Hm?” Zay followed Luz’s eyes to the point of confusion. “Oh!” She let out a small giggle, slightly lifter her shirt to reveal her bright yellow pajama shorts. “This is the style for pajama shorts in 2023, helps to keep cool at night,” she explained, opting to sit on the floor - she wound up sitting at the feet of Richard Winters, merely intending to sit beside Chrys. Winters could not help but blush, seeing her so close to him. “How’re y’all feeling?” Zay questioned the group in earnest, looking at the men.

There was a brief pause, as well as a few glances around from the men, before Guarnere spoke up, “Still kinda shocked, I guess… it’s still so weird that this is all happening.”

“To be honest, I’m worried about our other guys,” Liebgott chimed in, his arms crossed and his leg bouncing anxiously. “There’s no way to tell them where we are, and we’re not there if they need us.” Joe said all this while staring at the floor, his jaw clenched. The rest of the men nodded in agreement - the soldiers relied on each other, especially in the winter wasteland of Bastogne. Knowing that they were so far away from the rest of their men hurt their hearts in more ways than they thought possible.

Zay and Chrys listened closely to the group. “I’m sorry y’all have to go through this, I can’t imagine the pain and anxiety you’re feeling right now,” the blue-haired girl said after a beat. “I wish I had answers to your questions, but I can assure y’all, Chrys and I will do everything in our power to help you get back to your men. For now, y’all have had a really long day, and you need to be at your best to-”

Zay was cut off by what sounded like the mating call of the humpback whale. All heads turned to the source of the sound - Nixon’s stomach. Lewis let out a small laugh before speaking, “I sure hope you still eat dinner in 2023.”

“Nope, eating as a concept stopped in the 1990s,” Chrys replied, her face and tone deadpan. There was a beat of silence, the boys unsure whether or not the woman was joking, before Chrys let out a snicker. Zay and Chrys began to descend into laughter, followed by the rest of the boys. The group continued to discuss dinner, Zay explaining the concept of Door Dash to the soldiers. Swears, confusion, and laughter abounded throughout the technology education.

“So we can really get anything we want? And they’ll just deliver it?” Malarkey asked, wonder in his eyes. Zay smiled and nodded her head. Malarkey looked at the boys before exclaiming, “We could get actual pasta!”

“Are you kidding? We could get warm juicy American burgers!” Luz retorted.

“Hey what about Chinese food? That shit’s delicious,” Toye argued back. The group descended into bickering, sounding like child siblings in their tones.

“Men!” Winters scolded, causing everyone to fall silent and turn their attention to their captain. Dick looked down at Zay, “We’ll take whatever you recommend.” Dick had a polite smile on his face, imitating Luz as he tried everything not to look at Zay’s bare legs. The girl looked back up into Dick’s green eyes, a blush rising on her cheeks, as well as a thankful smile.

“How about some fast food?” Chrys offered, “McDonald’s usually has something everyone likes.”

“Sounds perfect!” Zay replied before going to Door Dash on her phone. After what felt like forever while the twins explained the options for food to the boys and take their orders, Zay pressed the “Complete Purchase” button. “Alright! The food will be here in a little bit. In the meantime, would y’all like anything to drink? We have water and soda, but also beer, wine, and some other stuff.” Zay explained with a mischievous grin - she saw how the men loved to drink on the show, save for Winters, and was excited to relax and have fun with them. A chorus of intrigued “ooh”s and whoops came from the men of Easy Company as Zay stood up to go to the kitchen. After getting everyone’s drink orders, Zay headed to the kitchen, not noticing Dick following her.

“Thought you might want some help carrying everything,” he said more bashfully than intended when Zay noticed him. Zay returned his smile as they reached the tile of the kitchen area.

“That’s really sweet of you, Captain Winters,” she responded, blushing as she looked up at the man in front of her. Her mind could not help but wonder, what would he do if he knew how big of a crush she had on him?

Dick laughed quietly and smiled at the girl, his blush matching hers. “Please, call me Dick.” Zay’s smile widened as she shifted her gaze to her feet, praying futily that he did not notice her blush growing. “Doc was right earlier, you know, it is really kind of you to take us into your home like this,” Dick mused, grateful for the girl in front of him. Her eyes immediately returned to meet his gaze with a smile.

“Oh it’s nothing, really! Chrys and I have people over all the time, so it’s no trouble, I promise.” Zay went to the fridge as she spoke, starting to take out the bottles that were requested - a coke for Dick, red wine for Zay, Speirs, and Roe, and beers for the rest of the group. Once Zay had organized the eight bottles and three glasses, she bent down to grab her serving tray from the cupboard. Dick wanted to avert his eyes, he wanted to be polite, be a gentleman, but alas, he was entranced. The captain was just barely able to turn his head away before Zay returned to the drinks, acrylic serving tray in hand. Once Zay put everything on the tray, Winters was quick to pick it up, Zay shooting him a Look. “Thank you,” Zay said reluctantly, trying and failing to hide her smile. Dick simply nodded before following her out of the kitchen.

The night continued to devolve into drunken, chaotic fun, with laughter and Chicken McNuggets abounding. Soon everyone was burping and hiccuping with inebriation, of course save for Winters. “You guys wanna play truth or dare?” Chrys asked with a smirk as Zay clumsily emptied the group’s third bottle of wine into her glass, splashing a couple drops onto the carpet.

“Yeah! Let’s use the bottle to pick!” Guarnere said, gently plucking the bottle from Zay’s hand. The twelve made a circle on the floor, pushing the coffee table flush with the sofa. Zay wound up sitting between Winters and Roe, while Chrys was between Nixon and Bull. “Who wants to go first?” Guarnere asked, placing the bottle on its side in the center of the circle.

“I will!” Chrys volunteered, spinning the bottle. As Chrys leaned forward, shifting her weight to her knees, Nixon could not help but be floored by the dark-haired woman in front of him - she seemed so genuine, so down to earth, he needed her in his life. The bottle spun and spun before landing on, of course, Captain Nixon. A chorus of “ooh”s and chuckles erupted from the group as Chrys asked, “Captain, truth or dare?”

Nixon smirked and looked at the girl, heavily relying on his liquid courage. “Dare, doll,” he replied. Chrys, hiding her blush, smiled and walked to the kitchen, returning with a fresh bottle of beer.

“I dare you,” she paused as she used the bottle opener, “to drink this entire beer in 10 seconds.” She held the beer out to him, intrigued to see if he could do it.

“Done and done,” he replied casually, immediately starting to down the drink. It may not have been Vat 69, but Nixon still drank the beer like it was the best thing he ever tasted. Before Chrys reached five, Nixon handed her the empty bottle, covering his mouth as he felt the carbonation expel itself. The group laughed at Nixon’s belch but cheered as he spun the bottle in front of him. The bottle slowly came to a stop, pointing itself at Wild Bill Guarnere. “Alright Gonorrhea, truth or dare?”

Bill laughed as he finished off his fourth beer. “Truth, Cap’n.” he said assertively, leaning into the circle. Nixon thought for a minute before asking his question.

“Tell us about the worst kiss you’ve ever had.” the captain asked the staff sergeant. Guarnere thought for a minute before his facial muscles cringed with disgust.

“Suzie Watson at my Senior Prom, we were slow dancing and next thing I knew her tongue was licking my lips,” Bill recalled. The group responded with sounds of ick as Guarnere flicked the bottle. The game continued to bring wild revelations and compromising positions to all in the room. At one point, Luz had spun the bottle, and it landed on captain Dick Winters. “Captain Quaker, sir,” Luz addressed Winters, earning laughs all around him, including from the captain himself, “truth or dare?”

Dick chuckled and shook his head. He debated whether or not to participate when the game began, but when Zay plopped herself next to his feet and looked up at him with the sweetest doe eyes he had ever seen, how could he not? The captain weighed his options, considering which answer is more of a risk. “Truth,” he answered, looking over at George.

“You got a girl waiting for you back home? And if you don’t, are you looking for someone?” Dick could see Zay's head perk up out of the corner of his eye; he could tell her head turned towards him, but he was nervous to meet her gaze.

“Can’t say I have someone waiting at home, but I would like to have a family, someday,” Winters replied quietly, his bashfulness and beet red cheeks warming Zay’s heart. In a moment of wine-fueled impulse, she laid her head on Dick’s shoulder as he spun the bottle. Surprised, Winters looked over at the girl, a content smile on her face as she rested on him. Now it was Winters’ turn to feel his heart warming. The game continued on until about midnight, when a few soldiers allowed themselves to yawn.

“Alright y’all, looks like it’s time to get ready for bed. For where y’all are sleeping, once we put up the air mattress, we can sleep four of you out here, then three in my room and three in Chrys’ room,” Zay explained. She wobbly tried to stand up, resembling a baby giraffe learning how to walk, before losing her balance and falling into Roe’s lap with a squeal. Eugene caught her in one smooth motion, looking at Zay with concern and amusement. “My bad,” the girl said between giggles. No one saw Liebgott and Luz roll their eyes at the scene, save for Winters. Roe helped the girl stand back up while they all discussed sleeping arrangements.

“I can sleep out here,” Speirs spoke up.

“I’ll take the couch,” Bull added.

“I can room with Zay, if you don’t mind,” Eugene looked up at the girl, who smiled and nodded her head.

“Hey! I wanna room with her!” Luz cried out, pushing Roe’s shoulder childishly.

Liebgott somehow got involved in the scrimmage as well, while Zay simply smiled down at the still-sitting Winters. “Would you like to stay in my room?” While she has not revealed the fact they would share a bed yet, Zay certainly preferred the idea of sharing a bed with a gentleman like Winters. Dick smiled and nodded, agreeing to her offer. Zay returned his smile before raising her voice to get the men’s attention. “Y’all! Dick already claimed a spot, so the other two spots go to Roe and Luz.”

Liebgott groaned and rolled his eyes, walking over to the loveseat - his bed for the foreseeable future. While all of the bickering was occurring, Chrys agreed to Nixon, Toye, and Guarnere bunking in her room. “Do you guys want pajamas? Our brother comes to visit us a lot, and he usually leaves his clothes here… his memory isn’t the best,” Chrys told the group, quiet laughter making its way across everyone’s lips. Chrys smiled and made her way back to her room, the rest of the men standing from the floor.

“I’ll go grab the air mattress,” Zay said over her shoulder, bouncing away to her room.

Ron stayed quiet until the twins left. “Sir? What’s the plan for tomorrow?” he asked Winters, everyone suddenly remembering the problems at hand.

Dick thought for a moment before responding, “We’ll go back to where we first arrived and see if we can find anything and go from there. If we don’t get any information, we’ll ask Zay and Chrys for input… maybe even watching the program we’re on could help.” Speirs nodded in understanding as Chrys came back into the room with a laundry basket of t-shirts, pj pants, jeans, and other bits of clothes for the men to use. Once Zay returned with the air mattress, she and Chrys set up their respective pull-out couches in their rooms while the boys changed, the clothes somehow being a good fit for everyone, even Bull.

Once the boys were all decent, Chrys and Zay set up the air mattress in the living room, supplying the four sleeping in said room with a plethora of pillows and blankets. Soon, the men were settled in their respective bunks - Bull on the couch, Liebgott on the loveseat, Malarkey and Speirs on the air mattress, Guarnere and Toye on Chrys’ pull-out couch, Roe and Luz on Zay’s pull-out couch, and finally, Captain Winters and Captain Nixon were, in fact, about to share their beds with Zay and Chrys, respectively. Since there was nowhere else for the boys to sleep, the four of them felt their own versions of excitement, nerves, and every other emotion under the sun.

~~~~~

Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

Taglist: @b00ks1ut , @blueberry-ovaries , @bucky32557038ww2 , @claudycod , @dontirrigateme , @emilee1421 , @executethyself35 , @hanniewinnix , @ithinkabouttzu , @jump-wings , @love--persevering , @panzershrike-pretz , @stolen94 , @xxluckystrike

Thank you again for reading!! Be on the lookout for Chapter 5 coming next week!! 🥰✨

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